by Juno Rushdan
Devlin glared at them, his upper lip curling over his teeth, his eyes wild and furious. “This isn’t over,” he growled.
“It better be.” Aiden came up beside her and they backed through the door one at a time, her first. “Because if it’s not, I’ll kill you. That’s not a threat. That’s a promise.” He slammed the door shut.
They hustled down the alley behind the restaurant. Aiden scooped up a dirty paper bag from the ground, dumped the contents and stowed the two guns inside.
There was one thing Charlie had to know. “Why didn’t you kill that bast—”
“It’s not who we are and it’s the last thing we need. To kill a cop, even if he’s a dirty one. Every officer will turn this city upside down and inside out looking for us.”
Aiden was right. There were multiple witnesses able to clearly identify them. They didn’t need the extra heat. Things were sweltering as it was.
“Let’s hope we don’t regret leaving him alive.”
* * *
DEVLIN WAS SEETHING. His body began to shake with the rage building inside him, overshadowing the pain from his burns. He whipped out his personal phone.
But not to dial 911.
He’d officially report the incident, portraying them as stalkers trying to silence him, and have an all-points bulletin put out on the marshals, but it’d take his brothers-in-blue twenty minutes to get there and start looking for Yazzie and Killinger.
A faster response was required.
He pulled up the French Quarter Task Force app. An enterprise initiated and funded by a billionaire who wanted to make the city safer, using a crowdsourcing approach to crime. The FQTF was a private police patrol that could be summoned via a mobile app. Its monumental success encouraged the Louisiana State Police and surrounding parishes to use it, too.
The screen displayed a digitized map of the Quarter. A grid of seventy-eight city blocks. Green arrows indicated a member of the armed squad—off-duty cops rolling around in matte black smart cars at all hours, with the ability to respond to a crime in progress in under two minutes.
He plugged in the address of the restaurant he was standing in. Prepared for this type of scenario, he next uploaded the photos of Yazzie and Killinger the SDPD had been kind enough to share with him and typed the notification:
Armed and dangerous fugitives wanted for the murder of two law enforcement officers just tried to kill a local cop. They’re on foot. Apprehend with caution. $25,000 REWARD.
He hit Enter.
A red dot appeared on his location. Pictures of the marshals flashed on the screen.
Ten green arrows in the vicinity immediately reacted and began zigzagging through the streets forming a perimeter, searching for them. And every citizen who had the app loaded on their phone would receive the alert and could submit updates on the whereabouts of the fugitives if they spotted them.
The entire city would be on the lookout for Yazzie and Killinger.
Chapter Fourteen
All the pieces on the board shifted with Devlin’s early arrival. They had to adjust accordingly.
“We need to check out of the hotel,” Aiden said. Get back their money for the second night, grab the meager clothing they had, his shirt, her jacket and their weapons. “Find someplace new, off the beaten path.”
There was no doubt in Aiden’s mind that Devlin would put out an all-points bulletin on them and was probably calling it in at that very moment.
Ahead at the corner they approached, two women in their late thirties were chatting and laughing as they looked at something on one of their mobile devices. The phone buzzed and emitted the jarring, high-pitched tone of a public safety alert. Another phone in the vicinity, somewhere behind them, did the same.
The women stopped talking and stared at the phone.
One of them, a redhead, swiped up on her screen.
The other, a black woman with long braids, gasped. “Twenty-five grand.”
Both women frantically looked around, spinning in circles.
The redhead hit her friend and pointed at Aiden and Charlie. “That’s them.”
Aiden’s chest clutched. He and Charlie froze for an instant and exchanged a glance. His mind raced to process what was happening, but there was no time to figure it out.
“That’s them,” the black woman said. “Report it.”
The redhead started typing on her phone.
Charlie gestured to a massive open-air shopping complex that spanned several city blocks. They bolted across the street, skirting around vehicles.
A black smart car raced around the corner, lights flashing on top. Across the hood and side were the emblems of wings, a star and the words FQ Task Force New Orleans Police Dept.
Aiden and Charlie darted underneath the archway of the French Market as a second black task force car came zooming toward them from the other end of the street.
Rows of kiosks with vendors selling goods stretched out before them. They cut through the throng of shoppers, weaving their way around stands, hoping to blend in. Customers were absorbed in browsing and buying. Merchants focused on making sales.
The tawdry flea market was a veritable tourist trap, sitting at the edge of the Mississippi River, jam-packed with out-of-towners who didn’t bat a lash at them.
Charlie spotted something, took his hand and led him to a bank of specialty shops. He didn’t pull away. This was only about survival. Nothing more.
With his head on a swivel, looking for cops or anyone staring at them, he didn’t understand what she was thinking until she pushed through the door of the store.
It was a costume shop.
“I’ll wait out here.” Not only to keep watch, but the store owner would be less likely to recognize or remember Charlie on her own if the proprietor had got the same notification.
Whatever alert the women across the street had received was about the two of them, together. So far, it didn’t seem as if anyone in the market had noticed them. But that might not last much longer.
He glimpsed two cops working their way through the open-air enclave. More flashing lights stopped along the main street adjacent to the colonnade.
The seconds ticked down and his pulse kicked up.
Efficient as always, Charlie came out of the shop a minute later, carrying a bag. They pressed through the shopping colonnade, ducking into the first bathroom they came across—a unisex, single-occupancy room. She slipped on a short brown wig, tucking stray blond strands up inside, and a long-sleeve red shirt that transformed her into a stranger.
“Good work, Killinger,” he said, her surname sliding from his lips before he could stop it.
This wasn’t the time for him to deliberately rile her up by giving her the cold shoulder. To get through this, they had to act like a team, even if they weren’t going to be partners for much longer.
To his surprise, she didn’t roll her eyes or flinch or say anything at all. She dug into the bag and pulled out another hairpiece for him.
Charlie pulled the long black wig on Aiden. Her fingers caressed his forehead and cheeks as she straightened it, pulling errant strands from his face.
She took in a sharp breath, holding his gaze. Her piercing blue eyes were vibrant and inscrutable. It made his heart ache to look at her.
Then the ache deepened and spread when she cupped his jaw, rose on the balls of her feet and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was soft, closed-mouth, but searing.
Relief flooded him and he hated her for it, because there was no escaping that, deep down, he never wanted to be separated from her.
She settled back on her feet and glared at him. “Don’t ever call me Killinger again.” Then she threw a playful sucker punch to his gut.
Not hard enough to hurt, but a grunt escaped him nonetheless.
He glanced in the mirror. The st
raight shoulder-length hair reminded him of how he used to wear his own when he was much younger.
She handed him sunglasses, a green button-up that he threw over his T-shirt and a new ball cap since he’d lost his other one during the fight with Devlin.
They left the bathroom and headed for the closest exit.
The market was crawling with cops in every direction. If not for Charlie’s quick thinking, there wouldn’t have been any way for them to get out of the market without using violence.
Charlie linked her arm with his and they strolled by a police officer, making their way through the thick weekend crowd, beyond the souvenir stalls.
“Going back to the hotel is too risky,” Charlie said. “We can’t count on Dealing Dan not to report the car.”
“Agreed.”
Out on Decatur Street, a cab stopped right in front of a FQ Task Force police car and let out his passengers. The taxi light on the roof stayed illuminated. Charlie and Aiden got inside.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“A motel,” Charlie said. “Outside the French Quarter.”
“Is a B and B okay?”
At B and Bs the owners chatted up their patrons, asked questions and shared stories. “No.” Aiden shook his head. “A motel. We want privacy. Cheap. Clean. We don’t need bells and whistles, but we do want outdoor access to the room.”
The light-skinned black man eyed them in the rearview mirror. “I know you said no B and B, but if you’re open to it, my aunt rents out a guest room above her garage to supplement her retirement. Outdoor access. Basic cable and Wi-Fi. I can promise it’s clean. And my aunt is good people. She won’t get in your business.”
Aiden looked at Charlie and she nodded. “How much?” he asked.
“Eighty bucks a night. Breakfast and dinner are included in the price if you want it. She makes a mean crawfish étouffée. Better than anything you’ll get in most restaurants.”
If Dealing Dan had reported the car they’d rented, then the cops would have the names of their fake IDs. An off-the-books rented room was just what they needed. “Sounds perfect,” Aiden said.
“How many nights?”
Charlie shrugged. “One or two.”
The driver made a call on his cell. “Aunt Henri, it’s me. I’ve got a couple of boarders for a night or two. Nice couple, looking for privacy, so don’t go talking their ear off. Okay?” He listened for a minute, then said, “See you in a little bit.”
Staying at a garage apartment meant they’d no longer have access to a computer in a hotel’s business center, and they needed toiletries, as well. “Before we go to your aunt’s place, do you mind swinging by a couple of stores? We could use some supplies.”
“Sure. There’s a shopping center on the way.”
The cabbie let them out in front of a supersize discount retailer that had chains everywhere. Two doors down was a huge sporting goods store that from the outside appeared to be a hunter’s dream.
Aiden handed the driver enough to cover the fare. “Keep the meter running. We’ll be less than fifteen minutes.” They got out of the car, and he turned to Charlie, but scanned their surroundings. “Faster if we separate.” Not to mention easier, too, after that kiss she’d given him. He could use a little distance to clear his head. “I’ll grab a computer, burner phones and toiletries. From there,” he said, gesturing to sporting goods, “we need ammo, holsters and anything else you think will be useful. How are you on cash?”
“Running low, but I should have enough.”
After using close to a thousand, he had plenty left from the three he’d withdrawn. She’d spend more on gear than he would in the supercenter. He peeled off five $100 bills for her.
Once they cleared their names, the Department of Justice should reimburse them for work expenses. Being on the run added up quick. If they’d been penniless, they would have been in the lurch.
Charlie pocketed the cash, looking like she wanted to say something, but he was grateful when she turned without a word and left. Eventually, they’d have to talk, but he was content to put off the conversation for as long as possible.
Inside the sprawling megastore, Aiden first grabbed toiletries they might need, since it was closest, and then headed for electronics. On the way, he threw a roll of flat black duct tape into the cart.
He found an assortment of cheap laptops and chose one with 4GB RAM for under a hundred bucks. It wouldn’t be the fastest or offer much in terms of storage, but that was fine. Stopping at a display of cell phones on clearance, he picked two. Both flip-style, no-frills, bare-bones devices that didn’t have GPS, which would make them harder to track. Then he added a couple of phone chargers to his pile.
At the twelve-minute mark, Aiden climbed back into the car. No one had been in line at the register in electronics and checking out there had expedited things. Less than sixty seconds later, Charlie left the sporting goods store carrying a tactical black backpack that was stuffed with goodies.
“You two aren’t going to be any trouble, are you?” the driver asked as he watched Charlie walk to the car.
Her long, confident, I-am-in-command stride was distinctive, hinted at someone in law enforcement or the military, or a cocky criminal. The tactical backpack hiked high on her shoulder didn’t help the image.
“I assure you the last thing we want is trouble.” Aiden removed his sunglasses so the cabbie could see his eyes and hopefully his sincerity. “Just privacy and a little peace and quiet for a couple of nights.”
The man considered it, and by the time Charlie hopped in, he nodded.
It didn’t take long before the cabbie stopped in the driveway of a modest house that was outside the French Quarter but within reasonable walking distance.
An older lady with a poof of short white curls who resembled the driver was waiting for them. She wore pearls, a pencil skirt and a kind smile.
Aiden paid the remaining taxi fare and for waiting while they shopped, and they all climbed out.
“This here is my aunt Henriette Bordelon,” the driver said. “Everyone calls her Henri.”
Aiden shook her extended hand. “I’m Rudy and this is Priscilla,” he said as Charlie shook her hand, as well. “It’s kind of you to let us stay here, ma’am.”
“My pleasure.” She smiled, but glanced down at their hands, noticing they didn’t have any luggage, only shopping bags and the backpack. “I hope it’s okay if I collect payment in advance.”
“No problem.” Aiden gave her two hundred dollars.
“This is too much.” She tried to hand back several bills.
“Please, keep it,” Aiden said. “We heard you’re an incredible cook. Consider it a tip in advance.”
“Very generous of you.” She beamed. “Dinner will be ready by six, but I can keep it warm for you as late as eleven. That’s when my last show goes off and I turn in. Breakfast can be served anytime, except tomorrow. I go to church on Sundays. So it’ll have to be before eight. If you have any allergies just let me know.”
“Wonderful,” Charlie said, “and no allergies for either of us. We’ll eat anything.”
The cabbie took the key from his aunt. “I’ll walk them up and show them the place. Save you the trip.”
Aiden and Charlie followed him up the steep exterior staircase. The structure was a good ten yards behind the main house, which had blooming flowers in all the beds and a well-maintained lawn. The garage apartment was far enough back to give them ample privacy.
The driver unlocked the door and handed Aiden the key.
A decent-sized studio, the place was as advertised. Simple. Clean. A rudimentary kitchen outfitted with the basics, including a coffee maker and take-out menus from places that delivered. Towels in the bathroom along with bodywash and shampoo.
It was more than they could’ve asked for.
But
there was only one queen-size bed.
“Henri’s number and the password for the Wi-Fi are next to the phone. I’m Junior, by the way. If you need a ride anywhere, day or night, give me a holler. Here’s my card.” Smiling, he offered one that Charlie took. “I’ll get out of your hair now.”
Nodding his thanks, Aiden set the shopping bags down on the counter.
Junior hurried out the door like he was trying hard not to take up too much time or be too friendly.
Aiden appreciated it.
Once Junior had cleared the stairs and the car door slammed closed, Charlie said, “We never got the envelope to Walsh and I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back to the restaurant.”
She emptied the backpack on the counter, setting out a Smith and Wesson M&P 9 mm, shoulder holsters, tactical knives, zip ties, extra clips, and ammo for the guns, which they had three of, including the ones they took from Devlin and his buddy.
In Louisiana, no state permit, driver’s license, firearm registration or background check was required, and by the looks of the supplies, no magazine capacity restriction, either. He wasn’t complaining. This was the perfect state if you were a gun enthusiast or an outlaw.
An expandable baton made of strong, durable seamless alloy steel rolled along the counter as she pulled out a few more items that looked more suited for camping than their needs.
Taking off the sunglasses and wig, Aiden sat on the bed and scratched his head. “If it wasn’t Walsh who texted the hit men in San Diego, then it was one of his guys. Either way, he’d get a message if we sent one.”
“Then let’s do it.”
Aiden tore open the sealed envelope and laid the documents on the bed. He snapped a picture of each and sent them to the New Orleans number in the phone along with a text.
We have the flash drive with hard evidence on you and your friends.
Want to trade? Or do you want to go to prison?
“That’ll get Walsh’s attention,” Aiden said. No need to rush the ask. Walsh was willing to pay millions to torture Edgar. They had time to play their hand the proper way, but not much. “Now we wait.” He glanced at the clock. “We’ve got a couple of hours until dinner. I’m going to get some shut-eye.”