by Metsy Hingle
“Sorry, boss,” Bernie mumbled.
Adam scanned the room filled with the costumed riders who had gathered for the ritual breakfast feast. He tried to understand the appeal of climbing aboard the floats and parading through the city to throw trinkets to the fools that had lined up like peasants to see them. The lure of the foolishness escaped him. He watched in amusement as the men returned to the buffet to pile their plates with food guaranteed to bring on a heart attack, then washing it down with gallons of liquor instead of coffee.
It had been a stroke of genius on his part, Adam decided, to hook up with those two idiots in the hotel bar when he’d arrived last night. They’d explained the krewe tradition of gathering for a big breakfast bash before their scheduled parade ride through the city. Apparently the liquor they consumed acted as both a stimulant and warmth if the weather was unpleasant. A stupid tradition Adam thought. But convenient for him. He smiled beneath his mask at his own cleverness. Of course, he’d accepted their offer to go back with them to their room to view their costumes and have another drink. And once he had, it had been child’s play taking them out and grabbing their krewe regalia. What better way to go undetected than to mix in with the revelers?
When Bernie started beside him, Adam snapped, “I said to relax.”
“Sorry. I guess I keep waiting for one of those feds to walk in.”
“And I keep telling you that the authorities aren’t going to bother with one of the more prominent carnival organization’s preride parties. Certainly not today with all that craziness going on outside. Just keep your mask on and pretend we’re just as eager as the rest of these fools to climb up on those floats and parade around throwing beads.”
“How are you supposed to eat or drink anything with this mask on?” Bernie asked.
“You hold the mask away from your mouth, you idiot.”
“Right, boss.”
“And stop calling me, boss,” Adam ordered.
“Right, bo—Right.”
He really was going to have to get rid of Bernie, Adam thought. While he liked the fact that the man was as strong as an ox and never questioned his orders, Bernie was stupid. Too stupid. After all, it had been Bernie’s stupidity in disposing of that agent that had sent the feds to his door. When Bernie reached for another sandwich, Adam said, “Forget about your stomach, and go check in with Deacon. See if he’s picked up the boy yet.”
Bernie put down his sandwich and left to make the call. “Sure thing, bos—Sure thing.”
Yes, he really did need to see about replacing Bernie, Adam decided. As soon as he got Elisabeth and the disk back, he’d see to it that Bernie disappeared. Milling about the room, Adam nodded and pretended to be part of the membership. With the hideous masks on and the amount of liquor being consumed, he doubted most of the fools even knew their own names. He couldn’t help wondering how they were going to manage to stand on a float for hours and throw beads.
Bernie returned to the room and hurried over to him. “He’s got the kid. But he was bawling like crazy because Deacon left his teddy bear when he snatched him. He gave him a shot of that stuff you said to give him to make him sleep.”
“Forget about the boy, you fool.” He didn’t give a damn about the kid. He never had. The boy was simply a means to get Elisabeth—and the disk—back. “What about Elisabeth?”
“She wasn’t there. Just the old lady and Sullivan’s father.”
“And?” Adam asked impatiently.
“Deacon had to take Sullivan’s father out to get to the kid. He couldn’t find out from him where she is.”
“And the old woman? Did she say where Elisabeth was?”
“Deacon says he roughed her up some, but she swore she didn’t know. Just that she was staying at some fancy hotel. She said her and Sullivan were going to come for them this morning after the parades got started.”
“That’s it? What about the hotel phone number?” Adam asked, impatient with the moron. Feeling as though he was dragging the information out of him.
“No. All she had was a cell number.”
“Great. A fancy hotel,” Adam fumed. “Do you have any idea how many fancy hotels there are in this city?”
“The old woman said it was a real nice hotel, that your wife promised the boy she’d try to see the King of Rex at his breakfast and get him one of the special doubloons to bring to him.”
Adam smiled beneath his mask.
“You want me to have another go at the old lady? See if I can get anything else out of her?”
“That won’t be necessary, Bernie. I know where Elisabeth is.”
“You do?”
“Yes. If you had bothered to read this morning’s paper, you would know that the King of Rex and his krewe members always host a special breakfast on the day of their parade at the Saint Charles Court.”
“You mean the place down the street? The br…your wife is just down the street?”
“That’s right. Come along, Bernie. I need to make a phone call to my lovely wife.”
Lily was trying her hardest not to laugh as Michael returned to their hotel room covered in purple beer and carrying a paper sack of biscuits and jelly.
“I’m not sure purple is your color,” she began, and bit her cheek to stop herself from laughing.
Michael gave her a foreboding look, but she saw the laughter in his eyes as he dumped his new cowboy hat into the trash can. When he sniffed at his shirt and blanched, she couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
“I’m glad one of us finds this amusing,” he said.
“I’m sorry. But if you could only see your face.”
“Whoever heard of dying beer purple for Mardi Gras?” Michael muttered. “I could understand if it had been Saint Patrick’s Day, and the fellow had wanted green beer to honor his Irish roots,” Michael said, a hint of the blarney sneaking in with his Texas accent. “But Mardi Gras?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s kind of a nice idea,” she teased. “Although beer instead of coffee for breakfast does seem a bit strange.”
“Darling, you don’t know what strange is until you see some of those outfits down there.” He emptied his pockets on the table next to the bar, kicked off his boots and the rest of his clothes. He grabbed a biscuit and started toward the bathroom. “The Rex parade is just getting under way now. Give me a few minutes to take a shower and change, then I’ll call Travis and we’ll see about heading out.”
Not much longer.
Lily could feel the nerves rumbling in her stomach again as Michael disappeared into the bathroom. Walking over to the mirror on the wall, she adjusted her Cleopatra wig and was surprised when she glanced down to see a gun among Michael’s things. She knew a moment of unease, then told herself she was being foolish. Probably an ex-cop or Texas-guy thing to carry a gun, she reasoned as she reached up to smooth a strand of dark hair away from her eyes. She was about to turn away, when Michael’s cell phone rang. Lily hesitated a second, considered calling Michael, but the shower had kicked on. Remembering that Michael had given his cell number to both Sullivan men, as well as Gertie, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello, Elisabeth.”
Her heart seemed to stop, and she felt the blood drain from her face as she heard the familiar voice from her nightmares.
“Are you there, Elisabeth?”
“Y-yes. I’m here.”
“I’ve missed you, darling. Have you missed me?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “I’ve grown very tired of this game you’ve been playing, Elisabeth. It’s time for you to come home.”
“I’m not coming back, Adam. I’m getting a divorce.”
He laughed. “Do you really believe I’d ever let you go?”
“You don’t have a choice,” she told him. Remembering these past days with Michael, she dug deep within herself for the strength to stand up to him. “You don’t own me.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, my darling wife. I do own you. And you, bett
er than anyone, should know that I always keep what’s mine. Now, be a good girl and come join me in my hotel suite for a little reunion. I’m at the Regent. It’s just down the street from the Saint Charles Court.”
Lily trembled as she realized he knew where she was. Determined to be strong, not to give in to the fear, she said, “No. I’m not coming, Adam. It’s over.”
“You’ll come, Elisabeth. Otherwise, you’ll never see Timothy again.”
“You’re lying,” she said, her heart pounding with fear. “You don’t have Timmy.”
Adam laughed and the sound chilled her blood. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about your grandmother’s friend Gertie?”
Lily whimpered, pressed a hand to her mouth. Oh my God, she thought. He has Timmy. He has Timmy.
“What was that, Elisabeth?”
“You’re lying,” she argued, trying not to panic, trying to think. Travis Sullivan’s men and Michael’s father were with Timmy. They would never let him have Timmy.
“Am I? Regretfully, my man had to dispose of Sullivan’s father. And I understand the old woman was quite against the idea of Timothy being returned to his father. But Deacon and Otto managed to persuade her it was the right thing to do. You do remember Deacon and Otto, don’t you, darling?”
Lily’s stomach pitched as she thought of the Neanderthals that Adam had hired to act as her bodyguards and jailers. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling sick at the knowledge that he’d had Michael’s father killed. She didn’t even want to imagine what they had done to Gertie. And worst of all, she knew now that Adam had her son. “Let me talk to Timmy.”
“You can talk to him when you get here,” he said, and gave her the hotel room number and instructions. “Come alone.”
“All right,” she told him after she’d written down the hotel name and the room number he’d given her. She tore the sheet from the phone message pad and tucked it in the waistband of her outfit. Not that she was likely to forget it, she thought.
“And Elisabeth?”
“Yes?”
“If by chance you were thinking about having Sullivan or one of his friends follow you here, don’t. There will be someone watching for you as you leave the hotel. Tell me what you’re wearing.”
She told him.
“Good. And remember, if I see any signs of Sullivan or his brother, I’ll kill the boy. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“I was sure you would. Now hurry, darling. You only have fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes? But, Adam, the crowds—”
“Fifteen minutes, Elisabeth. And the clock is ticking. If you’re not here, the boy dies. Hurry, darling, I’m anxious to see you again.”
“Adam, please. I’ll do whatever you say, just don’t hurt Timmy. I—”
But the dial tone was already buzzing in her ear. And when she looked up, she saw Michael.
He stood just outside the bathroom doorway, his hair still damp from the shower, a towel draped loosely around his waist. “It’s a trap, Lily,” he told her.
“I don’t care. I have to go. I have to get to Timmy.”
“He doesn’t have Timmy. You know my dad’s there and Travis was sending his men over. If there had been any problem, Travis or my father would have called me.”
“Michael,” she said on a sob. “He…they killed your father.”
Michael’s expression grew fierce. “He’s lying. There’s no way Webster or his men could have taken my dad out. And don’t forget, Travis’s men are there. It’s a trap, I’m telling you.”
“Maybe it is. But I can’t take that chance,” Lily argued.
“Then give me a minute. Let me call my dad.”
Unsure what to do, aware of the time, she shoved the cell phone at Michael. “All right. But hurry!”
Michael punched in the number. “Dammit.” He punched it in a second time.
“What is it?”
“My dad’s phone is going to voice mail, and I can’t get through to Travis because the circuits are busy. Let me try the hotel phone. What’s Gertie’s number?”
But there was no answer at Gertie’s house, either. And Lily knew she couldn’t wait any longer. “I have to go.”
“Then I’m coming with you. Let me get dress—”
“No,” Lily told him. “I have to go alone. Adam has someone watching me. If you or anyone follows, he’ll kill Timmy.”
“I’m not letting you go alone,” Michael told her, starting to move past her for his clothes.
Lily grabbed the gun from the tabletop. “You don’t have any choice,” she said, aiming it at him. Ignoring the tears sliding down her cheeks, she gathered up his ruined clothes with one hand, keeping the gun trained on him with the other. “Hand me the rest of your clothes.”
“Lily, don’t,” he said as he started toward her.
“Stop! I mean it, Michael. I love you, and I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to. Now, give me the clothes.”
Once he’d handed them to her, she stuffed them in the shopping bag they’d used the day before. She pulled open the closet door, yanked her own clothes from the hangers and shoved them into the bag. Then she backed her way to the door. “I’m sorry, Michael. So sorry.”
“Lily, please. Don’t do this. Let me help you. Give me the clothes.” As she continued to back up toward the door, he said, “Then at least tell me where you’re going.”
“I can’t. I can’t. If you feel anything for me…anything at all, you won’t try to follow me.” Then reaching for the doorknob behind her, she opened the door and backed out into the hall. Not bothering to wait for the elevator, she ran to the door marked Stairs and raced down. When she burst into the lobby, she dumped the bag of clothes in a trash bin and ran out of the hotel.
And as she dodged and maneuvered to fight her way through the throngs she prayed. Please, God, please. Don’t let him hurt Timmy.
Furious with himself and with Lily, Michael slammed the cell phone across the room and heard the satisfying crash as it shattered. Then he swiped the hotel phone off the table. How could he have let this happen? How could he have let Lily go to that monster?
And what about his father? No, he refused to believe Big Mike was dead. He wouldn’t believe it. Webster was lying. He had to be.
Bracing his hands against the table, he stared down at the message pad, saw the indentation. He searched the floor for the pencil that had been tossed with the phone, grabbed it and ran it across the blank sheet. “The Regent. Room 502,” he read aloud.
He crushed the note into his fist. He couldn’t let Lily do this. He had to stop her. Racing over to the closet, he tore through it searching for something, anything, he could wear. When he came up empty, he said, “To hell with it.” After knotting the towel more tightly around his waist, he went over to retrieve his boots where he’d left them earlier. And as he bent down to get them, he spied the box with the gladiator costume.
“It beats a towel,” he muttered. Ripping off the top of the box, he dug through the tons of tissue and pulled out the studded breastplate and matching skirt and briefs. Within a matter of seconds, he had the thing on, including the sandals. He looked down at the shield and sword inside the box, started to leave them, then thought better of it. They weren’t real, but were heavy enough to look like the real thing and could be used as a weapon. He’d have preferred his gun, Michael admitted as he headed out the door. But if it worked for Russell Crowe, maybe it would work for him, too.
He didn’t even bother trying the elevator, remembering how slow it had been earlier with the mobs of people in and out of the hotel. He slapped open the door to the stairwell and started down the concrete steps. He didn’t bother looking up and ignored the startled gasp as he passed someone else going down. When he shoved open the door to the second-floor landing, he heard a familiar voice yell, “Hey buddy, watch where the hell you’re going.”
“Travis!”
“Michael! What in the
hell’s going on?” his brother demanded. He ran his eyes up and down his brother. “And what are you doing in a skirt?”
“Don’t ask,” Michael mumbled, not bothering to ask why Travis was wearing a security uniform.
“Yeah? Well, while you’ve been playing dress up, I’ve been busting a gut to get here. I thought you were in some kind of trouble when I couldn’t get you on your cell phone and the hotel said your room phone was out of order.”
“Both phones met with an accident.” Michael swallowed. “Trav, Webster says his men killed Dad.”
“Like hell they did. The kid left his teddy bear at somebody’s house the night before and Dad went to get it. Webster’s goons were waiting for him when he got back. Dad got one of them, but the other one managed to get off a shot. Dad took one in the shoulder.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. Just his pride is a little bruised.”
Relieved to know his father was okay, he asked, “And Timmy?”
“Webster’s guys took him. That’s why I was trying to reach you,” Travis told him.
“What happened to your men? I thought you were sending them as backup for Dad.”
“One man. It’s all I could manage. And he had trouble getting there with the parade crowds. By the time he arrived, Dad was down and they’d grabbed the kid. They roughed up the old woman a bit, too.”
“How bad is she?”
“She’s got a few bruises,” Travis told him as they raced down the last flight of stairs. “I think she’s more scared than anything. She thought they’d killed Dad, and she’s real worried about the little boy.”
She had reason to worry, Michael thought, because he didn’t doubt for a minute that everything Lily had told him about Webster was true. The man was sick—sick enough to be jealous of his own son. A knot the size of Texas formed in his stomach as he thought about Timmy and Lily at the hands of that monster. “Well, Webster has him now,” Michael said, as he and his brother charged out into the lobby. They nearly ran down a couple dressed as a harem dancer and her sultan as they raced to the doors leading out to the street.