Fat Tuesday (41 page)

Mac was persistent and persuasive. Joe's heart had been in the right place."Don't worry about it."

"What's up? Is there something I can do? Pat said it was a confidential police matter."

"Something like that."

"Burke, if you're in trouble ..."

"Listen, Joe, I'm sorry, but I haven't got much time." His mind was clicking along at a furious pace. Now he began speaking just as rapidly.

"Don't interrupt, please. Just do what I'm telling you. Get out of town for a few days. Take the family. Go by car, pay in cash. No credit cards, no public transportation."

"What the hell "

"Do it!" Burke shouted."I love you, Linda, the kids. Do it."

After a moment, Joe reluctantly agreed."Okay. For how long?"

"I'll call your office and leave a message on voice mail. Get a new retrieval code. Don't let anyone know where you're going. Clear?"

"Clear."

"And, Joe, call Nancy Stuart."

"Kev's widow?"

"Right. Tell her to take the boys and go somewhere. Same instructions.

Same urgency. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Thanks, Joe. What time did Mac call this morning?"

"Less than an hour ago."

"From New Orleans?"

"I suppose, yeah."

"Did you give him directions to Dredd's?"

,"NO. He wanted to bypass Dredd's and go straight to our cabin."

Shit! "Now I've really got to go. Take care, Joe."

He hung up and raced for the door. Dredd was on the galerie, blocking his path. Burke dodged him with the alacrity of an NFL running back and continued running down the pier without breaking his stride."Joe gave Mac Mccuen directions to our cabin," he called over his shoulder.

"Damn. What side is Mccuen's bread buttered on?"

"I don't know. That's what worries me."

"Will somebody be with him?"

"Wouldn't surprise me. In any case, I've got to head him off."

"Want me to come along?"

"This is my problem, Dredd. Untie that line, please," he said as he jumped into the boat.

"I had a problem once. You helped me."

"You've already helped. And I'll be eternally grateful." He started the motor.-"By the way, you'll be glad to know your medicines worked.

Remy's wounds have healed. If something happens to me, be sure and tell her ... Just ... Tell her I'm sorry for everything."

Mccuen mentally calculated the odds of his getting lost and figured them very good.

He had rented the boat from a guy with more warts than teeth who claimed never to have heard of the Basile brothers or their fishing camp. Mccuen suspected him of lying and was glad he had Joe Basile's directions written down. The locals seemed to regard the swamp as their terrain and resented the intrusion of others.

As far as he was concerned, they could keep this godforsaken country to themselves. He couldn't fathom why some rhapsodized the natural beauty of the bayous and swamps of his native state. They were infested with insects, snakes, alligators, bobcats, boars, and other wildlife, and he wanted no part of any of it. Even as a kid he hadn't liked the great outdoors. A horse-racing track was about the closest he wanted to get to it. That and his own backyard.

Thoughts of home brought Toni to mind. God, what must she be thinking?

Last night, about the time he was supposed to be meeting Del Ray Jones and Wayne Bardo, he'd been packing his young, beautiful wife off to her mama in Jackson, Mississippi. When he began slinging her belongings into suitcases, naturally she had become a trifle upset and demanded to know what in hell was going on.

He'd improvised a cock-and-bull story about a drug dealer they'd busted, who'd threatened the narcs involved in the sting with reprisals against their families."It's probably just so much talk, but Pat advised us to take the necessary precautions."

She'd bought the lie. But even if she hadn't, he wasn't giving her a choice. She was getting safely out of town, period, end of argument Duvall's deadline had expired and that wasn't going to go unnoticed.

They would come looking for him with the hunting instinct and determination of bloodhounds.

Duvall's subtle remarks about Toni had got his attention just as the attorney knew they would. Mac knew what Wayne Bardo was capable of doing to a woman. He'd seen the eight-by-tens of murder scenes where Bardo was implicated but never indicted.

So Toni had been shuttled out of town, and she would remain in Jackson until this mess between Burke Basile and Pinkie Duvall was resolved one way or another.

Goddamn, how had he gotten himself caught in the cross fire?

Of course he knew how. Gambling. His addiction was responsible for all the wrong choices he'd made, and he'd made plenty. Every misdeed he'd ever committed harkened back to supporting his habit. It was common knowledge that he placed a bet or two here and there, but no one was aware of the lengths to which he'd gone to cover debts not his folks, or his wife, or the people he worked with. No one. But he knew. And his conscience ate at him.

He swore to God that if he and Toni got out of this situation unscathed, he would never make another wager as long as he lived.

But in the next breath, he bet himself a hundred to one that he would break that vow.

Suddenly, there was the cabin.

Mac almost laughed out loud. When he'd set out in the boat, he didn't believe he had a prayer of actually finding the place, but he had followed Joe Basile's directions to a T, and, lo and behold, there it was, just as Basile had described it, right down to the retreads attached to the pier.

It was too late for approaching with caution. In the desolate silence, Basile had surely heard the boat's motor well before it came into view.

Right now, he was probably watching from one of the screened windows.

Mac's heart was knocking inside his chest as though it knew it was in the crosshairs of a rifle's scope.

He killed the motor and let the small craft drift alongside the pier.

He called out, "I'm alone, Basile, and I've got to talk to you."

With both hands, he reached for one of the posts and held on, then clumsily climbed out of the boat and secured the rope.

Although the day was cool, his pores were leaking nervous sweat.

He sensed hungry, hostile eyes watching him from myriad hiding places along the banks of the bayou, but none so menacing as Basile's.

His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked along the pier toward the crude dwelling. He was trained to spot signs of impending danger but all his policeman's training deserted him. He had embarked on new territory, as remote and alien to him as Neptune. He felt incompetent and clumsy, and that was no way for a law officer to approach a problem, especially one on the scale of Burke Basile.

When he reached the screened door, he swallowed dryly."Burke, this is no good, man. Let me come inside and talk to you. Okay?"

Keeping his hands in sight, he pulled open the screened door. The wooden door behind it was unlocked. Mac pushed it open, hesitated a moment, then stepped inside.

Eyes darting about, he gave the single room a quick survey.

"Son of a bitch!"

He felt like a fool, and was exceedingly frustrated, because the shack was deserted, and it was immediately obvious that it hadn't been occupied for a long time. Not by humans anyway. A varmint had chewed up part of the seat cushion in one of the armchairs. Roaches headed for cover. A spider ignored him as he continued to weave his web around the lantern hanging on a peg. Water dripped ponderously from the faucet over the stained kitchen sink.

Joe Basile had been wrong. Either that, or he was as wily as his older brother and, sensing danger for Burke, had deliberately sent his gullible colleague on a wild goose chase.

Now what? Now what was he fucking going to do? He couldn't go back without Basile. Without Basile ... He didn't even want to think about it, but suffice it to say that the stinking, scary swamp was nothing compared to the hell awaiting him back in New Orleans if he didn't produce Basile.

Disgusted, Mac turned. He drew up short and sucked in a quick breath when he saw the silhouette outlined in the screened door.

Dredd was baiting a trotline when a car appeared in the gravel lane leading from the main road. He watched it approach, brake to a crawl, then come to a stop. The driver alighted. Seeing Dredd, he waved.

"Hi, Dredd." Gregory James came along the pier cautiously, smiling sickly."How's it going?"

"You peckerwood," Dredd snarled."Where's my boat? I ought to open you up and use your guts as bait." He brandished the knife he'd been using to cut up his bait.

Gregory held up his hands in surrender."I'm sorry about your boat.

I'll pay for it. My daddy's rich."

"What are you doing here? Too bad you weren't here earlier. You just missed your friend Burke Basile."

"Where is he?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Can we go inside and talk?"

Dredd turned away."I got better things to do."

"Dredd, please. Look at me."

Dredd stopped what he was doing and looked more closely at the younger man's face. Parts of it were still swollen and rearranged. It was badly bruised. But between the bruises, his skin was pale, and his features were pinched and tense.

Mumbling self-deprecations to his softheartedness, Dredd motioned for Gregory to follow him into the store. As soon as they got inside, Gregory began babbling."I only have ten minutes."

"Till what?"

"Till they come here after you. They're going to hold you at gunpoint if they have to, torture you, I don't know. But they're not going home without Remy Duvall and Burke Basile, and you're going to take them to their hiding place."

"The hell I am."

"Then they'll kill you."

"Who's they?"

"Men who work for Duvall."

"Bardo?"

He shook his head."Bardo stayed in the city. These are two other guys, guys who were waiting for me at my house when I got home."

"I'm still listening."

"I made a deal with Duvall last night. I could either go to jail with the assurance of being locked up with bull queers who'd have their way with me until my bowels ruptured and I bled to death, or I could lead these hit men to the last place where I last saw Basile and Duvall's wife."

Dredd snorted with contempt."Sounds like you made yourself a sweet deal, you chickenshit faggot."

"If I had really accepted the deal, would I be warning you?" Gregory said, his voice squeaky with desperation."Besides, after I've expended my usefulness, they'll exterminate me, too."

"So that's why you're warning me? So I'll protect you?"

"Probably. But, I don't know ..." He tugged on his lower lip, drawing blood from a cut still there."I felt bad about screwing up Basiles plan. It's on account of me that Mrs. Duvall got shot. Or l l l maybe it's because I've always taken the coward's way out and this is a way to redeem myself."

"Save it for confession," Dredd said scornfully. Ash Wednesday's still two days away. You can make atonement then."

"Okay, I don't blame you for mistrusting my motives. But we're down to seven minutes. They're waiting at the main road. If I'm not back to report that there are no other customers in the store, they're going to come in, pretending to be fishermen, and take you off guard."

Dredd thoughtfully scratched his chin through his beard."If you're being straight with me, why'd you lead them here?"

"So I would at least have a fighting chance of getting out of this alive."

"How do I know you're not setting me up? How do I know that you're not betraying me by pretending to betray Duvall?"

"Do you think I'm that clever?"

Dredd gave him a long, calculating look."Good point."

"So you believe me?"

"Call me a damn fool," Dredd muttered, "but I think I do."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know yet. But you need to sit down before you fall down.

You're as nervous as a whore in church. Thirsty? I'll get you a Dr. Pepper."

Gregory gratefully took a chair at the table Dredd indicated. From the corner of his eye Dredd saw him recoil from the baby alligator heads.

A dozen of them had been shellacked and left to dry on the table.

"Here." Dredd passed him an opened can of the cold drink. Gregory clutched it with a shaking hand and gulped it "What's our plan?" he asked between drinks.

"I'll be on the pier, fishing."

"Okay," Gregory agreed."Where will I be?"

Dredd peered deeply into the younger man's eyes."Hmm?"

"I shaid ... I shaid ... Wha'thu hell?"

Going out like a light, Gregory fell forward, his head thumping on the tabletop an inch from one of the gators' gleaming, open maws.

'"The boy just can't hold his Dr. Pepper."

Dredd moved behind Gregory, caught him beneath the arms, and dragged his limp form into the bedroom, where he placed him on the far side of the bed between it and the wall. It wasn't an ideal hiding place, but it would be temporary.

Gregory would wake up with a slight headache from banging his head on the table, but he would suffer no aftereffects from the sleeping potion that Dredd had added to his soft drink. It was a small dosage, just enough to knock him unconscious and keep him out of the way while Dredd dealt with Duvall's goons.

The adrenaline rush he was experiencing was better than any drug Mother Nature or Man had devised. He didn't miss the bullshit politics of his former job, the rules and regulations, the confinement, but he did miss the excitement. Until now, he hadn't realized how badly he'd missed it.

He was looking forward to the next several minutes.

If Gregory was telling the truth, and if his calculations were correct, Dredd figured he had four minutes at the outside until the "fishermen" showed up. Between now and then, he had a lot to do.

"Hey, Mac. What brings you out this way?"

"You scared the shit out of me."

Burke pulled open the screened door and stepped into the cabin.

"Who were you expecting?"

"Nobody. I mean, I was expecting you to be inside here with Mrs. Duvall."