Roger nodded, “Long day, I agree.”
Walking to their car, Roger commented, “I can’t shake this feeling of dread.”
Paul opened the passenger door to the car and said, “It’s because we’re in New Orleans. Every event is connected. Right now we only have a ball of loose threads.”
Roger pulled away from the cemetery and let out a small chuckle. “I don’t know where I’m driving to. Do you have a hotel yet? I can drop you off.”
Paul shook his head, “I went straight to the field office from the airport.”
Both their bags were at the field office. Roger fought back a yawn, “We can swing in, pick up our bags and see if we have any messages. How about that hotel across from the casino?”
Paul yawned, “Works for me.”
Acer had sent a text message to Stone to meet him for drinks at 10:30 pm at Acer’s hotel across from the casino. Stone would either talk or try to kill him. Acer sat at a corner table and watched the door. 10:45 pm, no Stone. Acer played with the rim of his glass with a small straw and decided he might as well leave. Stone had probably decided to kill him.
Just as Acer reached in his pocket for his money clip, Stone walked in the room. Stone walked to the bar, got a drink and walked over to sit across from Acer.
Stone took a sip of his drink and raised one eyebrow. “You’re looking well for a dead man.”
“I could say the same for you.”
Stone glanced toward the door and then back to Acer. “Just spent a few hours with the FBI. You could have just sent me a text you were alive.” Stone sat his glass on the table, “I don’t get the bomb though. Why bother?”
Acer sat his glass down too, “I didn’t do the bomb. That’s why I thought we might talk.”
Stone was silent.
Acer added, “I had a face-to-face this morning. I wanted them to know I survived. I also wanted to know if the ‘machine’ wanted me gone or you. I wasn’t given another assignment, so I have my answer.”
Stone shrugged, “So now you know. I wasn’t too worried about you. Most people know I work alone. I figured you might take precautions. Just business, not personal.”
Acer actually laughed, “Yeah, not personal. My first clue when they said I would be with you.” Acer leaned back and actually relaxed some, “So, now the question is, why do they want you dead?”
Stone had been asking himself that question for the last three hours. “The timing is all wrong. Too much work in the pipeline.”
Acer nodded, “Exactly.”
Stone pointed his straw to the door, “FBI. Those two just wasted three hours of my life thanks to you.”
Acer glanced over to the door and watched as Roger and Paul took stools at the far side of the bar. Seconds after sitting, Roger’s eyes locked on Acer. Paul raised his phone and took pictures. Acer moaned, “Shit. How many hotels in New Orleans and they pick this one?”
Stone chuckled, “You’re the one that invited them to play.”
Roger walked over to their table, “Going to introduce me to your friend, Stone?”
Acer put his hand out, “John Smith. Your name?”
“Roger Dance.” Roger ignored Acer’s outstretched hand and took both of their glasses. “I’ll send you fresh drinks.”
Stone pushed his chair back and stood. “No, thanks, we’re done.”
Roger nodded, “Yes, you are.”
Jeanne had tried to talk Pablo and Nelson into staying with her and Thor. Pablo had dismissed the offer, “No offense, Sis, but I think we can find more action in the Quarter.”
Jeanne flipped Pablo’s black hair from his face and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Nice to have you home, big brother.” He was five minutes older than Jeanne and nearly as good looking. Nelson had a Brad Pitt look going for him and Jeanne was sure the two of them would have no trouble finding ladies.
Thor and Jeanne drove home singing along to the music of Buddy Guy. Jeanne smiled, “I’m going to turn you into a Cajun yet.” Thor shook his head as he chuckled.
Thor glanced at Jeanne as he parked the car in their driveway, “My gut says this cemetery mess is just the beginning.”
Jeanne was sure of it. “The Spirits wouldn’t come to Spicey unless there was a real danger.”
Thor held the porch door open for her, “I noticed that one cop seemed to have a problem with you.”
“Mason Dooley. He’s SWAT. He has a dark aura.” Jeanne freed her hair from its braid by running her fingers through it. She shook her hair and smiled at Thor’s expression as he watched her. He was clearly mesmerized.
Thor shook his head as he laid his gun on the table and pulled off his boots, “Dark aura. Of course.”
Jackson was glad to see Betty Sue pull into a dirt drive just outside of town. Maybe his momma’s craw-fish would still be warm when he got home after all. Jackson turned to Spicey, “I ain’t drivin’ down that path. Least now you know where ‘evil’ lives.”
Spicey looked at Sasha and Dakin in the back seat, “You two okay if we go home now? Let Jackson here eat his dinner.” Spicey tried to give Jackson some money. He waved her off.
“Ms. Spicey, I ain’t takin’ your money. You done put me on the righteous path last year. I still owe ya.” Jackson had another thought, “Don’t mean I’m willin’ to go fight evil with ya though.”
Jackson dropped them off at their homes and headed back to his momma. By now he was cold sober. After following Betty Sue for a few miles he was also a nervous wreck. Who knew evil drove a ratty old rainbow truck named Betty Sue?
Wednesday 7:00 am
Roger made a pot of coffee in the break room and grabbed a carton of milk. He glanced at the glass dome over a pile of donuts and paused. Kim would tell him to grab a piece of fruit. He grabbed an orange and dropped it in his pocket. He had called her from the hotel late last night. Her mom, Vicki, had already told her about the cemetery. It had been easier than he would have thought having angels in his life. Kim was obsessed with why the judge didn’t have any pants. Roger chuckled to himself. It would be nice if that were the only unanswered question.
Roger reached the door of the office Thor had assigned him. Someone had taped a sign, The Boss, on the door. Roger pulled the sign down and threw it in his basket. He suspected Thor had put it there to keep people away from his own office. Roger smiled to himself at Thor’s often misunderstood humor.
Paul knocked on Roger’s open door, holding a cup of coffee. “You taking visitors yet?”
Roger nodded and smiled, “You get enough sleep?”
Paul laughed, “No. Never do. You?”
Roger turned to his computer, “Nope. Let’s see if Core found anything on Stone Carson.”
Roger sent an email and was surprised to get an immediate answer back. Roger looked at Paul, “He’s got something. Sending it now.”
Roger called CSI to have them process the prints from the glasses he took from Stone and Acer and run them in the databases. Meanwhile, Roger was waiting for what Core might have found on Stone.
Paul pointed to Roger’s monitor, “You got something.”
Roger opened the document from Core. He clicked on a link Core had attached and began reading an ATF file on Stone Carson. Roger clicked print and handed the paper copies to Paul as they came off the printer. Roger kept reading the monitor. After about five minutes, Roger was finished and turned from the screen. Paul was finishing up the last page.
Roger peeled his orange and passed half over to Paul. Paul took a bite and said, “This smells bad.” Roger looked at his orange. Paul waved the papers, “These.”
Roger nodded agreement. “He’s not verified in any government database. How does he get protection from someone at Justice?”
Paul leaned back in his chair, “Private contractor?”
“Too private. Nothing sticks to this guy, and he’s off the grid. My money’s on a dirty friend at Justice.”
Ed Meyer walked home from working the docks all night and noticed the
small pink bicycle lying in the grass outside his neighbor’s fence. He slowed his pace down and saw a small shoe protruding from the door of the doghouse. That little girl had slept in there. Ed’s heart melted.
Ed walked to the edge of the fence and said, “Little girl, I know you’re in there.” The little shoe disappeared into the dog house. Patches ran out barking. Ed raised his voice, “I know you’re hiding. I don’t care. I can keep your secret, but you can’t sleep in a doghouse. I live in the white house across from your grandma’s. Just knock on my door when you’re ready for help. My name is Ed.” Ed paused a moment and added, “This is our secret. I’m trying to be invisible, too.”
Izzy watched Ed walk down the sidewalk through a crack in the doghouse. Gram had warned her there were bad men that wanted little girls. Ed sounded nice. Like Otis. She and Ed had a secret together now. They were both invisible.
Ed unlocked his door, washed up in the bathroom and went to his kitchen. He hoped Izzy would follow him home. In his fridge was a decent slab of ham and half a dozen eggs. He started browning the ham and heard a soft knock on his front door. He saw Izzy standing on his front porch. It looked as if she was ready to turn away.
Ed opened the door. He was whisking the eggs in a bowl and said, “I’m making ham and eggs if you want to help me eat them.”
Izzy nodded her head as she looked down at her shoes. Ed said, “Look me in the eyes. You need to learn how to read people. Not all people are nice.”
Izzy looked him in the eyes. “I see sad in your eyes.” Her voice was tiny. “Did you do something wrong?” Her words rang with the kind of truth only heard from a child.
Ed was momentarily stunned. This child could read people just fine. Ed tilted his head toward the door, “You can bring your bike inside if you want. I’ll get these eggs going. You like scrambled?”
Izzy’s voice had a confident ring now, “I love them.”
Spicey woke to the sound of hammering at her back door. She opened the door and walked into a huge turkey foot that had been wrapped in leather straps with feathers and a big clump of hair. It was hanging in the center of her doorway. Dakin popped her head from around the corner, “I’m not done yet. You weren’t supposed to see it yet.”
Spicey flicked the turkey foot with her index finger and sent it swaying. “What’s this supposed to be?”
Dakin stopped the swinging foot and held it for Spicey to see up close. “Native Americans believe the turkey represents abundant harvest and wellbeing. It has been called the earth eagle for many centuries. These feathers represent courage, speed and pride. This is buffalo hair which represents stability, strength and power.” Dakin’s pride in her token was obvious. Spicey was touched.
Dakin continued, “A token made of these elements, gracing your home, will protect you anywhere. I used the largest foot I could find for you.”
Spicey was overwhelmed and dabbed her eyes, “Come here you crazy lookin’ Hoodoo girl.” Spicey gave her a big hug. “Since you woke me anyway you want some tea? Sasha be here shortly.”
“I need to finish putting this on your wall right so it doesn’t hit you in the face.” Dakin laughed. “I don’t drink tea. You got Pepsi?”
Spicey chuckled in her kitchen. Some Hoodoo Princess. Don’t do herbal tea. Hoodoo all about herbs, roots and conjurin’. Wants Pepsi!
Cat had taken a cab from the hospital home. His doctor told him to stay home a couple of days and not to drive. Cat dumped the pills they had given him into his wastebasket. They would make him drowsy and he figured he could stand the pain. It was his ego that might not recover. Cat saw the two cards in his hospital sack with nurses’ phone numbers. He placed the cards on his counter and threw the rest of the bag in the trash. One of these days he had to start a social life again before he forgot how.
Cat looked in his fridge to see what Martha had brought. There was a plastic container with a masking tape label that said Martha’s homemade vegetable soup. A gallon of milk, a half dozen fruit yogurts, a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon and a container of ready to microwave macaroni and cheese crowded his shelves. All his favorites. She had to be the best assistant in the world. An unopened bottle of scotch was on the counter with a note: Do not open unless you had a meal and are free of medication.
Cat grabbed the vegetable soup, spooned some in a large bowl, and put it in the microwave. Vegetable soup for breakfast made as much sense as anything else lately. He carried the soup over to his recliner as he balanced a glass of milk in his elbow. The local news reporter was standing in front of The City of the Dead cemetery. Cat turned up the volume.
“FBI sources have confirmed that the murdered body of Judge Ingle was found last night here in the City of the Dead. There are unconfirmed reports that as many as seven bodies were found in addition to the judge. These bodies had been hidden in already occupied crypts.”
Cat’s first thought was that he wondered how the FBI knew to look in crypts for hidden murder victims. His second thought was that with Judge Ingle’s death, there were now only a handful of judges he felt were competent.
He took his empty soup bowl and glass over to the sink, rinsed them out and put them in his dishwasher. Cat decided to run the dishwasher since it appeared to have nearly every glass he owned in it. His mind went back to the images of the little girl that had saved him. Why was she out in the streets at night? Where were her parents?
Cat saw his reflection in the sliding door to his patio and peeled the bandage from his head. He chuckled to himself and wished he had a better story to tell at the office than being mugged by a group of kids.
The reporter had moved on to the local murder report and corruption investigations. Cat realized his desk wouldn’t be empty for long. He glanced over to the table where his laptop and briefcase held Ed Meyer’s future. That would be today’s project.
Jackson arrived at work before Abram. After checking the boats, he went in the office to grab a cup of coffee. He had just turned on the small television when Abram came through the door. “Man does my head hurt today. I drank a lot more than you did last night.” Abram’s face erupted in an ear to ear smile, “I think I dreamed about them girls all night long. Now that was a good day at work.”
Abram poured himself a cup of coffee, still mumbling about the night before. Jackson turned up the volume to hear the news. The reporter was talking about seven dead bodies found in crypts last night, and a dead judge. In the City of the Dead.
Jackson’s jaw dropped and he pointed at the TV. “I was there! Ms. Spicey had me chasing some ratty old truck with killers in it!”
Abram shook his head, “Say that again. You went to that cemetery last night with Ms. Spicey?”
Jackson waved to make Abram shut up. He wanted to hear the whole news story. When it was over, Abram stared at Jackson, “Holy crap.”
Marla had thought about Reuben’s situation all night. Now she understood why he was so private, even shy. She had just assumed he wasn’t interested in her, that maybe he was gay. For two years she had tried every trick in the book to get close to him. Huh. She had come very close to ruining their friendship yesterday. She felt her guilt so heavily she was sure it was as visible as a purple coat, for all to see.
Reuben said the guy in the alley with his father was Mason Dooley, a cop. Marla had friends in this town and somebody would know something useful. This wasn’t like doing a community entertainment article for the Sunday edition. She would have to be sneaky. Like an investigative reporter.
Marla called a friend that worked in dispatch at the police department. “Gayla! Girl, how have you been?”
Gayla replied, “Marla? My gosh, I haven’t talked to you for ages. I’m good. What’s up?”
Marla put her sneaky voice on, “I came across the cutest cop. I was hopin’ you could tell me if he’s worth my time or not?”
Gayla chuckled, “You give up on that reporter dude?”
Marla sighed, “He isn’t ever going to go for me. I think he ha
s someone else anyway.”
Gayla sounded like she was whispering in her phone, “I don’t want to talk here, ya know? Let’s grab lunch at Scotties.”
“Noon?”
“Noon.”
Marla called her friend Sam that worked in the medical examiner’s office. Sam answered, “Yeah?”
Marla scolded him. “Is that how you guys answer the phone there? Yeah?”
Sam laughed, “Hey, Marla. What can I do for ya?”
Marla carefully worded her question, “Have you ever declared someone dead and have them show up later alive?”
Sam laughed, “You mean like a zombie?”
Marla sighed, “No. Like a mistake. How sure are you guys when you identify somebody as dead?”
“Usually someone that knows them makes the identification. Why? Did we mess up?”
Marla paused, “I’ve been reading a fiction book and wanted to do some fact checking. The book claims to be mostly based in fact. Claims there were people declared dead during Katrina that really weren’t.”
Sam laughed, “Anything could’ve happened during Katrina. Who would know? I wasn’t here then. Yeah, that part might not be fiction.”
The plaque in the lobby listed the Office of Solicitor General as being in the building. There was no reference as to which floor it was on, simply the ominous statement that visitors would be escorted. The Solicitor General had just taken a call from the Director of the FBI on his private cell phone.
“I’m more than a little curious that you are calling at this hour, Jim. Good morning.”
The Director of the FBI had known the Solicitor General for years, both privately and professionally. “This conversation is off the books, Dan. I’m sending a text to your cell phone now. I want to hear what you know about this.”
Catahoula: Shallow End Gals (A Shallow End Gals Book 4) Page 10