He hesitated. "I'm in shipping. We got a load that came through the port." He ran a hand across the computer. "In fact, is there any way I could check my e-mail really quick on your laptop?"
She paused, her green eyes running over his face and chest. "Yeah, I guess. This wireless Internet is a little slow."
"It's just a Yahoo account."
She nodded and slid the small Sony Viao across the little round table to him. In his button-down shirt and casual jeans, he knew he looked respectable, but add in the story about a decent job and he felt that this woman really might be attracted to him. He could understand for a moment what men saw in women. Not just the emasculating, nagging, overbearing women like his mom, who'd virtually left him parentless at sixteen when she ran off with a nigger musician from Chicago. He felt his blood pressure rise.
"You okay?" asked Faith, placing a hand on his arm.
Ike looked at her. "Yeah, why?"
"You just blushed really red in the face."
He looked down, embarrassed she'd seen what the memory of his mom could do to him.
"It's all right. In fact, it's kinda cute. I don't see men blush much anymore."
He liked this woman's voice. Then he remembered the computer and what he needed to do. He started navigating to his Yahoo account and, just like before, brought up saved drafts. He saw a new one among them and opened it.
It was short and direct. "Meet me at five today at the far end of Alamonaster Boulevard Bridge next to I-10. I have made arrangements for someone to accept the package in Houston. It will be a couple of days. O."
He closed the e-mail as Faith said, "When are you going to Houston?"
He snapped his face to hers. "Why'd you read that over my shoulder? You think I can't handle my own e-mail?"
"No, that's not it. I didn't mean to pry. I was just making conversation."
"Dammit. I just used your computer. Didn't give you permission to pry." He stood up.
"Wait. Why are you so angry? I didn't mean nothin' by it."
He decided this was as good a time as any to head out the door. He'd been lucky and had crammed the big U-Haul truck into two empty slots in the rear of the trendy coffeehouse. He'd have to make sure he knew how to find the Alamonaster Bridge and figure out where to meet Ortíz. He was glad he'd finally see this guy face-to-face. His size and conditioning would impress the Panamanian. And he needed some more cash. This beaner sure sounded like he had plenty of cash.
He was out the door and turning the corner when he heard Faith call out to him.
"Wait, don't be mad."
He turned and she surprised him by running straight to him and placing her small hands on his arms. She leaned in close, brushing her breasts against him.
He softened a little. "Don't sweat it. I'm just not used to worrying about other people." She followed him as he turned and slowly walked toward the truck in the empty rear lot.
"What're you hauling? Is that your truck?" She pointed at the U-Haul.
Suddenly he realized she knew too much about him. What if she figured out who he was and what he was doing after she watched the news in a few days? He might have to be on the run, but there was a chance he could pull this off without being identified. The obvious problem was that she'd be a loose end.
He looked at her delicate face as she turned her haunting green eyes up to him.
17
DUARTE WAS ON HIS CELL PHONE, SMILING AT THE SOUND OF Alice's voice again.
He said, "Hey, it's me."
"Wow, two calls in one day. You might really miss me. I think that's probably a first for Alex Duarte."
"Could be." He was surprised she knew him so well after only a few months of sporadic dating.
Then she really amazed him. "Unless you're calling for another favor?"
He didn't speak.
She raised her voice slightly. "Oh my God, that's it. You need another favor. What is it this time? Carbon-date a rock? Get a DNA sample from a cigarette butt?"
"You can do that?"
"What?"
"Get DNA from a cigarette?"
"Yeah, sure." There was silence on the line, then Alice said, "I'm waiting. What's the favor?"
"Lift some prints from a padlock."
"When will I get it?"
"Tomorrow. I just sent it overnight express."
"You were pretty sure of yourself."
He kept an easy tone. "Alice, this could be serious. I just want to keep it simple for now."
"How'd you pack it? Will it be stable and not disturb any potential prints?"
"I packed in a small box with some paper wadded up and holding it in place."
"That sounds pretty good."
"Will doing these things get you in any trouble?"
"Less trouble than dating you."
"Alice, you're the best."
"You better show it when you get back."
"Thanks." He waited to hear her, but there was silence. Almost like she expected him to say something else. Then he did. "I gotta go. I'll talk to you soon."
She didn't even say goodbye, so he hung up.
***
Ike looked at Faith and knew with certainty that he couldn't just let her walk away. The problem was he didn't know what to do with her. He didn't know who would miss the young lady. He didn't know how hard it might be to silence her or if she'd fight and escape. That would bring way too much heat on him.
He felt in his pocket for his buck knife. The only thing he had ever used it for was opening boxes and once for cutting chicken at a new place off Florence Avenue in Omaha. He looked into her eyes, and even with his limited experience, realized she wanted him to kiss her.
Slipping the knife out of his pocket, he said, "You wanna see what I'm haulin'?"
"Sure." She took a small step back then fell in step with him to the truck. He used the only extra key he had to the sturdy Master Lock. The door slid up easily as he kept track of where she was standing.
He stepped up into the truck. "C'mon." He motioned her up with his empty left hand, the knife still folded in his right.
Once she was inside, he opened the knife in front of her and acted like he was prying off one of the boards to the crate.
"What is it?" she asked, inching closer to him.
He gripped the knife, saying, "It's unusual. I was tapped special just to transport it because of my record for this kind of stuff." He flexed his arm, knowing she had no clue what he was poised to do. He had never killed anyone up close before.
Faith ran her small hand over the wooden crate and stared at it like it was a magic lamp.
The fact that his first up-close victim was a woman didn't make it harder; it didn't surprise him either. He had spent so little time with women other than his mom, that he didn't really understand the differences between them and men.
Ike looked at her, with the knife still ready. He knew he had to keep her quiet but couldn't seem to force his arm forward. No matter how important this was to him and the country, he could not seem to will his hand to plunge the knife into her exposed stomach.
As her shirt inched up her midriff, she leaned closer to him, looking for something other than a kiss.
"Shit," he shouted.
Faith cowered slightly. "What? What is it now?"
"Look, you'll thank me for this later, but for now, I'm gonna have to close you in here."
"What?"
"And if you make any noise, like scream or pound on the door, I'm gonna have to kill you." He held up the buck knife. "You understand?"
She stared at the knife with a new expression.
He raised his voice. "You understand, Faith?"
She shook herself out of her daze and stared at him for a moment. "Why? I'll keep quiet." A sob crept into her voice.
He slid the door down and slapped the lock back on it as he muttered, "I know."
18
ALEX DUARTE SAT WITH THE OTHER INVESTIGATORS AROUND A conference table at the Port of New Orleans and said, "I don't know wha
t else we can do. The pot is in evidence. Gastlin is dead. I'd say the case is closed."
Félix, who continued to glare at Lina every time she touched Staub's arm or spoke to him, said, "We got the pot, that's something. But we can't forget Gastlin."
Lina nodded. "I'm gonna stay in New Orleans a day or two longer. Lázaro knows the city a little, and we're going to look around."
Duarte remained silent, but he wanted to see if Alice could lift any prints off the container's padlock before he left. He and Félix felt like they owed that much to Byron Gastlin. If the person who'd gotten into the container knew anything about Gastlin in Panama, Duarte intended to find out, and he didn't care what it took to get the information.
Lina said, "Let's all go out tonight."
Félix looked at Duarte, who shrugged.
Staub said, "A wonderful idea."
"How about we meet at five?"
Staub said, "I'm sorry, I have the errands to run. What about seven?"
Lina smiled. "Sure."
Duarte and Félix just nodded. Duarte was distracted by how much he had relied on Alice for forensic work. The ATF had a good lab, but if he went through channels, it would take weeks to get anything back. He didn't think Lina would even believe his theory that someone entered the container. Besides, she had a different agenda, and Gastlin's death wasn't part of it. She was focused on Ortíz's contacts here in the U.S. He also doubted she would approve of what he was willing to do to find out if the two incidents were related.
Félix mumbled to him. "Let's get out of here."
The two men stood, and Lina said, "We'll meet you in the hotel lobby at seven."
Duarte said, "Can't wait." And realized that he might have been sarcastic for the first time in his life.
***
Lázaro Staub rented a Chevrolet Impala from the Hertz office in the lobby of the hotel. He didn't want the others to see he had a car. He left early, around three o'clock, so he could see a little of New Orleans before his appointment. The colonel drove down Robert E. Lee Boulevard and looked out over Lake Pontchartrain. The white mansions on the other side of the street looked like they had survived the last two centuries without seeing any turmoil. That was not the truth. He was an amateur historian, and several trips to New Orleans over the years had taught him the hard lessons of the region. He knew that the American Civil War had reached this far, as had the War of 1812.
He knew the story of how Andrew Jackson, one of the country's most aggressive and bloodthirsty presidents, had fought the British near here in the swampy bayous surrounding the city before ascending to the nation's highest office. The arrogant Old Hickory didn't even realize the War of 1812 had been over for almost two weeks when he drove back the British.
He looked at the mansions and wondered how they would've fared against Stealth bombers.
Staub had also read about the floods after hurricane Katrina and laughed at the government response. When it was time to invade a small country like Panama, they could muster overwhelming strength, but when their own citizens were in need, the country moved like a snail.
He drove slowly through some of the streets near the French Quarter and past Tulane University. Finally he crossed the I-10 bridge and could see a U-Haul truck already parked near the base of the bridge. They were both an hour early. He was glad that this man took the matter so seriously.
Because of his status in the country as a visiting Panamanian official, he was not supposed to possess weapons. One of his assistants had circumvented this prohibition by bringing in a Beretta for him on the ship. Now he hid the automatic pistol under his loose shirt.
As he pulled the small white Chevy next to the truck, he was surprised at how large William "Ike" Floyd was. His broad shoulders and short legs made him look more simian than most, but at five-nine he was still impressive. Staub would hate to find himself engaged in an unarmed fight with him.
He stood from the car to his full six-feet-one and nodded as Floyd approached him.
"Mr. Ortíz?" said the man.
"Yes, William, I am Mr. Ortíz. It is an honor to finally meet you."
***
Pelly scowled at the small cook who had lingered at his private cabin after delivering a sandwich. The man scurried away like one of the many rats on the ship. He knew his appearance, when he didn't shave enough, terrified the superstitious sailors. That was their problem. He was no happier that Colonel Staub had sent him with this load than the sailors were that he was aboard.
He ate and then cleaned up in his small cabin. After shaving and changing into a clean white button-down shirt, he decided he'd see a little of New Orleans. He didn't need anyone's permission to leave.
Using a fake identification card in the name of Juan Rodríguez, with an immigration visa that listed him as a "deck worker," he walked right through security at the port and into the streets of New Orleans.
He took a cab to Jackson Square and wandered around the famous plaza. He smiled at the silly street performers, like the man who juggled bowling balls or the woman who swallowed swords, but kept his money to himself. He resisted the subtle nods of women he knew were there for business and not for meeting the man of their dreams.
He looked around at the nonstop festival that seemed to go on in New Orleans and had to admit he didn't mind this part of his boss's crazy plan.
As he reached a corner of the square with the Jax Brewery to one side, Pelly slowed and noticed a man leaning against the fence that separated the cement from the grassy inner square. The man stared straight ahead with hazy blue eyes. He wore several different shirts over one another and filthy cutoff blue jeans. But it was his face that Pelly stopped to study. While everyone else passed by without a glance or at least without trying to stare at the destitute man, Pelly saw the root of what might have caused this man's problems: He had an uncorrected cleft palette like none Pelly had ever seen. It virtually separated his face. He had a normal lower lip, but his upper disappeared up his face, causing his nose to be disfigured as well.
Pelly silently reached in his pocket, pulled out his wad of cash and, without counting it, dropped the entire bundle into the man's pouch around his neck.
The man's eyes flickered at Pelly's face and seemed to recognize someone who knew what physical appearance could mean.
Pelly patted the man on the shoulder and continued his walk through the square. He saved his energy because he knew that now that he had given away his money, it was a long walk back to the port.
***
"Call me Ike; everyone does."
"Fine, Ike. You have our package inside?"
"I do."
"Excellent. You will have to take it to Houston from here. I'll contact someone I know there who will get it ready for you."
"Great." His eyes darted back and forth over the deserted rest area parking lot.
"Is something wrong, Ike?"
"Well, there is one small complication."
"What's that?"
"I have to silence a witness."
"Here, in New Orleans?"
"Well, actually here, in this parking lot."
"I don't understand."
"There is a girl who saw me on the e-mail, and I'm afraid she knows too much. I got her locked in with the package."
"You mean she's still alive?"
Ike nodded as he looked down at the ground.
Staub didn't like the sound of this. Not only was it messy, but he was concerned Ike hadn't had the guts to kill her wherever they'd been before this.
"Let's talk to her, then. I need to see the package anyway."
Ike slowly slipped the key in the lock and then slid the door in one motion straight up. Before the door was all the way up, a young, well-built blond woman sprang from the truck, almost landing in Staub's arms. He didn't hesitate to wrap one arm around her chin and one around the back of her neck and twist with all his strength. It was a technique he had learned in the defense force, but he had practiced it on several prostitutes and
informants.
The woman's head snapped to one side, and she went limp in his hands. Her legs and arms hung loose, and her eyes remained open and staring at Ike.
"Damn" was all Ike said.
"Any other problems I should know about now?"
19
AFTER LEAVING A CREOLE RESTAURANT THAT IMPRESSED STAUB but seemed expensive to Duarte, the four investigators without a case wandered down to a small bar and took a seat on the balcony because it was quieter than inside.
Félix had ordered too many beers for his thin frame and was starting to show the effects. He leaned into the balcony railing and yelled down to people passing by on Bourbon Street. Occasionally someone looked up.
Duarte tried to scoot his seat farther away, so they would think he was sitting at the next table.
Lina said, "Félix, cool it."
"Why? Does it embarrass you?"
"No, it's embarrassing you."
"I'll be heading back to the hotel. I'm tired of the company."
Duarte started to stand to help his friend, but Félix held up a hand and said, "Nope, I'm going alone." He careened through the small patio and disappeared down the stairs.
Duarte cleared his throat and said, "He's actually upset about Gastlin. He didn't mean any disrespect."
Staub nodded. "I understand it is hard to be responsible for someone else's death."
Duarte said, "I don't know how responsible he is, but he feels responsible."
"And I am afraid, with as many murders in my country, chances of solving the crime are not promising."
"We have a few ideas. We haven't given up yet."
Staub leaned forward. "What ideas?" He fidgeted with a cigarette, then realized he couldn't smoke inside.
Lina joined in. "With what jurisdiction?"
"With proper interest in finding out what happened to one of our sources. I admit it has a personal element, but who would be upset if we were able to find out if his death was tied to the load of pot?"
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