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The devil named Lexi at the Stygian Cistern on Canal Street decided she’d take it easy on me. I expected to meet a devil named Bob but he’d slipped out to the Crossroads Bar on Bourbon.

No need to sell my soul. She figured I was on the fast track to Hell. Instead, I was to collect a debt owed to her. Emil Beauchamp, the same Beauchamp who stole my business, owed Ole Lexi his soul for his wild success and a reprieve from a brain tumor.

“I have an act for his midnight show. Deliver it and I’ll give you his success and Le Bayou Lapin for as long as you live,” Lexi said. I flinched at the name. I had called it The Bayou Bunny. Beauchamp frenched it up.

Lexi bent down and filled a glass from the cistern. When she poured it on the floor, a creature sprang from the puddle. Its eyes were set far apart and white fangs kept its mouth from completely closing. Its broad nose ended where its forehead should have begun. In its place, two spike horns grew from just behind his wild eyes. His wispy fur knit itself into a gentleman’s suit complete with tie before my eyes.

“Bah… Vay… Ran…” it said blinking.

“I only have one direction for you to pass on. Beauchamp must turn off the lights for our little friend before he’ll perform.” She patted the creature on its flat head then spit on my palm. She placed the creature’s hand in mine.  The deal was sealed. She slipped into the murky water of the cistern and disappeared.

We wound our way through the drizzly damp of the Quarter and found ourselves on Bourbon Street.  No one seemed to notice my companion; one might see almost anything on Bourbon at night. The drunks ignored the rain, collecting beneath the street signs made famous from the mass of photos taken there. My friend reached for passing tourists, clutching with his furry hands. When I stopped him he scowled and let loose a low “Bah… Vay… Ran.”

We slipped down Iberville to Royal Street where the pink neon sign of Le Bayou Lapin had mocked me for all those years. Its rabbit jumped eternally, day and night. Beauchamp was my partner until the day he sold his soul. Doesn’t everyone in Fat City? I found myself on my ass. The Bayou Bunny and its family vaudeville acts became a bawdy nightclub, classy French name or not.

I pulled my friend into the alley and approached the stage entrance. I hadn’t seen Beauchamp for years but I recognized his fat ass blocking the door. The stub of his cigar glowed in the darkness of the alley.

“Ma petite poisson.” Beauchamp grunted. “Pourquoi es tu ici?”

I hated it when he called me his fish.

“I have an act for your midnight show from Lexi.”  I said coolly

My friend tried to grab Beauchamp. It hissed, “Bah… Vay… Ran…”

“What the hell is he?” Beauchamp said, leaning forward out of the shadows. He studied the creature.

“He’s…” I was at a loss for words.

“Bah… Vay… Ran.” The little creature whined. It licked its lips with a pale blue tongue.

“He’s Bavarian.”

Beauchamp looked the act up and down. “Nice suit,” he laughed. “I don’t give a shit if he’s Martian. If that old bitch Lexi sent him, I’ll put him up first. What’s he do?”

“I’m just the delivery boy. All Lexi said is his act requires pitch black.”

Beauchamp looked at the watch that hung off his meaty wrist. From behind him, the midnight crowd buzzed. Beauchamp took the little man from my hand and led him inside.

“You’re not welcome here.” Beauchamp slammed the stage door.

I never was.

I heard Beauchamp’s booming voice yell, “Hit the lights!”

The screams started soon after.

Beauchamp had no will and forgot to take my name from the deed. The Bayou Bunny came back under my ownership. Some of the seats are stained, but my patrons are mostly the drunks from Bourbon Street. Nobody cares.

I went back to the cistern to thank Lexi, but was greeted by Bob instead. He offered to make me a deal, my soul for a beautiful woman.  Somehow that seemed like a trap.

I hear there’s a place on Toulouse that has an act featuring a Bavarian midget that can eat a cow in under a minute.

Showboaters.

For the Bayou Bunny, it’s strictly vaudeville with the house lights up.

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Maren Foley graduated with an M.A. in Popular Culture from Bowling Green State University in 1996. Her works have appeared in publications such as Station X, The S&F Journal, Night Lyrics and Bound Tight: An Anthology (Silk Rope Books, 1999).  She has completed two novels of her Tortured City trilogy. She is currently represented by theBulwart/Stinchfield Agency of Boston.