Race with Death

by Gilbert, Morris

  With an effort, Dani stopped weeping. She wiped the tears from her eyes, then closed them and said, “Lord, I’m not a good person like David, I know. But I know you love me—and I’m going to do what he did! I’m going to sleep. If that ol’ gator eats me, I’ll be with you, so that’s all right. Just take over, Lord—it’s all in your hands!”

  The prayer came to a close, and almost at once Dani’s tired muscles began to relax. It seemed to her that the dreadful sounds of the swamp creatures were muted, as though they were far away. However it was, she slumped down and let her hands fall to the pad—and drifted off into a sound sleep.

  Once it seemed she heard someone calling her name, but she could not move out of the warmth and comfort of sleep—and on her face was an expression of total trust.

  18

  “I’ll Never Let You Go!”

  * * *

  Although Savage wanted to throw all caution to the wind, to go rushing headlong into action, he forced himself to turn off Interstate 10 at Baton Rouge and find a phone booth outside a gas station. He called Catlow’s home number and got an answer on the third ring.

  “Catlow.”

  “This is Savage—” Ben said, speaking rapidly. He gave a quick summary of what he had, ending by saying, “I’m going to wring that guy Fontenot, Catlow—but just in case he manages to nail me, I want you to go after him.”

  Catlow was silent for a moment, then said, “Okay, Savage. You want some backup?”

  “Be safer if I go alone—but thanks. I’ll get back to you as soon as I get something.”

  “Watch yourself. If Fontenot knocked off the Louvier woman, he’ll be ready to do it again to cover up his tracks.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

  Savage hung up, then ran to the car and sent it out of the driveway with a screeching roar. The dual glass packs on the Hawk made it sound like an express train, and now he regretted putting them on. “Not going to sneak up on anybody in this rig,” he muttered. He kept the speed at an even eighty, hoping that none of the highway patrol noticed.

  As he roared along, he thought for a time about what lay ahead—but there was no way to guess about that. He’d have to play it by ear. He thought of what had happened to him in the room at the Leonard Hotel, wondering at it greatly.

  The thought came to him that he had merely had an emotional experience, but he rejected that at once. He was not given to fancies, and he knew that if he lived to be an old man, he’d never forget that time lying on his face in the darkness. The shrinks would tell him that he’d created the whole thing out of some inadequacy that had been caused by his early life.

  As the highway unrolled beneath the tires of the Hawk, he thought about that. He’d had a terrible life as a child. No happy home life for him! His father had died before he’d been born, and his mother had been confined in a mental institution when he was twelve years old. He had run away from the orphanage and joined a circus—and it had been the kindness of Tony and Anna Rudolpho that had saved him. They’d taken him into their family and made a flyer out of him, the star of The Flying Rudolphos.

  Savage thought of those days briefly—and of his later days. He’d had some tough times, but he knew deep down that what had come to him could never be explained by any psychologist. Even as he raced toward some sort of dangerous confrontation with a man who might be a killer, he had a peace that he’d never known.

  When he pulled up in front of Annie’s Place, he was not surprised to see that there were only two cars out front. Dives like Annie’s were designed to operate in the darkness, not in the light of the sun. The people who frequented them were like the bugs and reptiles that made the dark underside of logs their habitat, and any light thrown on them made them flee for their lives.

  He touched the Colt under his arm, then got out and locked the Hawk. The front door was locked, as he had expected. He knocked on it with his fist and stood there listening intently for any sound. He thought he heard something, and then the sound of a safety chain rattled, and the door swung open a few inches. A woman’s voice said, “We’re closed. Come back tonight.”

  The door started to close, but Savage said quickly, “I’m looking for Dax Fontenot.”

  The movement of the door halted, and the woman demanded, “What you want with him?”

  “Well—if s private, you might say,” Savage said. He smiled adding, “I’m not a bill collector.”

  “You look like a cop.”

  Savage made himself laugh. “Well, thanks for the compliment. But I’m not the law.” He hesitated, then said, “I really need to see Dax. No trouble for him.”

  “Well—he lives in Lafayette. You can see him when he comes to work tonight.”

  “If you’d give me his phone number, I could call him.”

  “He don’t have a phone. And he don’t like to have his sleep interrupted. You’ll have to come back tonight.” Annie hesitated, then asked suspiciously, “What’s your name?”

  “Larry Jenson,” Savage lied quickly. “He might not remember me, but we met in New Orleans a while back. I got a proposition he might like.”

  “Well, come back tonight around five. You can see him then.”

  The door slammed shut, and Savage knew he’d get nowhere by forcing himself into the place. Annie, he saw, was a pretty tough customer, and if she clammed up, he’d have no chance at all of finding Fontenot.

  He went to his car, got in, and headed for Lafayette, thinking, A guy like Fontenot’s got to have some kind of record. Have to check with the cops.

  He drove at once to the police station, went inside, and soon found himself talking to the chief, a tall, white-haired man named Slaughter, with a set of light green eyes. He was polite enough, but he was not handing out any information to strangers. “Sure, I know Fontenot,” he admitted readily. “Been in the tank a few times—but no real trouble. What you want with him?”

  Savage hesitated, then made the decision to trust the system. “It’s got something to do with the Eddie Prejean case, Chief. My boss and I’ve been working with Riley Catlow in Baton Rouge on it.”

  The name caused Slaughter’s eyes to narrow. “I know Riley,” he said slowly. “Mind if I give him a call?”

  “No. He knows I’m here.”

  Slaughter dialed a number and sat upright until he got the other officer on the phone. “This is Slaughter, Riley. You know a man named Savage?”

  He listened, his green eyes studying Savage carefully. Finally he said “Okay, just checking. See you, Riley.” He hung up the phone, saying, “I don’t know exactly where Fontenot lives, but maybe we can find out. We might spot his truck. It’s a fire-engine red four-wheel drive Ford. Lots of chrome and a fine deer rifle across the back window.”

  “It’s important, Chief,” Savage said quickly. “I’m worried about my boss.”

  Slaughter nodded. “Come on, we’ll go rat hunting.”

  For the next two hours, the two men drove around Lafayette, the Chief stopping from time to time to speak to people. Savage sat in the car, giving him the story little by little. He revealed more than he realized, and once Slaughter said, “You’re stuck on your boss, aren’t you, Savage?”

  Savage nodded. “Yes. Have been for a long time.”

  “Well, I know you’re anxious, but this is the only way I know to find out anything about this bird. Come on, I know an old friend of his. We’ll put pressure on him.”

  But Slaughter didn’t need to use force. He parked outside a bar, went inside, and came back almost at once, a smile on his face.

  “Bingo!”

  “You got him?”

  “Yeah—at least I got an address. According to his buddy in there, Fontenot’s got a room at a sleazy hotel.”

  “Chief—would you let me take it from here?”

  Slaughter studied Savage for a long moment. “You’re pretty uptight. Not planning to wipe him out, are you?”

  “No. But if you pick him up, he won’t have to talk. He’ll start hol
lering about his rights and lawyers. But I can throw a scare into him. And if he won’t talk, you got my word I won’t do anything to him—nothing permanent.”

  Slaughter knew he was putting himself in a tricky position, but something about Savage made him say, “All right, Son. You go get him.”

  “Thanks, Chief!”

  Slaughter took Savage back to the station and let him out, saying, “He’s in the Fortune Hotel, Savage.”

  “Okay.” Savage hesitated, then said, “Could I borrow a pair of cuffs?”

  Slaughter pulled a pair out of the glove compartment and handed them to Savage. “Bring him in alive.”

  “Sure.” Ben put his hand out. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I get something. Even if this doesn’t work out, I’ll call you.”

  “Hope you find her,” Slaughter nodded. “And watch yourself. Fontenot’s not a shooter, but he’s tough. Don’t turn your back on him.”

  Savage nodded, then got into his car and pulled out. He followed the directions the officer had given him, and found the Fortune Hotel with no trouble. He pulled into the small parking lot, noting that the clientele of the Fortune didn’t waste money on luxury cars. The few vehicles in the lot were either old sedans or pickup trucks—and the red Ford pickup stood out like a jewel among them.

  Savage felt a grim satisfaction as he spotted the truck. He’s here—or at least his truck is. He entered the hotel and stopped at the desk. A young black man turned and asked, “Yes, sir, you need a room?”

  “No, I’m looking for Dax Fontenot,” Savage said.

  “Room 223.”

  “Thanks.”

  Savage nodded and moved to the elevator. It arrived with a creaking rattle, and when he got inside, it seemed to groan as he pushed the button driving it upward. Stepping off into the dark passageway, he found room 223 and knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer, so he knocked again. This time a voice came, muffled and thick.

  “Yeah? Who is it?”

  “Police. Open the door, Fontenot.”

  Silence, then the sounds of the lock being drawn and the door being opened. “What’s this about? I didn’t—”

  Savage shoved his way into the room, pushing the big man backwards so hard that he stumbled and almost fell. Savage pulled his wallet out with one hand and flashed his PI license before Fontenot’s startled eyes, then pulled out his gun and threw down on the startled man. “You’re under arrest, Fontenot. Get dressed.”

  “Hey—wait a minute—!” Fontenot babbled. “I ain’t done nothing!”

  “Shut up, while I read you your rights.”

  Savage reeled off the formula he’d spoken so many times when he’d been a police officer in Colorado, then he waved the gun at Fontenot. “Now, get dressed.”

  Fontenot scrambled into his clothes, cursing all the time. When he was dressed, Savage took the cuffs from his pocket, saying, “Put your hands out.” He ignored Fontenot’s curses, clamping the cuffs on tightly. He then put his gun away and opened the door. “Come on, let’s go downtown.”

  Fontenot argued all the way down to the ground floor, and the clerk eyed them nervously as Savage jerked the big man’s arm, pulling him out the front door. But when they arrived at the Studebaker, Fontenot blinked and was silent. Savage pulled the passenger door open, and Fontenot said, “You ain’t no cop!”

  He tried to whirl away, but Savage was expecting it. He kicked the back of Fontenot’s leg, sending him sprawling on the concrete, then grabbed a handful of the man’s thick hair and yanked him to his feet. Shoving Fontenot inside, he slammed the door and moved around and took his seat behind the wheel. Fontenot began yelling, and Savage saw a young couple walking down the street stop and stare at them.

  Yanking the Colt free, he rapped Fontenot across the wrists, bringing a cry of pain from the man. He shoved the muzzle of the weapon into Fontenot’s side, saying, “You can either live for a while—or I’ll blow a hole in your guts now, Fontenot. Which will it be?”

  Fontenot swiveled his head around and something in the expression of the man beside him made him shut his mouth. “Don’t shoot!” he said thickly.

  Savage nodded and slipped the gun under his arm. Starting the car, he drove out of the parking lot, wondering if the couple would report what they’d seen. But he saw them walk on and decided that they wouldn’t make the call.

  Now that he had his man, Savage thought hard about how to extract what he wanted from him. He’d known a few officers who’d have beaten Fontenot, but he’d never had the heart for that.

  But Fontenot doesn’t know what kind of guy I am, he thought as he threaded the Hawk through traffic headed for the interstate. I’ve got to make him think I’m going to rub him out.

  Fontenot began to talk almost at once. “Look, you got the wrong guy or something. I ain’t never seen you before.”

  Savage said nothing, knowing from experience that silence was a potent threat—far more so at times than vocal ones. He kept his face still, turning occasionally to give Fontenot a hard glance. Turning west on the interstate, he tried to think of someplace to take the man where he could work on him. Maybe one of those roads around False River, he thought. He’d accompanied a friend from New Orleans on a weekend fishing trip on that lake and remembered that the country around it had plenty of lonely dirt roads. Get him alone and make him think I’m going to shoot him—that’s all I’ve got!

  Ben turned off the road that led to False River, which was not, in fact, a river, but an oxbow lake. It had once been a part of the Mississippi, but a change in the main channel had left the curving body of water isolated from the river itself. The shores were fairly well crowded with cabins, so the lake itself would be too public for what Savage wanted. But he remembered that he and his fishing buddy had wanted to test fire a new .45 and had found a dirt road that wound around in the bottoms, ending in an old gravel pit filled now with blue water. It was an isolated spot, and it would well serve Savage’s purpose.

  He remembered the dirt road, but it was almost overgrown with saplings and weeds. That’s good, he thought with satisfaction. Not likely to be very crowded. He’d had the Hawk painted recently and hated to put it through the punishment of the raking limbs that clawed the sides and scraped the windows—but Dani was more important than any paint job! The Hawk pitched and bumped over the hard-packed ruts, and Savage ignored the pleas of Fontenot.

  Finally he spotted the gleam of blue water and stopped beside the edge. He got out of the car, walked around, and pulled the gun. Opening the door, he said, “Get out!” as roughly as he could.

  Fontenot stared into Savage’s face and then glanced at the still waters of the gravel pit.

  “What—what we doin’ out here?” he bleated, fear making his face stiff.

  Savage reached in, grabbed Fontenot’s shoulder, and hauled him out. Fontenot had to scramble to get his balance, and when he turned, he saw that Savage had lifted the Colt and was aiming it right at his chest.

  “Wait—!” he begged frantically. “Don’t shoot me!”

  “Back up,” Savage said. “You’re too big to haul around.” He stepped forward, and when Fontenot stepped back, his face drained of all color, Savage thought of an extra touch. “Stand there,” he commanded as he moved to the rear of the Hawk. Keeping his eye fixed on Fontenot, he opened the trunk. Reaching inside, he lifted a heavy-duty scissors jack out and tossed it on the ground near Fontenot’s feet. Reaching into the trunk, he picked up a roll of wire he always carried, and then he slammed the trunk. Carrying the wire, he moved to stand in front of the man.

  “Hate to waste a good jack,” he commented. “Just wire it to your ankle, Dax.”

  Savage had seen men come apart under pressure, but never so completely as Dax Fontenot did. He began trembling in every limb, and his face seemed to collapse. His lips moved, but the only sounds he made were racking sobs, not words at all.

  “Come on, I’m not enjoying this,” Savage said brusquely. “It won’t hurt. I’ll prom
ise you that.”

  Fontenot dropped to his knees and began crying. He was a man in size and appearance, but he had never matured emotionally over the age of twelve. Now the tears ran down his cheeks, and he hiccupped as sobs jerked his body. “Why—why are you going to shoot me?” he finally managed to gasp.

  Savage frowned, but hope was strong in him. “Because you killed my girl.”

  Fontenot stared at him wildly, shaking his head violently. “No! I ain’t never killed nobody!”

  “She’s gone, and you killed her.”

  “Who you talking about—?” Dax suddenly blinked, and he said rapidly, “You mean the Ross woman?”

  “That’s right.”

  “No, she ain’t dead!”

  Savage felt a wave of relief wash over his body, but he allowed nothing to show in his face. “You’re lying, man!”

  “No, I swear!” The big man scrambled to his feet, babbling in his anxiety to tell Savage the truth. “I took her, sure, but she’s okay! I wouldn’t kill no woman.”

  Savage shook his head. “You’re just trying to get out of being killed, Fontenot—” He lifted the Colt, and it had exactly the effect he desired.

  Fontenot cried out, “I got her in my cabin, my fishing cabin in the swamp. I’ll take you to her!”

  Savage lowered the Colt. “All right, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” he said. “Get in the car.”

  Fontenot scrambled hastily, almost falling into the car. Savage picked up the wire and the jack, threw them into the back of the Studebaker, and then got behind the wheel. “Where’s this cabin?” he demanded.

  “Go back to the main road, then take the interstate to Whiskey Bay.”

  “There it is!”

  Savage looked over his shoulder at the cabin inside the small lagoon, then turned back to face Fontenot, who was steering the boat. “All right—pull up slow,” he ordered. “Cut the engine.”

  The engine shut off, and Savage turned to catch the ladder. He tied the rope tightly and said, “Up the ladder, Fontenot.” The big man scrambled up the ladder and Savage followed.