“Hey, Porter! Whatchoo doin’?”
As if today weren’t already bad enough, now Woody was keeping tabs on me.
“Never mind what I’m doing. What do you want?” I snapped, still smarting from my run-in with the phantom federal agent.
“I hope you ain’t got any hot plans looming on the horizon, ’cause I need you to come fishin’ with me tonight.”
Woody and me alone in a boat together? There was definitely something suspicious about that.
“What do you need me for?”
“It weren’t my idea; Sergei suggested it. Virgil’s gonna be busy and I need help pulling in and setting the nets. Sergei thought you’d be interested since we put ’em in prohibited waters last night.”
Sergei was right. They’d crossed state lines, making it essential that I go. It was the only way I could document exactly where the fish were being caught.
“All right, I’ll come. Where do you want to meet?”
“There’s an oxbow along the river in Tunica, Mississippi.” Woody gave detailed directions. “Be there at ten o’clock tonight.”
I hung up to find that my head was throbbing, while the knot in my stomach had grown to the size of a fist. No wonder Fish and Wildlife kept us so well-supplied with large bottles of generic aspirin. But as usual, I didn’t have any with me. Pulling into a Quik Stop, I bought some, along with more Mylanta, a Diet Coke, and a pack of Twinkies. Then I phoned Charlie Hickok.
“Ain’t you ever gonna learn to call in on a regular basis?” he demanded by way of friendly greeting.
“I’ve been kind of busy. Besides, I need to be careful,” I said between clenched teeth.
“What the hell’s with you, Bronx? If working undercover’s too much, I can always stick you on duck duty. What are you, worried someone’s gonna find out what you’re doing?”
“That’s not it,” I retorted, partially lying.
“Then what is it?”
I hadn’t told Charlie about my latest visit to Virgil’s and my theory on how Mavis had been disposed of. Then there was Sergei’s white slave trade. Should Hickok get a whiff of any of that, I’d be yanked off the case faster than a New York minute.
“My dinner with Galinov went well last night. Not only did he confirm that he’s part of a Russian cartel, but he boasted about strong-arming Southern dealers and passing off paddlefish roe as Caspian caviar.”
Hickok let loose a whistle. “Hell, Bronx. What’d you do? Sleep with the guy?”
“I believe it’s known as ‘milking’ your source. Besides, you know how men like to brag,” I retorted. “By the way, I’m going fishing with Woody tonight in illegal Mississippi waters.”
“Now I know you’ve lost your marbles,” Hickok barked. “You’re actually gonna trust yourself alone on the water with him?”
“Sure. He can’t be that irresistible.” I chuckled. “Don’t worry; I can handle Woody. We’ll never have a rock-solid case unless I document what they’re up to.”
“Just be careful,” Charlie grudgingly relented. “I don’t need to break in another rookie at this late stage in my career.”
“I’ll do my best to save you the trouble.”
I spent the rest of the day tending to my “drive-by” bruises, after which I tried to catch a few winks. But every time I closed my eyes, Santou loomed in my mind warning me off the case. I finally jumped in the shower, determined to wash off the invisible layer of dirt that insistently clung to my skin. But no amount of soap could rid me of its taint. I knew it would remain until the Velvet Kitty had been closed and Sergei Galinov was safely locked away.
With a few hours to kill, I wandered over to the Blue Mojo to get an early meal. My timing proved to be good, Boobie was cooking in the kitchen. He gave me a plate of fried chicken with collard greens and biscuits baked with lard, just like his mama used to make. Then he joined me at the table with two slices of sweet potato pie. There was so much pomade in his hair that a fly landing on top couldn’t stop, but slid down its slippery slope and onto his fork. Boobie didn’t miss a beat, but flicked the insect onto the floor and kept right on eating. After that, he lit a cigarette and took a drag.
“So, was that your apparition I saw you with last night?”
I nodded and stuck a biscuit in my mouth. It melted upon touching my tongue. My arteries weren’t too happy, but my taste buds were having the time of their life.
“Mm, mm, mm. You’re in for trouble, li’l girl. I can tell just by the sight of him, that man is full of nothing but heartbreak.”
Like he was telling me something I didn’t already know.
“I don’t suppose you can whip up some sort of herbal remedy,” I quipped, only half in jest.
“Nope. There ain’t nothing will change a man like that. All you can do is hang on tight and go for the ride.”
That was a big help. I dug into my sweet potato pie.
“You’re eating kinda early this evening. Meeting that apparition of yours for a late-night snack?”
My fork scraped up the last bit. “No. I’ve got a business meeting later that could go on for a while.”
Boobie sucked on the end of his cigarette, then plucked a few shreds of tobacco off his tongue. Laying them on the table, he studied the flakes as if they were tea leaves.
“I know you may think I’m a superstitious old fool, but listen to me now. You’d best be careful tonight. The moon’s red and hanging low: that ain’t a good sign. The only thing worse would be if it were touching a gravestone.”
His words pricked at my skin, sharp as dagger points.
“It’s okay, Boobie. I know what I’m doing. Besides, I’ve been drinking plenty of your mojo specials. That should count for something.”
Boobie gave me a pat on the cheek and then disappeared into the growing crowd. I suddenly felt terribly alone. Dog was gone. Who knew where Santou was? And Vincent and Terri had fled town. For the first time in a while, I was completely on my own.
I tried to dislodge the feeling, but it refused to go away. I finished off my coffee and walked out into the delta night.
Twenty
Boobie was right. The moon was hanging low tonight, its color as disquieting as a blood blister. I sped by Graceland and over the Mississippi line, where a row of casinos rose out of the cotton fields, as imposing as enormous headstones. Their pulsating colors flooded the land in a pool of pale red, reflecting the crimson moonlight. I could have sworn I heard a taunting whisper echo inside my vehicle, and nervously glanced back though no one was there.
I continued to drive as the silence grew more dense, finally spotting the landmark that Woody had told me about. A rickety shack stood next to a looming water tower. Beyond it was an unmarked dirt road.
I turned onto the rutted path and followed its trail, hoping it knew the way to the oxbow. Rolling down the window, I was reassured by two scents. The odor of fresh dust rushed into my nose, revealing somebody had traveled this same route recently. The second was the fetid smell of the Mississippi. Up ahead, moonlight gathered in a shimmering pool on the shiny roof of a vehicle. I pulled up and parked next to Woody’s Dodge Ram.
I turned off my engine and sat still for a moment, having glimpsed a red glow bobbing up and down like a drunken firefly. The inebriated insect slowly transshaped into the fiery tip of a burning cigar. Woody had his fourteen-foot johnboat unhitched from the trailer and was setting it in the backwater channel. I hopped out of the Ford and walked over.
“Hell, wouldn’t you know the damn river would be pissed tonight?” Woody muttered irritably.
“What do you mean?” I asked, wondering if he was as wacky as his brother.
“Look at this boat bobbing like a damn Halloween apple. If it’s doing that here, it’s gonna be murder out on the river.”
“Do you want to call it off?” I anxiously hoped that wasn’t the case.
“No way! Maybe it’ll die down. This river’s just like a woman—it changes its mind every other minute.”
We climbed into the boat and shoved off.
Putt, putt, whispered the engine, as if aware it was best to remain quiet. Not that anything could have been heard above the churning, seething Mississippi. I was about to suggest we turn around, when the water mysteriously calmed down as if all its rage had been vented.
“See? What did I tell ya?” Woody champed on his cigar with supreme satisfaction.
We continued until we reached the area where Woody and Virgil had previously set their nets; then we began the arduous task of hauling in one hundred yards of eight-inch mesh. Woody shined a flashlight on our catch. Flopping around inside were a variety of fish, wriggling and jerking, desperate to return to the water before they died. I swiftly complied, throwing back those that Hardy didn’t want. He poked among the bodies to find six young paddlefish.
“Welcome to Dixie, girl. We got us some Delta Gold.” Woody grinned.
I’d never seen a live paddlefish before. It would have put Cyrano de Bergerac to shame. The paddle-shaped snout was nearly half its body length, while a toothless mouth made it look like an old man who’d forgotten to put in his dentures. Woody snapped the linoleum knife open with a flick of his wrist, and placed the tip against one creature’s stomach.
“Okay. Whadda ya say? Is it a boy or a girl?”
He jabbed the point in and sliced the fish open. A trickle of black eggs oozed from its belly.
“Hot diggity! We got us a female!”
Woody anxiously spread the flesh apart. Removing the glistening black mass, he placed the precious cargo into a plastic bucket.
“One down, five to go!” He laughed and picked up the next squirming victim.
But this fish had no roe. Whether it was too young or of the wrong gender made little difference; its fate remained the same. The eviscerated body was tossed overboard.
Hardy followed the same procedure with each. Only three fish contained Delta Gold. The others were destroyed before ever having had the chance to reach maturity. I stared at the bucket, now filled with unfertilized eggs. Each one represented a creature forever lost, its fate to wind up in the mouths of the wealthy. It’s been said that we’re once more at the start of a new Dark Age. Only this time, it isn’t books that are being destroyed, but the irreplaceable DNA of countless plants and species. The business of extinction is alive and well and incredibly profitable. I knew I’d never be able to enjoy caviar again.
“Goddammit! We’d be able to make a lot more money if there were some big fish around here,” Woody grumbled.
No shit, Sherlock. The problem was there were few elders left: they’d all been knocked off by bozos like him.
“What does Sergei pay you for this?” I asked, curious as to the going rate.
“I get a flat fee to work just for him, plus forty bucks a pound. We got about eight pounds here already, but this is chump change. I should be makin’ a thousand a night easy.” Hardy slapped a lid on the bucket.
“You’re kidding!” I exclaimed, unable to stop myself.
“Hell, Porter, don’t you know nothing? Whadda ya think Sergei’s pulling in with his network of fishermen?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, feeling foolish.
“I’ll tell you: around forty thousand bucks a day,” Woody snorted.
The markup was dazzling, considering all he needed was a bunch of bubbas in boats.
We made our way further south, where Hardy spotted a marker holding someone else’s gill net. He veered the johnboat over and cut it loose.
“That’s known as getting rid of the competition.” He winked. “God almighty, but I love being on the water. It’s like letting your mind take a shit when you’re out here. Doncha think?”
“Is this how you charmed all your wives?” I cracked. “Or how you lost them?”
Woody guffawed. “Hell, I got a better way than that. One night I told Tammy IV, ‘Honey, you’ve gained a few pounds.’ The little woman answered, ‘I’m retaining water.’ ‘That’s a pile of bull,’ I said. ‘What you’re retaining is Twinkies and Budweiser.’ Right after that, she packed her bags and left.”
Hardy stopped the boat. “This spot looks good. Give me a hand.”
We threw the gill net overboard, and the current pulled it under. Then we headed back for shore.
“Speaking of ex-wives, Mavis’s car was recently pulled out of the river.”
“You don’t say,” Woody replied.
“I’m beginning to suspect she was the victim of foul play. What do you think, Woody?”
Hardy continued to steer the boat. “What I think is Mavis dumped that Mercedes in the river herself, in order to claim the insurance money.”
“I don’t believe that. Tell me, was Virgil upset when they got divorced?”
The riverbank was just ahead when Woody turned to face me with a funny look.
“That’s exactly the kind of question that’s gotten you into trouble, Porter. Fact is, Virgil ain’t too happy with this partnership.”
I saw Woody reach for something and realized it was a gun. My hand quickly slid toward my own .38. At the same time, a swift moving current rammed the boat and I was thrown forward. Woody’s gun was knocked out of his hand and into the water as the craft slammed into the bank, its nose rearing up like a flimsy toy. Startled by the turn of events, we both grabbed onto the boat’s aluminum sides as the current roughly dragged us away from land. Something wet sloshed against my back, and I twisted around to find water pouring inside. A second current broadsided us with the smack of a giant hand, and the hull was sent spinning into a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn.
“Christ almighty! We’re gonna drown!” Woody exclaimed, suddenly finding religion.
He grabbed the bucket of roe and threw me a rope attached to the boat’s nose. “You gotta jump out and pull us into land!”
“What are you, crazy? Why don’t you do it?”
“Don’t be a wuss! The bank’s just over there! Besides, I can’t swim and this sucker’s going down!”
He was right about that; I was already sitting in a large pool of water.
“What the hell do you mean, you can’t swim? You’re a fisherman, aren’t you?” I yelled.
“Yeah, but I fish with my butt in the boat! Now do something before we’re pulled out any further!”
Damn! I just wished Hardy’s craft had a life preserver. I was tempted to swim back and leave him on his own, except that I needed the rope to hang on to.
I prayed my mojo was working and jumped into the water, which felt like liquid ice. The freezing cold stole my breath away, and my muscles angrily protested, warning they’d soon begin to cramp. Though I swam as fast as I could, the bank seemed a hundred miles away.
Adrenaline’s a wonderful thing when death is at your heels. I tapped into a source of strength I never knew I had, and kicked the current into submission. I hit the bank and pulled Woody to shore, all the while violently shivering.
“I’ll get you something warm,” Woody offered, jumping out of the boat.
“Take off or pull another gun, and I swear to God you’re a dead man,” I warned between chatters.
But Woody had a smattering of decency left; he threw a wool blanket around my shoulders.
I waited until my shaking was under control, and then confronted him. “What the hell was that about back there?”
“I told you the water was unpredictable,” Woody sheepishly responded.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. You were going to try to kill me! Was that on Sergei’s orders?”
Woody hung his head like a coon dog who’d just received a scolding. “Aw, shit! No, it weren’t Sergei. He don’t even know you’re out here tonight,” he admitted. “It’s Virgil. He thinks you’re horning in on too much of the money. Personally, I believe there’s something he just don’t like about you.”
Perhaps the fact that I knew he was totally crazy. “Now what am I supposed to do? Hell, you saved my life. It’s not like I can sti
ll kill ya,” Hardy dejectedly moaned.
“I take it that’s your way of saying thank you,” I snapped.
“Hey, don’t get pissy with me, Porter!” Woody huffed. “I can’t help it if I’m a lover and ain’t a murderer. Damn! I’ll take care of this mess somehow. You just better stay out of sight until Virgil cools down.”
That wasn’t very likely; I had no intention of letting Virgil think I was afraid of him.
“Right now, I gotta process this roe before it starts going bad.”
I followed Woody to the back of his pickup, where he pulled out a bucket of water and a screen for grading eggs. He carefully washed the roe, and then added half an ounce of flour salt to each pound.
“What happens now?” I asked, wrapping the blanket tighter around me.
Woody slapped the lid back in place. “I deliver the eggs to Sergei.”
“In that case, I’ll take it from here,” I said, and grabbed the bucket from Hardy’s hands.
“Hey! That’s my job!” he protested.
“Not tonight. You straighten Virgil out. I’ll handle this end. Where do you make the delivery?”
“I drop ’em at Galinov’s house if it’s before midnight. After that, I meet him at the Velvet Kitty.” Woody sulked. “You’re not gonna rat me out to Sergei, are you?”
Tammy V’s face floated into my mind, along with her two brats, the baby, and the bun in the oven. Underneath all the wheeling and dealing, the dirt and the stench, Woody wasn’t a totally bad guy. Besides, he was more valuable to me alive and kicking. “No. Just remember, you owe me big-time.”
I left Hardy behind with an empty plastic bucket for bailing out his boat.
Twenty-one
It was nearly midnight—too late to catch Sergei at his Russian Graceland. No matter; I wanted to go home first, anyway.
I locked the roe in my Ford and headed upstairs, where I showered off the rank odor of the Mississippi. Then I dried my hair into its usual jungle of curls and slipped into a form-fitting dress. The garment displayed just enough cleavage to be provocative. Heading back out, I pointed my vehicle toward Mount Moriah.
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