Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 15 - The Mona Lisa Murders (14 page)

‘Here it is,’ I muttered in disappointment after scanning his reply to my request.

‘What?’ Latasha leaned forward, staring at the screen.

‘Eddie Dyson. His report on the excavation and reconstruction of the Mona Lisa model, Lisa Gherardini. It’s nothing new.’

His report verified Latasha’s version that Lisa Gherardini had modeled for da Vinca on occasion, and that some scholars believed she was also the model he used for the Mona Lisa. Consequently, researchers used ground-penetration radar to find hidden tombs inside the convent. When they discovered bones compatible with Gherardini’s, those that belonged to a woman who died in her 60s during the period in question. Upon further study for specific known characteristics such as bone structure or diseases to match those of Gherardini, the scholars agreed the remains were indeed the sixty-odd-year-old’s. ‘The researchers planned to attempt facial reconstruction of the bones.

She grunted. ‘That was no help.’

‘You’re right there.’ I punched in Danny’s number on the cell.

He was out. I left voice mail, briefly detailing the events of the morning. I added a final caveat. ‘Somebody tipped them off, Danny. Check your people.’

After a few minutes, the constant din of traffic slipped into the background, a steady roar that became part of the environment.

Even as night settled over the city, the outside clamor continued.

We had picked up a map and planned a back door route out of the city on the presumption that Nemo’s Throat Cutters were watching the Interstates.

Twenty-Eighth Street ran around the north side of Fort Worth. Once a main thoroughfare, 28
^th
Street was subjugated to secondary status with the building of super highways.

The boulevard intersected the old Jacksboro Highway from which we could take back roads to the Steep Bluff Ranch.

Around one a.m., a line of thunderstorms blew in from the southwest. At the first rumble of thunder, I jerked awake. Fully dressed in tee shirt, jeans, and stockings, I’d tossed and turned until finally dropping off around midnight. I’d only had an hour’s sleep, but I awakened with every sense alert.

I peered out the window.

Lights reflected off the wet streets, and the rain looked like icicles slicing through the glow of the streetlights. Headlights flashed across the window, blinding me.

At first, I assumed it to be the local law routinely checking for wanted automobiles. I changed my mind when I saw the cruiser had no overheads. I watched as the vehicle drove slowly through the parking lot, the beam of the spotlight bouncing around the lot like a jumping bean. I had the feeling they were looking for one car in particular.

My pulse rate kicked into the heart attack range when they stopped at our pickup. A spotlight beam played over the truck, lit the dealer plate, then moved to the next car.

My pulse continued to race even after the dark car disappeared behind the motel. I slipped into my running shoes and awakened Latasha.

She rose on an elbow. ‘Huh?’

‘Let’s get out of here. They found us again. No lights.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

She slipped from her bed and into her shoes. I stepped out on the second floor landing.

A guttural voice froze me. ‘Hold it, buddy.’

I gaped up into a square face that reminded me of a bulldog. He took a step forward.

‘Where’s your girlfriend?’

I tried to play for time. ‘Who?’

‘Don’t hand me that. The squeeze.’

Before I could reply, a loud shriek jerked me around in time to see Latasha throw herself at the goon, catching him off balance and sending him staggering sideways.

With a startled yelp, he stumbled against the railing and flipped over it, landing on the top of a vehicle below with a crash.

I grabbed her hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

I glanced at the bozo as we raced past. Arms and legs akimbo, he lay groaning on his back. At least she hadn’t killed the guy.

Within thirty seconds, we were pulling out of the parking lot onto the street.

Only then did Latasha speak. ‘That was close.’

‘Keep an eye out behind. He wasn’t by himself.’

‘How did they find us?’ Her voice trembled.

I shook my head in frustration and flexed my fingers about the wheel. ‘Beats me, but it’s scary.’

She leaned back in the seat.

I glanced at her. In the flashing glare of oncoming headlights, I saw her drawing deep breaths, her eyes closed.

‘That was fast thinking back there.’

She opened her eyes. ‘I was scared.’

‘I was too. Still am, but you saved our bacon.

She forced a chuckle. ‘Least I could do after getting us into this mess.’

We drove aimlessly for a few minutes, trying to collect our thoughts. At an all-night McDonald’s, we pulled in for some coffee after which we backed into a far corner of the parking lot so we could see anyone approaching.

I called Danny.

One of his soldiers picked it up on the first ring. I hit the speaker so Latasha could listen with me. Danny was still out of pocket. In a raspy voice, his man told us. ‘You should go on to the ranch. Danny said Mister Vasco is sending some of his boys over. You know, like one of them peace-making conferences.’ If you can sneer and laugh at the same time, he did. ‘Understand?’

‘Yeah—when did he send them?’

‘Dunno. That’s just what Danny said.’

I clicked off.

‘Who’s Vasco?’

‘Big man in New Orleans.’

‘The mob?’

I nodded. ‘The mob.’

We sat in silence for a moment.

She broke the stillness with a wry observation. ‘Seems like everyone in the world knows where we’re heading.’

Despite the cold spot in my stomach the coffee failed to warm, I had to chuckle. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’

I gestured to the glove compartment. ‘Hand me that Texas map.’

Spreading it out in the glow of the parking lot lights, I pointed to the Jacksboro Highway and then I-20. ‘What kind of odds would you give me that all of the main roads will be watched?’

‘None,’ she replied with a crooked grin. ‘That means only one thing.’

I read her mind. ‘Yeah.’

‘Back roads again.’

‘Back roads? In a city we don’t know. How are you going to pull off that little miracle?’

With a smug grin, she pointed to an all-night convenience store down the street. ‘They’ll have city maps. And cupcakes,’ she added. I’m hungry. I’ll get them.’

‘And pick up a felt-tip pen, you know, those like they make signs with.’

While she was inside, I fumbled under the seat for another of Leroi’s dealer plates. Upon her return, I printed the words,
Jim Daniels Ford, Fort Worth, Texas,
across the top, then replaced the current plate with it.

She grinned. ‘Not a bad idea.’

I returned her smile. ‘Thanks. Now, how about a cupcake?’

After finding our location on the map, Latasha directed us along narrow back streets and even down a couple alleys until we finally hit a narrow Farm-to-Market Road leading southwest to Weatherford. From there it was a straight shot out to Mineral Wells, then a small village by the name of Graford, and down to the ranch.

‘Sounds easy enough,’ I muttered.

‘Yeah, you bet.’ She downed the last bite of her chocolate cupcake. ‘Maybe we’ll get lucky.’

We reached Weatherford without incident, but then on the west side of the city, Lady Luck decided to give us the cold shoulder.

Across the concrete median, I saw a dark Lincoln approaching. I glanced at the driver and froze. He spotted me and shouted at his partner, jabbing a finger at us as we shot past.

Latasha gasped. ‘Tony!’

‘I saw them.’

Behind us, the heavy automobile swerved across two lanes searching for an exit. I floorboarded the pickup, looking for our own exit.

We were on the western outskirts of the city. Ahead was a sign advertising ‘Jerry’s Trade Days, the third Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off the month.’

‘What’s today?’

‘Huh?’

‘Today. What is today? Thursday?’

I guess she figured I broken a cog in my gray matter. ‘It’s Saturday. So what?’

‘So, we’re going antique hunting.’

‘Jerry’s Trade Days’ proved to be a flea market of all flea markets, a forty-acre venue with over five hundred vehicles parked on all four sides, three-quarters of them pickups, just like ours.

I slipped the backpack on and we disappeared into the crowd. At the first clothing vendor, I bought Latasha large sunglasses and a floppy straw hat.

‘I don’t like hats,’ she said.

Grinning at her, I replied. ‘I have nothing against cornrows. On you, they are very becoming, but they are also very noticeable. Look around. How many others do you see with the same hairdo?’

She studied me a moment, then slipped on the glasses and pulled the hat down on to her ears. ‘Maybe I should get a blonde wig.’ She snapped.

‘I hadn’t thought of that. But not blonde. Brunette would be better.’

‘Oh, you—’ She slapped playfully at me.

The day was blistering hot. I bought a blue denim shirt and a cowboy style straw hat against the sun. I paid the gray-haired vendor, and as I slipped my wallet into my pocket, a blow in the middle of the back knocked me forward.

I spun, ready for a fight.

A redneck wearing a Dallas Cowboys gimme cap held up his hand. ‘Sorry, pal. I wasn’t looking.’

I grinned in relief. ‘No problem.’ I looked after him and his wife, noting she was carrying a large tote bag as were several other trade day patrons.

I proceeded to purchase one and deposit the backpack in it.

There were numerous food venues, many of which were located in partially enclosed areas with air conditioning. We found a cool out-of-the-way nook and sat down to wait with the tote bag on the ground beside Latasha.

‘Wait for what?’ She sipped a lemonade.

‘For them to give up the search and move on.’

‘What if they don’t?’

‘Then we’ll have to go to Plan B.’

‘Which is?’

I gave her a wry grin. ‘I haven’t figured it out yet.’

Despite the tension and heat, we laughed.

Thirty long minutes dragged past.

She leaned across the table. ‘What do you think? Maybe they didn’t follow us in.’

I had my back to the passing crowd. She glanced over my shoulder and froze, then ducked her head. ‘I talked too soon. There’s one of them,’ she whispered harshly. ‘The one I knocked over the rail.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

From the back, I looked like one of the hundreds of drug store cowboys wandering the grounds of the flea market. Without moving her head, Latasha whispered. ‘They’re still going. Two of them.

I glanced over my shoulder, recognizing the heavyset one—Bulldog Face, the one Latasha had knocked off the landing. The second was a head shorter, and probably a hundred pounds lighter. He turned his head to speak to Bulldog, revealing a hatchet-shaped nose that drooped over his thin lips. They both wore long sleeve shirts.

Minutes passed. Latasha drew up the last of her lemonade, the straw making slurping noises. ‘Do you think they found the pickup?’

‘No telling. There’s probably fifty out there the same color as ours. Let’s give them another ten minutes or so.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then take a look.’

‘If someone’s watching the truck, won’t they get suspicious?’

‘Cars are coming and going constantly. I’ll just walk by like I’m going for a car at the end of the row.’

‘You? What about me?’

‘That’s what they’re looking for. Two of us.’ I gave her a crooked smile and tugged the brim of the cowboy hat down at a jaunty angle over my right eye. ‘They won’t pay any attention to a redneck cowpoke.’

We moved to another building, this one housing over two- dozen art and craft vendors. I left Latasha and the tote bag in an out-of-the-way cranny where she could leave in any direction if necessary. ‘Give me twenty minutes.’

Behind her sunglasses, I imagined her eyes were filled with worry. ‘Then what?’

‘Then,’ I laughed. ‘To quote Arnold Schwarzenegger, ‘I’ll be back’.’

She just shook her head and muttered. ‘Jeez, that’s bad.’

I picked up a pair of mirrored sunglasses and left the building. The sun was brutally hot, so hot each breath seemed to burn my lungs. This time of year in Texas, locals considered ninety degrees a cool front, and today was definitely no cool front.

Six rows over in the parking area, I cut back north, walking purposely toward the end of the row some eighth of a mile distant. My gaze swept the rows of vehicles on my left and right.

Ahead, I spotted our pickup. I didn’t break stride.

Several cars beyond, I saw a figure sitting in a black Lincoln, windows up, engine running. Keeping my head forward, I tried to glimpse the guy behind the wheel. I almost stumbled when I recognized Bulldog.

It doesn’t take a genius to spot a goat in a herd of sheep, and it didn’t take a genius to know they had fingered the pickup.

I kept on walking. The hair on the back of my neck bristled for I knew Bulldog was watching me. I looked neither left nor right. At the end of the row, I turned back to the venue.

‘They found it.’ Glancing over my shoulder, I sat beside Latasha on the bench. ‘The big one is watching. That means Hatchet Face is still searching.’

She glanced around. ‘I haven’t seen him come by here.’

I picked up the tote bag. ‘Let’s move around some. We’ve got to figure a way out of here.’

‘We could always hitchhike.’

We stepped into the flow of the crowd. ‘You bet, and end up in the morgue by night time.’

‘No. I’m serious. All these people go somewhere.’

I shook my head. ‘What do we do, go up to someone and say ‘hey, the bad guys are after us. We need a ride’. Is that what we say?’

She snapped. ‘What do you suggest then?’

‘I don’t know, but not that.’

Jerry’s Trade Days business office was at the end of the building next to the restrooms.