Love Power

by Martha Reed

  Anxiety gave her a jab and her heart skipped a beat thinking of Tyler Shank’s escape. Dropping the curtain, she shrugged it off. Fuck it. I did what I could. Leave it to the pros. They have the national manpower. Carter thinks Tyler’s heading out of state. They’ll catch him eventually.

  Stifling another groan, she limped back to the chair, feeling green and nauseous from the effort of simply crossing the room. Another suggestion flickered along the edge of her mind and just as suddenly it was gone. Jane tried reaching for it, tried recalling what the idea was even about, but her mind drew a complete blank. She fumbled for the chair. The harder she tried to focus on what the idea might have been, the less she remembered. I hate this foggy feeling. Is this normal from the concussion or should I be more worried? The ER doctor said I might experience concentration or memory complaints and irritability. Well, this is me, complaining. Why do I keep feeling like I’ve forgotten something critical?

  She lifted her chin off her chest at a rap on her door.

  “It’s open.” She stated flatly, doing her best not to reawaken the throbbing pain currently coiled up and breathing heavily behind her right eye.

  “Jane?” Leslie Pascoe gently pushed the door open. Standing on the threshold uncertainly, she held a cake pan covered with tin foil in her hands. “Gigi told us about your accident. How are you feeling? May I come in?”

  “Of course, Leslie. Come in.”

  She hesitantly entered the room. “You sure I’m welcome?”

  Jane turned sideways, as much as she could. “Why would you say that?”

  “Well, you know, dear, we had that trouble over the money.”

  “Find a chair, Leslie.” Reaching up, Jane pressed her throbbing temples. “We all make mistakes.”

  “Thank you. I did some baking this morning before church.” Leslie slid the aluminum cake pan over the counter before lightly tapping the tin foil with her fingertips. “Made you a hummingbird cake with buttercream frosting.”

  “I can’t eat that,” Jane replied roughly. “It’s pure carb.” She caught the wince of rejection on Leslie’s face. “Don’t mind me, Leslie. I feel like crap. I’m being a jerk.”

  “Apology accepted.” She murmured. “Oh! Look what they did to your pretty hair.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Jane fingered her stitches. “Looks pretty grim, doesn’t it?”

  “I won’t lie, my dear. It does.” Dragging a rush-bottomed chair across the floor, Leslie sat, resettling the silk scarf around her shoulders and looking motherly and concerned. “So, tell me. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. You look like you lost the war. A nice slice of homemade cake might make you feel better.”

  Jane smiled at her persistence. She thought of the empty hole her own mother’s passing had left in her life. Gee’s lucky to still have her mom around. I know family is a complete pain in the ass, but there’s nothing better. “Maybe later. My stomach’s feeling wonky right now.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry to hear that.” Leslie flattened her skirt over her knees. “Listen. Gigi told us about your outrageous hospital bill.” She peered at Jane like a curious sparrow. “Why on earth didn’t you carry health insurance?”

  Jane squirmed. “It was optional with Guardian. Sixty-five bucks a pay. Decided to skip it and take the risk.”

  “We can see how well that decision turned out.” Leslie sat back. “That’s a decision only a thirty-year-old would make, when you’re young enough to still think you’re bulletproof.” She pursed her lips. “Now, I’ve already talked with Ken and we don’t want you worrying about your rent. We’ve both agreed to give you all the time you need to get back on your feet. We can float your rent for a month or two, take partial payments, whatever you can afford until you build your savings back up. We want to do what we can to help.”

  Jane almost wept. Shit. These are such decent people. “Thanks, Leslie, I really appreciate it. And please thank Ken for me. That’s very kind of you both.”

  “Good, then, that’s settled. You need to focus on healing and getting better.” Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees. “What did Guardian Storage say when you told them? How much time off are they giving you?”

  Jane’s lower lip started trembling uncontrollably. “None. They fired me.”

  “They what?” Leslie looked shocked. “Fired you? Why?”

  “Because they saw my wreck on the news.” Jane confessed. “Chapelle said he can’t trust me anymore because I called in sick and lied about it and he has the proof.” Her head started to throb. “I get what he’s saying, I do. The self-storage business is based on trust, since we’re storing people’s personal stuff.” She sniffled. “He can’t have people questioning the integrity of his security guards. Said it would crush his business. Friday’s paycheck is the last one I’ll get.”

  “Any severance?”

  “Not a dime.”

  Leslie nervously smoothed her hair. “What about unemployment? Can you get that?”

  “No, because I got fired for cause. I already checked.” Jane reached for the tissue box. “I’m hosed, Leslie. I’m so fucking hosed. I’m at the end of my rope.”

  “Oh, honey. Don’t cry. I had no idea it was this bad.” Leslie plucked a handful of tissues. Handing them over, she patted Jane’s hand. “You need to learn to ask for help. You’re not alone in this, you know.” She smiled warmly. “We’re not going to toss you into the street, well, not while I have any say in the matter. Don’t worry, dear. We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like,” she scanned the stale apartment, “getting you up and moving, getting you some fresh air. No wonder you’re all depressed, cooped up in here with nothing to do except think on your worries. I know what we’ll do.” She lifted the dripping ice bag off of Jane’s knee and marched for the sink. “We’ll walk this cake over to Cheryl. She loves pineapple and hummingbird cake is her favorite. Can you hobble that far?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Leslie.” Jane sank deeper into the chair. “I’d rather just stay here.”

  “Hooey.” Leslie scolded, picking up the cake pan. “On your feet, soldier. I know you’ve had words with Cheryl over Ryan, she told me. You have to understand, Jane, she’s worried about Ryan as any mother naturally would be, because she loves him so much.” Standing over Jane, she shrugged. “Being human is tough work. We need to get along. Sure, there’ll be disagreements, that’s natural, but we need to listen to each other and learn to forgive.” She prodded Jane’s shoe with her foot. “No more excuses. What did your doctor say?”

  “He recommended light exercise.” Jane admitted.

  “There’s your answer.” Setting the cake pan down again, she untied her scarf. “Now, dry your eyes and grab your cane, grandma. I’m going to wrap this pretty scarf around your head like a turban, just like this, and we’ll go.” She suited her actions to her words. “Hold still. I’m trying to be careful. Don’t let me hurt you.”

  She studied her work. “Bien. You look as regal as Marie Laveau.” Picking the cake pan back up, she propped the door open, standing next to it and tapping her foot. “You know, sometimes just doing something unexpectedly nice for someone else is all that it takes to make you feel better.”

  Grabbing her cane, Jane tucked her phone in her running shorts pocket and limped for the door. Being vertical again made her feel giddy. “You sound like Aunt Babette.”

  “Which is not a bad thing.” Balancing the cake pan like a pizza box on her open left hand, Leslie gently cupped Jane’s elbow with her right, helping her navigate the uneven garden path. “That’s the spirit, Jane. Step by step. Take it slow. You’re doing great.”

  Her tough love advice had been solid. Jane immediately felt better and more in touch with the overall world as a crisp breeze refreshed her skin. Gripping the cane, she limped past the barren ground that had been the chicken coop as they headed for Plessy Street. U
nexpectedly, the winter rain had skipped a day. Jane noticed that they were leaving fresh footprints in the soft garden soil.

  “You know,” Leslie paused on the sidewalk, looking both ways before leading her across the street, “they’re calling that friend of Ryan’s The Crescent City Slasher, saying he murdered Fancy and Delilah and that man from your work. Can you imagine? A serial killer in my house and at my birthday party?”

  “Carter mentioned it.” Jane tentatively stepped off the curb. “When he called this morning to check on me.”

  “He called? That was nice of him. What else did he say?”

  “They’ve got Tyler on a security camera stealing a car near Jackson Square.” Jane limped on, but her knee was loosening up and honestly feeling better. “They’ve issued a national APB. Best guess is he’s heading out of state.”

  “I’m not wishing trouble on anyone else. I’m just glad he’s away from Gigi and you. That’s my selfish concern. Mother Mary, let’s hope this trouble is over.”

  They turned up the Embry’s driveway. Jane shivered. The Delta Electric van was gone, but it had left a permanent oil stain shaped like a grinning skull on the concrete pad.

  “Careful, dear.” Leslie started up the steps. “Use the railing, that’s what it’s there for.” She rang the doorbell precisely. “Cheryl may need this cake more than I thought. I’m sure she hates all the police attention. She’s very private that way.”

  Jane heard shuffling from behind the door before it slowly cracked open. She braced herself for her reception, not knowing what to expect as Leslie raised the pan.

  “Morning, Cheryl. I did some baking. Thought you might enjoy a hummingbird cake.”

  Cheryl blocked the narrow gap with her body. Trembling, she peered out, making no attempt to open the screen door.

  “Thank you, Leslie. That was very kind of you to think of me.”

  Why is she talking like that? It sounds so stilted, artificial.

  Even Leslie looked confused. “May we come in?”

  “No! Not today.” Cheryl gripped the door. Her smile looked as stiff as a death’s head rictus. “The house is beaucoup crasseux.” She smoothed her patterned housecoat. “I’m not prepared to receive guests.”

  Really? Jane recalled the single other time she had been inside the Embry’s house with its neatly slipcovered furniture, the pillows aligned perfectly on the couch, the metal crucifixes distinctly centered on each wall. Cheryl keeps her house as neat as a pin.

  “Cheryl? What going on?” Leslie demanded sharply. “Are you alright?”

  Cheryl suddenly unlatched the screen door. “Give me the cake.” Reaching for the pan, she whispered: “Tyler’s here. Call 911.” She raised her voice to its normal level. “Thank you, again, Leslie. I’ll return the pan when we’re done.” Whispering again more urgently, she stared, her watery blue eyes pleading and intent. “Tell Ryan to keep away. Please. He’s got a gun.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Cheryl Embry stepped back, her face a clown mask of terror as she shut the door.

  “What do we do?” Leslie hissed, raising her curled fingers to her lips. “That crazy man is inside her house! We can’t leave her with him. We need to do something!”

  “Keep moving.” Fumbling with the cane, Jane started down the steps. “Act normal. He might be watching.” Tyler could take us out before we hit the street. She could almost feel the madman’s beaded sightline wavering on her spine between her shoulder blades. Her initial instinct was to minimize the potential targets by moving Leslie under cover, to keep her safe. Sweat rolled off Jane’s face from pure effort as they re-crossed Plessy Street. “Get in the house, quick. We need to call Carter, the FBI. He’ll notify the NOPD force. Send a SWAT team.”

  Jane almost toppled as Leslie clutched her arm.

  “Wait! You have a gun. Where is it?”

  “Bad idea. I’m in no shape for action.” Jane herded Leslie through the dormant winter garden, hobbling as fast as she could. She pointed the cane up the back porch steps. The Big House’s clapboard walls were thin, but they might be sturdy enough to stop a .22 caliber round. “Bordelon confiscated Lucy at the hospital. I don’t have a carry permit.”

  What weapon does Tyler have? What are we dealing with? Jane paused. And where did Tyler get a gun? The Slasher’s been using a knife.

  “Who’s that down there?” Aunt Babette shouted as the porch door slammed shut. “Leslie? That you? Where y’at?”

  “Babette? Stay in your room.” Jane called. “Keep back from the windows.” Unlocking her phone, she speed-dialed Carter’s number.

  “Says who?” The elderly woman clambered down the kitchen staircase.

  “Oh, Babette!” Leslie wailed, snatching up a dishtowel and anxiously twisting it between her fingers. “That crazy man, that killer is inside Cheryl’s house!”

  “You saw this?” Aunt Babette braced herself in the doorway.

  “No, but that’s what Cheryl said.”

  Pressing her phone against her ear, Jane turned aside as Carter picked up.

  “Special Agent Winston Carter. You’re on a recorded line -”

  “Win?” Jane concentrated on presenting a concise report. “Cheryl Embry just stated that Tyler Shank is in her house. We’ve got a hostage situation.” The adrenaline was singing in Jane’s veins, her favorite feeling. She snapped her fingers. “Leslie? What’s the address?”

  “219 St. Claude Avenue.” She responded automatically.

  “Get that, Win? Cheryl said Tyler’s armed. I don’t know what weapon he’s got.”

  “Are you safe?”

  “Yes. We’re in the Pascoe’s kitchen, back of the house. Secure.”

  “Stay put.” Carter commanded. “I’ll find Mayas. Don’t do anything foolish or rash.”

  She heard his chair squeal.

  “Keep your people safe, Jane. Keep away from the scene. That’s your job now. Do it.”

  “It would be easier if I still had my Ruger.” She protested.

  “Not negotiable. I’ll notify Metro. ETA is ... twenty minutes, maybe less. Jane?”

  “Yes?”

  “Stay safe.” He repeated, hanging up.

  She turned to catch Leslie dialing the old school rotary wall phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Ryan.” Leslie ran her finger down a list of penciled numbers scotch taped to the wall. “He needs to hear this before he sees it on TV.”

  A car horn honked from the driveway like the Queen Mary. Aunt Babette ducked before peering out the laundry room window. “Gigi’s home. Oh! And she’s got Ken and that dog with her.”

  Leslie hung up without completing the call. Tossing the dishtowel at the sink, she tugged the kitchen door open and ran onto the back porch, frantically waving both arms and shouting through the rusted screen. “Ken! Gigi! Get inside, quick!”

  “Bonjour, Maman.” Gee raised a white waxed paper bag, whistling Piddles to the ground. “I brought beignets. Wassup?”

  Leslie was off the porch like a shot, quick stepping across the side yard toward The Boat. Jane caught the screen door as Aunt Babette slipped under her arm.

  “Gigi! Ken! Get inside, quick! That Tyler fellow is holding Cheryl Embry hostage in her house!”

  Ken slowly closed the passenger door. “What’s that you’re saying?”

  “Ken! I’m telling you! That maniac killer is holding Cheryl hostage! We need to get inside where it’s safe. Now.”

  Ken spun around to face St. Claude Avenue as two marked NOPD units barreled through the intersection, their overhead blue and white strobe lights flashing as they squealed to a stop, forming a nose-to-nose V and blocking Plessy Street.

  “Holy shit.” His jaw fell open. “You weren’t kidding.”

  Piddles began to whine as four uniformed officers spilled from the cruisers. Drawing their weapons, they took up defensive positions behind their opened doors, the words NEW ORLEANS POLICE emblazoned in bright yellow lettering across their K
evlar vests.

  “Dispatch: 10-97. Arrived on scene. Copy back.”

  The woman officer spoke into her hand-held radio, her handcuffs gleaming like silver half moons next to the folding baton on her duty belt. A bald, heavy-set sergeant popped the trunk on the lead unit and reached in. Jane’s hands felt oddly empty as he hefted an M-16 rifle, slinging the gun strap over his right shoulder. The two remaining officers never shifted their focus off of the Embry’s house.

  “That was my old world, Gee.” Jane turned as her nose caught a whiff of cherry tobacco, marijuana and Polo cologne. “How stoned are you?”

  “Medium rare.” Gee moistened her lips. “Pops and I enjoyed a wake and bake on the ride home. Sure wasn’t expecting to come home to this. Hope they shoot that motherfucker dead.”

  Distant church bells started clanging as a black Crown Vic raced up, Detective Bordelon behind the wheel. Seeing them clustered in the driveway, Dupree opened the passenger door and got out, striding across the side yard and extending his arms like he was herding sheep.

  “Move away from the street, folks.” He ordered. “Let us do our job.”

  His Kevlar vest had a large gold crescent seal like a bull’s eye target printed directly over his heart. Jane instantly decided that this was not a good look.

  “Christ! It’s a fucking circus.” Ken muttered as a Delta Electric van pulled in behind the Crown Vic. “I need a cigarette.”

  Leaning over the wheel, Ryan Embry gaped at the unfolding scene. Opening the driver’s side door, he slid out of sight before jogging around the van’s rear double door, his face pale with shock. “What’s going on here?” He demanded, pointing at the blockade. “Why are cops blocking the street?”

  “Sir?” Bordelon moved to intercept him. “You need to join these other folks. Stay out of the way.”