Roger’s phone rang with the Director’s caller ID. He excused himself to the other side of the room and faced the wall as he took the call. Paul could tell from Roger’s body language that something was very wrong. After about five minutes of conversation, Roger turned to face the group. He was pale.
“Someone bombed that Virginia computer lab we seized. Less than an hour ago. Two CIA Agents are dead, and Ray Davis is in the hospital. You guys arrange the earliest flight to New Orleans, and Paul and I will meet up with you. I do not want that computer lab mentioned outside of this room. We have a problem in the New Orleans field office. Mathew Core was warned we were coming.”
Thor’s jaw dropped, “How do you know that?” The room was silent. Paul’s mind was racing. What could Roger say now?
Roger answered, “Ray was able to run a trace back on Core’s phone. Some special program from the computer lab. The call originated at our New Orleans field office.”
Agent Simon Frost spoke, “I think we have a much bigger problem here. That lab. It takes some serious weight to locate and destroy a location we have only had a few hours.” The room was silent, the implication of Simon’s statement ominous. All eyes turned back to Roger.
Roger answered, “Yes it does.”
Agent Pablo Manigat said, “There is one FBI jet that could leave Indy airport in about an hour.”
Paul said, “Make the arrangements, and let us know when you get settled. Try to rush them. Also get whatever you need from the field office down there. We are going to be using Mathew Core’s building as our operation center. It is in the heart of the French Quarter. Remember, try to blend in until we have a strategy in place for finding these guys. You need to look like locals or tourists.” Everyone was actually still in shock. Roger called the meeting to a close and wished them a safe trip.
Thor walked with Roger and Paul back to Roger’s office. Roger asked him, “Are you worried about Manigat when you get there?”
Thor looking thoughtful answered, “I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I am not sure I could control myself in his position, and he is young. I plan to keep him on a very short leash.”
Roger said, “I’m putting quite a bit on you Dan. I have no question you can handle it. Are you sure you want this?”
Thor looked at Roger, “I’m sure. These people just tried to kill one of ours, and did kill two CIA Agents. I might want this too much now.” Roger understood. This case had land mines everywhere he looked. Something had to diffuse the stress. Agent Thor sensed Roger and Paul wanted to talk in private, so he said goodbye and told them he would see them in the Big Easy.
Roger closed the door to his office. He sat in the desk chair, and Paul could see the strain on his face. Roger said, “I want to go to the hospital and see Ray for myself. Do you know I don’t even know what he looks like? I could be standing next to him at Starbucks and not know it. That guy has been my information life blood for six years! I can’t imagine functioning without him! I consider him a friend, and I don’t know what he looks like?” Roger was about to lose it.
Paul said, “We all have people like that in this job. I’m sure he thinks of you as a friend too.”
Roger said, “He wouldn’t have been there today if I hadn’t sent him.”
Paul said, “Let’s call the hospital and get an update on his condition. We can take one of our jets from the Indy airport and be there in an hour.” Roger was nodding his head but looking out the window. Paul said, “Paul, why don’t you call the hospital for me? Okay, I say to myself.”
Roger turned around and smiled, “I would appreciate that.”
Paul placed the call to the nurse’s station at the hospital. The head nurse told Paul Ray was listed in good condition and was making noise he wanted to leave. Roger actually laughed. Paul had told them that under no circumstances could Ray be discharged before he and Roger arrived. Then Paul called and ordered the jet. He looked at Roger, “Get your coat. We don’t want to miss our flight. I’ll take our paperwork, and we can just buy clothes when we get to New Orleans.”
Roger laughed, “Actually, I never got a chance to check in anywhere here. My stuff is in the car.”
Paul said, “Mine is too.” Roger nodded and like a dutiful child, stood, put his coat on, and started packing files into his briefcase. The world felt so heavy.
Devon had arrived at the funeral home as the service was starting. He had missed the reception period which was his favorite part when you can find the vulnerable ones. He noticed a petite blonde woman sitting in the back of the room, and he went to sit a few seats from her. She smiled at him when he sat down, and he whispered, “Are you a family member?” She answered, “Actually I work for Hospice and have been Mr. William’s nurse this last month.” Good so far. No wedding ring, no husband to miss her for a few days.
Devon had his Taser in his inside jacket pocket. He only needed to get her near his car when the service ended. He also had an injection of his favorite drug ready in the console.
He noticed she had bare legs that were very shapely, and her toes were painted a bright pink. That was his favorite! She had on strappy heels, and with her legs crossed he could see a little of her thigh. Her cotton dress had a sundress look to it, and he could imagine her walking along a beach carrying her shoes.
A baritone voice interrupted his daydream. “I’m sorry I’m late.” A tall man sat next to her on the other side. He kissed her cheek! Bastard! Devon got up and left the service. Bastard! In his car he took off his jacket and turned the air conditioning on high while he sat in the parking lot trying to decide where to go. Bitch! Bastard!
He wasn’t going to let them spoil his plans for a fun evening. Devon pulled out of the parking lot of the funeral home and headed toward the Quarter. There were always pretty girls to find. Tourists who needed directions to somewhere. As he came close to Canal Street, he noticed the teller from his bank standing on the corner waiting to cross traffic. He stalled to get the red light and yelled to her from his now open window, “You need a ride?”
At first he didn’t think she recognized him, and then she smiled that big southern smile, “Why I most certainly could use a ride Attorney Parker!” He yelled for her to hop in while he hid the Taser gun in his console. She rushed into the car, and the light turned green. Perfect timing! Devon asked, “I didn’t think you knew who I was for a second there, Rebecca.” She looked at him, “Oh, I just thought it was some handsome guy flirting at first!” She giggled. Handsome? Did she call him handsome? That had never happened before. He liked it.
“Where are you off to on this hot afternoon?” he wondered why she wasn’t at the bank.
Rebecca answered, “I took the afternoon off to do some shopping, but it is just too hot to walk around! I was going to catch a cab and go home.”
Devon found himself asking, “Why don’t I drive you over to the mall? We can shop for a little while, get a bite to eat, and then I’ll drive you home.”
She was absolutely giddy. She reached over and rubbed his arm, “Oh, I would just love that! I can’t believe you stopped for me! You know the girls at the bank tease me about you.”
Devon was cautious when he asked, “And what do they tease you about me for?”
Rebecca smoothed her skirt and winked at him. “They know I get all excited when you come into the bank. I probably shouldn’t have said that, but I have been flirting with you for months now. You had to have known.”
Now Devon was the giddy one. A woman that actually wanted to be with him, and she was pretty. Very pretty. This was a new twist.
George Fetter had left Bernard’s house furious and sickened. A pedophile. He needed to open the Gallery in three hours. He knew nothing would come from it, but he was going to report that sick son of a bitch to the police. Not that the New Orleans police would ever do anything, but he had to do it for his own conscience. Maybe at least they would start a file on the sicko, or add to an existing one. He arrived at the police stati
on less than twenty minutes after having left Bernard’s home. He was greeted in the common hall by a desk sergeant who asked, “What do you need?”
George straightened his posture and said, “I would like to file a complaint.”
The desk sergeant didn’t even ask him what kind of complaint. He passed a clipboard to him, pointed to a seat under the window along the wall, and said, “Fill this out.”
George took the clipboard and used a hand wipe to swipe the top layer of filth from the chair seat. He filled out the report the best he could until he got to the space that asked for a description of the complaint. How do I say this? He wrote that Bernard Jacobs had admitted to him that he liked children in a sexual way. There. That says it all. He took the clipboard to the desk and the sergeant read the complaint and looked at him. “The Bernard Jacobs?”
“What do you mean, THE Bernard Jacobs?” George had his hand on his hip and felt his blood pressure rising.
The sergeant pointed to a far wall covered in photos and plaques. “Over there, this months ‘Special Citizen’.” George walked over to the wall. There was a picture of Bernard handing an oversized check for one hundred thousand dollars to the police commissioner.
George looked back at the sergeant, “Yeah, The Bernard Jacobs.” Holy Mother of God. “Well, I can guess where this complaint is going.”
The desk sergeant gave a low chuckle, “We’ll process this like any other complaint, and someone will get in touch with you.” When he said that, he raised his eyebrows a couple of times and kept smiling. George shook his head and left. Damn cops.
George hailed a cab, got in, and told the driver to drop him at the corner of Royal and Canal. It was only seven blocks away, but it was too hot to walk. He entered the Marriott and sat on a stool at the sidewalk bar. Julie was bartending, saw him, and poured him a coffee. “Why the long face, sugah?”
George took a sip and answered, “Tried to do something decent and got shot down by the cops. Big time.” He rolled his eyes and asked, “Think things will ever get better here?”
Julie threw the bar rag over her shoulder and said, “Some things only get better when we all make a decision to make a difference. You know, the man in the mirror thing.”
George stared at her, “That was actually profound.” Julie nodded and walked to the other end of the bar. He took another sip of his coffee, left a ten on top of the cup, and left. He figured it was about time he made a difference.
He left the comfort of the air conditioning and walked out onto the sidewalk. The gold trim of the Marriott made it look like the building was on fire. The sunlight blasted off every reflective surface and blinded him. He had on an expensive cotton suit and pulled his sunglasses from the top of his head. This decision may require recruiting a partner that has ears to the street. He headed toward Bourbon Street looking for Tourey.
George found Tourey sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk in front of Mickey’s Bar. A wide brimmed hat was pulled low over his face, and his saxophone was lying across his lap. A stocking hat sitting next to him was being used as a money receptacle. Looked like it had about twenty bucks in it. George stopped, dropped a fifty into the hat, and waited. Tourey slowly raised his chin, tipped his hat back, and said, “Georgie Porgy Pumpkin PIE!”
George laughed, “Pretty damn hot to be sitting on the sidewalk isn’t it?”
Tourey slowly rose and looked George in the eye, “A man has to make a livin’, but you be right. Let’s catch us a cold one in heeah.” They went inside Mickey’s and found two bar stools at the far end of the long room. It was still early in the day and the place was empty. The tourists would start to party about ten tonight and the locals would filter in beginning about two in the morning. Give the lightweights time to leave.
Tourey looked George over, shook his head, and said, “You are one fine lookin’ dude. You just slummin’ or lookin’ for me in particular?” Tourey was a local, about forty years old, college graduate, in physics. Very smart. He liked to keep that a secret from most people. He had made some serious money from a couple of inventions and decided to retire early. George knew Tourey had a modest home, well kept, a cleaning lady, and a guest bedroom that had been converted into a library. Tourey claimed he was doing research on human behavior these days. Planned to write a book. Besides, he enjoyed the rumblings of sidewalk life. George knew Tourey could be trusted.
The bartender brought them a couple of beers and then disappeared. The jukebox was playing Ray Charles, “You Don’t Know Me”. The place was dark. The reed shades were all down to keep the blasting morning light from coming in. George turned to Tourey and whispered, “I have made a decision. I know of a pedophile, and I want him to get caught.” George waited for Tourey’s reaction.
Tourey said, “Got your feelings hurt did ya? Told you that you’re too old?” Tourey raised his eyebrows and had a smirk on his face.
George frowned and stammered, “That doesn’t change the fact that he should be stopped!”
Tourey took a long slug of his beer, “No, should be stopped all right. I take issue with you saying you made a decision. You’re just pissed is all. Means nothin’. Look me up in three days. We’ll see what kind of decision you want to make then.”
George was pissed. “Why are you assuming I will just change my mind?”
Tourey pushed his bar stool out a little, looked at George, and in a very measured voice asked, “Just what do you think you can do? You think you can catch him? You think you can get close to him again? Without him wondering what you’re up to?” Tourey ordered another beer, “You’re in Nawlens boy! How much time you think the cops got for this?”
George saw Tourey’s point. George ordered another beer too. “It doesn’t help that he just gave the cops a hundred grand either!”
George took a big slug of his beer, and Tourey leaned forward and whispered, “What’s this dude’s name?”
George whispered, “Bernard Jacobs.”
Tourey put his hand on George’s sleeve, “I’ll look into it. I’ll stop by the gallery in a few days. You still the boss man there?” George nodded and got up to leave.
George laid a ten on the counter and said, “This isn’t a passing thing for me. Scum like that needs to be put away.” George’s eyes were glistening.
Tourey watched George go through the door and back to the street. Moments later a striking young woman walked in. She was wearing blue jeans, boots, and a cropped knit top that showed off her ample bosom. Tourey thought she might be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She kept walking toward him. Her eyes were a piercing blue against her light brown skin. Her long jet back hair was tied loosely at her neck. She sat on the stool next to him, looked straight ahead, and ordered a beer.
Tourey saw she was wearing an amulet on a leather strap, was probably native. She looked athletic and smelled of soap. Her thick pouty lips rested on a squarely set jaw. She was all business. He knew she was there for him. There was no one else in the bar, and she had walked past twenty stools to sit next to him. “What brings a pretty lady such as you out this early in the day?” Tourey smiled. She didn’t.
She looked at him, “You been playing sax long?”
“Mos’ my life.”
She leaned out and looked around him to the bar stool the saxophone was resting on. “Henry Selmer Paris, Alto, extended bell, low “A” key. Circa 1969?”
Tourey’s guard went up, “You know your musical instruments. 1968.”
She saw the rough outline of a knife in his sock and saw that his arms were fairly muscular under his shirt. He had on a light over-shirt that easily could conceal a gun. She looked him in the eyes. She was very aware of the hypnotic affect her piercing blue eyes could have. “Pity. You have no embouchure marks on your lips. You have the wrong mouthpiece and no reed.” She raised an eyebrow one split second before she slammed his head on the bar, pressed her forearm against the side of his face, and twisted his arm up high behind his back. She whispered in his ear, “
FBI. Do not move.” He let her frisk him, take his knife, and then she sat back on the stool next to him. She flipped open the wallet she had retrieved from his pants and looked at his driver’s license. She closed it, pushed it back to him, and asked, “Tell me what you were really doing on that sidewalk for three hours, Mr. Tourey Waknem.”
Tourey smiled and whispered, “CIA.”
Jeanne smiled, lowering her thick black lashes to half mast, “Prove it.”
Roger and Paul arrived at the hospital room of Agent Ray Davis. His shoulder and chest were wrapped in bandages, and he was hooked up to IV’s and monitoring equipment. He rolled his head their direction when he heard their voices coming down the hall. He knew Roger’s voice anywhere. They stood in the doorway of the room, and Ray asked, “Which one of you is the asshole that made me go to that goddamn place?”
Roger smiled, “That would be me, Ray. How are you?” They walked over, and the three men shook hands and exchanged introductions that should have taken place years ago. At this point they had grown to trust their lives to the familiar voice on the other end of a telephone line. Roger and Paul took seats next to the hospital bed.
Ray nodded his head slowly, “Other than a splitting headache and a gash in my chest I’m fine.” Roger had noticed that the FBI had a security guard posted. Good. He should have thought of that.
Roger spoke, “I am so sorry about this…”
Ray held up his hand to stop him and said, “We have a bigger problem.” He proceeded to tell Roger and Paul about the explosion and the man who removed the flash drives from his briefcase.
Roger put his hand up for Ray to stop speaking. Roger had noticed flowers on the bed stand and motioned to Paul. Paul removed the card that simply said, “Get well, the team.” He handed it to Roger. Paul’s eyebrows went up, and he pushed his chin out, his nervous twitch. He looked to the hall where the guard had been standing. Roger had not ordered flowers and didn’t know anyone who had. He felt through the arrangement and found a listening devise. Roger started making some small talk while he was writing on a piece of paper from the bed stand. He wrote, “Check out guard.” Paul was up and out the door in three steps. Roger drew his gun and followed after closing Ray’s door, and yelled, “FBI. GET DOWN!” The nurses at the nurses’ station dove for cover. The guard was gone.
Extreme Heat Warning: A Shallow End Gals Trilogy, Book Two Page 8