Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 15 - The Mona Lisa Murders (11 page)

I wasted no time in unlocking two eighty-seven. Inside was a canvas tote bag. I peered inside and saw a twelve-inch square wooden box with metal bands on all four sides. ‘Okay, Mona Lisa,’ I muttered. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

I hesitated at the top of the stairs.

Below, Edmund crouched behind the gunwale, and Latasha knelt beside the console. When he saw me, he shook his head and waved me to remain where I was.

I glanced around the landing. Some of the snakes I’d run off were returning. I gave them another squirt or two, holding them back.

Then the wiry Melungeon waved me down.

‘Sheriff’s boat,’ he whispered. ‘They be gone now.’

Five minutes later, with the package tucked safely under the console, we were headed up Jefferson Parkway for Highway Ninety. I glanced at the setting sun. ‘We’re never going to make it before dark.’

From where he sat on the deck, Edmund took another swig from his second pint of Old Crow. ‘
Oui.
Us, we gots to find place before it get dark.’

Latasha spoke up. ‘Ahead. There’s a Big Shot Soda warehouse. Brigitte, the friend I was visiting—her father works there. There’s some large doors in back. Maybe we can ease the boat inside.’

Chapter Eighteen

The good Lord must have felt sorry for us for the storm had ripped a gaping hole over forty feet wide in the rear wall. ‘Go up in the bow,’ I told Latasha. ‘Make sure I don’t run over anything.’ I throttled back, approaching the opening slowly. I eased the Marlin forward.

‘Stop!’ Latasha waved frantically.

I yanked the throttle into reverse, sending the eighteen-foot craft churning backward.

She looked around. ‘Just under water. Steel beams. Try a few feet to the right.’ Leaning over the bow, she directed me with her hand. We moved down the gap, then she stopped me. ‘It’s okay here. Go on in.’

On the west wall of the cavernous warehouse was a second floor office. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the dingy windows.

Once again, we had to unlimber our gasoline sprayers to mount the stairs, but the effort paid off. Inside the office, we discovered several cases of bottled water and a vending machine. After liberating the goods from the machine, I hauled them to the boat along with two cases of bottled water, rolls of paper towels, and three flashlights as backups to the ones the boat carried.

When I returned to the office, Latasha came out of an adjoining room, buttoning her blouse. With a crooked grin, she said. ‘It was the first sponge bath I’ve ever taken using bottled water, but I got off some of the crud.’ She nodded to the room behind her. ‘The bathroom’s a mess, but with everything else like it is, no one will ever notice.’

Without hesitation, I stripped off my shirt, leaned over and turned a bottle of water over my head, scrubbing at the mud caking my hair. I used a second bottle to rinse. On impulse, I grabbed a couple more bottles and went into the bathroom.

Even if she were my cousin, I was too much of a prude to drop my trousers and wash off in front of her.

She wore an impish smile when I returned. ‘Feel better?’

‘Yeah. Considering the situation. Clean clothes would feel better.’

‘You’ll just get them messed up. We’ve got a long way to go.’

Back in the boat, we pushed away from the stairs and settled in for the night.

Edmund lay snoring, two empty whiskey bottles at this side. Latasha inspected his wound in the halogen beam of the flashlight. ‘Ugly looking,’ she muttered. She opened the boat’s first aid kit and poured peroxide on the injury, then wiped it down with antiseptic towelettes before applying alcohol gel. Then she bandaged the wound. ‘He needs a professional to look at this.’

With a grimace, I replied, ‘And antibiotics. No telling what kind of germs got into it from the water.’

‘You think Carl’s still waiting for us? It’s been twenty-four hours.’

‘I hope so. Let’s see if we can reach him.’ I pulled the cell from under the console. The light from the screen lit our faces dimly. Strangely enough, the faint glow was reassuring. To our dismay, the crisis traffic had jammed the networks. Finally, I shook my head. ‘We’ll have to try later.’

Neither of us slept much that night. The darkness was complete. The silence was so absolute it intensified every sound from the bump of a swimming snake against the boat to the splash of feeding fish.

Two more times, we tried Carl, but with no success. Finally, we sent him a text message.
We are coming. Edmund.

Two or three times during the night, the lonely beam of spotlights swept past.

After the first one, Latasha whispered. ‘Who do you think that was?’

‘Just the cops. Try to get some sleep, I’ll watch.’

‘You kidding? Sleep with everything that’s out there, and in here,’ she added.

Several times during that night, Edmund moaned and stirred.

Finally, the first fingers of false dawn appeared. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. Latasha stood and stretched, then knelt by her cousin.

‘He’s sleeping.’ She laid her hand on his wound. ‘Burning up with infection.’ She looked up. ‘You know how to get us to his brother?’

I pointed north. ‘Ninety is up there. We’ll hit it, then swing east. Carl should be waiting on us.’

She handed me a bag of potato chips. ‘Better have some breakfast first.’

Before I could reply, the guttural roar of an outboard engine echoed through the warehouse.

I looked around at the gap in the wall, but the sound passed, then finally faded away.

Latasha looked back around and frowned. ‘Rescue workers?’

All I could do was shrug. I popped a chip in my mouth and washed it down with a slug of bottled water. I drew a deep breath. ‘You ready?’

‘I guess so.’

The engine fired immediately. I checked the fuel. A little less than half a tank. I had no idea how far that would take us, but Edmund had seemed to believe it was ample.

‘Don’t forget the steel beams at the opening,’ Latasha reminded me. ‘They’d rip out the bottom of this rig like razors.’

We eased around the twisted steel only an inch or so beneath the surface and made our way toward Jefferson Parkway. The water had yet to begin receding.

Not a single cloud floated in the gray sky as we turned onto the boulevard. The day promised to be hot and muggy. ‘How far do you figure?’

‘I’d guess maybe—’

The crack of a revolver shattered the still air, and a geyser of water exploded a couple feet astern of us. Off to our starboard, a green bay boat roared toward us.

‘Tony!’

‘I see ’em,’ I shouted, spinning the wheel and circling back toward the warehouse. By the time I straightened out, the Carolina Skiff had closed within thirty yards.

The water exploded around us as the shooters fired wildly.

Each moment, I expected the impact of a slug. I grabbed on to a desperate idea and swung toward the gap in the warehouse wall.

Her knuckles white from gripping the console, Latasha screamed when she saw where I was taking us. ‘They’ll trap us in there.’

‘Hold on.’

The Marlin shot through the far side of the gap with the bay boat clinging to our tail. I whipped the boat through a figure eight, then headed back out the opening in the wall, deliberately staying on the far side.

The driver of the bay boat saw a chance to cut inside me. He took it.

Just as we came out of the figure eight and shot through the gap, the Carolina Skiff jerked to an abrupt halt as the boat impaled itself on one of the steel beams just beneath the surface. Two of the goons flew into the water. The driver crashed through the windshield.

We hit Jefferson Parkway at full throttle.

Chapter Nineteen

The rough ride awakened Edmund. He insisted on sitting up. Squinting against the bright sun, he took in the landmarks around us. ‘
Oui.
You go right way
.
’ With a faint nod and grunt, he lay back. Sweat poured from his fevered face. He gulped water copiously, declining any of the snacks we’d liberated from the vending machine. Instead, he insisted Latasha dig out another pint of Old Crow.

She looked up at me helplessly. I shrugged. ‘It’ll help the pain.’

To my surprise, the cell phone rang. Somebody was getting through. I throttled back so the noise would not drown the conversation.

It was Danny with news, news I could have gone the rest of my life without hearing. Parnchand Nemo was a fifty-three year old Thai with a billion dollar plus fortune, a fortune gained by the illicit sale and distribution of drugs throughout the Far East. ‘He’s a certified psycho, Tony. In spades. From what I learned, he was always a little off center. Word is when this Uberto Bianchi double-crossed him, he blew apart at the seams. Swore to kill him and everyone connected with him. You’re caught right in the middle of the whole mess. Uberto is as powerful in Italy as Nemo is in Asia.’

‘Jeez,’ I muttered. ‘All over a handful of burned bones.’

‘That’s not all. Remember that Moretti dude?’

I glanced at Latasha. ‘Moretti? What about him?’

‘Bianchi put out a contract on him.’

‘A contract? Why?’

‘No idea.’

‘Moretti’s dead.’

‘Well then, somebody filled the contract.’

All I could do was shake my head. ‘Your people have any influence with Nemo or Bianchi, Danny?’

‘I don’t know. One thing in your favor is that Joe Vasco out of New Orleans and three of the New York families warned Nemo and Bianchi not to cause them any trouble.’

A glimmer of hope appeared in the murky gloom. The mob boys didn’t want to stir up any trouble, nor did they want outsiders to create any problems. They had a sweet deal going in the U.S. of A, and didn’t want anybody to toss a monkey wrench into the works.

‘If you can, put out word we’re perfectly willing to turn over the package. No repercussions. We’re only the messengers. Not the players.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘Thanks, Danny.’

‘Where are you now?’

I started to tell him, then decided against it. ‘In the middle of nowhere.’

He hesitated, then chuckled. ‘I understand. Stay in touch from nowhere, you hear?’

I punched off and gave the Marlin more throttle. Best I could figure, Ninety was a couple hours ahead.

Latasha slipped onto the seat beside me. ‘What’s with Moretti?’

‘Sobering, but there’s some hope.’ I briefly detailed our conversation.

‘But he’s dead.’

‘Yeah, but why would Bianchi be after him. I thought he worked for the guy.’

‘He did.’ She shook her head. ‘Do you think they’ll listen to your proposal?’

I considered her question several seconds. ‘The truth?’

She uttered a curse under her breath. ‘You just told me.’

‘Sorry, but the way I see it is like this. Nemo’s eaten up with the crazies. Bianchi has got to be running him a close second to steal the ashes like he did. They might give us a kiss on the cheek and send us on our way, or they might just shoot us.’ I looked around at him briefly. ‘That’s what I think.’

She fell silent.

Mid-morning, we hit Highway Ninety and headed east for the bridge, meeting other rescue boats. We waved and didn’t look back.

One hour passed, and then another.

The fuel gauge dropped steadily. Edmund became more and more restless.

‘He’s burning up,’ Latasha mumbled, pouring water on a handkerchief and washing his face.

Finally, we spotted the Highway Ninety Bridge rising from the floodwaters. Emergency vehicles were lined up in one lane and a crowd of volunteers milled about at the water’s edge.

I uttered a curse under my breath. I hadn’t expected such a crowd, but then on the other hand, Nemo or Bianchi’s bozos couldn’t take a chance on any rough play with so many witnesses.

Eager hands waded knee deep to pull the Marlin to shore. When paramedics started to transfer Edmund to an ambulance, a swarthy man stopped them. It was Carl, Edmund’s brother. He said he would ride with them. Then he handed Latasha some keys. ‘The red Dodge with a camper up there,’ he said, pointing out the vehicle. ‘There be food and clothes inside.’

‘Cigarettes,’ she said to Carl. ‘Do you have a cigarette? Mine were ruined.’

He handed her a open pack. She took it, then glanced sheepishly at me.

One of the volunteers stopped us. ‘What about the boat?’

Latasha beat me to the answer. She pointed to the disappearing ambulance. ‘We don’t know. It belongs to him and the Greta Rescue Service. He picked us up.’

Five minutes later, we were heading north on One-Ninety, planning on intersecting I-Twelve above Slidell. She had her package. I had the cell phone and revolver.

‘I wish we’d thought to bring along a bottle of Edmund’s whiskey,’ she remarked with a laugh. ‘I could use a stiff drink.’

‘We’ll pull off later. Maybe there’s some in the back.’

Traffic was horrendous. We made forty miles in two hours before turning north on I-55.

‘I can’t wait any longer,’ she announced, opening the back window and then the camper window. ‘I’ll see what’s in the back.’ With lithe gracefulness, she slipped through the window and into the camper.

Minutes later, a hand holding a half-full glass of amber liquid appeared at my shoulder. ‘Here. This will perk you up. Jim Beam Black Label.’

Now, I know the rules about drinking and driving, but after almost three days of duress and pressure with no relief in sight, I was ready to break a few rules. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’m going to clean up best I can, then I’ll drive and you can get back here.’

I didn’t argue.

While there was not enough water for a leisurely shower, stripping down and sponging off was a relief. Carl’s clothes were baggy, but dry and clean. I donned a pair thick white socks and kicked my Nikes near the back door. There must have been an inch of mud in them.

I pulled everything out of my pockets and washed and spread the items on the small counter to dry.