Good ones, bad ones, but what made Tyler more valuable than others was the fact that he knew how to overlook just how seedy a man was in favor of how useful he might be. Under the right circumstances, even the worst scum had merit. New Orleans had a long-standing tradition of the right kind of scum. They were connected and just organized enough to make them effective when it came to operations that needed someone not affiliated with the law. The streets of the French Quarter were narrow with houses that rose up on either side. Bar after bar had music spilling out of their open doors, no matter what time of day or night it was. There were strippers in some, musicians in others, and the scent of food mixed freely with the music as street venders offered local cuisine while restaurants tried to lure in customers. Tyler stopped to consider a menu. A woman walked by him, her skirt flipping back and forth across her thighs. He grinned, enjoying the view as he followed her inside and through the wooden door that led to the kitchen.
