Gator Aide (23 page)

“Pull off over there, where the bank is.”

Turning off his lights, Dr. Sam made a sharp right turn into the lot. The only other car there was a powder blue Dodge Shadow belonging to Deke, the night watchman for the building. Between nine-thirty and ten was when Deke took his dinner break for Kentucky Fried Chicken, just down the block. He had told me it was a ritual he’d rather die than miss. I was counting on that tonight. With any luck, we’d be in and out before he returned. Checking my watch, I saw that it was 9:35. Nabbing one dead gator in twenty minutes shouldn’t prove to be much of a problem.

I unlocked the door of the building and led the way down the hall toward the FWS office. Our footsteps rang out on the linoleum floor, echoing down the empty corridor. Dr. Sam held my flashlight as I punched in the code to shut off the alarm, and held my breath. I stared at the plaque, with its warning that we were about to break into a government agency, as I pushed the office door open, my body tensed and ready for flight if a siren went off. I didn’t put it past Charlie to change the code without telling me just for the hell of it. I stood perfectly still waiting for him to jump out of a darkened corner, materialize behind a door, appear from under a desk, confront us from any one of a dozen possible places, and pounce in righteous indignation. But the room remained completely silent. All except for Dr. Sam, who paced around in search of a garbage can. Having stuck the last piece of licorice in his mouth, he chose this moment to throw away the empty twizzler wrapper. The sound of crinkling cellophane crackled in the quiet of the room, setting my nerves on edge. Retrieving the wrapper from where Sam had thrown it at the bottom of Edna’s perfectly clean and empty garbage can, I handed it back to him.

“Hold on to this, please.”

Dr. Sam took it from me. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s not like they’re going to notice an alligator is missing from here. We don’t want to leave any clues behind.”

He didn’t know yet that I also planned on his help with returning the gator once the autopsy had been performed. I glanced inside Charlie’s office to make sure he wasn’t there drinking in the dark, then led the way to a room large enough to hold a chest freezer the size of a gigantic trunk and little else. I had made a copy of its key a few nights earlier, stopping by close to midnight with a bag of donuts for Deke along with an excuse about a missing folder. The key had been replaced early the next morning, before either Charlie or Edna had a chance to notice it had ever been gone. But what confronted me now made me question just how clever I had really been. My flashlight illuminated the silver glow of a brand-new lock, bolting the freezer’s lid solidly in place. I dashed out of the room to rummage through both Charlie’s and Edna’s desks in a desperate search for the key, as I glanced at the clock on the wall. Already 9:45. I didn’t expect much sympathy from Dr. Sam as I walked back empty-handed and explained the situation.

“Oh ye of little faith. Buck up, Rachel. It’s not a major problem.”

Bending over to examine the lock, he pulled close to a dozen keys from his front pocket. Different sizes and shapes, they clanged together.

Dr. Sam caught my look of surprise and chuckled. “And here you thought I was just really hung. Disillusioning, isn’t it?” Checking the lock once more, he fingered through his collection. “It’s a Schlage, so this shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Dr. Sam was beginning to seem more and more like a pro, and I wondered if I should be concerned. “I’m grateful you’re on my side, but is there a reason why you should have a match for this lock?”

He didn’t bother to look up as he tried out a few keys. “I was able to get a bunch of masters from a locksmith.”

“Don’t tell me. His dog is a patient of yours.”

Sam grinned as the lock snapped open. “Successful heart surgery on his bulldog made him a happy man. When he heard about my nasty habit of losing keys to the cages at the clinic, he gave me a set of masters to make life easier. And it has, don’t you think?”

Together we lifted the lid of the shiny silver coffin. Hook lay inside, frostbitten, but still in one piece except for the leg that had been lopped off in Valerie Vaughn’s apartment. I grabbed the tail while Dr. Sam locked an arm around Hook’s neck. Hoisting him out on the count of three, we lowered him to the floor as the lid slammed shut, snapping the lock back in place. It was then that I heard the office door open. No clock struck ten, turning me into a pumpkin. Instead, the white glare of Deke’s flashlight glimmered in the outer room. Silently crouching with Hook between us, we watched the light slash back and forth, reaching up to filter in through the small glass window of the door we hid behind. Satisfied there were no intruders, Deke moved down the hall. While we were safe for the moment, I had no idea how we would escape with our cargo. I turned to face Sam where he knelt, Hook’s head still under his arm.

“You wouldn’t happen to treat any pets belonging to a night watchman by the name of Deke Domange, would you?”

“Not even close.”

Several thoughts flashed through my mind as I tried to conjure up what to do next. My answer came as Hook slowly began to defrost. Sneaking back into Charlie’s office, I dug through a pile of paperwork in the bottom drawer of his desk until I came to a freshly opened bottle of Old Grand-Dad. There was no one Charlie could think he was hiding it from, except possibly Deke. Besides a weakness for Kentucky Fried Chicken, Deke had a confessed love for good bourbon.

Taking a moment to explain my plan to Sam, I sneaked out of the office and back down the hall, opening and closing the door to the building loudly. Within thirty seconds, Deke’s flashlight had me in its view, blinding me as though I were a jacklighted deer.

“Hey, you—Miss Porter. What you doin’ here this time of night?”

Deke had the rawboned look that comes from having spent a lifetime working outside. With a face like a hound dog, and an emaciated body that was the result of his wife’s death and cooking for himself for too many years, he had the glazed-over expression that people sometimes get when they’re just passing the time waiting to die. Deke had spent most of his early years working on an oil rig. He was laid off, along with the rest of the workers in southern Louisiana, around the same time that his wife had died. It was then that he’d begun to hit the bottle hard. He claimed it was his only relief from a lifetime of memories that he’d just as soon forget. But he always waited until arriving home at six in the morning before drinking himself to sleep. I felt like dirt for what I was about to do.

“Hey, Deke. I was just about to celebrate catching a big poacher. Ever hear of Trenton Treddell?”

Deke whistled as he gave me a nod. “He’s a big fish, that one. Famous all over the bayou. You catch him all by yourself?”

“I sure did. So, I’ve decided to celebrate. Only I had to stop by first to pick something up from my desk. How about sharing a drink to toast my success?” I held the Old Grand-Dad out in front of me. “I hate drinking alone. Would you join me for just one?”

Deke looked at the bait, trying to control the urge. I wanted to drop the bottle on the floor or smash it against a wall. Instead, I held it closer, tempting him.

“I don’t know, now, Miss Porter. If anyone ever found out, they’d be mighty unhappy to know I’d been drinking on the job.”

“I’ll never tell, Deke. So, how is anyone ever going to know?”

A light went on in his eyes, that wasn’t from thoughts of women or money. Only the smell of bourbon could bring Deke to life anymore.

“All right. Seeing that you’re celebrating and all, Miss Porter, I’ll join you in one. But only one, and then I gotta stop.”

“There wouldn’t happen to be any plastic cups in the bank employees’ room, would there?”

Having thrown a retirement party for one of their employees earlier in the week, they’d left not only cups, but also a bag of ice stashed in the minirefrigerator. Opening the door to the bank, we let ourselves in and I poured the first round. He sipped at his bourbon as though he was stepping onto a patch of thin ice. I quickly replenished his drink and then took a sip of my own. It didn’t take long for Deke to drain his cup. I excused myself with the ruse that I needed to get something from my desk and headed out the door, glancing back in time to see Deke pour himself another good-sized drink. He was set for the rest of the night. Grabbing paper towels from the bathroom, I mopped up the puddle of water that had formed around Hook and stuffed the towels inside my pockets. Ten feet of gator was carried out the door, through the hall, and into the rain, where we placed him carefully on the floor of the van.

The rain came down hard as we made our way past the fast-food stops, late-night video stores, and onto the highway heading back toward Lake Pontchartrain. New Orleans glittered in the distance, its carnival-colored lights reflecting off the lake. Raindrops refracted the glow, so that the city appeared to be on fire. I tried not to think about the stench of dead gator that had begun to fill the back of the van. After the evening’s events, I wanted a drink as badly as Deke had wanted one just a short while ago.

One of the best things about New Orleans is that you never have to worry about where to go. The town never sleeps. People always say that about New York, but the truth is that New Orleans is the place to be if you want to drown yourself in a party that doesn’t end. New York is a place to keep bumping into yourself alone. I didn’t want to be alone right now, and I didn’t want to just be with strangers. Not for a while.

It was quiet at Dr. Sam’s clinic as we pulled in, except for Shep, who growled loudly, his barks mixing in with the rumble of thunder. Unloading Hook, we took him inside. Shep sniffed at the dead gator and then backed away to a far corner of the room, as if not trusting Hook even in death.

“Let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do after what you’ve been through tonight.” I wanted to go someplace loud where I couldn’t hear myself think.

“We both look like hell.”

“We’ll go somewhere dark.”

I let the rain run through my hair, down the back of my neck, and inside my shirt as we walked quickly, making our way to the Old Absinthe Bar. A speakeasy from the twenties, it was just what I was looking for: dark, crowded, and with a nearly intolerable noise level.

The waitress stared, but we paid little heed as we headed toward one of the small tables in back. I ordered a cognac, and the heat from the tightly packed room slowly steamed my clothes dry. A band played the sweet/sour notes of the blues that always made me feel good to feel sad, the guitarist wringing a tear from every string as the group of five jostled for space on the small raised stage.

Someone brushed against me, and I looked up to see a blind man searching for clear passage with his cane. Making his way through the throng of tables, he was pulled up onto the stage. He was dressed all in black, and his hair fell below his shoulders in soft, loose waves the color of drifting snow. His skin was as starkly white as Valerie’s. The singer for the group, he wore dark glasses to cover dead eyes, reminding me of Deke.

I ordered another cognac. By two in the morning, finally sated, I glanced over at Sam, who looked equally beat. He held his head up with the palm of his hand, his eyes fluttering closed until the next loud chord jerked him awake.

We walked back through streets filled with other sleepless people who couldn’t face going home alone. By the time we reached Sam’s clinic, my head ached from bruises and booze. Crawling into my car, I promised to drive safely and go straight home.

Instead, I headed back toward Lake Pontchartrain. Stopping at the first all-night liquor store I found, I bought a bottle of Old Grand-Dad. The squall had died down to a light mist, but the world still held its fine, blurry edge. I wasn’t sure if the effect was from the rain or the cognac, and I didn’t much care. Trying to find a distraction from the thought of a warm bed and soft pillow, I turned on the radio that mostly played static, filling my head with the same erratic sound.

Back in Slidell I stopped at a McDonald’sBurgerKingWendy’s and picked up four cups of black coffee and two Egg McMuffins to go. Pulling in next to Deke’s Dodge Shadow, I unlocked the door to the building and headed to Charlie’s office, not worrying about the alarm that I had never bothered to reset. I put the new bottle of Old Grand-Dad back where his other had been, carefully replacing the pile of papers on top. Everything was once more in order. Activating the alarm, I closed the door to the office and locked it behind me. The dead silence of the hall echoed the hollow sound of my feet as I went over to the entrance of the bank and let myself in. Deke was sprawled out on the couch in the employees’ room fast asleep, the empty bottle on the floor beside him. Propping him up, I slapped some cold water on his face until he began to stir, and then held the hot coffee to his lips, forcing him to take constant, steady sips. A few laps around the building, three cups of coffee, and two Egg McMuffins later, Deke was apologizing to me for his behavior, and I felt like the villain I was.

It was five o’clock in the morning, that witching hour when the first fingers of dawn haven’t quite overcome the darkness of night, when I climbed the stairs to my apartment to try and catch a few hours of sleep. I pulled off clothes that smelled of smoke, cognac, and dead gator, and crawled into bed where I lay on my back. The blades of the overhead fan fluttered the sheet against my body, which still ached from a riot that had only taken place the day before. For as long as I could remember, my life had been on fast forward.

I was tired, dead tired, but my mind wouldn’t stop. The red light on my answering machine flashed on and off. I ignored it, not wanting to deal with anything other than trying to sleep.

As usual, I left the standing lamp on in the corner of my bedroom. My demons weren’t stilled by a couple of drinks. They came out in the dark, not going away until the first light of day. That was why I always left a light on—except for those occasions when I didn’t sleep alone. But those had become more and more rare in the last few years, and my demons had felt more at home, sneaking in when I least expected them. If I’d thought I could drown them in a bottle, I would have been tempted.