by Carolina Mac
“You the beautiful boy who don’t have time for her?”
Blaine rubbed his chest and felt the pain shoot through him. “That could be me, I guess.”
“Then you too late, Mister.”
“What do you mean, ‘too late?”
“She walking another path now.”
“How can I catch up with her?”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She on a different plane.”
“Explain that to me,” said Blaine. “I need to find her.”
“You can’t find somebody you can’t see, Mister No-time. She on a different plane than you.”
“Did she go to Lilydale to her mother’s place?”
“I have no knowledge of that,” said Zara. “You best look where you cannot see.”
Blaine shrugged and felt a headache coming on. “Thank you, Miss Zara. How much do I owe you?”
“No charge for finding a student and a friend.”
Blaine nodded, tossed a twenty in her tip jar and walked across the sunbaked square to find his car.
What the hell did that mean? Look where I cannot see.
The Fairfax House. New Orleans.
MISS THIBODEUX, an elegant lady in her late seventies and owner of the large inn was expecting him when he arrived. She personally escorted him to his suite on the second floor. And no, they hadn’t seen Miss LeJeune today, but she hadn’t checked out of her room and her things were still in there.
“Could I possibly look in her room?” asked Blaine. “I need to find out where she might have gone.”
“I can’t see where it would hurt,” said Miss Thibodeux. Let me unlock it for you.”
Blaine entered the gorgeous room, also on the second floor, but at the opposite end of the wide hallway. The bay windows faced the back garden and, in the nook, formed by the curve of the windows was a round ice cream table and two black iron chairs. Blaine sank down on one of the chairs and stared at Misty’s notepad. She wrote in beautiful script.
Boxes
Paper
Tags for second hand store
“There were no boxes at the house and nothing was disturbed. Did you go to get the boxes? Why don’t you answer your phone? Where are you?”
Nothing else in the room offered a clue. Her suitcase sat open on the luggage rack and a couple of the colorful tops she wore hung on hangers in the closet. The smell of her perfume lingered in the air and Blaine felt a tightness in his chest.
What if something terrible happened to her? Would he survive it?
He locked the door and trudged to his own room, a stress headache beginning in the back of his neck.
Exhausted from lack of sleep and the morning’s search in the heat, Blaine took a shower and lay naked on the bed. He woke an hour later feeling refreshed and the headache was gone.
He dressed, sat at the antique desk in the corner of the room and turned on his laptop.
After a short search and reading a few reviews by former clients, he called Executive Management and spoke with a girl named Lynda Tudwell who promised to meet him at Misty’s property at four o’clock sharp.
Saint Gillian Street. New Orleans.
BLAINE WASN’T late, so Tudwell must have been early. He greeted her at the front door after he picked his way in from the back. He’d thought about the key issue in advance and called for a locksmith to meet them at the house. All new locks and new keys. Problem solved.
Except Misty won’t have a key until I give her one.
Lynda Tudwell was a tall blonde about Lily’s height, but not in the same ballpark class-wise. Lily was a stunning woman in every respect and Lynda Tudwell was a wanabee.
Blaine had a list of priority fixes prepared and went over every detail of what he wanted done.
“They say some of the houses on this street are haunted,” said Lynda and the expression on her face said she believed it.
“That’s for the tourists,” said Blaine. “I want this place brought up to speed for my girlfriend. Her name is Misty Le Jeune, and this is her cell number. I can’t locate her today, but when I do, you’ll be working for her.”
“Okay, that’s fine.”
The locksmith arrived, and it took him an hour and a half to change all the locks.
“You put a new lock on the door to the third floor?” Blaine asked.
“I did. Had trouble getting the old lock off, and then when I installed the new passage set the key wouldn’t open it for me at first.”
“But you did get it open?”
“Uh huh. It works.”
Blaine paid him and after he left, he gave a single front door key to Lynda Tudwell and kept the rest.
Should I go look on the third floor? It’s the only part of the house I haven’t searched.
He checked the Cartier on his wrist and decided to go to the police station first and get that taken care of.
New Orleans Police Headquarters.
BLAINE drove downtown thankful for the wind in his face. The temperature had risen rapidly, and the city was unbearably hot and humid.
Inside the air conditioned building, he inhaled a calming breath and spoke to the duty officer at the front desk. He stated his mission and waited for someone from missing persons to come fetch him.
A tall women in a navy pant suit walked towards him with her hand extended, “I’m Detective Percival, Ranger Blackmore. What can I do for you?”
Blaine explained the problem and she led him down the hall to the elevator, then to her office on the second floor. He sat in front of the desk and answered all the questions he could as she filed the report on line. “Could you send copies of all your reports to my agency? I’ll like to keep on top of it.”
“Sure, I don’t see a problem with that. We know the city, sir, and we’ll find her. You can count on it.”
“Thank you, Detective Percival. I hope you do.”
Jesus. Please find her fast, before I go nuts.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin
LILY had run the names and plates of all the gun people and she’d come up with four more that had sheets. “Do you want to pick these guys up today or wait until tomorrow?” She held the list out to Farrell as he poured himself a coffee.
“Shit, we’ll have to drive to Georgetown again, but if we don’t get them at the arena, I don’t know when we’ll get another chance. I have no clue where the next stop is for the rodeo. These guys could be gone by tonight and we’ll never catch up.”
“You better try for them,” said Lil and Farrell nodded.
Georgetown Arena.
IN RUSH HOUR traffic it took Farrell forty minutes to get to Georgetown. “What time does the rodeo usually start?”
“Eight maybe,” said Travis.
“Have a good look at the mug shots Lil printed off,” said Farrell, “We’re gonna have a helluva time finding these guys in a crowd.”
“Why are you so quiet?” Travis turned in the shotgun seat and fired the question at Pablo in the back.
“Tired, I guess. Nothing to say.”
Travis read off the names of the guys they were looking for. “Alex McLaughlin, robbery, assault, D and D. He’s on parole. Pierre Frenchy Fulton, assault, assault with a deadly. Dave Brightman, six counts of assault. He’s on parole too. And Chris Cadieux, assault and stat rape. What the hell are these guys doing loose? And all in a goddam cluster.”
“They can’t be the permit holders,” said Farrell. “That ain’t possible.”
“Maybe their women got the permits for the business,” said Travis.
Farrell pulled into the arena parking lot, cruised up and down the rows until he found a spot. “Good thing we’re early. The rodeo always sells out.”
“There’s the vendors,” pointed Travis, “All set up in the park behind the arena.”
“Okay, lets go get the fuckers,” said Farrell. “I’m starving and as soon as we get these assholes delivered to DPS, we can eat.”
Travis twisted around and handed
the pictures to Pablo in the back seat. “Take a good look at the mugs before we go. If they see us carrying the pictures, they’ll be history before we zero in on them.”
“Yep,” said Pablo. “I’ve got them down.”
“Split up,” said Farrell, “cruise by their tables and blend in with the crowd until you spot one that’s on the list.”
The trio strolled casually into the park, the aromas from the line of food trucks capturing their attention. They gazed longingly in that direction, then made a pass at the row of knife and gun vendors.
Travis stopped at a booth and picked up a Sig. He handled it, hefted the weight of it, then called to Farrell. “Come check this baby out.”
Farrell turned from the knife vendor he was talking to and jogged to Travis’ position. “What you got, buddy?” Farrell had already checked out the man behind the table and Travis was right—it was Dave Brightman. Farrell leaned in closer and said, “Got a minute, Dave? I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
Dave turned and bolted out the back of his tent and ran headlong into Pablo who snapped cuffs on him and led him to the truck. One down.
The second guy they spotted wasn’t as cooperative. The last vendor in the row, Pierre Frenchy Fulton was volatile and quick.
Farrell made him, waited until he finished with a customer and then asked him to step out of his tent. Without a second’s hesitation, Fulton picked up a razor sharp boot knife from his display table and flicked it at Farrell with a practiced wrist motion that was hard to fault. Farrell jumped to the side but not quick enough. The knife caught the shoulder of his denim jacket, cut through the jacket fabris and his shirt and cut into him just above his armpit.
Farrell yelped, jerked the knife out and dropped it. He clutched the bleeding shoulder and hollered, “Take him.”
Travis and Pablo already had the wiry Frenchman cuffed and Pablo marched him to the truck.
Travis picked up the knife, bagged it and shoved it in his pocket. “This is what we’re gonna do. I’ll get a Georgetown squad to take Pablo and these two dickwads to DPS in Austin, while I take you to the closest hospital for a couple of stitches.”
Feeling a little drained and woozy, Farrell nodded. “Good plan, partner.”
Georgetown Medical.
FARRELL didn’t have to wait too long before he was attended to at the medical center. His shoulder was spewing enough blood in the waiting area to get a lot of attention from the nursing staff.
A pretty nurse with dark curly hair led him to a treatment cubicle, removed his blood-soaked jean jacket, then his Harley t-shirt and her brown eyes widened when she got the full view of Farrell’s inked torso. She cleaned up the shoulder area and had Farrell all ready when the doctor breezed in to put the stitches in.
“Stabbed in the line of duty, Ranger Donovan?”
“Afraid so, doc. I’m a walking target out there.”
The doctor peered closely at the wound. “Wide, but not too deep. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
“Good,” said Farrell. “I’m about starved.”
Fairfax House. New Orleans.
EXHAUSTED and disheartened by his failure to find Misty, Blaine ate the Po’boy sandwich he’d picked up on the way back to the hotel. He took a sip of his coffee, found it too hot and took a moment to call Farrell.
“Hey, bro,” said Farrell, “I’m just bringing the dogs in from the yard then I’m sacking out. Did you find her?”
“No. I filed with MP. Coming home in the morning.”
“Good, we need you here.”
“What’s wrong. You sound… tired and kind of weird.”
“Lost some blood. One of the assholes with a jacket we were picking up today nailed me with a boot knife.”
“Oh, fuck. Did you go to the hospital?”
“Yeah, I’m stitched and medicated. It ain’t too bad.”
“I’ll get Mom to pick me up at the airport. I want her to talk to Travis anyway before they go to the game at Selecky’s.”
“Okay, see you in the morning.”
Blaine pressed end and called Annie. “Hey, Mom.”
“You sound tired, baby. You didn’t find her?”
“No and I have to come home. Can you pick me up at eight twenty at the airport?”
“Sure. I can tell by your voice that something else is bothering you. What happened?”
“Farrell got hurt and he had to get stitches. We are so short on manpower with Greg… gone… and Jack in the hospital.”
“And Lane getting fired because of me.”
“Don’t blame yourself for that. That was all on him.”
“Jesse hit him.”
“And rightly so. Lane deserved it, Mom. He left you without coverage. Forget about it. I’ll get Lil on the manpower crisis tomorrow. I have another reason for wanting you to pick me up. I want you to have a coffee with Travis tomorrow morning and work out your plan for the poker game.”
“I can do that, honey. I’ll be at the airport waiting for you. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
More than you’ll ever know.
CHAPTER FIVE
Friday, April 3rd.
Austin-Bergstrom Airport.
BLAINE gripped Annie in a tight hug as he came through the arrival doors, then he bent down and hugged Jackson. “Hey, buddy, thanks for picking me up.”
“No problem, Blaine. I wanted to go to your place and feed the fish with Carm anyways.”
“Carm loves it when you come over.”
As they walked to Annie’s truck she asked, “You didn’t find any trace of her?”
“No, and now I’ve worried her mother too. She lives up in Lilydale, upper New York State in that psychic community, and she’s been trying Misty’s phone as long as I have.”
“Would she get any… feelings where Misty might be?”
“She said she’d call me as soon as she got anything at all—spiritual or non.”
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
THE CREW was gathered around the kitchen table drinking coffee and awaiting the return of number one. Carm had made waffles for everyone because they were Farrell’s favorite and she was fussing over him because he was hurt.
Blaine set his bag down in the foyer and hugged Carm as soon as he came through the kitchen door. She began talking rapidly in Spanish telling him how badly Farrell was hurt, and how he shouldn’t work today.
“Si, entiendo, mi Corazon.”
Carm hugged Annie, then Jackson captured her full attention and she abandoned the waffles and went out back to the fishpond.
Annie gently hugged Farrell and kissed his neck. She peeked under the bandage and examined his wound to see for herself, then sat down at the table next to Travis and across from a silent Pablo. “Morning all.”
Farrell recapped what had gone down in Georgetown for Blaine’s benefit.
“Two in holding ready to be questioned?” asked Blaine, “That’s great. I’ll get Jesse on them this morning. Pablo and Travis can go north to Belton and see if they can pick up the other two on the list. I Googled the tour and that’s the next stop for the rodeo. They’ll be setting up today and finishing up tomorrow night.” Blaine took a sip of his coffee and continued. “First, Annie and Travis need to have a little meeting in the dining room, then everybody can get started.” He pointed a finger at Farrell. “You’re on game watching and HGTV with Carm until Monday.”
Pablo glared as Annie joined Travis in the dining room for their meeting.
Farrell noticed and pointed a finger in Pablo’s face. “Stand down, buddy. Go for a smoke.”
Pablo stomped out onto the front porch to wait for Travis.
“What’s going on?” asked Blaine. “I can’t take anymore weird shit. I’m gonna blow a fuckin fuse.”
“Pablo has a crush on Mom and he’s been hanging out at the ranch.”
Blaine stomped a boot onto the kitchen tiles and the Harley chains rattled. “No fuckin way that can happen.
I’ll fire the fucker first.”
“I told him it ain’t going down that way and he had to back off,” said Farrell. “I hope to hell he does. I’ll goddam kill him myself.”
TRAVIS sat across from Annie in Blaine’s expensively paneled dining room with the door closed. “You’ll have to fill me in, Annie-girl. I don’t know what’s going down.”
Annie explained about the poker game and what Farrell had heard from one of his snitches.
“The guy thinks he’s got it all covered, but the boss is tossing you in—just in case?”
“That’s about it,” said Annie. “He told Selecky I’d be coming with my bodyguard, so that’s covered off too.”
Travis grinned. “Sounds like fun. Nothing I like better than working with the…”
Annie reached out and touched his arm. She leaned close and whispered, “I still love you too, soldier.”
Ranger Headquarters. Austin.
JESSE had a coffee with Chief Calhoun while Ranger Ruskin brought Dave Brightman up from holding.
Ruskin stuck her head in the Chief’s office and said, “All set for you in room four, Ranger Quantrall.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Jesse. “Hope I can get something useful out of him.”
“He’ll be arraigned today,” said the Chief, “and he might make bail. The other guy stabbed Farrell for no fuckin reason and we’ll be keeping him a lot longer, if I have anything to do with it.”
Jesse strode into room four and set up the interview. When he was ready, he sat down across from Brightman and said good morning.
Brightman was in his late thirties, a dark complexion with a day’s scruff on his face, longish hair and brown eyes.
“Nice little gig you guys got going following the rodeo. Saves you the cost of advertising and you’re getting the right kind of customers—the outdoor crowd. Whose idea was it to attach yourselves to the rodeo circuit?”
Brightman shrugged and didn’t look Jesse in the eye. “Can’t remember.”
“Do you remember who killed Kevin Telfer and shoved him under the stands in Round Rock?”
“No idea. Wasn’t any of us, I can tell you that.”