by Rick Reed
Papa turned to Marie and said, “He can wait.”
Marie pulled a Styrofoam cooler from underneath her desk. “I brought this,” she said and lifted the lid. It was packed with ice, two crystal tumblers, and a bottle of Laphroaig ten-year-old Scotch.
Papa smiled and removed the hat and the wig of white ringlets and put these on top of the wardrobe. He ran a handkerchief over his face and across his bald head and sat next to her. He filled the glasses with ice and Scotch and handed one to Marie.
“Tell me again why we don’t take donations from these fools,” Marie said, her bright red lips forming a perfect pout. “And why aren’t we charging for these ceremonies and rituals? I’m working my ass off here, and I feel like I took a shower inside my dress.” To emphasize this, she opened her gown and pulled her soaked top up, revealing generous breasts. She knew that to Papa those breasts were part of the gold mine that was her body. A body he had mined more than once over the years.
* * *
Jack opened the door and when they stepped into the room the lights didn’t come on. No motion sensors in this room at least. Jack pointed to the ceiling. “Vent pipe. I wonder if they are in each room. There must be a circulation system somewhere.”
The room was empty except for a half dozen wooden pallets stacked in a corner. “Storage room,” Jack said, and they stepped back into the hall. Jack was about to shut the door when a door closed somewhere and he heard voices coming toward them. He and Liddell ducked back into the room, and Jack pulled the door almost shut behind them and listened.
The voices were masculine. One was deep, like that of James Earl Jones, with an unmistakable Southern lilt. The other had an accent that Jack associated with the Caribbean. The Caribbean voice said, “The room ready, Papa.”
Jack watched through the crack in the door. The hall was empty but he could still hear footsteps in the adjoining hall. The one that led to the dead-bolted door. He moved stealthily and peeked around the corner. Two men, one a giant, bigger even than Liddell, the other no more than five feet tall, round, and he was carrying Jack’s rubber boots.
Jack felt a hand touch his shoulder and jumped. It was Bigfoot.
Liddell said, “The big one must be Papa. I wonder if they’re going to meet with Troup? Do we go after them or check the other rooms first?”
“They’ve got Landry’s boots. Let’s go see what Papa and Troup are saying. We’ll come back if we have time, but I don’t expect to find anything in the other rooms. We would have found a drug operation by now.”
They exited the storage room and hurried after Papa and the other man. At the end of the passage Jack put his ear against the wooden door and could hear muffled voices getting fainter. He tried the door but it was locked.
“There must be another passage to the mansion behind this door. We’re going to lose these guys. We should go back upstairs and try the other entrance.”
A woman’s voice came from behind them. “What’s the hurry?”
* * *
“Lay your guns on the floor,” Dusty ordered. “Or don’t.”
Liddell stooped down and laid his .45 on the concrete.
“Now you.” She pointed the rifle at Jack’s midsection.
He figured she has already killed three people. Five wouldn’t matter. He reached for the Glock, and she said, “Use your other hand.” He pulled the Glock from the holster with just his finger and thumb. Jack gently laid it on the concrete.
“Now kick them over here. One at a time,” she said.
Liddell shoved the S&W .45 with his foot, and Jack followed suit. The guns slid just out of her reach.
“Now turn around and keep your hands where I can see them.”
They turned their backs and held their hands above their heads.
“It’s over, Dusty,” Jack said. “The Sheriff is on his way if he’s not here already.”
“It’s not over till the fat lady sings,” said a familiar voice, and Sheriff Guidry came through the door in front of them. His gun was pointed at them.
Jack should have been surprised, but everyone in this sewer hole of a town seemed to be dishonest.
“We were set up,” Jack said.
“You think you feel used,” Dusty said. “My house is a complete loss, and it still didn’t stop you two from meddling.”
“Dusty, your house was overinsured, so don’t cry too much,” Guidry added, and Dusty gave a snort that passed as a laugh.
Jack asked, “How did you know we were here?”
Guidry pointed his pistol at Jack’s face and said, “I’m going to grant you one last request just to show you how nice I am.” Guidry pointed the barrel of the gun down to Jack’s sock feet. “Your rubber boots told on you, son. Luke saw them in the hall and knew they don’t belong. None of these boys would leave anything that could be stolen. Now shut the hell up. I’m getting tired of all this. I’d just as soon shoot you right here, but Papa wants to ask you some questions. You’re lucky it’s not me or her asking the questions.”
Jack could hear Dusty snicker close behind. Guidry kept his gun trained on them and motioned for them to step back as Dusty picked up their guns. “Turn around and walk toward me,” she ordered. She held a hand up, stopping them near of one of the doors, unlocked and open now. “That’s far enough. Assume the position, boys,” she said.
Jack leaned against the wall and spread his legs, glancing back at Dusty. Two men armed with shotguns came up and covered them. Jack recognized one of the men as Dreadlocks from the front gate, the young one that wanted to shoot first and call Papa later. Not good.
“Face the wall, bozos,” Dusty said.
“Why Bitty?” Liddell asked, and the butt of a shotgun buried in his kidney. Liddell’s knees buckled but he was a big man. He didn’t go down. He asked again, “Why Bitty?”
“Takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’,” Guidry said and laughed at his own joke. “I’ll tell you why Bitty. Bitty could have saved herself a whole passel of trouble if she’d a just stopped when I told her to stop. She was digging into a case of a missing teen and next thing you know she’s off to the races. She came to me and wanted to go to the papers or television with them. These kids were like pond scum. You scoop ’em up and more just takes their place. Runaways, druggies, abused kids. All the same. You can’t fix what ails them. But Bitty wanted to try. She was getting too close, and I knew I couldn’t control her.”
Human trafficking. That’s why Dusty is involved. Jack said, “So you killed her to shut her down.”
“You already had your one question, smart ass,” Guidry said and struck Jack in the back with his fist.
Jack’s eyes teared up from the pain, but he held himself steady and asked another question. “What’s Troup getting out of this? Where’s he at?”
Dreadlocks clubbed Jack across the head with a shotgun barrel. He felt something warm trickle down into his eyes.
“We’ll ask the questions, and you better listen good because there’s gonna be a test,” Guidry said and chuckled.
The two men with shotguns kept them covered while Dusty and Guidry expertly patted them down, taking everything that could be used for a weapon or escape. Dusty said to the guards, “Lock them up.”
Dreadlocks shoved Liddell and Jack into the room and stood in the doorway, giving them his best gangsta look. Jack would have laughed if his head didn’t hurt so much.
The door shut, the bolt slid home, and the room was thrown into darkness except for a tiny crack of light at the bottom of the door. Jack could see shadows of movement and hear Dusty saying something he couldn’t make out.
“Well, I didn’t see that coming,” Liddell said.
Jack dragged a hand along the walls, measuring the room. It was about ten foot by ten foot and empty of anything to use for a weapon. He sat down with his back against a wall. Things hadn’t gone as planned, but there was still a chance. Landry knew where they were going. If he didn’t hear from them soon he’d . . . He’d do what? Report it to the poli
ce? To the Sheriff?
Liddell must have been thinking along the same lines. “I wish Landry didn’t know where we were going. Both of these assholes know we’re staying with him, and if he calls one of them to report us missing he might go missing himself.”
“They can’t just keep killing people, Bigfoot. Somebody’s bound to notice a bunch of people getting dead or disappearing. The news media will be all over it. Our department will look into our disappearance.” Jack knew what he was saying was bullshit. Even if the EPD investigated their disappearance, it wouldn’t go anywhere because of the corruption here. He thought about the promises he’d made to Katie. If he couldn’t find a way out of this, her worst nightmare would come true. And he had to consider a baby Bigfoot growing up without a daddy Bigfoot.
“Chief Whiteside,” Jack said. “I wonder where she fits into this. She’s been all over the map with this investigation. She’s lied and threatened us one minute and wants our help the next. Maybe Troup has some dirt on her. Maybe she’s just bipolar. Or maybe she’s a partner in whatever the hell is going on here.”
“Kurtis and his brother Jon will miss us and rally the cavalry,” Liddell said, and then, “Oh, shit! You don’t think . . . ?”
Jack thought about Kurtis. “Kurtis doesn’t like Troup, or Barbie for that matter. I know he gave us up to Whiteside, but he’s still a kid. He still wants to be liked by his boss. He’s not jaded like us. I don’t think he’s involved.”
“Yeah but what if?” Liddell said. “When we tried to get a search warrant Guidry said something like we needed Kurtis to get the warrant because he gave us everything we know. Kurtis found the soil samples. You said yourself that you couldn’t make heads or tails of that ag report, and Whiteside tells us the samples came from Baton Rouge. It was Kurtis that gave us the Laveau Plantation. And Troup stopped us on the road to let us know he was on to Kurtis. It all fits. What if Troup did that to make us believe Kurtis, so Kurtis could set us up?”
It was a good argument. But Jack felt sorry for Kurtis. Whiteside had treated him like dirt in front of everyone and threatened to suspend him for trying to help with the investigation. He was young and full of passion for police work. Unlike Barbie, he didn’t equate police work with brutalizing anyone. And unlike Troup, he wasn’t arrogant and bending the law to suit himself. He didn’t want to think Kurtis was one of the bad guys. But it was possible. The boy did seem to be nudging them along.
“Anyone that has helped us is in danger,” Jack said. “If Kurtis is involved, he’s played us. But if he’s not, I think he’ll be seeing the inside of one of these rooms. Both Troup and Guidry know he’s helping us.”
They had sat in the dark for what seemed like an hour when Jack heard the bolt sliding open. Jack plastered himself along the side of the door and braced himself for a fight. He wasn’t going to make it easy for whoever had come to finish them off.
The door was yanked open, and Landry stood there holding a stainless-steel Desert Eagle .50 caliber handgun.
“Liddell, Jack,” Landry called.
Jack stepped out of the darkness with Liddell right behind him. Jack asked, “How in the hell did you get down here?”
“You didn’t think I’d let you come out here alone, did you? Besides, Evie might be here.”
“What I meant was, how did you get down here?”
“There’s a cemetery back behind here. Liddell and me used to hang out with other kids there. I knew where you’d park because that’s where we always parked. I found your tracks, but I had to circle around because there’s a fire out there. Everyone was running helter-skelter. I saw Sheriff Guidry and some woman come in here,” Landry said.
“That must have been Dusty,” Liddell said.
“This wasn’t here when we were teenagers. Must be some kind of bunker, huh?”
“Do you think you can find the way back out?” Jack asked Landry.
“I’m not leaving. I’ve got to look for my daughter.”
“Landry, listen to me . . .” Liddell said and was interrupted when the armed men who had locked them up came out of a room across the hall.
Dreadlocks tried to bring the shotgun barrel down, but Jack grabbed it and shoved it upward. The blast went into the ceiling, raining bits of concrete down on them. Jack followed up by shoving the barrel over the man’s head while pulling at the pistol grip and brought the barrel down onto a very surprised face. Hands came up in surrender, and Jack slammed the barrel down again, snapping Dreadlocks’ left clavicle. The man doubled over in pain. Jack stepped back and put his weight into it as he drove his knee forward into the upturned face. The man crumpled to the floor.
Jack saw the other man had left a smear of blood on the wall where he slid down it. Landry was relieving the unconscious man of the shotgun while Liddell cradled his hand.
“He’s still got a mean punch,” Landry said.
“How’s the hand?” Jack asked Liddell.
Liddell flexed his fingers and made a fist. “I’m good. It’s just been a while, but it felt good.”
Landry took the weapon off safe, eased the shotgun’s slide back, and checked the chamber. He thumbed the safety to the ‘fire’ position and handed the shotgun to Liddell. “The safety was still engaged. Damn idiot.”
“Someone’s bound to have heard that blast. We’d better get moving,” Jack said.
Jack had Dreadlocks’ shotgun now. He checked both men’s pockets for extra twelve-gauge ammo. One had several unspent rounds and the other had nothing but a switchblade knife. Jack handed Liddell half of the ammunition and he pocketed the knife.
“Damn amateurs.” Landry said.
Jack and Landry dragged the unconscious men into the room where they had been locked up and bolted the door. “You can stay if you like,” he said to Landry.
“So what are we doing?” Landry noticed Jack’s sock feet. “You went and lost my boots?”
Liddell squeezed Landry’s shoulder. “We’re going to find Evie, and we’re going to call the Feds and shut these assholes down.”
“So what’s the plan?” Landry asked.
Liddell asked, “What’s the plan, pod’na?”
“I guess we follow Dusty and Guidry,” Jack said. “I don’t think they went back through there,” he said, pointing to the wooden door. I think I heard them go around the corner. There must be something down there.”
They took the hallway to the right, and after about twenty feet it came to a T.
“Split up?” Landry asked.
Jack pointed to the left. “I’ll take this one. You and Liddell go that way. If you see someone, shoot them. No more nice guy.”
“Damn straight,” Landry said. “But I think you should take this big fella. He’ll just get in my way.”
Liddell said, “Just like when we were kids. You never picked me for your team.”
“Like I said, you always got in my way,” Landry said.
“Come on,” Jack said to Liddell, and they turned left. After a few yards, Jack asked. “You think he’ll be okay by himself?”
“I pity anyone that gets in his way,” Liddell said.
They hurried to the end of the hall where a big door was cracked open and a light was on inside. Jack nudged the door a little wider and saw it was a cafeteria of sorts. The kitchen had stainless-steel worktables and heavy-duty double sinks and a walk-in refrigerator /freezer. A long serving counter separated the kitchen from the half dozen picnic tables. There were plates of half eaten food, soft drink cans, and coffee mugs on some of the tables. Some of the guards must have been in here when the fire broke out, but the room was empty now.
Just to his left was a heavy wooden door. With the shotgun in one hand, he cracked the door open and peered into a maroon-carpeted space that led to a wide staircase. Next to the staircase was another door.
The staircase was enormous, at least ten feet wide, and ascended to an upper floor. The staircase banisters, as thick as his arm, ran up both sides. The ceilings were thirt
y feet high, and hanging above the staircase was a massive chandelier whose cut crystals glittered like diamonds.
Jack held the shotgun at the low-ready position and crossed to the door on the back wall. He opened the door, and he heard whispering coming from inside. There was a rustle of movement, and the door shut. He cradled the shotgun across his arm with the safety off, finger beside the trigger guard. He tried the handle again. It was locked. He would have kicked it in, but he was only wearing socks.
“Cover me,” he said to Liddell, and as he put his shoulder into the door it was pulled open and he fell into the room. Jack hit the floor and rolled to the side, bringing the shotgun up. The woman was petite with almond-shaped eyes, light brown skin, and wearing a long silk gown. She was frightened out of her mind.
“Is anyone else in here?” Jack asked.
She hesitated. “No one. I’m alone,” she said and cast her eyes down to her feet.
Jack rose to one knee, the shotgun sweeping the room from left to right. A rollaway bed and tiny wardrobe comprised the room’s furniture. The bathroom door was shut.
Jack motioned at the closed door, and asked, “Who’s in there?”
“No one is here. Just me,” the woman said.
Jack stood, pointed the shotgun at her, and motioned toward the closed door. “Open the door, and it had better be empty or—no pun intended—you’re in deep shit.”
The door seemed to open on its own, and a small voice said, “Don’t hurt her. I’ll come out.”
Jack kept the shotgun trained on the woman and watched as a young girl emerged from the bathroom. He judged her age as thirteen or fourteen. She was tanned, long dark hair, thin-ish, wearing old blue jeans and a white T-shirt with DEF LEPPARD printed on the front, barefoot. A pair of dirty tennis shoes at the foot of the bed was about her size. She had one hand hidden behind her. Jack would never again assume a teenage girl wasn’t a threat after he’d almost been blown to kingdom come by one a few months back.
“Bring your hands out where I can see them,” Jack ordered the girl, and a can of hairspray hit the floor.
The girl edged over to the woman, who put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her, protecting her. They both had been crying, but the girl was giving him a defiant look. The girl shrugged off the woman’s arm and stepped forward. “My father will be really mad if you hurt us.”