talk to Vulcan and some of the other Krewe members a little bit,” I said.
“They’re about to have a private meeting,” Carlson said. “I’m sure I can answer any questions you might have. Follow me, please.” He turned and led us toward a hallway to the left of the registration desk.
“I think we’ve been sandbagged,” Al said. “You’ve asked the wrong question of too many people.”
“I think you’re right,” I said. “My only hope is to find out where they’re going next and try to catch the Prince of Soot there.”
Carlson stopped in front of a first-floor room, unlocked the door and ushered us in, practically bowing and scraping as we entered.
“What are they meeting about?” I asked.
“They always like to compare notes at the end of the day and prepare for the evening schedule,” Carlson said. “Your clothes are on the bed, and I’m here ready to answer any and all questions.”
I was tempted to ask which Krewe members had been in O’Halloran’s Bar Wednesday night but I knew he’d pass on that one. “Where are they going after dinner?” I asked instead.
“After dinner they’ll be going to Klondike Kate’s,” he said.
“Klondike Kate’s is still going to be open after the, uh, after what happened the other night?” Al asked.
Carlson smiled a promoter’s smile. “This is the Winter Carnival,” he said. “You know the old saying, the show must go on.”
“The show at Klondike Kate’s would seem to be a lot less fun,” I said.
“There will be some changes in the program,” Carlson said, looking appropriately sober. “They’re opening with a solemn moment in memory of Ms. Nordquist. And I suspect the atmosphere will be a bit quieter than usual.”
“Until everybody gets drunk,” Al said.
“I assure you that Vulcan and his Krewe will remain sober,” Carlson said. “Our current Fire King has expressly forbidden excessive drinking by the Krewe.”
“Speaking of that, can you give me a list of the Krewe’s real names?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “The identity of Vulcan and his Krewe is never revealed until King Boreas is banished at the climax of the carnival.”
“We have to wait for Vulcan to climax?” Al said.”
Carlson’s ears turned an interesting shade of pink. “Correct,” he said after a slight pause. “I’m sorry, but this is the Winter Carnival and tradition is tradition.”
“And the show must go on,” I said.
The smile returned to Carlson’s face. “Absolutely right,” he said. “Now, do you have any other questions?”
“Not at the moment,” I said. “Can I reach you tomorrow morning in case I need something while I’m writing the story?”
“I’ll be here in the hotel. Here’s my card with my cell phone number. I always have it turned on.”
I took the card and thanked him. He said if we had no further questions he would leave us in private to get dressed. We both shook his hand and bade him farewell.
“Does he think we’re embarrassed to strip to our skivvies in front of him?” Al asked after Carlson left.
“Maybe he thinks we need to be alone to compare notes and prepare for our evening schedule.”
“That was total bullshit,” said Al.
“My thoughts exactly,” I said.
Our evening began with Martha and me dining with the Jeffrey family at their Midway area abode. Dinner followed by conversation or games or a DVD movie was becoming a Friday routine, but on this night Al and I were going to Klondike Kate’s. We invited the women to join us in this adventure, but they chose playing games with the children, Kristin and Kevin, over frolicking with us at Klondike Kate’s. Under the circumstances, I thought it was a damn smart choice—the one I’d have made if I’d had the option.
Whatever. We dutifully kissed Carol and Martha goodbye and went off to pretend to have fun, me with a tiny tape recorder in my shirt pocket and Al with his smallest digital camera in
“They’re about to have a private meeting,” Carlson said. “I’m sure I can answer any questions you might have. Follow me, please.” He turned and led us toward a hallway to the left of the registration desk.
“I think we’ve been sandbagged,” Al said. “You’ve asked the wrong question of too many people.”
“I think you’re right,” I said. “My only hope is to find out where they’re going next and try to catch the Prince of Soot there.”
Carlson stopped in front of a first-floor room, unlocked the door and ushered us in, practically bowing and scraping as we entered.
“What are they meeting about?” I asked.
“They always like to compare notes at the end of the day and prepare for the evening schedule,” Carlson said. “Your clothes are on the bed, and I’m here ready to answer any and all questions.”
I was tempted to ask which Krewe members had been in O’Halloran’s Bar Wednesday night but I knew he’d pass on that one. “Where are they going after dinner?” I asked instead.
“After dinner they’ll be going to Klondike Kate’s,” he said.
“Klondike Kate’s is still going to be open after the, uh, after what happened the other night?” Al asked.
Carlson smiled a promoter’s smile. “This is the Winter Carnival,” he said. “You know the old saying, the show must go on.”
“The show at Klondike Kate’s would seem to be a lot less fun,” I said.
“There will be some changes in the program,” Carlson said, looking appropriately sober. “They’re opening with a solemn moment in memory of Ms. Nordquist. And I suspect the atmosphere will be a bit quieter than usual.”
“Until everybody gets drunk,” Al said.
“I assure you that Vulcan and his Krewe will remain sober,” Carlson said. “Our current Fire King has expressly forbidden excessive drinking by the Krewe.”
“Speaking of that, can you give me a list of the Krewe’s real names?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “The identity of Vulcan and his Krewe is never revealed until King Boreas is banished at the climax of the carnival.”
“We have to wait for Vulcan to climax?” Al said.”
Carlson’s ears turned an interesting shade of pink. “Correct,” he said after a slight pause. “I’m sorry, but this is the Winter Carnival and tradition is tradition.”
“And the show must go on,” I said.
The smile returned to Carlson’s face. “Absolutely right,” he said. “Now, do you have any other questions?”
“Not at the moment,” I said. “Can I reach you tomorrow morning in case I need something while I’m writing the story?”
“I’ll be here in the hotel. Here’s my card with my cell phone number. I always have it turned on.”
I took the card and thanked him. He said if we had no further questions he would leave us in private to get dressed. We both shook his hand and bade him farewell.
“Does he think we’re embarrassed to strip to our skivvies in front of him?” Al asked after Carlson left.
“Maybe he thinks we need to be alone to compare notes and prepare for our evening schedule.”
“That was total bullshit,” said Al.
“My thoughts exactly,” I said.
Our evening began with Martha and me dining with the Jeffrey family at their Midway area abode. Dinner followed by conversation or games or a DVD movie was becoming a Friday routine, but on this night Al and I were going to Klondike Kate’s. We invited the women to join us in this adventure, but they chose playing games with the children, Kristin and Kevin, over frolicking with us at Klondike Kate’s. Under the circumstances, I thought it was a damn smart choice—the one I’d have made if I’d had the option.
Whatever. We dutifully kissed Carol and Martha goodbye and went off to pretend to have fun, me with a tiny tape recorder in my shirt pocket and Al with his smallest digital camera in
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