I just finished the first draft of the second Parata Occult Mystery book, tentatively titled The Betrayed. In honor of this occasion, I thought I’d introduce you to one of my favorite new recurring characters, Rev’s new partner, Rae:

New Orleans, Louisiana: 12:49 PM, Sunday, October 14th, 1984

I sat at a worn table in the Buck Forty-Nine Pancake and Steak House, waiting on Ms. Gordon to arrive. I asked how I would know her, and Freddy said she would know me, which was true enough; I stuck out everywhere.

I looked around the restaurant, searching for anyone who didn’t seem to belong. The only thing that caught my eye, as always, was the decor: Kitschy, cowboy-themed junk hung from the walls, looking about as out of place as an astronaut in a submarine.

The bell over the entrance jingled, and a lady stepped in. She was about five-foot-eight and had a trim, athletic figure. Her hair, raven black, fell in gentle curls around her face, framing her pale blue eyes. Dressed in a sharp, charcoal business suit and carrying a briefcase, she looked like a corporate exec.

She was striking, might have even been beautiful, once. Now, a scar traced its way from the edge of her right eye all the way to her chin, dimpling the skin on her cheek. She had expertly covered it with makeup, but she could only do so much to hide the disfigurement.

Her eyes scanned the room efficiently, settling on me. As they did so, I felt a stirring inside I had not felt since my ex, Rebecca, left me four years ago. I shifted uncomfortably, jamming it deep down.

The woman locked eyes with me, then padded up to my table with the grace of a jungle cat.

“Mr. Parata,” she said, smiling politely and extending a hand. She had a very slight Yankee accent; New Jersey, I thought.

I recovered my composure and rose, enveloping her tiny hand in my paw.

“You must be Ms. Gordon,” I said.

She shook, grip firm but not overcompensating, then pulled out her own chair and placed her briefcase on the floor.

“Oh, please, sit,” I said, taking my seat. She did so and scooted her chair up to the table.

A waitress came by with waters and asked if we were ready to eat. We both ordered, me ordering two bowls of red beans and rice and a fried catfish platter. She ordered a salad.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Parata. Freddy has told me so much about you.”

“Call me Rev, and you should know that Freddy is a goddamn liar.”

She smiled politely. “You can call me Rae, Rev. And Freddy only said good things.”

“Those are the lies,” I said.

“Well, hopefully the part about you needing some help wasn’t a lie?”

“No, that part is true enough. He tells me you are a licensed P.I.?”

“Yep, just passed the Louisiana exam.”

I scrutinized her for a moment. Her eyes were direct, focused. She dressed like an executive, but moved like a dancer, or martial artist. The way she had scanned the room was perfect, analyzing and discarding patron after patron before settling her gaze on me.

“Where did you learn the ropes?” I asked.

“California. Los Angeles firm named Big Time Investigations,” she said.

“Freddy says you helped him out with a homicide recently?”

She looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, I don’t know that I’d put it like that. I was shadowing a woman whose husband suspected she was cheating. She met with a man for dinner, but they got into an argument and left early. They went to his place, and I followed, surveilling the place with my Nikon and a huge telephoto lens. As the night went on, the argument got worse and worse until she tried to leave. That’s when he began strangling her.”

I shook my head sadly.

“I ran to the house and broke in, but by the time I did, she was gone. As I was examining her, I heard a gunshot. He was dead when I found him.”

“Your first homicide?” I asked.

“Yea,” she said. “I didn’t really know what to do. I just stood there for probably a minute, then ran to the bathroom and… you know. When I got a hold of myself, I called 911.”

I nodded sympathetically, motioned for her to continue.

“Captain Guidry met me after the detectives cleared me. Said he was old friends with the husband, my client, and wanted to thank me for trying to save his wife, even though I failed.”

She looked a little rattled after her tale, but your first homicide will do that. I wished I’d chosen to meet somewhere that served whiskey.

“You ok?” I asked.

She looked up at me, meeting my gaze. “Yea. Yea, thanks,” she said, smiling a little.

I nodded. “First one’s always rough. Good news is, all the rest of them are too.”

She laughed. “You are really selling it,” she said.

I shrugged. “The time to worry is when it doesn’t bother you anymore,” I said, serious.

She held my gaze for a bit, then nodded.

Our food arrived, and the waitress and I played a little game of ‘let’s rearrange everything on the table’.

Once the waitress had left, I dug in, clearing the first plate of red beans and rice without speaking. I looked up to find Rae staring at me in a cross between amusement and horror.

I swallowed, then asked: “Something wrong?”

She arched an eyebrow. “I guess I’ve just never seen anyone inhale food like that.”

I shrugged. “So what are your skills, Rae? What would you say you’re best at?”

She sat her fork down and smiled. “Well, I’m pretty good with people. My father used to say I could sell wood to a forest. I also speak three languages, I’m pretty good at sneaking around, and I can lie my ass off.”

I cocked an eyebrow at this last. “So how much of that was true?” I asked.

“Most of it,” she said, and grinned impishly.

I gave her a polite smile and then a ‘yea, but seriously’ look.

She sobered. “My policy is to only lie to strangers. It takes too much work to lie to friends or colleagues. You have to keep a running tally of all the lies in your backlog. It’s exhausting.”

I nodded. I had come to a similar conclusion myself, and this job required the occasional lie. I looked her over with a critical eye.

“Can you take care of yourself?”

She stared back, eyes steely. “I do ok,” she said. “At least my sensei thinks so.”

“Marital artist?”

“A little. Jiu-Jitsu and Escrima.”

I whistled. “You aren’t fucking around,” I said.

“Not even a little,” she replied. “How about you, Rev? What do you bring to the table?”

I snorted with amusement. “You mean, besides the cases?”

She nodded, polite smile on her face.

I sat back in my chair and focused on her.

“Well, I know you are Jewish, but probably unpracticing. Specifically, I believe your people are Russian Jews, and you are from New Jersey, probably from Newark or some other large city because the Russian Jewish community is tight-knit and pretty urban.”

“You say you are an excellent liar and good with people, and you moved to California at some point in your youth. Kids don’t move to Cali without reason, and I’ve read your resume, so I know your Associate’s is from a community college. No one moves cross-country to go to a community college, and since you are attractive and a self-professed expert liar, I suspect you went to become an actress.”

She looked at me, eyes searching. “Only one flaw in your theory,” she said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Looking uncomfortable and a little angry, she pointed to the scar on her face. “No one would try breaking into acting with… this.”

I shrugged. “That happened after you moved. The surgeon did a good job, but I’ve seen my share of trauma scars. That one is no more than five years old, and you are in your early thirties. My bet is you moved to Cali in your early to mid-twenties, maybe had some minor success in the industry, then had an accident and had to make do, giving up on your dream.”

She looked at me, eyes reluctantly impressed. She gave a little golf clap.

“Pretty impressive, but I know how you got most of that. How did you figure out my family history?”

“You’re wearing a little Star of David pendant. It’s under your blouse, but it peeks out when you move. Despite that, you just ate a salad with real ham in it.”

She smiled. “Ok, fair enough. But what about the Russian part?”

I grinned. “That was mostly a guess. Your features are a little Slavic, and your accent is slight, but definitely Jersey. I know there’s a decent Russian Jew community in Jersey, and you said you spoke three languages. Would they happen to be English, Hebrew, and Russian?”

“They would,” she said, and I gave a mock bow. “Ok, so you are pretty observant, but this isn’t a Sherlock Holmes novel, and that only gets you so far. What else you got?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow. “You know, other than being a meat mountain that devours buffets in a single gulp.”

I wasn’t sure if she was toying with me or seriously interviewing me.

“Well… I’m a decent shot, I’m pretty capable in a tussle, I’m pretty good at research, and I’ve got good intuition. I’m also a trained scout and I know my way around outdoors. If that’s not enough, I spent a dozen years in the force, four of them in homicide, and I know how both the police and criminals work.”

“Finally,” I said, digging my fork back into my food, “I have contacts in Nola, both inside and outside of the force.”

She grinned at me. “I suspect you can be pretty intimidating when you want to be, too.”

I shrugged, swallowed, washed the food down. “That’s just a side affect of me being who I am. I scare people without even meaning to. It’s got its pluses and minuses.”

“I’m sure,” she said. “Ok, assuming I’m willing to give this a try, what arrangement did you have in mind?”

I stared at her for a moment, thinking. “Well, I can’t afford to pay your full rate. Honestly, I was looking for an intern, that’s what I’m budgeted for, but I’m down to the wire and I need someone to run surveillance in Pensacola for me this week while I’m busy on another case here in Nola.”

“What’s the other case?”

I shrugged. “Missing homeless. Church has hired me to look into it.”

“When do you start on that?”

“Monday.”

She nodded. “And when do you need to start the surveillance?”

“The client is going out of town Thursday, and expects to be gone all weekend. Need to tail her husband for that period, or until we get enough evidence to satisfy her.”

She smiled. “I propose this: Let’s partner on these two cases. I’ll come help with the missing homeless folks, then I’ll switch off Thursday and do the surveillance while you stay on the case. That way, we can both observe the other and see what we truly bring to the table.”

I thought this over. “That sounds good, but it doesn’t help with my budget. What are you looking for as far as pay?”

She sat back in her chair. “Split the take,” she said.

I shook my head once. “No deal. I have the cases, and landing the cases, as I’m sure you know, is the hardest part of this job. Also, it’s my name on the door. I’m taking all the risk, reputation-wise. Seventy-thirty.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she chewed her bottom lip. “Sixty-forty,” she said, and thrust out her hand.

I stared at it for a long moment. I was intrigued by this woman, but a small surge of unease went through me specifically because she was female. After some of the violent people I’d had to wade through, I was more than a little worried about her safety, martial artist or no.

That’s her problem, I thought to myself. She’s signing up for this, and she’s a big girl. Can’t go protecting grown adults from themselves.

“Sixty-forty after expenses,” I said.

She thought for a moment, then nodded. I reached my hand across the table and shook.