They were lying face-to-face on a bed in the trailer, hands bound behind them with twine, ankles tied, as well. Not realizing the situation, Teddy tried to change position.
“I can’t move.”
“Your hands and feet are tied,” Kit said. “Mine, too.”
“What’s going on? I feel like I’ve got a bowling ball on the back of my head.”
“They hit you with something and you’re cut.”
“Who hit me?”
“Roy . . . I don’t know his last name. From what they said when they brought you in, I gather you followed his brother Larry in from the street and Roy followed you. I’m sorry you got involved in this.”
“Where are we?”
“A trailer in some courtyard, but I don’t know where. When they brought me in, I was blindfolded.”
“I came in from French Market Place. How’d they get you in here without anyone seeing what was going on?”
“They dressed me in a big hat and coat that hid my blind-fold and the fact my hands were tied.”
“Anyone else in the trailer?”
“Not at the moment.”
“I guess the door to the room is locked.”
“And the trailer, too.”
“Let me try and untie you.”
They rolled in opposite directions and Kit wiggled toward the foot of the bed so Teddy’s fingers could reach the knot at her wrists.
“Can you do it?” she asked.
“I’m trying, but the knots are really tight. What’s this all about?”
“I don’t really know. When I came back from walking Lucky yesterday morning, three men jumped me in front of my house, took me inside, and began questioning me about some money Jack, the heart-attack victim, supposedly gave me. I told them the only things he gave me were three roses and that he said only one word to me before he died. But they didn’t believe me.”
“Why’d they think he gave you money?”
“They won’t say. They took me to an ATM and forced me to get a balance statement to see if I’d made any big deposits recently. When they saw how little was in my accounts, they emptied them and took me back home and tore the place apart. Now they’re trying to starve me into telling them where it is.”
“Bastards,” Teddy muttered, continuing to pick at the twine knots.
“I heard Roy yelling at Larry for being so stupid as to wear my cap out on the street. Does anyone else know we’re here?”
“No.”
Kit closed her eyes and moaned. “I was afraid of that.”
“You say there are three of them?”
“It started with three, but Roy killed the one called Burras—right in front of me. It was horrible. But it may help us. You know that big bowl of lemon drops from Andy that’s in my pantry? . . . Well, Burras found them and took a handful. When we got back here, he put them on the kitchen counter and had been sucking on them constantly.”
“Come this way a little. . . .”
Kit turned. “Are you getting it?”
“Not so far. What about Burras?”
“He was a horny little shit, like Larry. Both of them had been taking turns coming in here and running their hands over me until Roy stopped them. . . .”
“We get out of here, I’m gonna be running my hands over Larry.”
“So Burras came in here, sat down on the bed, unwrapped a lemon ball, and offered it to me. I refused, but he kept trying to put it in my mouth. Then, Roy came up behind him and, without saying anything, strangled him with a belt and left the body lying next to me while Larry went for the panel truck they drive. I heard Roy tell Larry that Burras stole part of some shipment they’re guarding and Larry should take that as a lesson.”
“Damn, these knots are tight.”
“While I was alone with the body, I managed to tuck the wrapper from the lemon ball in the cuff of Burras’s pants, hoping they’d dispose of the body in the city limits and it’d end up in the morgue, where Andy would find it. They weren’t gone long, so I’m hoping for the best. I have been missed, haven’t I?”
“That’s how I came to be here. At first, Andy thought you were sick with the same disease Jack had.”
“What do you mean, heart trouble?”
“Jack had a disease that makes you hemorrhage to death. One of Andy’s assistants cut herself during Jack’s autopsy and she’s sick with it.”
“Natalie? Is that who it was?”
“I don’t know her name. Roll away from me a little. . . . Good. What if Andy does find the wrapper? How’s that gonna help him find us?”
“Occasionally, they both leave for about thirty minutes, and when they come back, they have something glittery on their shoes. After a few hours, it seems to wear off; then when they go to that place again, it’s back. They must have gone there just before Roy strangled Burras, because when I was left alone with his body, I saw a lot of it on his shoes. I’m hoping Andy can figure out what it is and can track them to wherever they’re picking it up.”
“Those aren’t odds I’d put any money on.”
Kit had been trying to stay optimistic and not give in to despair. Teddy’s criticism of the one thing she’d been able to do to help herself was more than she could take. “Well, it’s the best I could do. And if it seems far-fetched, you come up with something better.”
“Sorry, you’re right. If I’d been in your place and was smart enough to think of it, I’d have done the same thing.”
There was a sound from the front of the trailer—a key in the lock.
“They’re back,” Kit hissed.
A door opened out of sight and the trailer vibrated under the kidnapper’s footsteps. A metallic scratching came from the other side of the bedroom door and it slid open.
“He’s awake,” Larry yelled over his shoulder.
In one hand, he held an ugly revolver; in the other, a pocketknife.
“I got a score to settle with both of you for getting me in Dutch with Roy over that cap,” Larry whispered. “So have no doubts, when this is over, I’ll feel better about it. Maybe I’ll take a down payment now.”
He advanced on Teddy with the knife and slid the tip into Teddy’s left nostril. “I saw this once in a movie with Jack Nicholson and I’ve been wanting to try it ever since.”
“No . . . please don’t hurt him,” Kit pleaded.
What Larry was about to do was made doubly horrible and almost surreal by the fact there was not one hint of evil in his face—no glint in his eye, no bared teeth—just a goodlooking, well-groomed kid you’d think probably made a small fortune mowing lawns when he was in high school and invested it all in Walmart stock.
“What’s the holdup in there?” Roy yelled from the front of the trailer.
“Nothing. We’re coming.”
Larry pulled the blade from Teddy’s nostril and bent toward Teddy’s feet, where he cut the twine binding them.
“We’ll get together another time,” he said, as if they were all great friends. “Now, Roy wants to see you.”
He cut the twine at Kit’s ankles and stepped back into the adjoining bathroom. “Go see Roy.”
Teddy started out first, then hesitantly stepped back and allowed Kit to precede him. She had trouble herself deciding which was the better choice—first to see Roy or having Larry directly behind her.
Roy was sitting on the living room sofa, one leg crossed over the other, both hands cradling a small bottle of apple juice perched on his knee. He was wearing faded black denim jeans, a similarly colored denim shirt, and heavy work shoes that laced around metal studs.
From the first moment Kit had seen him, he’d reminded her of an android. Mostly, it was his eyes—the palest color of blue, with tiny pupils that never changed diameter—eyes with no feeling, a mannequin’s eyes, worked by machinery located in two faint lumps halfway up his high forehead. And he had thin, colorless mannequin lips that looked as cold as plaster.
“Kit, you sit there.” Roy nodded to a ratty armchai
r by the door.
Kit glanced back at Teddy. “He needs to see a doctor about that cut on his head.”
“Sit down.”
Since it was pointless to resist, Kit sat.
“And Mr. LaBiche—is that how it’s pronounced?”
His pronunciation was flawless, but Teddy said nothing, his black eyes blazing.
“I see. Well, that’s too formal, anyway. Let’s just make it Ted. Larry, put Ted in that chair. . . .” Roy gestured to a metal folding chair someone had painted white so it would blend with some obviously crappy decor.
Larry led Teddy to the chair and pushed him into it.
“Kit, you know what we want, yet have refused to help us. As I have great respect for women, I’ve resisted Larry’s suggestions as to how we might convince you to cooperate. Instead, I’ve chosen to deny you food or water. That, of course, is a slow method, and now I believe providence has sent us another. . . .” He looked at Teddy. “That would be you, Ted.” He turned back to Kit. “Incidentally, I think you two are doing the right thing by determining if you’re sexually compatible before you take such a major step as marriage. Very wise . . . I didn’t always think so, but I’ve seen so many marriages break up over that one thing, I’ve changed my views. It’s one of the reasons I left the ministry. Larry, get two towels from the bathroom.”
Roy dropped his right hand to the sofa and picked up Teddy’s pistol, which was resting beside him.
Larry returned shortly, carrying two faded green towels with tattered edges.
“Put one on Kit’s lap,” Roy said.
Larry began to drape one of the towels over Kit’s thighs.
“Better fold it a couple of times,” Roy said.
Larry adjusted the towel and replaced it in her lap.
“Now put the other over Ted’s left shoulder.”
Larry did that and waited for further orders.
Kit’s heart was thudding in her temples and the drought in her parched mouth deepened, for she knew what Roy had in mind.
“Kit, where is the money Jack gave you? Larry, if she doesn’t answer in five seconds, cut Ted’s left ear off and put it in her lap.”
Kit was certain this was no idle threat, but there was no money. How could she give them money that didn’t exist? “It’s coming by mail,” she heard herself say. “Jack said to start looking for it on . . .” Her mind grappled with the days of the week, trying to remember what day it was. “On Wednesday.” No. She should have said Friday to buy more time. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Roy waved his hand at Larry and focused those android eyes on her. “Why did he mail it? And why the delay?”
“He didn’t say. We actually didn’t have much time to talk.”
“Jack died last Thursday. So if he did mail it to you, he’d have had to do it that day or earlier. Why did he think it would be six days before it arrived?”
“Could it be that he perceived the postal service as poorly run and inefficient?” Kit said.
Roy lapsed into thought and he sat for a few seconds absolutely still, as though his batteries had given out. Finally, emerging from this glacial state, he abruptly said, “I’m going to clarify my position, then give you a chance to modify what you’ve said. If you tell us where the money is, we’ll hold you until our business in the city is finished; then we’ll depart, leaving both of you unharmed and with the means to free yourselves after we’ve had sufficient time to be safely away. On the other hand, if you’re lying about the money, which will become apparent if it doesn’t arrive by Saturday, we’ll kill you. Now, do you want to change anything about the story you’ve told me?”
When it came to spotting a liar, Kit was a professional— but even an amateur would have realized Roy was lying. Kit had seen him strangle Burras. There was no way he was going to let them go. She and Teddy were dead regardless of what she said. “The money is in the mail, like I said.”
“When is it delivered each day?”
“Between nine and nine-thirty.”
“How do you know that?” Larry said. “Aren’t you usually at work by then?”
“When I take an occasional day off or when I’m on vacation, that’s when it comes.”
Roy once again lapsed into a voltage deficit while everybody else waited for his next pronouncement. When it came, it was the first welcome thing he’d said.
“Larry, go out and get us four orders of gumbo, some good French bread, and four large drafts.”
“I’d prefer iced tea,” Kit said.
Roy turned to Teddy. “And what would you prefer?”
“That you not do me any favors.”
“Of course. I understand. Larry, make that three gumbos, two drafts, and an iced tea. Before you go, put Ted away and retie his feet.”
Larry picked up a ball of twine from the kitchen counter, cut off a hefty length, then ushered Teddy back into the bedroom.
“Kit, so far, how would you rate Ted’s behavior in this situation?” Roy said. “Personally, I think he’s doing well. He followed Larry in here from the street knowing there had to be risk, he’s been defiant, he’s refused food, he’s managed to convey quite clearly how much he dislikes me, and he showed no reaction over the possibility he might lose an ear. But then, he knew you wouldn’t allow that, so I guess we’ll have to withhold those points.
“Has he disappointed you in any way? What I mean is, would you think him more manly if he had jumped to his feet and charged at me? Or made some other aggressive, albeit futile, move?”
For the first time, Kit saw a trace of a person behind Roy’s eyes. And what she saw convinced her he wasn’t taunting her. He was simply curious.
“Being a man isn’t defined by taking foolish risks,” she said. “Real men create things. They go to work every day even if they don’t feel like it. They pay their bills with honestly earned money and keep the promises they make. They subjugate some of their desires to benefit others. When things are good, they share with those who are struggling. When they’re bad, they work harder. Real men don’t take the easy way.”
Roy looked penetratingly at her. “You’re not being honest even with yourself. There’s a part of you that wanted to see Ted turn the tables on us. And the fact he didn’t even try disturbs you, makes you wonder if he’s who you thought he was. Admit it.”
Anger is a destructive emotion. When you’re angry, you can’t think, and Kit was sure that if she was going to find a way out of this, it wasn’t anger that would show her the way. But it had been difficult. The discomfort of having her arms pulled behind her for hours at a time made her angry. Her hunger made her angry, and her thirst. But she had conquered those. Now Roy’s comments concerning her feelings about Teddy sent her anger index off the board, partly because it was a subject that was none of Roy’s business, partly because there was merit in what he said.
“Oh, I should have told you earlier,” Roy said. “For every day the money isn’t in the mail, there’ll be a penalty.”
14
Barbaric, Broussard thought as they drove. There had been bits of cork in his wine and a pinch too much paprika in the stuffed zucchini. Blackledge had a lot to learn about choosing a restaurant. His car, though, was quite nice, a Mercedes with plush leather seats and a smooth ride—still, it was no T-Bird.
They had disagreed over the best way to proceed. Broussard had told Blackledge about Kit’s disappearance and his belief that two of the CCHF victims were clearly involved. He told him about the diatoms and sludge on the shoes of the man they’d known as Jack Doe and about Teddy’s comment that he and Kit thought they had a lead to Jack’s identity through a ship at the docks. He’d finished by pointing out that a ship would be the ideal way to smuggle in exotic animals.
Blackledge had reminded Broussard that animals could also be transported in a lot of other ways. He’d held Baldwin’s call book in Broussard’s face and recited the epidemiologist’s credo: When backtracking a contagious disease, victim contacts are the gold standard. And
since he was the epidemiologist, that’s the way they were going.
They were still on the West Bank, looking for Chester Good’s, the first call in Baldwin’s book for the fifteenth, the earliest date he could have been exposed.
“There it is,” Blackledge said, wheeling the Mercedes into the parking lot of a place built to look like an old-time western saloon.
In the window, a red neon lariat surrounded the saloon’s motto, also in red neon: CHESTER GOOD’S—A GOOD PLACE TO BE.
Most of the vehicles already in the lot were pickups, with a fair number advertising NRA sympathies on their bumpers. Blackledge parked between two of them and Broussard followed him inside to a dimly lit hall that smelled of beer and leather.
On the jukebox, an adenoidal male with a voice resembling a hound dog answering the call of an ambulance was expressing the fact he had died and, as a result, “stopped loving you today.” A rather predictable consequence of his death, Broussard thought.
The walls were hung with Indian rugs, skulls of hoofed animals, and sepia-tinted photos of cowboys with outrageous amounts of facial hair. Broussard thought the leather odor was from the bar stools, which were fashioned in the shape of saddles, but when he approached the bar, he saw they were plastic. Because the saloon reminded Broussard of his beloved Louis L’Amour novels, he couldn’t help but like the place, even going so far as to climb onto one of the saddles.
“Howdy gents,” the middle-aged barkeep said, stepping over to them. He was wearing an apron over a striped shirt with a black garter for an armband. “What can Ah can get you? We got plenty drink here . . . all kinds.”
The western illusion wavered a bit under the weight of the barkeep’s heavy Cajun accent.
An attractive blonde in cowgirl dress suddenly appeared at Blackledge’s elbow. “Hi there, city slicker, want to ride the pony?”
“Not today, miss, but my friend might.”
The girl vamped over to Broussard and rested her hand on his shoulder. “My, but you’re a big one,” she said. “I’ve always liked men with healthy appetites. It makes a girl feel so . . . appreciated.”
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