Woody grinned confidently—and I realized the best way to catch the man was to convince him that I was just as bad as he was.
There was no time to get permission for what I was planning. Not only that, but the chance it would ever be granted was slim. I’d pursued every other case by the seat of my pants; why should this one be any different?
If I didn’t act now, the opportunity might never present itself again. I could spend the next ten years playing cat and mouse with Woody while the paddlefish disappeared—or grab the shot I was being given. Besides, I wanted to pay Woody back for his crack about my not having a husband to fall back on.
Still, I wavered, aware that I was about to take a step that could plunge me into a career abyss. My pulse raced as my hand began to inch forward. Then my fingers slowly wrapped around the money.
Three
“You did what?! Are you out of your ever-lovin’, cotton-pickin’, friggin’ mind? If you think you’ve pissed off the big boys before, they’re gonna chew your ass to grass but good, this time!”
Charlie Hickok’s words reverberated around the room like Hurricane Andrew. I could feel the heat rising within him; he was a human thermometer whose mercury was about to burst. I wouldn’t have been surprised if his railroad cap had blasted off his head and soared into orbit.
“Didn’t it ever cross your mind for just one nanosecond that maybe you should have checked with me first?” he roared.
I gave a noncommittal shrug, worried that if I said no, he’d explode into a million pieces.
Not only had I been transferred back to the South, but guess who’d been sent up from New Orleans via special express, and put in charge of me? Only one other agent had ever been in more trouble with the Service’s top brass than me. But then, Charlie Hickok had a good fifteen years more experience. Given the same amount of time, I had no doubt that I could easily surpass him. The question was whether I’d still be around.
Someone in Fish and Wildlife’s bureaucracy must have had one hell of a quirky sense of humor. Either that, or the powers-that-be figured if they threw us back together, we’d most likely self-destruct, knocking off two troublesome birds with one well-aimed stone. How better to get rid of two hardheaded, strong-willed agents than to let them duke it out in the Land of Dixie? Any way you cut it, it was clear they were out to get me.
Hickok continued to glower. “Are you purposely trying to kamikaze the itty-bitty pathetic scrap of a career that you still got left? I know New Yorkers have a screw or two loose, but you take the whole damn cake! I bet you never even bothered to consider what this will do to my standing in Fish and Wildlife. Did you, Bronx?”
As far as I could tell, neither of us had much of that left.
“I have no intention of blowing my pension sky-high to cover your ass on this little caper. For chrissakes! I only got another eighteen months to go!” Hickok fumed. “Goddammit, the minute they mentioned your name, I knew it meant nothing but trouble. If I had any brains, I would have put in for early retirement right then and there!”
I’d asked to be transferred from New Orleans to begin with because Charlie Hickok and I spent most of our time butting heads.
“And what was I supposed to do?” I said, launching into my defense. “Would you rather I’d simply taken the fish eggs and slapped him with a twenty-five-dollar fine? That’s not how the Charlie Hickok I used to know would have worked it,” I asserted, beginning to limber up and get off the ropes.
“He’d be ordering me back into the field right now, demanding that I ferret out the next link in the chain of command. That Charlie Hickok would continue to raise Cain until I learned exactly who Woody’s employers were, and what they were doing with all those eggs. That’s the man I remember working for in New Orleans. That’s the legend I looked up to, and that’s the type of agent I wanted to be when I joined the Service!”
Yep. My touch was coming back just fine.
Charlie narrowed his eyes, as if aware of what I was up to. “So let me get this straight. You think that passing yourself off as some sorta flimflam agent is gonna make Woody Hardy go all soft and mushy, and tell you everything you wanna know?”
If there had been a set of rattlers attached to the man’s rear end, they’d have started vibrating right about now.
“Well, I got a news flash for you, Bronx. Hardy’s just another bubba out there trying to catch enough paddlefish to buy his next six-pack, while dreaming about a muffler for his pick-up. All you succeeded in doing is making every poacher in the area believe you’re corrupt. You just green-lighted a whole bunch of them to blast away at whatever they want. They’ll figure nobody’s watching, with only two of us to hold down the fort and one of us bought off. And you know what? They’re absolutely right. There ain’t enough of us to do the job!”
Charlie morosely hunkered his two-hundred-pound frame down into his chair.
This seemed the right moment to cheer him up. Hickok had been dragged kicking and screaming to Memphis—reason enough to make him cantankerous as a grizzly. Added to that were years of trying to do his job while juggling policy with a bunch of nitpicking government bureaucrats. A little less paperwork and a good dose of adventure might be exactly what the man needed to brighten his day. Besides, I had to confess just how far I’d gone—whether I liked it or not.
“You’re wrong, Charlie. Woody’s no ordinary bubba out in a fishing boat. I snagged my hook into something much bigger this time. Just take a gander at how much he paid me not to talk: this kind of money can buy an entire warehouse full of mufflers.”
I pulled the stack of bills out of my bag and slapped the greenbacks down on the desk in front of him.
Hickok let loose with a low whistle as his hand went in search of his coffee cup. He nearly knocked over an enormous pile of papers, and I deftly shifted my hip to the left just in time to keep the leaning tower of files from falling down. Charlie’s trembling hand latched on to his mug and he took a deep gulp.
It must have been one hell of a cup of joe; calm literally engulfed the man. My guess was that a larger than usual splash of Jack Daniels had been added to the brew.
“If Woody forked over ten grand just to buy my silence, then imagine the amount he must be raking in!” I cajoled.
Hickok opened a desk drawer and pulled out two large candy bars. He threw one my way and I gratefully caught it. Snickers always helped clear our thought processes. I was especially appreciative since Woody’s ungrateful kids had cleaned out my own stash.
“Hell, money like that goes a long way toward explaining how Hardy keeps getting all those young wives.” Charlie finally chuckled. “It sure ain’t that ol’ beer gut of his, or the value he places on personal hygiene.”
A vision of Woody minus his skivvies flashed through my mind. The sight could have made me swear off men permanently, if I weren’t already practically celibate.
“Man, what a sweet deal that cracker’s got going,” Hickok exclaimed, continuing to savor his coffee. “It don’t even require much of an investment. All you need is a bubba in a boat and a gill net, and the profit return is unbelievable.”
“That’s right. But I think we need to aim higher than just Woody,” I delicately added. “You’ve always said an agent has to set his sights on going after the snake’s head. Only when that’s been lopped off can we expect to bring an end to the trade.” I took a deep breath, hoping he’d be impressed that I remembered one of his sayings. “Well, Hardy is my stepping-stone to the top. By pretending to be corrupt, I plan to find out who’s pulling his strings and paying him to supply paddlefish eggs!”
I waited for Hickok to enthusiastically join in my war cry. Instead, he continued to munch away on his candy.
“Come on, Charlie! I’ve heard you say it yourself: we’re the thin green line out there that has to keep fighting to protect wildlife. We’re the only voice they’ve got!”
Hickok turned a critical eye my way. “First off, you’re feeling way too damn high and migh
ty, reminding me of my own words. I ain’t lost my memory yet. Second, I never said nothing about snakes. If you’re gonna spout off, Bronx, at least get your comparisons straight: it’s fish. You knock out the big suckers, and all the itty-bitty fish will fall into place. And third, this ain’t no kid’s game you’re talking about playing. Working undercover will screw with your head. It can be as addictive as narcotics, but you always feel as if you’re walking on glass. It gets so that you’re tiptoeing around, trying to keep your feet from getting cut. Paranoia comes with the territory. It’s an occupational hazard.”
He could have told me that I’d be confronted by the mother of all tarantulas, and I’d still have been determined to do it.
“You keep forgetting that I was an actress before I joined Fish and Wildlife,” I reminded him.
“Yeah. And look how well that turned out,” he sourly retorted. “This ain’t no soap opera, Bronx. This is real life that we’re talking about here.”
I ignored the low blow.
“For God sakes, Charlie, just me give a chance! I swear that I’m a natural at this! Besides, I’ve already taken the first step. Why waste it? And you can always pull the plug whenever you want.” I wasn’t beyond begging when necessary.
“You really have enough damn ego to believe that something you do is gonna help save the paddlefish?” Hickok angrily demanded.
“Absolutely!” I responded between clenched teeth.
“Hell. Wouldn’t you just know—I’ve gone and created another damn version of me,” he muttered. “Listen here, Bronx. It don’t make no difference what I think anyway. You know the top brass ain’t never gonna approve this thing.”
But I saw his mouth begin to twitch as he fought to hold in a grin, and I knew the rebel in him had been won over.
“Then what do you say we just forget to tell them about it for a while?” I suggested.
I received my reply as a belly laugh burst from Hickok’s lips and filled the room.
Four
Having achieved a temporary victory, I plunked my laurels down on the driver’s seat of my Ford Excursion and headed west for home. There was no trouble with traffic, since the upwardly mobile Beamers, Range Rovers, and Saabs were eagerly scrambling back east to the shelter of their suburban abodes.
Named after Egypt’s ancient capital, Memphis sits high above the banks of the “American Nile,” atop the fourth Chickasaw Bluff. A thirty-two-story stainless-steel pyramid rises over the Big Muddy like a prophetic Egyptian ghost. Its entrance is guarded by Ramses, but no entombed pharaohs lay sleeping within its womb. Instead, the structure hosts sporting events and rock concerts.
But more than anything, Memphis is a state of mind. It’s here that the blues were spawned, and rock and roll exploded into rowdy, raucous being. Today, Memphis remains a crossroads where music, cultures, and people collide. Steeped in a restless and violent history, its soul drips with seduction and mystery, all wrapped up in the honeyed veneer of the Old South.
I turned onto Monroe Avenue, rolled down my window, and took a deep breath. I already knew where I wanted my ashes scattered when I left this life, so that I could equally enjoy the next: around the grounds of the Wonderbread Factory on the corner of Monroe and Lauderdale. The addictive scent of yeast filled my vehicle, and I thanked the gods of Hostess cupcakes, Pecan Swirls, Honey Buns, and Twinkies. I was so grateful that I even promised to give their wheat bread a whirl.
I passed Main Street and hit Front, where the Hernando de Soto bridge came into view. Its silver span connects Memphis to the banks of Arkansas with elongated steel limbs like those of a prima ballerina. A carnival of bright lights hung gaily from it arches, turning the bridge into a sparkling diva and transforming the muddy Mississippi into liquid shimmers of gold. Suspended above was a fiery setting sun that permeated the Southern belle of a sky with radiant beams of burnt orange, vermilion, and fuchsia.
I veered on to South Front, formerly known as Cotton Row. It was in the 1880s that Memphis emerged as the world’s largest inland cotton market. The Civil War was over, Reconstruction had taken place, and cotton was crowned king. I caught up to a barge leisurely gliding down to New Orleans. These days its cargo was more likely to be petrochemicals rather than bales of cotton.
I heard the sound of historic Beale Street before I even arrived, throbbing and oozing the blues.
Oooh, my man left me and now I’m so all alone!
I slowed to pay my respects as I passed by the crown jewel of Memphis’s soul, then continued on home.
I passed the community of South Bluff, its abodes flaunting lace curtains. One oh-so-chic townhouse fashionably displayed a shocking pink toilet, being used as a planter, out on its stoop. Another residence sported a classic orange-and-white ’64 Corvette parked in its drive, looking as luscious as a Creamsicle.
I kept driving south, beyond the hip enclaves where wealthy yuppies had begun to move in, until I arrived in the land of seedy storefronts and abandoned flophouses—the last bastion of truly affordable rents. Parking near Big Daddy’s Tattoo Parlor, I locked my vehicle and entered a red brick warehouse.
Even now I could smell the faint scent of produce that the building had once housed. I imagined piles of apples, bananas, and oranges as I began my climb up the stairs. By the time I reached the third floor, I felt sure I’d worked off my daily dose of chocolate. Not only was the hike good exercise, but it also meant I could feel totally guilt-free as I ate dessert tonight. As I began the ritual of unfastening the three locks on my door it was pulled open by my old pal Terri Tune, dressed in a bright red kimono decorated with miniature dancing Sumo wrestlers. Two large piña coladas were ready and waiting on a tray in his hand, each topped with a festive purple umbrella.
“Oy gevalt, what a day!” He handed me a frosted glass. “I was on the phone talking business with Sophie for hours. First thing tomorrow, I’m going out and getting a computer. It’s time you caught up with the rest of civilization and learned the joy of using e-mail, Rach.”
Terri was my best friend in the world. He was also the girl I most wanted to be. We’d first met when I was a rookie agent posted in New Orleans. He’d owned a building in the Quarter, and I’d needed a cheap place to live. After a five-minute interview, he’d declared we were soul mates forever and knocked the rent down to what I could afford. It had nothing to do with astrological signs, or anything of that nature; it was because we both knew every line from A Streetcar Named Desire by heart.
Terri had instantly taken me under his wing, providing facials, makeup tricks, and advice on the latest in fashion. Who else would be more knowledgeable on “the most important things a woman should know to look her very best,” than a top-notch female impersonator? I’d seen his act, and it was great. Not only did he sing and dance as well as Cher and Madonna and Liza, but he could have given them tips on how to improve their makeup.
Terri left his club, the Boy Toy, and the French Quarter behind after a particularly nasty breakup. By that time I was stationed in Miami. So, guess who decided to change his life and was now living there permanently? These days he was in business with Sophie and Lucinda, my two former Miami landlords, designing “must have” yarmulkes for the jet set’s hot-to-trot pets.
“Besides, I need to see what Sophie’s doing with our Web page. You know how schmaltzy she can get,” Terri confided, adding a little more rum to our drinks.
The Internet turned out to be the defining factor that transformed the trio of “designing women” into a virtual business powerhouse. Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein, and Versace were passé compared to Yarmulke Schlemmer’s new Web site.
“And I had an absolute brainstorm today! I’ve decided to add a new tropical design to the line: little white dogs all lifting their legs and peeing on palm trees. You just know every macho man out there is going to love it. I’m feeling more creative than ever, lately. Memphis must be good for me!”
Terri had come to see me in Memphis for a short weekend visit. That was ov
er two months ago. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy his company; it was the fact that he was beginning to redecorate that had me worried.
“I was going to make something for us to nosh on, but decided against it when I saw what Vincent is whipping up for dinner tonight. God! One more month of your landlord’s cooking, and I’m going to have to take the three of us off to some wonderfully decadent spa,” Terri moaned.
“Are you sure Sophie and Lucinda don’t mind your being away for so long?” I asked, taking a sip of my piña colada. Mmm, was this good! Maybe my place could use a little sprucing up.
“Of course they don’t mind. That’s what computers and fax machines are for,” he scoffed. “Not that you have either, but I plan to remedy that.”
Terri reached into my glass for one of my two maraschino cherries. He was just about to take a bite, when he stopped and shot a reproachful glance my way. “Unless that was a subtle hint. You wouldn’t be trying to get rid of me by any chance, would you?” He looked as pathetic as an unwanted puppy in a pet store window.
“Absolutely not,” I assured him, and added my other cherry to his glass as undeniable proof. “After all, you still have the bedroom to decorate.”
“That room is definitely going to take a lot of time. I’ll have to give it some thought while I’m working on Yarmulke Schlemmer’s new fall line. But right now, I’m going to get dressed for dinner,” he announced, with a flounce of his wig’s long blond curls.
I knew it couldn’t be the allure of barbecued ribs that was keeping him here. And while Terri had plenty of soul, it veered more toward Diana Ross and sequined dresses than the plaintive wail of B. B. King or John Lee Hooker.
As the sun gave a last existential gasp and began to sink beneath the murky depths of the Mississippi, I stood by the living room window and basked in the final light of day. This was the hour I always loved best. It was when magic happened. The dwindling rays bounced off the water in a suicidal splatter, transforming my dingy walls into a radiant opus to Sunset Boulevard. Lights! Camera! Action! Miss Norma Desmond is ready for her final close-up!
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