But today it’s an up-and-coming dining hot spot. That’s thanks largely to Beatrice St. Ville, a local chef who opened Bea’s Café on this block a few years ago, jump-starting the area’s revival. I don’t know Beatrice personally, but she has a reputation for being extremely liberal—with her Cajun seasoning and her politics. The food at her new joint was plenty good. But what really put it on the map was her policy of hiring cooks, servers, and other staff exclusively from disadvantaged backgrounds. Like undocumented immigrants. Recovering addicts. Even ex-cons.

Which is all well and good with me.

Except when one of them might be a terrorist.

Ibrahim Farzat, a thirty-year-old Syrian refugee, moved to New Orleans with his wife about a year ago and got a job at Bea’s as a dishwasher. I remember him showing up on the NOPD’s radar last summer when he was arrested for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest. After he was booked, detectives took a gander at his online activity. A conservative Muslim, Farzat posted frequently about his religious devotion, and he followed some pro-Islam accounts that looked edgy.

But there were no immediate terrorist red flags, and the charges against him were eventually dropped. Still, we passed the info on to Homeland Security, just to be safe. They got back to us quick. The Farzats, we were told, had been thoroughly vetted and weren’t considered a terrorist threat.

Looking back, maybe Homeland got back to us a little too quick.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the feds, they like to take their sweet time. DC isn’t a swamp; it’s an ocean full of quicksand. Why was DHS so lightning-fast to dismiss our concerns that time? What didn’t they want the NOPD to know?

I swung by Farzat’s last known address earlier this afternoon to try to find out. But his rented home in Dixon was dark and empty. Neighbors told me they hadn’t seen him or his wife around in weeks. One gave me Farzat’s cell number, but when I called, a cheery recorded voice told me it was no longer in service.

It’s not a crime to move houses or change numbers or follow people on Twitter. And maybe I’m going down a dead end here. But given what I know about Farzat, I just want to find the guy, ask him a few questions, and rule him out.

I exit my car and unlock the trunk. Bea’s Café doesn’t open for another hour, and since I don’t have a badge to flash anymore, I probably won’t get anybody to talk to me much about Farzat. Especially not this close to dinner service.

So I have another idea.