Conversation at the Wagon Wheel "Y'all were a great crowd, thanks once again an' be sure t' tell your friends about us. Good night from the Cajun Devildogs!" GW waved from the stage as he and the band wrapped things up for the night.
They'd had a good crowd in the club tonight. The
Wagon Wheel liked to have them around about once every six weeks, drawing in homesick Louisianans as well as music lovers and curious tourists who wanted to hear an authentic Cajun band. A number of the patrons in the crowded bar were familiar faces, fans who showed up wherever they played.
One person who definitely was
not familiar was the tall man with salt and pepper hair dressed in a suit and looked distinctly uncomfortable in the boots n' sawdust environment.
Markowitz was not precisely uncomfortable, it was just that he'd never seen quite so many pairs of broken-in boots in one place at one time before. Give him the jazz clubs of New York any day. He couldn't wait for this portion of his assignment to be over so that he could get back to a city he was more at home in.
But he applauded right along with the other spectators, deciding that it maybe wasn't so bad. His untouched beer was sweating through the paper coaster in front of him, and he glanced at his watch quickly before rising from his chair. His opinion of the music aside, this was not technically just an evening out. Work always called, especially for something this important.
"Mr. Robichaux," he said, hovering on the edge of the small crowd of autograph seekers who had gathered near the stage. To show the badge or not to show the badge? This was not Wolfram and Hart, and he didn't want to cause a stir. Besides, the suit was enough to indicate that this was not a usual hang-out for him. Markowitz indicated the table where he'd been sitting with a tilt of his head. "When you get a minute, I'd like to have a word with you, please."
( Your country needs you. )Note: This takes place the Friday before Holy Week
Agent Markowitz was written by Stargazer