Ill Will (38 page)

He gave me a choice of wires. The better one was a small device that I could slip into a pocket, with a mic I could attach to a brooch. The other was a watch. I opted for the watch, remembering the woman on the phone had mentioned a doctor. I didn’t want to risk having anything fall out of my pocket should I have to undergo a physical.

Which I sincerely hoped was not to be the case.

We wouldn’t meet again. He asked me to call him when I was about to leave and they would discreetly tail me.

Then he was gone and I was left staring at a watch—ladies’ style, no less, and two envelopes. I delayed lunch long enough to count the money—but it was as he said, seven thousand in one and five hundred in the other. I put the seven thousand in another envelope, one that would only have Debbie’s fingerprints on it. It wasn’t likely they would check, but better safe than wishing I’d done something as simple as change envelopes.

I again went the high-calorie route for lunch, popcorn shrimp salad, so at least I got some greens. I needed to get back into the habit of bringing my lunch and sticking closer to the turkey sandwiches side of the spectrum and not the fried side. Cordelia’s eating habits—no, there was no habit here—what she could eat—was affecting mine. Like I had to make up for her bland rice and oatmeal.

I called Joanne, ostensibly to find out what was happening with Dudley, but only got her voice mail. Tried the same thing with Danny and got the same result.

The only person who seemed to want to talk to me was Lydia. I’d wondered what had happened to her. I was beginning to think she’d decided ignorance was bliss and blown me off. More likely, it was hard to suspect someone she knew well and she’d had to work through her ambivalence. And she only wanted to talk briefly. “Can we meet tomorrow night at nine?” she asked.

I thought she was being a little cloak and dagger—Friday evening anywhere work-ish would be deserted, but I agreed. She was worried, and some emotions aren’t worth arguing with.

I left around four. To make up for going out again in the evening, I finished all the dishes and decided on pizza for dinner. I made two batches of dough so we could do two, one bland with spinach and mild cheese and the other artichoke hearts and sun-dried tomatoes with caramelized onions.

Cordelia, in perfect timing, got home just as I finished chopping the onions and garlic.

“You know you don’t have to cook every night,” she said as she joined me in the kitchen.

“I do on the nights when I have to go back out.”

“What for?”

“Work. Helping with surveillance,” I hedged.

But it was enough for her. She nodded and went upstairs to the bedroom to change.

After we ate—she had a small slice of each—she proclaimed that she was fine vegging in front of the TV and would probably be in bed before I got back. I kissed her good-bye and left a little before seven.

I went back to my office. I didn’t want to have to explain my pink clothing, so opted to change there.

Carrying a gun wouldn’t do. They would certainly check for that. It wouldn’t protect me much in the glove box of my car except make me feel better. There was always the possibility that I’d run into Dudley either coming or going.

A little before eight, I called Rafe. Our conversation lasted about two seconds. Then I headed downstairs, carefully locked up behind me.

The last glimmer of light was leaving the day. They had set the time to make sure it was dark.

New Orleans East is, as it name implies, in the east. It hugs the lake and is on the other side of the Industrial Canal. Left largely untouched until the 1960s, it developed into a suburban style enclave, mostly single family homes with large yards. It was badly flooded during Katrina and is still struggling to come back. The two hospitals out here hadn’t reopened. Many of the businesses, especially the large scale national chains that had anchored the malls, hadn’t returned.

Now, driving there at night, the devastation felt sinister. The lights were back on, but so many places were vacant and dark, as if pieces of the city had been ripped away and only a black stain remained. Just as I had entered the freeway, a dark blue SUV closed in behind me and the driver waved. Then it faded into the traffic. Now either I had lost them, or Rafe and his crew was very good. I’d given him the address so they didn’t need to tail me to get there. I would give them the benefit of a doubt and assume that they would be there.

Once I exited the interstate, there were only a few other vehicles around. I drove at a steady pace, as if I belonged here and wasn’t searching for a location. I’d given myself plenty of time. The last thing I wanted to do in a situation like this was to hurry.

I had to remind myself that I might need to not be Debbie, but her ill sister. Being sisters, I assumed that they both liked pink. I tried to remember the name I’d given Walters. Donna. Now I was Donna Perkins. Wait, was that her married name? No, I decided, she’d gone back to her maiden name after the divorce. And Donna had never married, so she was still Perkins.

Keeping all this straight was enough to earn me the five hundred.

As I got close, I noted they had picked a desolate area—the better to come and go without anyone watching. Only the street lights and a few distant cars offered illumination. I wondered where Rafe and his crew were. Maybe I should have spent more time checking him out, even sicced the Grannies on him. He could be double-dealing, working with Grant Walters.

The dark was spooking me, creating vampires in every dark crevice. Rafe would lose his license and his business if he helped someone like Grant Walters.

I drove past the address I had been given. It was indeed enclosed with a chain link fence, the parking lot filled with weeds growing through the cracked asphalt. One end of the building had lights on the top floor; the rest was dark.

At the first corner, I took a right, traveling past the end of the building with the lights. Trying not to slow down too much, I tried to look into the windows, but they were covered, only a diffuse glow escaping. I continued around the block, losing sight of the building behind empty houses as I turned the next corner.

The next turn brought me to a small parking lot behind the building. There had been no cars visible from the front because they were back here. I counted four. I didn’t want to stop and stare, that would be too obvious if someone spotted me—Donna Perkins might have overshot and gone around the block, but she wouldn’t stop and mark down license plates. One car was the expected dark SUV—the choice of criminals. Two were nondescript sedans and one, improbably, was a high-end sports car, a Lotus or Lamborghini.

Somebody—my bet was on Grant Walters—was flaunting his wealth with an adolescent wet dream.

I turned again and this time parked in front. It was 8:25. Mine was the only car there. Assuming all the gang had parked in back—four of them, unless they were thrifty crooks and carpooled, that meant that I, aka Donna Perkins—was the only client. For a few thousand dollars this didn’t seem worth their while.

Or they could be smart and schedule us far enough apart to make sure there was no overlap. It might not do to have someone with AIDS chat with the cancer patient and discover they were getting exactly the same treatment.

I sat in my car for a few minutes—I was early, after all—pondering all the things that might go wrong.
They want money, not murder,
I reminded myself. The only big danger was that Rafe Gautier had totally misled me. But there was no reason to go through this scheme if he was playing me. Other than as a ruse to get me to a desolate part of destroyed New Orleans. But then I’d have to believe in cloak and dagger that made Lydia’s paranoia seem perfectly sane by comparison.

I got out of the car, following the directions to find the opening in the chain link fence.

It was at the far corner, clearly a deliberate opening, but only large enough for one person to get through. Then a long, ill-lit walk across the broken, weed-choked asphalt. But as dim as the light was, I was easily visible to anyone watching. The dim light of the lot was blocked by the building’s portico. I had to pause for a moment to give my eyes a chance to adjust to the deep blackness before I could see the faint outline of a door. I scanned the façade, but it was the only place that looked like an entry.

I tried to open the door, but it was locked. Okay, this was beginning to feel more cloak and dagger than I liked. This was a lot of high security for bilking desperate people out of their money. And I had to remember that I was one of those desperate people. What would a woman dying from cancer do?

The answer that came to me was be at home sitting and dozing in front of the TV. Then I reminded myself she wasn’t dying.

Why had Reginald Banks come? What would bring a young man to a place as desolate as this?
Desperation,
Cordelia had said. Medical care offered him bills he couldn’t pay for treatments that never cured his illness. This was the only way out of a life of illness, an early death. One last, desperate chance.

I knocked on the door.

Waited. Then was about to knock again when it was flung open, the sudden light blinding me.

“Where is your sister?” a male voice asked.

I couldn’t place the voice, then my eyes adjusted and realized I was standing in front of Grant Walters.

“Oh, Mr. Walters. I mean Grant. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Didn’t expect, didn’t want. It was time to improvise; no way I could pretend to be Debbie’s sister.

“Didn’t they tell you to bring your sister?”

“Yes, sir, but she’s having a rough day. She asked me to do this for her and I—”

“She has to come. The patient has to meet with the doctor. You can’t do it for her.” He smiled at me as if he realized that was what he was expected to do. I was special, after all. “I’m sorry, but she really has to come.”

“I brought the money,” I said, holding up the envelope.

He grabbed it out of my hands, glanced inside, then looked at me. “Come back and bring your sister. They’ll take care of you then.”

I reached for the envelope, but he held it beyond my grasp. “I can’t leave the money, unless I get—”

Again he cut me off. “It guarantees that we’ll reserve the treatment for you when you come back. At times we run out, the demand is so great. You’ve paid up front.”

“But I already gave you money up front—”

“That was to help get you in. With this, you’re guaranteed. Just bring your sister.”

He started to shut the door. I put my hand against it. “But when? When can we come back? She’s not doing well.”

“Someone will call you,” he said.

“But wait, what are you doing here? I thought you said you weren’t involved?”

“I’m not. I’m here on an unrelated manner.” He shoved the door closed, leaving me in the dark, my eyes burned by the light.

I stumbled back out, going slowly over the cratered asphalt as my eyes adjusted. “Damn, damn, damn,” I muttered, staying enough in character. I was sure they were watching me. I could be an upset Debbie, but I couldn’t be an upset Micky Knight.

I didn’t look around to see if I could spot Rafe. Debbie wouldn’t be looking for anyone. She was someone about to go back to her sister to tell her she no longer had the money and she didn’t have the promised treatment. Someone would call to let them know when they could come again.

“Damn,” I muttered again as I got in my car. But I wasn’t Debbie, it wasn’t my money, and no one was desperately hoping that this would save her life.

I drove away, in a hurry, as an agitated Debbie would. I headed back to my office, wanting to get out of this desolate neighborhood as quickly as possible.

As I was coming over the High Rise, the section of I-10 that crossed the Industrial Canal, the dark blue SUV came up behind me. I assumed that he’d follow me back, but he disappeared again into traffic. Or maybe it was just a random SUV. There certainly are enough big, dark things prowling the roadways.

I parked in front of my office, but didn’t get out of my car. I was guessing that if Rafe wanted to talk, he’d follow me here. By waiting for him, I could save myself three flights up and back. Plus make sure that Dudley hadn’t decided on an unplanned visit.

I’d guessed right. It took only two minutes for the blue SUV and a battered and rusted silver sedan to pull in behind me. I was prudent enough to wait until they got out, Rafe and another man from the SUV and a woman from the small car.

“This is it? Just three of you?” I asked as I exited my car.

“Left the other two watching the building. Shall we go inside? Best not to be hanging out on the street.”

I agreed and opened the door, having them follow me up the stairs.

“This how you keep in shape?” the woman asked as we mounted the third landing.

“Naw, I actually exercise to stay in shape,” I said as I opened my office door.

The man was about Rafe’s age, mid to late forties. The woman was young, in her twenties, and read as dyke to me—or maybe short hair, black jeans, black T-shirt and jacket were giving me a false impression.

“Joe,” Rafe said nodding at the man, “And Gem,” at the woman.

“The J/G team,” I noted. “Well, I assume you got most of it from the wire. Why do you think Grant was there?”