by G A Chase
It wasn’t his newly acquired memento that excited him. Somewhere out in the swirling water of the Mississippi was a vault full of his possessions. He needed a boat and some diving gear, but he had to avoid being detected by Sanguine. Women hate not being the one and only object of a man’s desires.
The objects in the iron box that had once belonged to the baron still carried the curse. Kendell had made a mistake in stashing her connection to the curse in the golden guitar pick given to her by the loas of the dead. Power equaled leverage, and she’d foolishly put hers in a box like a little girl storing keepsakes in a treasure chest. Reacquiring his link to the spell through the objects locked in the vault gained him a tactical advantage—though it still wouldn’t be enough to let him walk out of hell scot-free.
The noise of the dry dock across the river caught his attention. A tugboat was being stripped bare for a repaint. They must have what I need, but every person I see is a risk. Hauling scuba gear on the ferry would look too suspicious. I’ll need to sneak over and steal the equipment.
Between talking with Brother Aramis, waiting on Sanguine, and meeting with Fleurentine, he’d used up most of the day. The cover of night would work, not just for his stealthy operation in obtaining the gear, but also for his underwater excursion. First, though, he needed a boat to cross the river without drawing suspicion.
He spent the remaining hours of daylight nonchalantly walking along the river. If by chance Sanguine was checking up on him with one of her spies, she’d assume he was contemplating their night together. Allowing her to think she’d had such a strong impact on him could work in his favor. Tugboats, ranging from small barge pushers to ocean-going rescue vessels, worked their way upriver, but few docked along the French Quarter.
He fondled the roll of cash in his pocket. It would come in useful even if the people he met were nothing more than puppets. Money was such a basic desire that it worked even on the mindless drones.
A large tanker struggled to make the bend in the river. Once the behemoth was clear, a small pilot boat that had been following it like a remora chasing a shark broke off and headed for the wharf. Perfect.
Colin resisted the urge to run toward the small boat as the three-man crew tied it off. He needed to be patient. A captain probably wouldn’t be open to bribes, but a mate on night watch might. He turned to the setting sun. The tanker had been late making its way upriver. Most of the larger ships had either dropped anchor closer to the gulf or traveled beyond New Orleans to the loading docks and oil refineries. As he approached the high-speed blue boat, he heard the skipper wishing his mate a good night.
Colin sat on a metal bench designed to provide rest to weary tourists who couldn’t handle the heat and humidly of the walk along the river. He nodded at the two men as they walked past him.
When the late-afternoon shadows melded with the night, he got off the bench and headed for the small boat. The pilothouse was brightly lit, showing the night watchman lounging in a chair at the wheel. He probably has to keep watch in case there’s some ship captain who’s in too big a hurry to wait until morning.
Colin hopped onto the deck and quietly rapped on the cabin’s window. The sleepy boat attendant woke with a bit of a start but smiled at seeing he had a visitor. “Can I help you find your way, sir?”
Colin pulled out his roll of bills. “I was hoping I could hire you for an hour or two. Nothing overly illegal—I just need to secure some diving equipment and retrieve a metal box that fell in the river. I can pay handsomely, but we’ll have to keep our activities out of the public eye.”
“I’m afraid all I can do is run you around the river. Diving isn’t a service we provide.”
Colin nodded toward the dry docks. “That’s where the ‘nothing overly illegal’ comes into play. I just need to borrow some of their equipment. If it makes you feel better, I can leave an envelope with some cash for the rental.”
The man looked across the river and nodded. “No need. Everyone who works on the river is pretty chummy. I know the night watchman over there. If you’ve got the money and promise we’ll return the equipment unharmed, I think I can persuade him to help. I’d like a better look at that wad of cash, though, just to make sure our hypothetical excursion is worth the risk.”
Colin thumbed through the hundred-dollar bills until the look on the man’s face switched from skeptical to eager. “We need to go as soon as possible.”
By the time Colin made his way into the cabin, the man had already started the engine. “Just sit on the back bench. I’ll have the lines clear in a moment. I hope you’re an accomplished diver. The river gets a little squirrelly this time of night when the tides change.”
Colin had to hang onto the bench supports as the small boat plowed through the waves toward the Westbank. Though he’d made the crossing numerous times in everything from luxury paddle wheelers to run-down ferries, he’d never before been tossed around like a fishing float bobbing in the rapids.
The pilot shut off the running lights once he’d cleared the ferry terminal. “Though it’s not unusual to have boats pull up at night, no use advertising. Once I tie up, give me five minutes to talk to my friend. A couple of those hundreds might help smooth my negotiations.”
Colin peeled off five more hundred-dollar bills. “Just be quick.”
“You got it.” The man had the boat moored and was over the side before Colin’s eyes had a chance to adjust to the darkness.
He tried not to stare at his watch. No one is ever going to make me believe all minutes are of an equal measure. I’ve spent enough time in hell to know better.
When he saw the two men lugging an oxygen tank and diving gear across the heavily steel-plated pier, he ran out of the cabin to lend a hand. “I’ll have this stuff back in an hour, two tops.”
The security guard nodded. “You’d better, or it’ll be my ass on the line. I’ll expect the second half of my money when you return.”
Colin wondered if that meant a match to the full five hundred he’d handed the pilot. The money doesn’t matter. Though he hated even the possibility of being taken advantage of, his prize was worth the cost.
While the boat lurched back across the river, Colin flopped around on deck like a catfish as he tried to squeeze into the wet suit.
“Where’re we headed?” the pilot asked.
“You know the wooden pilings that support Spanish Plaza? What I’m searching for is somewhere under that built-up wharf.”
The boat swung wildly away from the Quarter and toward the Crescent City Connection. “You realize there are a lot of tourists who find that overlook of the river kind of romantic. That bridge is not the most private spot for conducting whatever activity you have in mind.”
Colin surveyed the area. “Drop me off upriver alongside the outlet mall. None of those shops have windows. I can float downriver under Spanish Plaza until I find what I want.”
The pilot cut the engine down to half throttle as they approached the east bank of the river. “And how am I going to retrieve you? I have a hard enough time powering against this current. Swimming against it seems a bit beyond your capabilities.”
Colin wasn’t as spry as when Sanguine had dumped him in hell. Though only months had passed for her, it had been years for him. “They close the river walk past the ferry in about half an hour. There won’t be anyone wandering around except some security guards, and your boat is small enough not to be detected so far below the wharf. Meet me just this side of the paddle wheeler. If you don’t see me, work your way this direction until you’re back at the mall. I should find what I’m looking for between those two landmarks.”
The pilot looked over the course Colin had laid out. “That should work. Once you’re in the water, I’ll head back to port just to check in. No point hanging around looking conspicuous if I don’t have to.”
Colin nodded. The pilot cut the engine to idle and drifted the boat up to the waterlogged pilings. After checking the gear, Colin slipped off the b
ack of the boat and into the cold water of the Mississippi.
The current bashed him into one of the wooden posts just as the pilot boat motored back into the channel. Colin took a pull at the oxygen mouthpiece before submerging himself in the black water filled with obstacles. Even with the waterproof flashlight, he could only see ten feet ahead due to the mud churned up by the river. I must be out of my mind, thinking I’m going to find my safe in all this muck.
In spite of his apprehension, he worked his way down to the river bottom and started his methodical search. The wooden pilings formed a grid pattern under Spanish Plaza. Being careful not to be swept past the next row of stripped tree trunks, he worked his way from the rapidly moving river to the shore under the raised cement floor of the plaza. River rats bigger than his head scurried along the muddy beach. They didn’t appear to be afraid of him in the least.
“Find me my vault.”
The rat nearest him sneered and carried on with his nightly vigil. Damn it. I could really use some bigger creatures at my command right now. Other than his squadron of mosquitoes, he couldn’t be sure any life form would listen to him anymore.
He worked around the next support and dove back into the river. The closer he came to the end of the row of wooden beams, the harder the river pulled at him. Hanging onto the trusses kept him from being swept away but made the search that much harder. No wonder the fail-safe dumped the vaults out here. No one in his right mind would be able to locate one.
After twelve passages from beach to river and back, he developed a routine. From each support, he scanned the area with his flashlight. His strength was failing, but he felt sure he hadn’t bypassed his vault.
As he struggled back toward the shore, he cut his forehead on a corner of submerged metal. In spite of the pain, he ran his hands over the rectangular metal structure. This is it. It has to be.
Unfortunately, it was half-buried in the silt. He left his prize, returning to shore to catch a breather and consider what best to do with the massive box. Breathing air, even the creosote-laden mist kicked up by the waves, beat the purified oxygen from the tank. “It’s too big to simply haul out of the river. I should have guessed that after spending so much time in Luther’s vaults.”
He looked at the rat, which stared at him as if he were some alien creature. “Guess I just thought he wouldn’t waste so much space on a handful of objects. He must have been expecting Kendell to dig up a lot more of my old junk.”
The rat squeaked and hurried off after some unseen prey.
“Right. What’s inside isn’t the problem at hand. If I open it underwater, I could dig out what I want, but the current might sweep my stuff out into the river.” He looked around at the short overhang. He barely had room to sit. “This space is too small to stand it upright, but I might be able to prop the door far enough open to squeeze inside.” He shook his head as the thought of being trapped in the underwater crypt elicited nightmares of past horror stories. “Damn you, Luther Noire.”
He thought back to what he remembered about the vaults in the World Trade Center. The doors are sealed so tightly that nothing could escape. So that box must be airtight. Assuming I can get it free of the mud, it should float. If I can’t bring it ashore, I’d need to get it out into the river.
The riverbank was littered with debris ranging from red plastic cups to shipping blocks and tackle. But before he began rounding up tools, the image of being stuck in the vault lined up with his memories of Luther’s building. Those vaults aren’t just airtight—they’re cut off from the outside dimension. If I could drag that safe somewhere unnoticed by Sanguine, it might prove useful. Even though it wouldn’t give me access to other realms, it would make me undetectable in this one.
He searched for the longest, heaviest rope he could find. A light struck him in the face, temporarily blinding him. Once it moved off down the shoreline, he made out the blue pilot boat. Damn. I must have been down here longer than I thought. He used his flashlight to signal the boat.
To relieve himself of an additional swim through the current, he secured the rope to a hook on the vault then dragged the end with him as he worked his way out of the comparative safety of the wharf. He held on tightly to the last wooden support as the pilot boat drifted in closer than Colin found comfortable.
“Find what you were looking for?” the pilot asked.
“Yep, but it’s buried in the silt. It’s also larger than I remembered.” He held up the line. “Think your boat could tug it off the river bottom?”
“This boat may look small, but she’s got a lot of power. If you can free it from the mud, I can haul it out.” He took the end of the rope and secured it to a cleat on the side of the boat. “Just make it fast. My friend across the river isn’t going to wait all night.”
“Once we get it free and floated downriver, I’ll have you drop me and the vault off past the shipping docks,” Colin said. “After that, I’ll give you this gear to take back to your friend.”
“Just make sure there’s another five hundred in the pockets.”
Greedy bastard. “You and your friend will get paid. I don’t imagine you’ve got a shovel up there, do you? Or do I have to pay a surcharge for any equipment used from the boat?”
The pilot smiled. “We’re an all-inclusive operation.” He dug around under the visitor’s seat and pulled out a folding emergency spade. “Don’t take too long. I feel like I’m showing my ass out here—and there aren’t any Mardi Gras beads headed my way.”
“I suppose the difference between flashing and public indecency is mostly a matter of the season.” Colin ducked back below the water line and pulled at the rope to get back to the vault.
As if the water weren’t murky enough, as he dug at the silt, it turned into an opaque cloud of greenish brown only visible in the light from the pilot boat. Colin resorted to using one hand to gauge the confining mud while using the shovel in the other to clear the vault. He could practically hear the boat pilot demanding that he move faster. Once he felt the vault give at the other end of the rope, he swam back to the surface. “Give it a tug. If it comes loose, I’ll stay down here to guide it past the piers.”
Halfway back to the vault, Colin’s legs started to cramp. He didn’t need the reminder that he was a businessman and not a world-class swimmer. His forehead was still bleeding from his initial run-in with the vault, and he had trouble knowing which way was up in the swirling water. The rope lurched in his hand, the only warning of the pilot hitting the gas and pulling the vault free from the river bottom.
In spite of his intention to guide the vault out of its confinement, Colin found he had to hold onto the rope for dear life as he was pulled from the relatively calm water under the wharf to the unforgiving chaos of the Mississippi River. A series of hard jerks of the line indicated the vault had encountered the line of wooden posts between it and the open water. Each time the line lurched in his hands, Colin felt as if he were grasping the handhold of a bucking steer. I’m no swimmer, and I’m no cowboy. If I get out of this, I’m never again going to complain about spending my workdays behind a desk.
When the vault finally stopped resisting its liberation, Colin spun in the conflicting currents and eddies of the river with only the rope as his lifeline. Even the bubbles from his regulator seemed lost as to the surface of the water. He couldn’t remember ever being more at the mercy of another human being.
The rope swung in a lazy arc, moving from the direction of the river flow to perpendicular to the force. When it swung again so that Colin had to hang on, he knew they were close to docking.
As if someone had turned off a fire hose, the rush of water stopped. The rope in his grasp pulled him toward the surface of the water. He broke out of the confining river back into the dark of night and saw his treasured vault floating behind him. Beyond the vessel, the concrete jetty held a peaceful backwater lagoon that the boat had swung into.
Like a fish on the line, Colin felt the pilot pulling on the rope
to get him back to the boat. In the dive equipment, he lost track of the hull until his head bumped into the solid metal side. He tightly grasped the lifeline as the pilot hoisted him out of the water. In the heavy slippery gear, he flopped onto the deck.
“You must be the craziest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. Never heard of anyone shooting the river underwater like that.”
Colin pulled off the oxygen mouthpiece, wondering how he hadn’t bit it in two. “Glad to have provided some entertainment.”
39
Sanguine was in for a fight with Kendell, but there was no point delaying the inevitable. Waiting around until dusk for their usual meeting would just be a waste of Sanguine’s time, and she needed to get back to watching over Colin. She hitched up her wings and walked into Scratch and Sniff. Cardboard-cutout Delphine looked away from her customers and nodded toward the back room.
“I shouldn’t be long,” Sanguine said. “But you might want to shut the door just the same. There might be yelling.”
The flash across Delphine’s eyes was enough of an indication that the real voodoo practitioner had checked in. “Try not to break anything.”
“I can’t make any promises.” Sanguine tried not to be too judgmental of the hidden voodoo library as she squeezed into the small space. The fact that the library was located in a secret closet, however, made her think the voodoo priestess was still trying to hide her passion. Sanguine took a seat in the guest chair. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with hundred-year-old ledgers that gave the room a feeling of voodoo oppression.
Kendell’s seventh-gate voodoo totem, with attached golden guitar pick, sat on a small table. Sanguine turned the totem toward her. This must be the dumbest form of communication ever. She rapped on the totem’s head as if trying to wake the spirit inside. The action was completely unnecessary. Seeing Delphine out front was all that Sanguine had needed. The voodoo practitioner was responsible for notifying Kendell.