“Something else, Bronx. I got tired of your constant yapping about that damn gator. So I slit the thing wide open about a week ago for a quick look-see, and you ain’t gonna believe what I found. Seems someone got the bright idea of stuffing forty packets of cocaine down that sucker’s throat. Each one wrapped in a piece of chicken, to make the going down easier. We’re talking one hell of a last meal. That sonofabitch popped his lights with a major high on.”
Charlie snickered as he waited for me to join in.
“Well, what the hell’s the matter with you? I thought you’d be happy about the damn thing.”
I was tempted to say “I told you so,” but held myself back. I had to decide whether or not to tell Charlie just how easy it had been to swipe Hook out from under his nose. It was a foregone conclusion that sooner or later he was bound to find out. But it wouldn’t be tonight. Not in the middle of this swamp, where I’d have no place to escape his wrath.
“Why didn’t you tell me when you found out?”
Charlie snorted, scaring off a water moccasin that had wriggled over to the boat for a better view. “Why the hell should I? You ain’t exactly my coworker on this case, Bronx. Just remember that. As far as you’re concerned, it don’t change the fact that we still got a dead gator on our hands, no matter how it was killed.”
I didn’t bother to argue his logic. “It had to be Valerie Vaughn.”
“That’s a guess, Bronx. What makes you say that?”
I wondered how much Charlie already knew, and how much of this would be news to him. “Because it all adds up. It was her gator. She was Hillard Williams’s mistress. I think she was murdered not only for stealing his drugs, but because of what she knew. I’ve got a hard-core videotape of her entertaining both Williams and Connie Kroll together in her apartment. Valerie was getting to be too much of a threat for the powers that be.”
“Does N.O.P.D., or should I say Santou, know about this tape?”
The one saving grace I had in this entire situation was that I had never trusted Santou completely. But it still didn’t stop me from feeling like a fool. “I wasn’t sure what would happen if I told him about it. For all I knew, it could have landed right back in Kroll’s hands. I decided not to tell anyone for a while.”
“Okay, Bronx. I’ll give you some slack on that for the moment, only because it’s pretty much common knowledge. That all you got after all this time?”
Winning approval from the man was like asking for the sun, the moon, the stars, and the next solar system.
“Williams must have tried to ditch her when he began his run for mayor. Valerie probably decided she deserved severance pay, and somehow got her hands on the cocaine. Between that and threatening Hillard with blackmail, it was enough to get her killed.”
Charlie pulled at a reed, sticking the end in his mouth. “That it, or ya wanna go for the gold?”
If I was wrong and making an ass out of myself, I figured why bother to stop now.
“Gunter Schuess is the one who killed Valerie Vaughn. My guess is that when Hillard discovered part of their stash was missing, he demanded it back. Valerie probably denied having done it and creatively hid the evidence. When Gunter turned up at her place, he planned to murder her either way.”
Charlie gazed off into the distance, as if he were looking for something. “So where does Global come in?”
I felt as if I were back in school, trying to pass a major test. “Global has to be the shell company that’s used to cover the drug operation. It also launders all the drug money, along with Budwell’s other businesses.”
The air had begun to smell of salt. We were getting closer to open water.
“You ain’t tied up all the loose ends yet, Bronx.”
If what I had come up with so far was true, I figured I’d done a hell of a job. I ran the cast of characters through my mind, trying to figure out what I had missed.
“I’d say that Vinnie Bertucci was sent here by Sabino to keep an eye on both Hillard and Schuess. Sabino probably figured that either one of them was capable of getting greedy and digging into the communal pot.”
“Not bad. But you haven’t filled me in enough on Schuess.”
“Besides the fact that he’s a manipulative psychotic with a fondness for using razors on women, there doesn’t seem to be much left to say.”
Charlie ran the reed back and forth between his teeth, openly pleased at the fact he knew something that I didn’t.
“Sheeet, Bronx! That lame-o story of his about being Hillard’s liaison don’t hold no water. That dog just don’t hunt. In fact, his name ain’t even close to being no Gunter Schuess. He’s the Butch Cassidy of Germany. That loony toon has had the German police on his ass real bad since before he landed it here in Louisiana. It seems that sonofabitch was running some underground group of psycho skinhead Nazis. He escaped out of Germany after a shootout with the police.”
It made perfect sense. What better place for Gunter to hide out than southern Louisiana, with its rednecks and outlaws?
Charlie grinned in an unspoken contest of one-upmanship.
“So, what did he have? A Nazi hotline that led directly to Hillard and Budwell?”
Charlie pulled out a Milky Way bar and bit off a plug, as if it were a wad of Red Man. “Something like that. All I can figure is that Gunter got himself cut in on the deal. Seems he plugged in Sabino and Hillard with a big-time drug outlet over in Europe. In return, Gunter receives a percentage of the trade. But from what you heard at the lodge, my guess is that he got greedy and has started demanding too much—and the natives are getting restless with it.”
The engine of Charlie’s boat sputtered a low, throaty growl as it made its way through a bed of water hyacinths, reminding me of Fifi. “The only weak link besides Valerie in all of this, was probably Dolores, with her constant threat to spill all she knew. I figure Fifi was poisoned as a warning, and when that didn’t shut Dolores up, she was thrown in jail for a night.”
Charlie tugged at his hat to cover a slight nod of approval. “Not bad for a rookie, Bronx. Not bad. But don’t be expectin’ any medals yet.”
A Mars bar sailed my way. Part of Charlie’s private stash, it was the closest I’d come to receiving a gold star.
Charlie slowed the boat until it bobbed gently in the water. The wind picked up and the bearded branches overhead creaked like a bed of squeaky springs. An owl hooted off in the distance, and I shivered as the same call was repeated from behind.
“That’s our cue, Bronx.”
The putt-putt motor chugged along as we headed out toward the open water. Charlie carefully guided the boat into a bed of waist-high reeds, where we found Trenton Treddell. Hunkered down in his own airboat, he had a perfect view straight out into the Gulf, his craft camouflaged by dense foliage.
The air no longer held the breathless quality it had in the closeness of the swamp, but now carried a pungent sting that came in off the bay. Whitecaps stirred, rubbing up against the oyster grass in the marsh, as the sea nibbled yet another chunk of coastline away. Stretching out in an endless band, marshes buffered the Louisiana coast for as far as the eye could see, their canals intertwining among watery grasslands to provide both poachers and drug runners with the perfect escape.
Trenton handed me a pair of binoculars and silently pointed off in the distance. All I could make out at first was the dark expanse of open sea and sky, until I finally latched onto an odd shape bobbing in the foreground. After a minute my eyes adjusted to the light, and the shape took on the form of a small cabin cruiser. The distant hum of an airplane resonated in the still night air, and a yellow light began to flash along the water, blinking three times in steady succession. Stopping for a moment, the pattern began again, repeating over and over.
And then I saw it. A Piper Super Cub flew into view. Passing above the boat, it reversed direction in a wide turn as graceful as a heron in flight and then came in for a landing, its floats touching down on the water.
; “I bet that’s ol’ Buddy himself in that boat there, picking up another load of good Colombian gold. Hot damn, Trenton! I have a feeling we’re gonna hit the jackpot tonight. Somebody’s ass is getting ready to burn.”
The body of the plane shone in the moonlight as it anchored next to the boat. And then the transfer began. One box after another was off-loaded and hoisted onto the waiting cruiser. I watched through the binoculars as two figures on board carried the haul down below. Buddy probably had someone else waiting back in these marshes, in a smaller boat where the drugs would be transferred yet again, to be taken to their hiding place deep in the swamp.
Their business completed, the plane started up again and skimmed along the Gulf like a giant water spider. Slowly lifting off, it flew out over the water and circled back inland, heading for the wilds of Cajun country.
Charlie threw the flashlight to me as he turned to join Trenton in his boat. “Okay, Bronx. This is where we part ways. Me and Trenton are gonna stick on Buddy’s tail as tight as a pair of leeches. Your end of the deal is to head back in and track down that plane. Santou’s expecting your call, and he’ll meet you with a search warrant. While you’re at it, find out who the thing’s registered to.”
I stared at Hickok as what I heard began to sink in. “What do you mean, he’ll have one ready? All three of you knew about this pipeline the entire time, while I was left out of the deal?”
Trenton’s boat rocked madly as Charlie clutched onto its side to board. “Yeah, we been working on it for a while now. If it’s what we’ve been suspecting, we’re gonna make news big-time.”
I was sorely tempted to give Charlie a swift kick, sending him headfirst into the water, as he threw one leg over the side of Trenton’s craft. After almost getting myself killed tonight in my attempt to find him, I was once more being relegated to the role of errand girl to perform yet another menial task. Santou and Hickok must have been pooling whatever information I’d given to each of them all along, without my knowing. I’d been shut out of the old boy network, proving, yet again, that sexism was alive and well in the backwaters of Louisiana.
“Let me make sure I’ve got this entirely straight, Charlie. You and Santou have been working together on this thing from the start without ever telling me? What’s going on here? I feel like the patsy who’s been left out in the cold.”
Having successfully completed the transfer into Trenton’s boat, Charlie pulled his cap down tighter on his head.
“Listen here, Bronx. You’re still a rookie agent, and until you’ve proved yourself otherwise, this is the way things are gonna work. You got a problem with that, take it up with me later. But right now get your ass back on land. We got work to do and no time to waste.”
I thought of all the investigative footwork I’d done on the case so far, from ransacking Valerie Vaughn’s apartment, to shaking up Gunter Schuess enough to be made the recipient of a late-night call. If none of this had yet managed to push me beyond rookie, I couldn’t think of what else would. I decided to request a transfer first thing in the morning. Louisiana, Santou, and Charlie Hickok be damned.
“No problem, Charlie. You just want to tell me how I’m supposed to go about hauling myself back to where my car is parked? We’re in the middle of a damn swamp. I think that with all the work I’ve done, I at least deserve directions back to town.”
For the first since my arrival, Trenton finally spoke.
“You’ll be fine, Agent Porter. Just keep to your left. Keep veering left, and you’ll make it back to land.”
He hadn’t once looked me in the eye. Now I knew why. I headed out, not bothering to look back.
I brooded a lot about loyalty and all of its implications as I navigated my way back through the tangle of swamp. While it was true I had kept my own secrets while investigating the case, there was also no doubt in my mind that sexism was rampantly at play. Hickok’s deep-fried logic didn’t surprise me a bit, but I had been completely betrayed in every way as far as Santou was concerned. Pushing aside all my good judgment, I had given him access not only to my hard-earned information, but even worse, to myself. It seemed more than enough reason to get out of Louisiana as soon as I could.
Hickok’s cornball wisdom came back to taunt me like a whisper lilting through the tupelo trees. “Every time you’re about to take a step, right before you put that sucker down, have the horse sense to make sure and check exactly where it is your foot’s going.”
Up until now I’d been stepping wherever I pleased, repeating the same mistakes again and again, especially where my dealings with men were concerned. After all this time, I still had yet to learn the trick of letting my head rule my heart. But I felt as if my heart would be closed off forever, now. Though I’d been hurt in the past, I’d never been played for such a fool before.
The flashlight’s beam slashed through the jumble of swamp, illuminating a clearing up ahead. I had made it back to where the night had begun. It was already past midnight, and the idea of going home and letting Santou and Hickok fend for themselves was more than appealing. I docked the boat and jumped out, tying the rope to a stump, while I considered my options. I’d had more than enough of playing gofer where Santou and Hickok were concerned.
Caught up in my anger, I barely perceived the smooth blade sliding like silk along the side of my neck from behind, its honed edge nipping into my skin. Thinking it to be nothing more than the sting of a mosquito, I swatted my fingers up against the razor-sharp blade, the edge slicing into my hand.
“Out enjoying the moonlight, Miss Porter?”
The familiar accent and mirthless laugh sent shock waves racing through me. Gunter’s hand ran up and down my body, his fingers skittering across my skin in obscene familiarity. Wrapping one arm around my waist, his hand pushed its way down into the front of my pants, latching onto the handle of my .357.
“Let me relieve you of this. Such an unpleasant thing for a woman to have to carry.”
His fingers played suggestively against my skin as he pulled the gun slowly out, the back of his hand brushing up along my breasts. Cutting the bandanna from my neck, the razor pressed tightly against me, its edge positioned just behind my ear by the carotid artery. My pulse pounded hard against the blade, rising and falling to the tempo of my fear. I knew that one well-placed slash would mean certain death.
Gunter’s fingers were cold and dry against my skin as he removed the blade and turned me around so that we stood face-to-face. His translucent blue eyes froze my soul. Glancing down along his side, I could see the razor with its long silver handle, like those still used in barbershops. He followed my gaze, taking pleasure in the effect his weapon produced.
“Agent Porter, I’m sorry to say you’re not looking your best tonight. But then, I suppose one doesn’t have to worry about one’s attire in the swamp. Not when you’ve been out playing hide-and-seek with the locals.”
He caressed my skin ever so lightly with the razor’s edge, a low moan bubbling to his lips as the blade came to rest on my stitches. He played with the threads, running the tip of his index finger softly along them, up and down my neck in rapt fascination. I flinched from the sting of pain, scarcely able to breathe from fear of what might happen next.
“What have we here? It looks as though you suffered a nasty accident. How painful it must have been for you. Was it painful, Miss Porter?”
Gunter held me tightly in place like a long-lost lover, one hand gripping the small of my back as if to support me in a dance.
“I want to remember you as you were the other night. You were really very lovely. Do you remember that? I slipped off the sheet so that I could gaze at you, and you were pleased by my touch. I would very much like for you to take your clothes off for me now. Slowly, please.”
My breath tore out of my throat in shaky rasps as I fumbled at the buttons on my blouse.
“If you know where I was tonight, Gunter, you must also know what I heard.”
My fingers trembled. Gunter smiled
as he watched, savoring my fear.
“What you heard, my dear, was a bunch of bumbling rednecks playing at being toy soldiers. I hope it was amusing for you. I know it usually is for me.”
“Then I’m sure you’re also aware of Buddy and Hillard’s plans for you. It seems you’re to be frozen out of the picture. Buddy has managed to rile up everyone with tales of how you’ve been demanding more than your fair share. But you must already know all that.”
The first button on my blouse was nearly undone. “Don’t stop now, Rachel.” Gunter brushed his lips against my ear, his voice a low whisper. “You don’t mind if I call you Rachel, do you? I feel as though we already know one another so well. Now, please tell me more. Here, let me help you with that troublesome first button.”
The razor hurtled on a downward arc, cleanly lopping off the button, its sharp edge barely missing my fingers. Just as deftly, the blade was once again at my neck, pressing tightly into the vein behind my ear.
“You may proceed with your story now, Rachel. And please, continue with your blouse. Unless you would like some more help.”
I worked hard to keep my mind focused and to put aside my growing fear. “I’m sure it’s no secret to you that Buddy isn’t happy about your involvement. But it seems as if no one else wants anything more to do with supporting your group back in Germany, either.”
“This is all you found out? How very disappointing. I’d hoped for better from you.”
He smiled, and his teeth gleamed in the moonlight, iridescent pearls biting down on his lip as he focused his gaze on my throat. Without any warning, the blade sliced through my stitches, and I began to sway. But Gunter held on to me in a charade of a lover’s embrace. I knew that my only chance for survival was to keep my wits and continue to talk, if only to stop myself from losing consciousness. If I lost consciousness, I knew I would die. I managed to undo the second button.
Gator Aide (Rachel Porter Mysteries) Page 29