City of Secrets

by O'Neil De Noux

  By the time he reaches the airport, he’s decided to leave Sad Lisa where she lies. Might be the only way to get them to come to him. Get them together. All he needs is a couple M249 Squad Automatic Weapons. Catch the bastards in a cross fire.

  When he pulls up he spots Avery, Aligood, Garcia and the rest standing at attention just outside the main hanger. And here comes their general and colonel. Don’t look too happy. Beau parks the Escalade and eases though the parked Humvees to where he can hear the general.

  “In the regular army, disobeying a direct order is a court-martial offense!” The man walks back and forth, looks like a cock rooster, head bobbing now. “You know I can’t send you back to Rhode Island to face jail time, so I’m going to stop this right now. This unit is transferred to Abbeville. You’re going to Cameron Parish to help recover dead cattle from that other bitch storm – Rita!”

  Beau is able to get Aligood’s attention, pulls him aside after the general storms away.

  “Any change getting one of the machine guns?”

  Aligood shakes his head, his chin sinking. “Some C.I.D. guys from Fort Polk are nosing around, taking inventory. The general’s pissed off at all the ordinance we’ve used.”

  Beau pats the guardsman on the shoulder. “Don’t look so glum. You’ll eat like kings down there. That’s Acadiana. Cajuns know hospitality.” Beau takes out his small note pad, writes on it, tears out the sheet, passes it to Aligood with one of his business cards. “Sheriff of Vermilion Parish, J.C. Legendre. Played football with me in high school. Show him my card. He’ll treat you like a brother.”

  Aligood holds up the business card. “Is this really your business card?”

  Beau glances at it, smiles at the gold star-and-crescent badge with the vulture perched atop, the unofficial logo of the NOPD Homicide Division.

  “What does H.A.N.D.A. mean?”

  Beau backs away, heading to find Linda Pickett now. “H.A.N.D.A. – Have A Nice Day, Ass-hole.”

  Linda’s asleep, so’s Felicity Jones. Beau tops off the Escalade again and heads back to Lake Marina Tower. His eyes burning, he’s so fucking weary. Let them come. I’ll outshoot them all.

  •

  Beau tries to sleep, but it doesn’t come right away. Stella stretches out next to him, purring as she closes her eyes. She is soon asleep and Beau breathes in long even breaths to lull himself asleep. Eventually the weariness drags him to the land of slumber where he sees four Sioux warriors again, shirtless men with leggings, moccasins on their feet, white feathers in their long hair as they ride ponies hard across an open prairie of high grass. He sees billowy clouds in a bright blue sky and a wide horizon above unending flat land. The leader has white paint spots dotting his body. He raises his battle lance and shouts –

  “Hi-ya! Hi-yaa! HI-YAAA!”

  This is Crazy Horse, war chief of the Oglala, leading this party in pursuit of six warriors with black feathers in their hair. Crows, on Sioux hunting ground again. One looks back over his shoulder, his mouth set in a grim, determined slit. They escape or they die. Cresting a rise, the Crows race headlong toward a river, the Sioux in close pursuit. The Crows crash into the water, each rider falling off his horse. The Sioux pull up their ponies and watch.

  The Crows gasp in the water. None can swim and they struggle to find their ponies. Three do immediately and hold the mane as their horse swims them across the brown water river. The others are shoved down river. The Sioux pace them, still on their ponies, still watching.

  In his dream Beau knows this water, the same brown water that drowned New Orleans. Two of the Crows manage to keep their heads above the water, paddling like dogs toward the other shore. The three with their ponies get close to the far shore. When they reach the bank, they let go their ponies and lay belly-up, coughing out water, gasping for breath.

  Crazy Horse lifts his battle lance high over his head again –

  “Hi-ya! Hi-yaa! HI-YAAA!”

  The other Sioux laugh as the Crows crawl up the bank on all fours. Eventually five make it across the river, the last one bobbles up and down in the river then does not come up. The Crows that survive wait for their companion to rise again, but he does not. Two of the Sioux sail arrows across the wide river that sends the Crows for their mounts.

  Crazy Horse turns and leads the Sioux away, slowly.

  In the dream Beau sees the eyes of an old man. Familiar eyes set in a dark, wrinkled face. It is Joseph Raven, craggy faced and snow-white hair. Joseph Raven of the Oglala Clan, seventy years old and grandfather of John Raven Beau. Joseph is a direct descendant of Little Hawk, younger brother of Crazy Horse. They are on a porch of a rickety wooden house on a great plain, Joseph and his nine year old grandson John. Joseph sits on a hard-back wooden chair while John sits on the steps.

  “Why didn’t Crazy Horse chase the Crows across the river?”

  “They were no longer on Sioux land.”

  This was the morning the old man tells Beau the lesson about drowning as he looks out at the plain. “A warrior does not fear death, unless he drowns because if he drowns his spirit will remain trapped forever in the water and cannot fly up into the land of the ghosts were the others who have gone before now live.”

  The dream fades and a younger John Raven Beau stand on a wide prairie with his grandfather who asks, “What is that in the distance? Pronghorn or is it a deer?”

  “Pronghorn.”

  The old man almost smiles. “My eyes grow old but even when I was young I could not see as you do. That animal is very distant.” Joseph Raven puts a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “Tuck this secret next to your heart, little one. Your secret Lakota name is – Sharp Eyes. Tell no white man this name, not even your father. Don’t let anyone beyond the tribe say your secret name because the more it is spoken by others, the more your strength is taken from you.

  “Remember always, Sharp Eyes, you are Oglala Sioux. Lakota. The fiercest warriors of the great plains.”

  “But I am half Cajun.”

  “Yes. The weaker part of you is Cajun.” The old man looks down and smiles. “And the nicer part of you. Your father is a good man, John Raven Beau. Be as much like him as you can, but as you grow you will need the strength of a warrior and you are Sharp Eyes, descendant of Little Hawk and Crazy Horse.”

  “What is your secret name?”

  The old man looks up at the sun, shields his eyes. “Like you, my grandfather gave me my secret name. Middle Toe.” He takes in a breath. “My younger brother was Little Toe and our sister was Big Toe. She was a big woman.”

  “Your grandfather liked feet?”

  “Not particularly.”

  When he wakes, Beau goes to look around before the sun sets. He’s happy to see Kate’s Delight down at the end of the pier next to the warehouse. Its view is blocked by a large cabin cruiser that’s listing slightly.

  Ann is on deck, sitting on a chair and reading a book. She sees him, raises the book.

  “The Great Gatsby. Never read it. Love it.”

  He read it and nods as he steps aboard. She points to the can of Barq’s root beer. He shakes his head.

  “Beer?”

  “No. You and Stu really have to go away for a while.”

  She lets out a long breath.

  “I’m serious. They’re going to come for me and I can’t protect you.”

  Ann closes her eyes. She’s in another tee-shirt and short shorts. “Stu’s sister lives in Gretna. Wants us to stay with her. They didn’t flood and have electricity. I’ll try to talk Stu into it.”

  He taps her bare foot. “I wouldn’t ask but this is bad shit.”

  “You don’t mind if I come back every day. See if you’re dead or not?”

  “Nope.” He climbs off the boat.

  “I’ll take care of Stella if you go to the happy hunting ground.”

  Real funny.

  Moving back past Sad Lisa he finds what he’s looking for half way between his houseboat and the parking lot. Three partially sun
k boats, all still tied up to the pier, each with a small storage cabin attached to the pier. Unlike Sad Lisa, these are pleasure craft, the biggest ocean-worthy, each with a concrete jetty. Perfect ambush position. Anyone creeping up the pier from the parking lot will have to pass with thirty feet of the boats. Better still, he can move between the three boats using the jetties. He’ll have to make sure there’s no lights working near these jetties and the small storage cabins. They’ll bring AK’s, Tec-9s. He’ll stay with his Glock. Close quarter shooting. It ain’t who shoots the most. It’s who shoots the straightest and he’s got plenty experience there. And I am Sharp Eyes.

  Beau goes back to Sad Lisa and takes care of Stella, showers, has Stu’s roast and dirty rice, drinks two cups of strong coffee before going back into the bathroom to paint up. It’s Shadow Warrior time again.

  He catches Stu carrying a large bag away from Kate’s Delight.

  “Y’all are going?”

  Stu screws up his face. “Don’t sink anything, OK?”

  Ann’s waiting at the landing. She’s in a black tee-shirt and jeans, blows a kiss to Beau and he watches them drive off. He goes back to where he’ll set up.

  The boat closest to the landing is called Touché, the biggest of the three is Tiger Melon, the last is Dome Patrol with a New Orleans Saints fleur-de-lis on either side of its name. After unscrewing several of the yellow lights Ann has put in along the pier and the one outside the cabin of Touché, He sets up atop the wheelhouse of Tiger Melon, lying on his belly, Glock next to his hand, extra ammo on his belt and in his tactical bag. The baby Glock is in its holster on his right hip. He brings the smallest ice chest with cold water iced down, and waits.

  It’s still incredibly quiet here, which will help when they come. Even if they come creeping, the pier will creak. Not a half hour into the vigil, he hears an owl hooting near the warehouse and wonders if that’s what happened to Stella’s litter mates, maybe even her mama if it’s a big owl. He spots the first cat as it moves along the pier. A large one, an orange tabby tomcat heading for the food he’d put out. A little later a striped gray cat jogs past the boats heading for the landing. He doesn’t see the black cat until he repositions himself. It sits atop Dome Patrol watching him. The bats breeze by before midnight on their way back to the warehouse and another batch flies in the opposite direction. Not many. When he looks back for the black cat, it’s gone. It’s not until three a.m. does the heat go away as a wind comes from the lake to cool the perspiration on Beau’s tee-shirt.

  When he starts feeling sleepy, he imagines Coyote-man coming up the pier on paws that make no noise. It stands upright on two legs, like a human, is seven feet tall, black fur covering its body. Long arms dangle at its sides, claws bared. Saliva drips from its mouth with each raspy breath. It turns its eyes toward Beau and they are red, hatful eyes and Coyote-man smiles.

  Long ago there was a Cheyenne renegade, an evil warrior, a true hellion who murdered members of his tribe. His reign was short but destructive for he destroyed from within the tribe. Beau’s grandfather relayed the story of the man’s hideous life, never describing the man yet Beau knew exactly what the man looked like from his name – Wolf Who Hunts Smiling.

  Shortly before five a.m., Beau feels a presence on the pier then hears a light footfall, sees the girl from the St. Ferdinand warehouse as she moves past quickly and goes to all way to the gate of Sad Lisa which seems bright in the amber lights from the pier. She looks around, sees it’s dark inside the houseboat. Stella doesn’t need lights. The girl waits a few minutes, inching toward the bow, then back to the gate. She looks around again. The dim yellow light from the bulbs Beau did not unscrew clearly shows she’s jittery as she stands. She’s in a dark blue sundress and sandals, long hair tied in a pony tail.

  Beau looks around, makes sure she hasn’t been followed. Looks back as the girl moves out of the light and finds a dark place to sit and wait. He lets fifteen minutes go by before he eases down to the jetty and over to the pier. He gets closer to her and cups his left hand next to his mouth.

  “Donna Elena?” His voice is low but firm.

  She jumps up, ducks and the light picks her up. He moves into the edge of the light.

  “I’m Detective Beau. NOPD. You looking for me?” He has his Glock hidden behind his back as he watches her hands, just in case. “It’s just face paint. I’m not a zombie.”

  “I … I can’t … see you.”

  He steps closer to the light and her eyes go wide. She’s a small woman, maybe five-two, and young. One of those young women in her twenties who looks like a teenager.

  “Nice dress.”

  “I stole it from a clothes line.” Her voice has a slight, lilting Spanish accent.

  “Have you eaten recently?”

  “Yes. National Guard fed me one of those ration meals. Couple younger ones tried flirting with me. They the ones who told me who you were, where you live.”

  Jesus.

  “If I found you, Carlos will find you here and come kill you.”

  “Carlos?”

  “Carlos Gonzales. He’s the leader. You killed the other leader. Amos.”

  “Amos Lander.”

  A light thump turns Beau around and he crouches, bringing up the Glock and sees the black cat again. It jumped off a boat and starts toward Beau, stops and turns away.

  “We need to go,” Beau tells Donna Elena.

  “Where?”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “On the street.”

  “I have a safer place for you.”

  It isn’t until they are in the Escalade that Donna Elena says, “I need your help.” Her hands shake and she clasps them together. Her face is tight. She’s fighting tears back.

  “OK.”

  “My dad … is a police officer. L.A.” She stares out the windshield as if she can see far away, maybe all the way to L.A. “I want to go home.”

  She closes her eyes and folds her arms across her chest. Beau makes sure he doesn’t hit any of the crap in the street as he accelerates down Pontchartrain Boulevard for the interstate. Eventually, when they’re well into Jefferson Parish, passing the Bonnabel exit, Donna Elena opens her eyes. He tells her he’s taking her to the airport. He has friends there who will take care of her.

  “Planes are flying in and out. Not many, but I’m sure one has to go to L.A.”

  “I saw you at the warehouse,” she says. “I saw you at the cemetery.” She looks at him now and it’s an elemental thing. A linking. The same look he got from Stella when he brought her in.

  At dawn people are lined up under the big tents, men women and children waiting for breakfast on both sides of Airline Highway next to the airport. National Guardsmen from many states are already serving scrambled eggs, grits, bacon, sausage, orange juice, coffee, passing out cold bottled water.

  Beau pulls the Escalade around to the law enforcement hanger, makes sure Donna Elena stays with him as he goes in, finds an ATF agent, asks for Linda Pickett.

  “She’s asleep.”

  He knows Felicity sleeps on one of the cruise ships now down by the river. Doherty and the Chicago cops are sleeping as well. Beau follows his nose to the fire fighter hanger where the Cajun women are already serving up breakfast.

  “You ever have boudin? Andouille? Authentic jambalaya? Creole fried eggs?” Beau points out a platter to Donna Elena. “Losse bread? It’s the authentic French bread with powdered sugar and sugar cane molasses?”

  “Come on in, Chér,” a smiling woman calls out, waves them in.

  He recognizes her. Mrs. Touchard who looks at him closely. “You suppose to be some kinda demon, or what?”

  Beau realizes the face paint.

  Mrs. Touchard points to the back. “Y’all go wash up. Clean your face. We got two batrooms back dere wit de signs.”

  Beau goes to wash his face. Donna Elena goes into the women’s bathroom. When they come back, two other women are there, ready to serve. Mrs. Touchard says, “De men are sl
eepin’. Dey had to put out two fires last night.”

  Beau leads Donna Elena over to the food. Her eyes dart around and she looks like she’s about to run away. Mrs. Touchard draws her to the losse bread, explains to her how its cooked. Beau starts up a plate with an link of andouille – spiced pork sausage – and a slice of white sausage boudin. The jambalaya is laced with chicken. Mrs. Touchard serves up smaller portions for Donna Elena. The woman’s natural maternal instinct, the genuine smile, the friendly voice seems to calm the frightened Latino girl.

  This is the first time Beau sees Donna Elena in good lighting and she’s lovely. No make up, her copper skin is smooth and her eyes deep pools of dark-chocolate. She could be anywhere between eighteen and twenty-five. She takes a hesitant bite of andouille, her eyes grow wide. She nods, lowers her voice.

  “What kind of people are these?”

  “Cajun. Like me.”

  “I thought you were Apache.”

  It’s always Apache.

  “Sioux and Cajun. Odd combination.”

  “Why is it odd?”

  Beau smiles. “The Cajun dances to feel good. The Sioux dances to prepare for battle.”

  Beau gets seconds. Donna Elena eats everything on her plate, sips coffee, keeps looking around like a wary fawn. Mrs. Touchard comes back to tell Beau they’ve started up a pot of café noir.

  “What would work for me and I’m sure Donna Elena here, is a nice long shower.” He stands, stretches, sees Donna Elena looking warily at him. He shakes his head. “There are separate showers.” He backs away. “In separate hangers.”

  He looks are Mrs. Touchard. “Right?”

  “She can shower here. We got plenty shampoo. You go get.” She waves him away.

  Beau goes to law enforcement hanger next door. The military keeps the showers well supplied with o.d. green towels, soaps and shampoos and he rids himself of the rest of the paint and sweat from a long night on stake out.

  Brushing out his hair, he sees he needs a haircut and a shave but that’ll wait. Someone left a spray bottle of Polo cologne and he takes a hit on his chin, goes back to the fire fighters hanger and sees Felicity Jones sitting at the end of a table full of Cajun fire fighters chowing down, their women serving them. He watches for a moment, seeing the sparkle in the eyes of the men and women, the familiar touching, the smiles and the jostling and he’s brought back to the bayous again, to the long, wonderful summer of his youth.