Gator Aide (38 page)

I scarcely dared move. My skin burned as if it were on fire, as a mosquito landed on my neck and began to feed at the open cuts. Schuess’s breath was hot against me as he leaned in to whisper in my ear.

“You’re lying to me, Rachel. I don’t like to be lied to.”

I desperately wished for the sound of a boat or a car in the distance, but heard nothing. “I couldn’t possibly know enough to make this up. Why don’t you ask Buddy if you don’t believe me? You don’t seem to frighten him much anymore. I’m sure he’ll be glad to tell you the truth.” My pulse rang in my ears. I waited for Schuess to answer. It was the only bait I could offer.

“All right, Rachel. We will play your game. But if you’re lying to me, Valerie’s death will seem mild compared to what I have in store for you. Get in the car.”

I made a move toward my VW, but Schuess gripped my shoulder and shoved me in the opposite direction.

“Not your car, Rachel. I wouldn’t trust my life in that thing. Mine, if you please.”

He guided me to where his black BMW was parked down the road, and opened the driver’s door.

“Slide in very slowly. We don’t want to have any accidents. I would also appreciate if you would try your best to drive smoothly, my dear. Blood is so difficult to get out of good leather seats.”

I felt every bump in the road not once, but twice. First from the ride of the car itself, and then again from the pressure of Gunter’s razor against my neck as it jerked in opposition. I kept the car to a crawl until we hit the blacktop. The road was completely deserted. The same oak trees stood along the bayou, and bullet-riddled road posts marked the way, but all signs of human life seemed to have mysteriously vanished.

We drove in silence for a while until I was told to turn down a narrow strip of road. Passing through a thick copse of oak trees, I saw Pasta Nostra directly ahead. Sitting on the edge of the swamp, it was sketched in ghostly elegance, dimly lit by the waning moonlight. At this hour, there were no lights burning in its windows. Gunter directed me around to the back, where a truck with the Fin and Claw logo sat parked facing out toward the swamp. He held tightly on to my arm as I slowly got out of the car, the razor slick on my neck from my sweat of fear.

I stumbled over uneven stone steps that led down to the restaurant’s basement, until we stood in front of a large metal door. Gunter pounded on it twice, stopped, then pounded again. Receiving no answer, he pulled a key from his pocket. As the door creaked open, the sound echoed down the metal stairs into the cavernous cellar below. An amber light flickered up, as though a harvest moon were being held hostage. Reverberating from somewhere below was the dull thud of a metal top being pounded into place.

The stairway swayed before my eyes as if it were floating, and I realized it was my body that had begun to whirl. Whether it was the pressure of the blade against my throat, or the overwhelming heat combined with the sickeningly sweet smell of my own blood, my senses began to spin. I lurched forward as my limbs careened out of control, and caught hold of the railing only to realize that Gunter had shoved me toward the stairs. Watching me now, he was coldly indifferent as to whether I plunged headlong or made it down one step at a time on my own.

My legs were weak as I descended into the room I had tried so hard to gain entry to a mere twenty-four hours ago. I thought of last night and Santou. Of how he had asked me to trust him, and how I had done so. And then what happened later that evening. Every intimate detail flowed back, catching me unawares, until I was once more swept up in a torrent of anger that helped me regain my focus.

Reaching the bottom step, I found Buddy Budwell shoving a pile of freshly salted gator hides into a fifty-five-gallon industrial drum. Charlie had done a hell of a job of trailing him. If this was what he considered sticking to the guy as tight as a leech, no wonder the poachers were winning.

The basement was more of a warehouse than a wine cellar. Empty metal containers were scattered about the concrete floor, their tops stacked like a heap of giant pie tins. Other barrels, fully packed, were pushed to one side, waiting to be loaded onto the truck above. Upon seeing me, Buddy’s expression quickly changed from smug satisfaction to extreme agitation, his skin flushing deep red as he turned toward Gunter.

“What the hell did you bring her here for? You lost your marbles this time?”

Gunter brought the blade up under my chin as he pulled my head back. “Relax, my friend. I thought Miss Porter might be missing New York about now. Since we have a delivery going up there tonight, it seemed the appropriate time for her to pay a visit. I’m sure we can fit her in somewhere.”

Gunter laced his fingers through the top of my hair and pulled my head back farther until it rested on his chest. Buddy stared at the blood running down my neck before glancing back at Gunter, who watched him as if mesmerized. Licking his bottom lip, Buddy shook his head and turned back around, continuing on with his work.

“Fuck it, Gunter. I don’t wanna get mixed up with no federal agent’s murder. You wanna do it, at least dump her in the swamp where the gators can get at her.”

I swallowed hard past the lump that had lodged in my throat. The razor pushed tighter against me as I spoke. “You’re a good one to give advice, Buddy. You did a hell of a professional job on Clyde. Hickok and Santou found him about an hour ago, with enough of his face intact to make an ID. Have you made any other mistakes yet tonight?”

I choked but didn’t dare cough, afraid that it would plunge the razor into my skin. Buddy pulled out a thick packet of cocaine from an aluminum case at his feet and wrapped it in one of the gator skins before stuffing it into the bottom of a barrel.

“I don’t know what you’re gabbing about, Porter. I ain’t seen that peckerwood in days. If he got himself in some kinda trouble, it ain’t got nothing to do with me. Besides, you shouldn’t be worrying about anyone but yourself at the moment.”

Gunter tightened his grip on my hair, the razor never leaving my throat. “You’re absolutely right, Buddy. Miss Porter needn’t worry about anyone else. But I do. I worry about you.”

Buddy wiped the salt from his hands onto his jeans, where streaks of white already ran down his legs and along the broad seat of his pants.

“Ain’t no need for you to be worrying yourself about me, Gunter. I got everything under control.” Buddy turned back around and bent over another mound of gator skins.

“But I worry about all sorts of thing. Right now I worry about all the time you have wasted packing these barrels, when I’m going to have to ask you to unpack them again.”

Buddy froze in midair, a ten-foot gator skin hanging stiffly in his hands. Looking first at me, his gaze slowly moved over to meet Gunter’s. The pulse in his neck visibly quickened.

“And just what the hell would you want to go and do something stupid like that for?”

“Because, my dim friend, I would like to make sure that all the goods are accounted for. I’m afraid Miss Porter has been unkind enough to accuse you of stealing. I want to prove to her just how wrong she is.”

Buddy blinked as drops of sweat rolled down his face, plopping from his chin onto his belly. Turning slowly around, he continued to wrap another package of cocaine inside the skin in his hands. “You gonna listen to that stupid bitch? She’d say anything right now to try and save herself. Hell, you’re smarter than that, Gunter.”

The blade moved lightly along my neck, and I knew I had little time left. My words tumbled out in a mad race against the razor’s edge.

“It’s true, Buddy. You had everyone riled up tonight, agreeing that Gunter’s been receiving too much of the profits. I heard you laughing about how you’ve been conning him, skimming drugs off the top all along. I’m just curious about where the money’s been going.”

Buddy continued to fold the skins, refusing to look in our direction. “You’re full of shit, Porter. You didn’t hear nothin’ like that.”

“He’s been playing you for a fool, Gunter. How do you suppose Valerie got hold of forty packs of cocaine? She and Buddy were working this deal from the start. That was just the tip of the iceberg of what they’d been stealing from you.”

Gunter loosened his grip on my hair, his voice soft and low. “Do it, Buddy. Unpack it all. I have a sudden desire to count it for myself.”

Buddy continued to move on automatic pilot, packing the gator skins and cocaine without bothering to look at Gunter as he spoke.

“Don’t be an ass. It’s all there. I ain’t unpacking the damn stuff just ’cause that bitch says so.”

The razor shifted away from my throat. “But she doesn’t say so, Buddy. I do. You see, I’m beginning to think Miss Porter might be correct, and that would make me very unhappy. Stealing is one thing I won’t abide. It makes for such bad business.”

“You got problems, Kraut, you deal with Hillard. He’s the only man I take my instructions from. So get off my back. I got work to do if we’re gonna get this truck outta here tonight.”

Buddy continued to pile the skins and cocaine into drums as Gunter moved away from me in a quicksilver glide. Moving behind Buddy, he jerked his head back and, in one violent motion, slid the razor across the width of his throat. Buddy stared in disbelief as he tried to speak, his blood gurgling out in tiny bubbles that floated on the air before bursting in a liquid drizzle. Bringing his foot up onto Buddy’s back, Gunter pushed him to the floor in a heap.

“We mustn’t bleed on the skins now, must we?”

Gunter bent over and wiped his razor on Buddy’s shirt before turning back to me with a chilling smile.

“Now, let’s see what can be done to make accommodations more comfortable for you on your trip.”

As I skittered away, Gunter slowly followed with a smile, taking pleasure in my fear and in knowing escape was futile. I broke for the stairs, but he easily blocked my way. Lunging to the side, I nearly tripped over Buddy’s crumpled body as I grabbed a metal top from one of the drums and threw it as hard as I could in Gunter’s direction, aiming for his head. But the throw went wild, and he merely stepped aside. My breath tore through me, searing my lungs as I desperately searched for anything else I could fight with. My pulse was racing and my body began to shake as Gunter moved in for the kill with an air of icy determination. With a desperate sob I darted behind two of the metal drums and frantically tried to push them over, but, filled with hundreds of skins, they were too heavy to budge. The effort cost me my balance, and I fell down hard on one knee.

A jolt of pain shot up my leg, as something hard inside my boot pressed against my ankle. I remembered the sheath, and hope flared within me.

Gunter smiled as he approached, holding the razor close to his face. Its blade glistened in the warm amber light as if it were a beacon in the night, beckoning me home.

“Oh, yes. I like that position. It gives you a moment to beg.”

I kept my eyes locked on his as my hand slowly crept down to reach inside my boot. My fingers wrapped around the bone handle of the hunting knife, and my heart pounded inside my chest. I prayed that my skill at darts would pay off now, when I needed it most.

I felt light-headed, and my vision began to waver as Gunter slowly moved in for the kill. I had to focus my vision. If my aim was off, I wouldn’t be given a second chance. Slipping the knife out of its sheath, I kept my eyes trained on his throat—and flung the dagger as straight and hard as I could.

Gunter’s hands flew to his neck as the knife lodged in his throat, and his razor clattered to the concrete floor. Holding my breath, I waited for him to fall. Instead, he held his ground.

And then he did the impossible. Pulling the knife from his flesh with both hands, like a loup-garou come to life, he approached me once again.

My heart stopped and I froze in horror, unable to take my eyes off him. Then I heard the scrape of metal across the floor, as he inadvertently kicked the razor toward me. Grabbing its silver handle, I desperately slashed the blade upward with a sob. The razor ripped through his stomach, slicing it open as his hand shot down and clenched my wrist. He still held Gonzales’s hunting knife in his free hand, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow.

But instead of the slash of the blade, a gunshot erupted down the stairs. I cried out as Gunter’s head jerked up. A split second later another shot shattered the air, tearing through his back and out his chest above me like a crimson-streaked scream. He crumpled onto one of the metal drums, his hand still clamped around my wrist.

Wiping away blood and tears, I pried myself loose from his steel-trap grip, and pulled myself out of the way. The silver razor was still clenched in my fist, and my body shook out of control.

A hand wrapped itself around mine, the fingers trying to pry the razor out of my grip.

“Let it go, Rachel. It’s over.”

Santou knelt beside me. Laying down his .45, he ran his fingers gently along my face until they came to rest just above my neck.

Taking a deep, sobbing breath, I looked up and saw Charlie Hickok framed against the moonlight at the top of the stairs, a twelve-gauge shotgun in his hand.

“Congratulations, Bronx. You just made full-fledged agent.”

I removed Santou’s hand and dropped the razor to the floor. Pulling myself up, I staggered out into the bayou night, where my knees gave way beneath me. I knelt in the grass, wet with evening dew, and began to cry—harsh, wracking sobs of relief, that I had survived the ordeal, and that Gunter Schuess had been blown away, and would never harm another woman again.

The aroma of jambalaya filled
the room, as Rocky nestled into a ball of fur on my chest and purred loudly. A hand appeared over my shoulder, and I took hold of the offered piña colada. Coming around to sit beside me on his leather couch, Terri lifted my legs and placed my bare feet on his lap. I brought the glass to my lips and took a sip. My hand brushed against the thick bandage Dr. Kushner had wrapped around my throat to protect my new stitches.