Free A Thousand Lies by Sharon Sala

off in his face, and shifted focus.
    Hell no. I won’t let this go.
    He aimed a flashlight into the darkness, saw even more boxes inside, and began pulling out everything he could reach until he’d cleared away a large space. Satisfied, he pushed the door shut, shoved a chest back in front of it, and headed downstairs to check the progress in the kitchen.
    The workers were down to the subflooring.
    “Hey, how much longer in here?” he asked.
    The foreman stood up, wiping sweat off his face as he eyed the room.
    “We’ll lay all the new wood tomorrow, then your tile the day after. I picked it up before I came out this morning. It’s in the hall if you want to make sure it’s what you ordered.”
    Anson liked playing lord of the manor almost as much as he liked being drug boss. He strode back into the hall, opened a box, and pulled out a tile, running his hands over the smooth surface as he admired the pattern. Fleur de lis was a damn fancy design for a kitchen floor, but that’s why he’d picked it.
    “Yeah! It’s the one,” he yelled and then went out the front door, pausing on the verandah to assess the grounds.
    He hadn’t looked at Wisteria Hill from this vantage point in years, but it was a reminder of the prestigious family into which he’d been born. It looked rough now, but it could and would look good again.
    He glanced at his watch and made a mental note to have Chance put that belly mower on the little tractor and knock down some of this grass.
    It was nearly noon. He was hungry, but not in the mood to eat alone. As soon as the workers stopped for lunch, he got in his truck, drove into New Orleans through the old part of the city, then down a narrow one-way alley, and parked behind a certain two–story brick building. The back stairs creaked at every step as he ascended. He knocked twice and waited.
    The door opened, revealing a tall, thin woman wearing a long, yellow sundress. She had a black patch over one eye and wore her very curly hair cut close to her scalp. He eyed the stiletto knife in a scabbard at her waist, but frowned when she barred the doorway.
    “What do you want here, Anson Poe?”
    He didn’t like being challenged like this, but was well aware she knew how to use that knife, so he took a roll of money out of his pocket and flashed it openly.
    “The same thing any man wants here, Lisette.”
    Lisette Branscum lifted her chin defiantly. “Last time you were here, I told you never come back.”
    He stood his ground. “Last time I was here, I made a mistake in judgment. I was hoping we could get past that.”
    “Last time you were here, you put one of my girls in the hospital. You’re no good for my business.”
    “Like I said, it was a mistake. A man can reform.”
    She stared at him without comment.
    He tried again.
    “I had a hankering for one of Jean-Luc’s shrimp po-boys, and for dessert, a blow job compliments of your pretty Corinna.”
    “You can go downstairs and order your food in Frenchie’s like everyone else, but you are no longer welcome upstairs.”
    Anger rolled through him, flushing his already sweaty face. This challenge felt too much like the shot that knocked the hat off his head. He wasn’t going back to the little café she ran on the floor below. He wanted the special treatment she gave to the second-floor guests. He put the money back in his pocket and spit on the step between them.
    Her eyes narrowed. She took a step back and swung the door shut in his face.
    Inside, he was seething, but he knew she’d gotten the insult loud and clear. He stomped back down the stairs to his truck and drove out of the alley. Yet one more person who’d crossed him and was going to wish she hadn’t.
    He picked up some barbeque instead from a local diner, and just for the hell of it, he drove by Brendan’s apartment on his way out of town. When he saw the SUV parked in the usual spot, he pictured them all happy and cozy inside the fancy air-conditioned apartment,