by Matt Hilton
‘You’re shittin’ me,’ said Pinky.
Po only served him with a quick jerk of his lips.
‘If nothing else, they’ll do for cannon fodder, them. Or chum to feed to that shark called Cleary. I guess I can keep my peace while they have their uses.’
Tess scratched at an insect bite on her right cheek. Swatted at some multi-coloured bug that fluttered in her vision. ‘If we don’t get out of here soon I’m going to lose it completely,’ she snapped. ‘I’d rather wrestle Cleary Menon again than put up with these damn bugs any longer.’
‘Be careful what you wish for.’ Po eyed her, and she got the message. He wasn’t being flippant. ‘When we get there, stick close to Pinky.’
‘I won’t let that rougarou-looking fool touch you again, pretty Tess.’
‘Rougarou? That’s something like a werewolf, isn’t it?’ Tess would take anything to keep her mind off the present, where she was equal parts harassed by the swamp life, sore in her joints, and nauseous with anxiety about what was to come. She’d heard tales about the Louisiana Boogeyman before, but had taken only a layperson’s interest in the subject. ‘Is there any truth in the legend?’
Pinky beamed his pleasure at her. ‘It’s total bullshit, you ax me. But there are some ignorant inbred folks aroun’ here believe in the supernatural.’ He winked over at Po for emphasis.
Tess glimpsed at her partner. He shrugged. ‘Seen some strange things in those swamps when I was a boy. I’m not closed-minded like some folks I can mention—’ he gave an exaggerated look at Pinky – ‘and besides, it was you that brought up the subject of rougarou.’
‘Well, I can assure you Cleary Menon is very real, me. Won’t need to cap his ass with silver bullets, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘I’m not worried about him or his brother, I’m looking forward to putting both of them down.’
‘I’m not sure we should be planning on capping anyone’s ass,’ Tess cautioned. ‘Cleary has something wrong with him, without a doubt he’s psychologically challenged. It makes him unpredictable and dangerous, but it doesn’t give us the right to shoot him like a sick dog.’
Neither of her companions replied. They took a different stance than she did. A flash memory engulfed her of Cleary holding her aloft, studying her like a tasty morsel he was about to chow down on. Who knew what would have happened to her if Zeke hadn’t intervened at that moment? He had mental problems, and ordinarily she would have pitied him, but given the alternative, if Cleary got his hands on her again she would shoot him rather than let him sink in his teeth.
The growl of an engine announced the arrival of their unlikely allies.
Pinky held his gun down by his thigh, but didn’t put it away, still unconvinced of the Chatards’ trustworthiness. But Po had shoved his Glock in his waistband and didn’t take it out now. Tess stood so that she was partly hidden from view; the wash of headlights bathed them as a Dodge Ram truck pulled into the picnic area. There was nobody riding on the back, the only people apparent the trio that filled the cab.
Whenever Tess had pictured Po’s enemies before she’d always conjured images of rednecks in flannel shirts, bib-and-braces dungarees and scuffed work boots, John Deere ball caps and perhaps cross-eyes. As the three clambered down, the third man leaning heavily on the door for support, she saw she was wrong. All her preconceived notions of the Cajun family were thrown for a loop when the three men presented themselves before Po and looked like they had dressed for a relaxed, informal supper in open-necked shirts, jeans, and sneakers. The anomaly that picked them out as unusual was in the bandaged right foot of the eldest man. To help protect his dressings from contamination, Darius Chatard had donned one of those plastic overshoes available to surgeons in operating theatres and CSI techs at crime scenes. If Po had recently rammed his knife through his foot, the injury didn’t appear to be troubling him too much. He limped, but not overtly. Tess guessed that a mixture of pain medication, anger, and anxiety was keeping Darius moving, the way it was her partner.
Darius didn’t look like the ogre she’d pictured. He looked like an old man, and a father worried about his child’s welfare. Francis Chatard, dark-haired, wearing a day’s worth of stubble, was handsome and statuesque, and could have made a living as a model if he’d been given the openings, while Jean, fairer-haired and round-faced, was the type of bland guy you passed in the street without noticing. It was hard to imagine that any of them had ever entertained murdering her lover, or even paying someone else to do it on their behalf, but it was the truth. You didn’t have to look like Cleary Menon to be a monster.
She was judging them unfairly. When all was said and done, they were kin to two men who’d fallen victim to Po’s vengeance, and even Po had admitted that if the shoe were on the other foot, he’d want to see him punished too. She had to put aside the enmity she’d bred for these people, if they were going to work together to bring back safely the one person who might mend the rift between the Villere and Chatard families.
Po made the introductions. Pinky remained cool towards the trio, even when Darius looked him up and down as if he couldn’t believe what kind of person he’d allied himself to: black, gay, and unwilling to put away his gun, Darius couldn’t decide what he disliked most about him.
‘Chill, bra,’ Pinky sneered at Darius. ‘I’m not too keen on lame-assed whip-crackers either, me. If I had my way, there’d be no kissin’ and makin’ up, but this ain’t about me.’
Tess sometimes forgot how scary Pinky could be when he switched from cuddly teddy bear to illegal arms trader mode. She got a hint of it now, and so did Darius, who bit down on the retort that was building on his lips.
Instead of responding, Darius pulled a gun from his belt. ‘I’m lame, thanks to Nicolas, but I won’t be a dead weight. Are we going to go and see Zeke now?’
‘Before you straighten things with him,’ Po reminded, ‘I need to speak with him. We go in first, you and your guys come in when we give you the sign.’
‘What is the sign?’ Darius asked.
Po’s smile was grim. ‘You’ll know it when you see it.’
THIRTY-FOUR
Emilia had worked diligently at loosening the strips of duct tape that bound her to the chair, but all that she had managed was to rub the skin raw at her wrists and ankles. She’d forced a little give in the bonds holding her arms, but not enough that she could worm free from them yet. With more time and effort, she was confident that she could pull at least one hand free, and from there loosen her other restraints. She was prepared to put in the exertion, but knew that time was not on her side. If only she’d been capable of more movement earlier, she might have been able to raise the alarm, and let the unknown woman outside know she was a prisoner. She had heard the woman prowling around, and had cried out, but the balled socks still jammed in her mouth and taped in place had stifled her, and when she’d tried scraping the chair across the floor had found the sound deadened by the spongy plyboard. What little noise she’d made was covered by the murmur of voices from another nearby building, and the woman had moved off, continuing her search elsewhere.
She only knew the seeker was female because shortly after she’d made her way around the cabin she had fallen foul of the monstrous Cleary. The woman had tried to be polite at first, and then assertive, but there was no getting through to the brute unless you were called Zeke. Then the woman had been forced to run, and Emilia knew this because she’d listened with a tremor racking her frame as Cleary howled and took up the chase. It was the same demented call he’d made when stalking, and ultimately tracking to ground, her boyfriend Jason. The chase had taken him to the other side of the construction site, and Emilia had no idea what had befallen the woman. All she could be sure of was that her appearance had thrown confusion among those who’d gathered – to determine her fate? – in the nearby cabin. There had been a lot of activity since, and she had listened to the excitable voices of people intent on making a rapid getaway, and the so
unds of vehicles leaving the compound in a hurry. She hadn’t heard the woman’s screams, but maybe Cleary didn’t give her the chance. She couldn’t count on any assistance from the mystery woman, so getting away was all down to her own efforts now. If anything the woman’s interference had possibly trimmed what time she had left. Zeke would return, and probably sooner than he would have if the woman hadn’t caused the flurry of panic.
She hadn’t heard Cleary since he’d grabbed the woman. But she was certain one of the voices she’d heard filtering through the walls of her prison belonged to Zeke. Her tormentor had not finished with her yet: a small blessing. Because she was certain that once he was done questioning her, then it would mark her final seconds of life. He had threatened her with a knife before, and she only hoped that when the time came, he’d do her the small mercy of cutting her throat decisively. Rather that than be handed over to his brother for disposal.
Other voices she’d heard were those of men she didn’t know, and hadn’t laid eyes on yet, but had surmised were Keane and Corbin. Keane was a whining coward, Corbin a snappy, arrogant asshole. Neither of them personally planned her death, from what she could overhear, but that didn’t surprise her. They had the Menons, who’d dirty their hands on their behalf. Her boyfriend had been murdered, and she was next. Who knew what had become of the woman from earlier. All this trouble because they had stumbled into a business arrangement built on profit and greed. From what she’d gathered from the snippets of conversations she’d overheard, Zeke had been employed to bribe, coerce, or force away any opposition to the progress of a damned pipeline. A swathe of swampland designated for its route wasn’t officially owned by Hal and Jamie Thibodaux, but they had a historical claim on it, and weren’t for moving. Enough money wasn’t offered to convince them to move, not when they were suddenly rolling in cash from the sale of illegal drugs, and they were too stupid to be coerced, so Zeke had employed a heavier hand: in fact the heaviest type. The Thibodauxs were slaughtered, and that would have been the end of the problem, if Emilia and Jace hadn’t witnessed the aftermath. Zeke told her that the land was due to be bulldozed within a week, and any trace of the camp and the Thibodaux brothers’ remains would have been buried without trace. But her interference had gone and spoiled everything. Before the crime scene could be sanitized someone had gone and tipped off the cops, and Zeke wanted to know who the hell she had squealed to. Emilia couldn’t convince him that she’d kept his secret, and she doubted she ever would now that the unknown woman had come snooping around. Who was she? What was her interest in the site? Was she looking for Emilia or something else? All questions without answers.
Whomever, whatever, the woman had been seeking, she’d found neither, only violence at the hands of Cleary. Emilia couldn’t count on the woman, so had to get on with freeing herself.
She fought with her bonds, groaning at the effort. More skin was chafed raw. She rocked the chair back and forth, but if it toppled what then? This tubular steel and plastic construct wouldn’t come apart easily, so she’d be left lying on the floor, without any leverage available to pull and twist at her bindings.
The more she strained the harder it was to breathe. Sweat poured from her hairline, got in her eyes and in her nostrils. As she exhaled a fine mist sprayed before her. In her mouth the foul socks were sodden, but that made speaking more difficult as the material cleaved to the roof of her mouth and rubbed her tongue raw. Water hadn’t passed her lips since she was in the truck on the way to the hospital. She was growing dehydrated, and her exertions only sped up the process: she could sense an oncoming headache like a hungry predator about to pounce.
A headache’s the least of your problems, she reminded herself. Get loose or die.
She struggled, and finally, with a sawing motion of her right hand found a gap opening in the tape on her wrist. She fed her fingers into it, pulling and tugging, and got a tear going. The tape zipped apart, but it was only one strip of many. She continued writhing, ripping, and yanking, and with a final wrench her right hand popped free. Gasping, she pawed for her other hand, but couldn’t reach it easily. She tore at the length of tape fastening her to the headrest, but didn’t waste time loosening the gag. Screaming would get her nowhere fast. Instead she leaned forward as far as possible and began tearing apart the tape around her ankles. Once they were free she was able to stand, move around the chair, and start on loosening her left arm.
She was so intent on the task, she’d no idea that Zeke had re-entered the office until the key turned in the lock. She reared up, dragging the chair still attached to her arm, as Zeke threw open the door.
‘Well, ain’t you the spirited one?’ Zeke crowed as he eyed her from the doorway.
Emilia clutched the chair before her chest, the legs aimed at him, as if she were the modern incarnation of a circus lion tamer.
She gurgled a warning through the gag.
A snort of derision was her only reward as Zeke stepped into the small room, grabbed the chair, and yanked it savagely to one side. Bound to it still, Emilia staggered, and Zeke caught her hair in his left fist. In his right the knife had appeared. He sat the flat of the blade alongside her left eye as he leaned in close. His sour breath washed over her. In that moment she expected instant death, and as defeat assailed her, her gaze fell on the dried blood around his ear and gathered under the rim of his stinking cap. More of his blood stained his shirt collar. Zeke hadn’t had it all his own way with the woman Cleary had chased. That simple nugget of knowledge was enough to give Emilia hope.
Had the mystery woman escaped after all?
Was she bringing help?
It would explain the panic and urgency that had flooded through the others who’d quickly evacuated the site.
‘After all the trouble you’ve caused me I should kill you right now, bitch,’ Zeke snarled. ‘But I ain’t gonna. No. I’ve something better in mind for you.’
He turned so abruptly that she didn’t know she’d been cast aside until she crumpled against the doorframe, caught up in the office chair. Zeke grabbed it, hauling it up and away from her, and swiped once with the edge of his knife. Her left arm sprang loose, trailing the severed duct tape like a pennon shredded by gale-force winds. She was now free of the damned chair, and there was an open door right beside her. But before she could gather herself to lunge through it, Zeke’s fingers were in her hair again and she was hauled on her hands and knees into the office.
One of the men who’d assisted in her capture blocked the exit. It was the stockier of the two with the shaved head and the stud in his eyebrow.
‘Did you bring up the van like I said?’ demanded Zeke.
‘Tyson’s on it, bra.’ The young man’s face was creased with worry as he stared at Emilia.
‘Good. Put her in the back.’ He slung Emilia to the other man, who clasped both hands on her shoulders. ‘And Croft, don’t fucking let her out of your sight for a second, do ya hear me?’
‘Got her, Zeke.’
‘What about Harry and Rory?’ Zeke said.
‘Ty phoned Harry, but he didn’t pick up.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me, Harry’s a useless piece of shit. I gave him simple instructions, told him to watch her place and stay close to his phone, and the sumbitch can’t even do that. When was the last time you heard from him?’
In the act of pulling Emilia into his embrace, Croft was a beat slow in answering. Once he had his captive under control, Emilia’s arms pinned in the circle of his, he looked back at Zeke. ‘I haven’t heard from him in hours.’
‘What about his fuckwit buddy?’
‘I’ve no reason to speak to Rory.’
‘You have now. Those two ass-bandits are like conjoined twins. Once you get her in the van, tell Tyson to call Rory and ask him what the fuck’s going on with his buddy. Then have Tyson tell him they better get their lazy asses to the dumpsite to give us a hand. Make sure Tyson tells them they better not let me down, there’s plenty more space in the ground for th
em too.’
Nodding, Croft backed out of the door with Emilia.
Her eyes were huge, the whites almost luminous around the turquoise as she stared back at Zeke over her gag. He met her gaze, but his was pitiless. He dragged at the peak of his cap. ‘And where the hell has Cleary got to now? He won’t want to miss this.’
THIRTY-FIVE
Her earlier incursion of the construction site had shown Tess that it was neither impregnable nor heavily guarded. Of the people she’d seen only the chauffeurs were armed, but they weren’t regular attendees, being present only because they had driven their charges to the meeting. Those guys most likely had no inkling of the crimes that the Menon brothers or their employers were involved in. She urged her confederates to avoid hurting any of them. But her point proved moot, because by the time they arrived back at the construction hub, all but one of the visitors had fled the scene and with them their cars and drivers. There was no way of telling until she got eyes on him, but she suspected the man who’d stayed behind was the silver-haired guy called Corbin. She had also cautioned Po especially about other possible innocent workers on the site. Although she’d seen nobody that fit the bill, there could still be a few of the regular construction workers around. She doubted it, because it was obvious to her that the meeting wasn’t the type the attendees would wish to be overheard. Perhaps anyone not involved with the criminal element of their business had been given the night off. She hadn’t noticed a uniformed security presence, which struck her as odd. At the very least she thought Keane would hire nightwatchmen. Due to the delicate nature of the meeting, she assumed any security guards had been sent to patrol the pipeline: currently work was underway along a large stretch of land, and there were other pockets of activity where excavation and construction equipment was vulnerable to thieves and vandals.