by G A Chase
“I’m her boyfriend. I helped her with that last problem. She’s in trouble. The Laroques have her.” It was an overstatement of what he knew, but this might be his only chance with the nuns.
“As I explained to Miss Summer, our system of organization isn’t the most up-to-date. Come back in the morning. I’ll put one of my novices on it tonight.” She closed the door without waiting for his reply.
Myles made a mental note to bring an offering to the church when he returned as a way of saying thank you.
* * *
Kendell’s heart beat faster once she spotted the open-air pavilion with its brightly colored flags that announced the riverboat’s dock. Instead of heading in, however, the boat swung farther out into the shipping channel and continued upriver.
Tugboats and barges plied the industrial area of the Westbank. To her chagrin, the festively decorated steamship nosed into one of the open dry docks. Behind the heavy steel walls, the boat would be impossible to see from the Quarter. Myles would have no way of knowing where she was.
From the overhead crane, she heard a workman address the captain. “That was a long test cruise. I was considering sending a pilot boat out to find you.”
The captain spoke over the boat’s public address system. “Sorry for keeping you waiting. Got a little mixed-up past English Turn.”
“The river only goes two ways. How did she perform?”
“Boiler number two still has a blocked port. And there’s a leak somewhere around the engineer’s office. The whole area was covered in water.”
As the men talked, temporary gangways were set up from the dry dock to the ship. “Right. I’ll look into it.”
No mention had been made of the guests. Kendell assumed the captain had been bribed for the non-pleasure cruise. He and the engineer left the boat, but as the two thugs remained, she decided to stay as well. She figured either their departure would be noted by the dockworkers, or they were waiting for someone.
The late-afternoon shadows lengthened until only the tops of the tugboat conning towers remained lit by the sunset under the Crescent City Bridge. She was feeling a little claustrophobic, having spent hours in the small life raft. Her dress had dried, but the uncomfortable feeling and stench of the caked Mississippi river silt that permeated her damaged dress wasn’t much better than being soaked. The lure of a hot bath, Cheesecake’s snuggles, and a glass of wine with Myles made her look longingly across the river.
She heard the security guard make his rounds. The two thugs were still somewhere on the boat. Her watch illuminated the time as being 7:50. It had already been a long day. The last thing she wanted was to have to sleep in the uncomfortable raft. Once it was fully dark, she’d try to sneak out. Hopefully, the ferry would still be running so she could cross the river to her home and all she loved.
As she snuggled down into the hull to wait, however, a set of headlights hit the canvas cover. She stayed as silent as possible. Footsteps, a lot of them, made the metal gangway sound like Minerva Wax banging out a rhythm on her snare drum.
Peeking out of the cover, Kendell saw the party had chosen the ballroom next to her for their meeting. A middle-aged woman with short, well-styled gray hair and a commanding presence glared at the two thugs who’d returned from the kidnapping. “How could you miss her? Explain this to me.”
“She didn’t show up with the others. What were we to do? We still have her friends as hostages.”
The woman paced the room. “She’ll be waiting for our demands. Since she didn’t go to the police when her dog was abducted, I think we can hope she won’t this time either. Not that it would matter. Gerald might not be on our side, but he never could cross me, even when we were children.”
As Kendell inspected the faces of those in charge, she noticed the distinctive long, straight noses and tight mouths. They were Laroques for sure.
A man who could have easily been the woman’s grown son addressed her. “We could force her to do it. It’s not like we’re asking for her to murder someone. She didn’t have a problem with the pipe tool.”
The elder woman shook her head. “It would look too suspicious. Your thugs’ use of that thing to kill Marilyn didn’t do us any favors. That kind of short-term thinking could sink all our plans.”
Kendell was surprised he didn’t grumble some passive-aggressive answer or offer a lame excuse. Instead, he stood straight for the criticism. “It won’t happen again. But now that we have found the girl and are intent on the Malveaux option, we can up our timeline.”
“Only if we can keep it secret. The slow way involved far less risk.”
One of the henchmen lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out the window at Kendell. “We can keep those kids for a week out in the bayou before we’ll need to worry about restocking provisions. Every day is dicey, though. I’ve used the two guys who are guarding them before. They won’t hesitate to resort to violence should anyone get any clever ideas.”
The woman nodded at the piece of information. “We’ll ask for a meeting. If she’s smart, she’ll come prepared. Don’t underestimate that curse.”
“We’ll be ready.”
Her look of frustration cowed the two heavyset men. “Don’t be stupid. The meeting will be about negotiation, not force. The last thing I want is two football linemen ganging up on a waif of a girl. Just for once try to consider the optics.”
Kendell studied the face of the woman’s son. He had the familiar cocky air she’d seen in Lance, but he kept his emotions better in check. “I’ll handle it personally.”
The woman’s tone softened slightly. “She’ll respond better to you. Politicians often have the ability to talk candy out of the hands of babies and a woman out of her clothes. Just be sure you know which one you’re attempting. She might look like a little girl, but she’s got more grit than your two thugs put together.”
“You didn’t send me to all those gentlemen’s finishing-school retreats for nothing.” His response had just the right overtones of indignation without sounding confrontational. Kendell had to admire how he managed to layer his emotions.
The woman’s smile turned Kendell’s heart cold. “Time to start reaping the dividends of my investment.”
He grabbed his expensive suit coat from the banquet chair. “I think we’ve done what we can tonight. There’s a bar next to the ferry terminal that serves a decent steak. I could use something to eat.”
In a mild state of panic, Kendell watched the party leave. With them at the restaurant, there wouldn’t be a way to get to the ferry unseen. Not that she had any money on her. And as the restaurant was the only establishment open that late, she couldn’t risk sneaking in there to borrow the phone.
She stared down the long, well-lit levee path. People were pushing strollers and walking dogs. Maybe someone in the old neighborhood would take pity on her. It could be her best shot of getting home undetected.
She waited a full five minutes after hearing the last indication of anyone in the dry-dock compound other than the guard. With the gates locked, she wouldn’t be able to walk out as brazenly as her foes.
As silently as possible, she eased out of the lifeboat and down the deck to the paddle wheel that loomed overhead. Though only twenty feet from shore, she’d still have to swim the deep channel. No matter how warm New Orleans could be in spring, the Mississippi was always cold from the melting snow and ice that fed it up north. She lowered her legs off the boat and into the gently moving current. With a deep breath, she took the plunge into the unwelcoming, murky water. It only took a few minutes to reach the muddy shore, but she was once again completely soaked and cold.
She collapsed on the silty ground under the ferry terminal.
“A Mississippi mermaid. Don’t see one of those every day.”
Kendell turned to see a homeless man bundled up in an old sleeping bag and holding a fishing rod. Telling him what she’d been up to could too easily turn into just another way of being caught. The Laroques would be more t
han happy to throw a few dollars at the guy for the information.
“Just call me Ariel.”
He set down the pole and pulled a filthy wool blanket out from his trash bag of possessions. “You must be freezing. Wrap yourself up in this. Once you feel up to walking, we can meet up with some friends. They’ll have a fire going by now and hopefully a little food.”
The mention of something to eat reminded her of how long ago her lunch with Myles had been. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since then. But even with the blanket around her, she felt entirely too vulnerable. “I’ll be okay on my own.”
He unfolded his sleeping bag to show her he was missing an arm. “I’m not a threat. I’m also not a homeless vagrant. I’m a river rat.”
“I’ve never heard that term before.”
From deep in the covers, he pulled out a laptop computer. The tourist stickers indicated it had traveled the length of the Mississippi river. “There are whole cultures that live along the river that no one knows about. I’m trying to document what oral traditions still remain.”
She was intrigued but cautious. The distinction between being a river rat and homeless sounded important to him. “Why tell me?”
“So you’ll not think I’m some sexual predator or rogue out to steal your nonexistent money. My offer of help is genuine.” He tossed her his wallet. “I was in the military. That’s where I lost my arm. You can check my credentials.”
She flipped through the worn-leather sachet. From a laminated army identification card, a much younger and cleaner face smiled out at her. “Sergeant Emile Whitmore.”
He reached for the billfold. “No one’s called me that for many years. Most people call me Whit.”
She still wasn’t sure she should trust him, but the cold and hunger were getting the better of her. It would be a long night on her own. “I suppose I am hungry.”
He stood and started rounding up his meager possessions. “A girl like you doesn’t end up down here if she has any other options. So I’m guessing you’re running from someone. We’ll keep to the rocks along the river. No one walking along the levee will see us. It’s about a mile to the camp. Think you’re up for it?”
Her legs nearly failed her as she tried to stand. “I’ll be okay so long as we don’t move too fast.”
23
A light breeze rustled the leaves of the Cottonwood grove that bordered the river. Kendell could still make out the lights from the old neighborhood upriver, but no one ventured far enough down the levee to be heard up on the walking path.
She’d never given much thought to how the homeless eked out their survival. Though Whit had made it clear members of the small commune didn’t consider themselves truly homeless, the difference appeared to be a matter of semantics more than economics.
The small bonfire quickly warmed her through her soaked dress. The blanket over her shoulders helped. Her shoes and shins were covered in drying silt. She did her best not to focus on how bad the combination of wet clothes, mud, and perspiration stank.
People in the small compound pitched in to prepare the simple meal. She thought she should help, but Whit made it clear to everyone that she was his guest. He handed her a blue-and-white-speckled enameled-metal cup. The smell of strong coffee was so enticing she breathed it in twice before taking a drink.
“I put a shot of rum in it to help warm you. If you’d rather have your coffee un-doctored, I can pour you another cup.”
She had to stay sharp, but the soothing alcohol eased her shivering. “The rum’s welcome in the first cup, but I think just this once.”
“Understood.”
An elderly woman in a torn lime-green housecoat brought over three plates. “Abe caught a river gar, and the community garden donated some vegetables. So it’s seafood stew tonight.”
Whit took the plates and handed one to Kendell. “Thank you, Mary. This is Ariel. She washed up under the ferry terminal.”
The dented metal plate and crude surrounding contrasted with the well-prepared food. Kendell savored the traditional holy trinity of onions, bell peppers, and celery that made up the base of the stew. The way Whit had explained her presence in the camp made it sound like such occurrences happened all the time.
Mary sat in a lawn chair facing Kendell. She didn’t blink her light-blue eyes for an uncomfortably long time. When she finally spoke, her flat tone made her sound as though she was in a trance. “A man jumps in the river to die, and a century later, his angelic daughter walks out the other side.”
Whit took the metal coffeepot off the fire and freshened Kendell’s cup. “Mary is the camp’s resident oracle. She lives on that razor’s edge of sanity and prophecy. Even she’ll tell you not to take her too seriously, but she’s more often right than many here would like to admit. Sometimes it takes a while to figure that out, though.”
Kendell stared back into the woman’s eyes. “Do you mean Louis Broussard?”
The woman put her hand to her mouth as if she’d seen a ghost. She closed her eyes and regained her composure. “How much of the story do you know?”
Kendell wasn’t ready to divulge her true identity. “I didn’t realize there was a story.”
Whit motioned toward his bag. “I told you I’m recording the oral histories out here. The story of Louis Broussard is one of the founding legends of this tribe. The ancestor who lost it all. They’re not staying in this Cottonwood grove by chance. As the progenies of his son, Arvin, they claim this land. They have no legal documents, and every parcel of property on the other side of the levee is spoken for, so this is the only area where they’re not harassed.”
The woman again seemed lost in her trance. “But you are not from Arvin’s line are you, my dear?”
Kendell didn’t see any harm in divulging information from so long ago. “My family came from one of the daughters, Lilianna.”
The woman nodded as if that somehow made sense to her. “The angel.”
Whit pulled his computer out of his bag and started typing. “We’ve only covered the history of Arvin. Mary is the tribe’s greatest resource on their history. I haven’t heard the name Lilianna Broussard.”
Kendell feared becoming known as the descendant of the patron saint of the homeless enclave. “What did you mean by calling her an angel?”
Mary talked about the past with familiarity as though she were discussing the tribe’s events of the day. “The angel. She sacrificed herself for the rest of the family. I don’t know what happened to her mother or older sister, but from the stories handed down from Arvin, it was his middle sister who freed the family. By agreeing to remain in captivity until death, she got their captor to agree to freeing the rest of her family.”
If Lilianna had only been in her early teens and was older than her brother, Kendell assumed Arvin would have been barely a teenager—if that old. Indentured servitude to the baron might well have sounded like being a prisoner. If Arvin’s story was retold down through the generations, she could see how it might not completely conform to the facts as she knew them. “What happened to Arvin?”
The small group of people crowded in around the fire to hear Mary tell the story of their ancestor. She suspected it was a tradition they all clung to as the binding force that made them a family.
“He received a small stipend and was dumped on this side of the river with only the clothes on his back.”
A teenaged boy spoke up. “Wasn’t it fifty dollars? That was a lot back then.”
Mary turned toward the youth and smiled. “Very good memory, Hawk.”
No one seemed to mind the interruption. As the story progressed, if someone felt Mary had left out some vital detail or had deviated from the traditional telling, they didn’t hesitate to speak up. The narrative described how their ancestor had managed to survive on his own in the growing community that sought to drive him out. It meshed well with what Kendell had been told of the baron taking Louis’s land as payment for his debts and building the residential neighborho
od.
The story drifted on for much of the night. They wanted to hear about Lilianna, but each time the subject was brought up, Kendell managed to veer them back to talking about themselves. Before they had a chance to question her about washing up on the riverbank, she snuggled under the blanket and fell asleep next to the crackling fire.
* * *
Kendell was up before the first rays of dawn. Her muscles ached from sleeping in the camp chair. Her skin itched from the dried clothes and mud that stuck to her like an unwelcome cast. Only her sense of smell seemed happy about greeting the day as the scent of strong coffee again filled the air.
“I won’t ask you how you slept.” Whit filled a couple of cups from the seemingly never-empty pot.
A cruise ship worked its way upriver just beyond the trees. “I need to get across the river, but I don’t have any money or my phone.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a boat. We can set off as soon as you’re ready. Now that it’s not pitch-black out there, it shouldn’t be any trouble making the crossing.”
She restrained her excitement. The camp had fed her, warmed her, and provided useful information about her family. But as the cruise ship cleared the bend, she saw the lights from the French Quarter. Home was only a short ride away. “You’ve been very kind to me, but I’m ready to go home.”
Mary gave her a hug as Whit gathered his bag. “You are family here. I know we don’t have much of anything, but family looks after family.”
It was hard for Kendell to tell if the rest of the community felt the same way as they prepared for their day begging on the streets. The walk to the river’s edge proved how badly her dress had suffered the day before. Even her sneakers would probably end up in the trash. Hopefully, this early in the morning, she could slink the couple of blocks from the wharf to her apartment unseen.
Whit started up the outboard engine on the dilapidated wooden skiff. “She’s not much, but I can get her into these little marshes without running aground. It can get a little choppy out on the river, though. Best to sit down and hang on until we’re past the ships’ wakes.”