New Toulouse

Mystery Digit
A severed finger found in a Gloryville alley has given the police a puzzle that is being investigated by local sleuths.

Choosy Looter
A Woodget Street couple returned home Saturday night to find their valuables piled in a heap on the parlor floor. The only thing missing was a bottle of apricot brandy.

Vehicular Adversity
An elderly lady was struck by a streetcar today on Bayou Street near Laveau Square when she walked into the street to go around a Mardi Gras float that had been left on the pavement. The woman is without injury, but the streetcar was sent to the shop for repairs.

This morning I woke up to a piece of paper hitting me in the face. I’m still staying at the rooftop hotel, so I suppose that is not the worst thing that could have hit me. Groggily I peered at the page: it was a handbill advertising a maybe-party this Sunday, hosted by Krewe Bayou.

Last year around this time, I asked the shadowy figure calling herself Queen Notakraken how a person might join the krewe, if he were so inclined. You are already in Krewe Bayou, she told me. Everyone is in Krewe Bayou, whether they know it or not.

You would think that as a member of the krewe, I would have heard about this party earlier, or whether we’ll parade, or what. You would think that, and you would be wrong.

So all I have to go on are whispers, and this poster, and what looks to be party decorations on the roof next door. They say that Ghosty Kips had to cancel on spinning the platters because of a family matter, and that the mysterious “DJ Tabasco” stepped in handily to save the day with his collection of Cajun, zydeco, and swamp pop recordings. (They don’t say what “swamp pop” is, but I don’t think it has anything to do with Okra-Cola.) They say that there will be plenty of beer, which will come in handy in case of fire. They murmur of a trivia contest with “fabulous prizes.” And I overheard a rumor to the effect that “everyone gets a baby kraken friend.”

Now you know everything I do.

Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, is often perplexed.

New Toulouse on a Budget

Various locations
New Toulouse

Woke up at predawn with a terrible thirst. I’m at the Hôtel Sur le Toit, a Gloryville rooftop flop. Drank a couple cups of joe and breakfasted on marshmallows roasted over a burning Christmas tree. Need water or something, maybe some toast. Checked my pockets: L$30, less L$10 now for the room and board. At the alleyway entrance to the hotel, some derelict has set up house in a crate. My accommodations last night were practically posh in comparison.

Passing by Lafitte’s. Ugh, fish nog is responsible for the evil elves tapdancing behind my eyeballs. I’d tell Morty the barkeep to go to hell, except I think he has a vacation spot there already. Anyway I can’t afford hair of the dog right now.

Click here for more!

“This is a bomb!” said a woman with a shawl over her head as she placed a neat brass cylinder with a screw top to it in the hands of Robert E. Joudain, a salesman, at No. 42 la rue du Rossignol on Wednesday evening.

“I found it in the street out there,” she added, pointing to that portion of the highway known as la rue Royale and la rue du Rossignol. “I think I’ll be going now.”

She went.

Mr. Joudain emitted a low moaning sound and dropped the “bomb” into the gutter. A crowd collected—at a safe distance. Somebody started to turn in a fire alarm or call an ambulance.

But Mr. Joudain is a brave man.

“I will take this to the police station,” he said after proper moments of precaution had passed and nothing had happened. He did.

“This is a bomb,” Mr. Joudain explained as he laid the wicked brass cylinder on the desk before Lieut. Ray. The lieutenant arose from his swivel chair with alertness.

After he had come back from the street, he doused the “bomb” in a pail of water. Then he summoned courage and examined it closely.

The “bomb” was a handy automobile tool-case.

Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, is a figment of your imagination.