Conor closed the door to his apartment and let out a deep exhale. It was over. The young girl that had been so gruesomely murdered was avenged. Less important on the cosmic scale, but much more important to Conor personally, he’d managed to stave off the eviction notice for another month. The bills were paid and there was even a little bit of Mac’s money left after all was said and done.

Jaime was home, as far as Conor knew, he’d not managed to smuggle any of the cocaine. Hopefully it was all flushed. Elena would probably be out of communication for a few days as she continued her pattern of moving from address to address to stay difficult to locate. The Professor was back teaching classes at SMU.

---

What now? As was his custom, whenever he wasn’t sure about what else to do with himself… he grabbed his guitar and started running through his repertoire. He didn’t feel like company at the moment, so he resisted the urge to put on his swim trunks and practice by the complex’s swimming pool.

As always happened, a few hours went by before Conor even noticed their passing. He was playing through the final chords of Ar éirinn Ní n-Eósainn (For Ireland I’d Not Tell Her Name) and he couldn’t finish. He softly sang “Tá lasadh ’na leacain mar rós, is ar Éirinn ní n-eósainn cé h-í…” (and the bloom of her cheeks like a rose, but for Ireland I’d not tell her name) and he couldn’t help but wonder what that young Noreen lass had been like in life. He could feel the melancholia coming on and knew he’d need to go and be about something… soon.

His father always told him, “Son, when you’re busy helping others with their sorrows, you’ve no time for your own.” So he thought about who might be needing some help that he could do alone. He thought of something quickly but dismissed it at first… but after several minutes his mind returned. Yes, that would do nicely. He gathered up his things and headed out again, locking the door behind him.

---

He stepped off the DART in Deep Ellum. He knew the area well and headed for a place he had only been twice… a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant where faith and love of family was visible in every corner and inhaled with every sweet scent.

When he arrived at Joe Mama’s BBQ he stepped in and waited by the doorway. A large, jovial looking black woman was behind the “sneeze shield” that protected the food up by the cash register. She waved him inside with a smile and gestured for him to come to the counter.

Conor smiled and walked up, “Good evenin’ to ye ma’am.” As was his custom he cranked his brogue back to its “off the farm” levels and gave her one of his most charming disarming smiles. American women were suckers for an Irish brogue.

“Honey, I have no idea what you jes said, but I think it was hello. What’choo want ta eat tonight?”

Conor was speechless for a moment.

“Uh… well… em…. Ma’am, I was wondering if ye’d be of a mind to let me sing for my supper? I’m some skill with this guitar here.” He gestured with his thumb to the soft nylon guitar case slung over his back.

The lady behind the counter cocked an eyebrow incredulously. “I swear I neva could unnerstan’ Australian people. You say you wanna sing? For your supper?”

Conor tried not to smirk or laugh, and possibly give offense. Rather he nodded and waited expectantly through the long pause.

“Well honey I s’pose this IS Deep Ellum… an’ it IS a Friday night. Sure, we can try it. If ya bring in some folk, I’ll get ya dinner. If ya don’t, well I get ya dinner anyway fa trying if ya play a few hours. Fair?”

Conor beamed his pearly whites. “More than fair ma’am. If you don’t mind, I’d like to start outside where the people are?”

The lady just shrugged and gestured with her hand out the door, “Whatever ya say honey!”

Conor stepped out into the street and unzipped his case. Since he wasn’t doing this for tips he put his case back inside the door of the restaurant. Out here in the swirl and rush of people was where he was best. Face to face with his audience he was killer. If all he had to go on was his skill with the guitar alone… he’d be sunk. Conor was a busker of the old Irish style, he played to people as much as played the songs.

He played a few tunes and then… realizing that there simply wasn’t as much traffic on his part of Commerce street, he strolled northward to Main. They were a bit far from all the real activity up on Elm (the street from which Deep Ellum took its name, a corruption of a southern drawl saying “Deep Elm”) but he could work with what there was on Main.

Tons of the Friday night crowd were arriving and getting into line for their favorite bars, restaurants, and if he walked far enough down Main, the clubs like the Velvet Hooka and the Curtain Club. He sang his songs, talked to the ladies that looked single, told jokes to the lads that seemed of a mind. He played all the songs that mentioned food he knew. He even tried his hand at a few American folks songs and Country Western. What a busker sang wasn’t as important as the way he sang it.

His goal… to get attention. After each song, he worked into the banter and conversation that a BBQ joint was just a block away on Commerce and that he’d be playing there shortly. He saved his most radiant smiles for the single ladies, especially the groups of single ladies. More than a few asked him about his accent, not a few asked if it was real. The longer the lines waiting to get into a place… the longer he stood on the public sidewalk and did his thing. He got more than one evil eye from the employees of the other restaurants, but until a customer was seated… they were fair game was Conor’s opinion of the matter.

Eventually he completed his circuit and headed himself back to Joe Mama’s BBQ.

He was proud to see the place quite full (it’s not a very big place to begin with). He entered and a few of the young ladies gave him applause that may have been augmented by a few beers (or other things).

He found a place near a table that was all women enjoying some BBQ sandwiches and Dr. Pepper (at Joe Mama’s your choices were water, iced tea, or Dr. Pepper). He then did his 45 minute set. The ladies at the first table had left already to continue their festivities (two left their phone numbers) and so he walked the floor for the rest of the set. When he finished with the music his footsteps carried him up to the counter.

“Well ma’am, did I uphold my end o’ the bargain?” he asked with a smile as he doffed his flatcap.

“Honey you sure did. What’choo want ta eat? I get it fo’ ya.” She looked tired, and perhaps her feet were sore, but she looked happy.

“You’re a saint ma’am. Just so lang as some o’ those fine ribs yer famous for are on tha plate… an’ maybe a bit of yer peach cobbler, it’s a happy man I’ll be.”

The lady just looked at him quizzically. “Ok honey. I heard ribs an’ cobbler. I’m gonna guess the rest. You just sit tight. I’d say find a place to sit back on this side of the counter, but by the way that redhead there is lookin’ at choo I think you alright.”

Conor sat and had an enjoyable meal talking and flirting with “McKayla” as she called herself (in that inexplicable American custom of naming girls with “Mac” names). When she’d excused herself to find the rest of her friends (after setting up a soft commit for Conor to come and find her at the nightclub called Trees in an hour or so) he sat back contentedly and looked around the busy restaurant.

He’d done something that amused him a great deal…. he, one of the Fae, had done a good deed for a mortal in exchange for hospitality and a meal. Maybe those old songs and stories weren’t all fluff and stuff after all.

One thing was sure, he felt better than he had in two weeks. He was still sad that Noreen had died, but life goes on. Now if only he could find some of the little fae to agree to come and clean the place in secret…