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“Loki and I met when we were 7 years old. Our first time at boarding school. All the other boys had been there for two years before us and we were new and foreign. Well, let’s just say we learned a lot about sticking together and how to fight.”
“Where was the boarding school?”
“A small town in southern Norway.”
“Wow, why there of all places?” I wondered aloud.
“Loki’s great grandfather was from Norway and it was important to his family that he attended school there. For me, well, my father grew up poor and carved out his empire, and our school was renowned in Europe. My father only wanted the best in his world.”
“I see. Did you stay there for all of school?”
“Yes, we were there until graduation. Loki and I both got into Cambridge.”
“Inseparable best friends, huh?” I asked, looking over at Piotr, whose eyes seemed to watch the horizon.
“Yes,” he replied simply.
“So, is his Norway connection why it’s the Valhalla Heathens and the nickname Loki?”
“He refused to go by Erik when he was about 9. He was mad for the Asgard mythos and read everything he could. He used to drive all of us nuts with his pranks. I think his father got a kick out of it, so no one really made him stop. At school we went by last names with the teachers and administration so it didn’t factor in with anyone but us.”
“It sounds like the god of mischief had a good childhood. Did you?” It tempted me to know a bit more.
“Yes and no, for both of us, I think.”
We sat in silence for a bit after and I didn’t press for more details. I had my eyes closed and was very nearly nodding off when I heard Piotr’s voice.
“Why work at the club when you're a writer?”
I didn’t bother opening my eyes or filter my thoughts. “I came to New Orleans to solve who killed my sister. She overdosed on heroin. I thought I had an excellent shot at figuring out who sold it to her by coming to a club designed by vice.”
“That’s awful Bridget, moje kondolencje.”
His eyes on me as he said the words, but I refused to cry. I was sick to death of crying. I also found saying thank you so tedious after someone offered their sorrow over losing a loved one. It just didn’t help, even though they meant well.
“What will you do when you find the dealer?”
“Kill them,” I said.
I glanced at him after I said that and he just stared back at me with an amused look on his face.
“You are full of surprises, Bridget. No wonder Loki’s so smitten with you.”
“I’d call it lust.”
Piotr just laughed and changed the subject. “You’re a fantastic writer. I’m enjoying your book. How did you get into true crime writing? Oh, and before I forget, I need you to sign it for me.”
“Thanks! How did you even know I wrote one?”
“Oh, my dear Bridget, I’m a resourceful man.” he smiled and winked. I knew he would never tell me the whole truth, so I dropped it.
I sighed, “I’d dreamed of being a writer as far back as I could remember and I wrote on both the high school and college papers. One night my sophomore year at college, a girl was raped on campus. There was a lot of speculation because everyone thought she was lying. In Texas, there was nothing more important than football. She’d been at a frat party notorious for having an almost all football team membership. She said three of the defense line forced her to have sex. They said she was lying to discredit them because her brother was a player on one of the rival college teams.”
“Outstanding, so you investigated?”
“Yep, as soon as I heard I went undercover.” I say air quoting the last word.
“Who was telling the truth?”
