Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 08 - Death in the French Quarter (13 page)

After a few minutes, I circled the block and on St.
Peter west of Rigues’ I slipped into an ungated corridor
that led to a courtyard behind the Cibaldo and waited.
From the shadows, I watched the restaurant.

I heard a faint scratching noise behind me. I spun
and, holding my breath, peered into the darkness, my
imagination straining at the implausible. Nothing moved. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts, Tony?”
I muttered, grinning sheepishly.

Ten minutes later, Hummer, Ziggy, and Punky
emerged from the restaurant and headed west on
Toulouse. The crowds had thinned considerably the last
two or three blocks, making it more difficult to keep the
three in sight without being spotted myself.

From the corner of a two-story stucco, I watched the
three as they crossed Rampart Street and headed along
the north wall of the St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. They
paused halfway down the block, looked up and down
the street, then disappeared into a thick, ragged hedge
of shrubs growing next to the whitewashed wall.

Taking a deep breath, I followed.

Inside the thick hedge through which a few stray
shafts of streetlights barely penetrated, I discovered a
wrought-iron gate. Voices came from inside, and I
quickly pressed up against the wall. They were too distant to hear what they were saying.

I felt along the gate, searching for a latch of some
sort. My fingers touched a sliding bolt, which I slowly
eased aside. Gently, I tugged on the gate, freezing instantly when it squeaked.

Sweat popped out on my forehead as I strained to
pick up any unusual sound, but all was silent except for
the passing vehicles on Rampart Street. If I couldn’t
hear the three, maybe they couldn’t hear me. I tugged
the gate open just enough to slide through.

I hesitated. Sneaking through any graveyard at night
was enough to send my heart racing, and to think I was about to creep through the ghostly shadows of towering
tombs three hundred years old was enough to send it
into heart attack range.

The perimeter of the cemetery was illumined by the
peripheral glow of the streetlamps, which filled the
aisles between tombs with inky shadows several feet
deep. Easing down the first aisle, I crouched in the
darkness and listened. To the south, I heard indistinct
voices, so I crept along the cracked and broken sidewalk, taking care to stay in the gloom cast by the ancient brick and stucco tombs, some of which were
crumbling, some of which were in good repair. The
musty smell of long dead bodies filled the air with a
dry, moldering odor that clogged my nostrils.

Suddenly, I tripped over a slab of concrete pushed up
by the constant rise and fall of the gumbo soil on which
the cemetery was built.

A distant voice carried down the corridors between
the rows of tombs. “What was that?”

I crouched in a shadow and froze, peering into the
darkness beyond.

“What?” I recognized Punky’s guttural voice.

“That noise.”

“Forget it, Hummer. Just a cat”

“Didn’t sound like a cat”

Disgusted, Punky snapped. “Then go look.”

Hummer hesitated. “I ain’t going by myself. Come
on, Ziggy. You go with me”

Ziggy whined. “I ain’t going. It wasn’t nothing.”

Punky groaned. “Go on, Ziggy. I’ll go on ahead. You two come on when you finish.” He muttered a soft
curse.

Grimacing, I looked around, searching for a hiding
spot.

Just behind me was a collapsing brick tomb about
chest high. Next to it stood a well-maintained white
stucco tomb with angels on either side of the wide doors.

Moving quickly but carefully, I slipped between the
two, planning on hiding behind one of them. I stumbled
and grabbed at the crumbling tomb for support. The
centuries old mortar fell apart under my hand, sending
a brick crashing to the ground, which, in the tense silence of the graveyard, sounded like a cannon shot.

“Hey,” Hummer whispered loudly. “Hear that?
Come on”

Ziggy forced a weak laugh. “Aw, it was just a cat or
something. It won’t hurt you. Now, let’s get back to
Punky.”

“Come on,” Hummer demanded.

Cursing under my breath, I dropped into the thick
shadows on the ground at the rear of the old tomb. I
could hear footsteps growing closer. I leaned deeper
into the shadows, expecting to press up against the rear
of the tomb, but the back had fallen away, and I lost my
balance and tumbled into the tomb. I threw out my hand
to break my fall and grabbed the corner of a wooden
coffin.

If I hadn’t heard Hummer’s and Ziggy’s voices in
front of the old tomb, I probably would have screamed
my head off.

I was off balance, my extended arm all that was
keeping me from falling. I couldn’t shift my feet for
balance for fear of being heard. My imagination ran
rampant with terrifying thoughts of what might be
slithering toward my arm in the darkness.

Ziggy and Hummer stood in front of the tomb for
what seemed like hours. My arm began to ache, then
under the constant strain of supporting my weight, to
quiver. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, willing
my trembling muscles to remain motionless. And then I
imagined horrifying spiders the size of saucers crawling up my arm.

Finally, Ziggy snorted. “There ain’t nothing here,
Hummer. Not even no ghosts. Now come on. We got
work to do”

“No. I heard something. You heard it too, like a brick
falling.”

“Just a couple ghosts throwing bricks at each other,”
Ziggy snickered. “Come on, Hummer, bricks fall in
this rundown old place all the time. Nothing spooky
about that. Now let’s go.”

Reluctantly, Hummer followed.

I waited a few seconds, then shifted my feet under
me, jerked my arm out, and rose, peering over the top
of the tomb. At that moment, a loud flutter of wings
broke the silence above my head. I gasped inadvertently and looked up at a raven perched on top of the
adjoining tomb. I could have sworn he was staring
down at me, and if at that very moment I’d heard “Nev ermore,” I would have certainly died of a heart attack
right there.

Taking several deep breaths, I tried to calm my shaking hands. Easy, Tony, easy. After a few moments, I followed Hummer and Ziggy, who were darker phantoms
among the shadows in the aisles between the tombs.

Suddenly they appeared in a cone of light from a
streetlight beyond the south wall. I paused, sliding into
the shadows as they turned to their right around an angel. Quickly, I followed, peering under the angel’s arm
in time to see Ziggy disappear into a tomb and close a
metal door behind him.

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the angel.
A tomb! I wished then I had brought my .32. I’d barely
mustered the courage to creep into the cemetery at midnight. I wasn’t sure if I possessed enough to follow
them down into that tomb.

Somehow, I screwed up enough backbone to approach the crumbling brick edifice.

And when I read the name on it, I started to back out.

Marie LeVeau, the voodoo queen of New Orleans.

I hesitated. What if they heard the door open? What
if they were just inside? I studied the crumbling tomb,
which appeared to be around eight-feet high, four wide,
and ten deep. A tiny flash of humor cut through the
trepidation threatening to freeze my muscles. If the
three were in there, they had to be awfully cramped.

Suddenly, voices behind me erased the tiny grin on
my face.

Gently, I pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. I
pushed harder. This time, to my horror, it opened with a
shrill squeak. I started to bolt, but the voices were too
close. I didn’t know if I had time to hide or not, so I
slipped inside and closed the door behind me.

The tomb was pitch-black. I felt with my toe, and
discovered a flight of steps leading down. With one
hand on the wall, I eased down until I spotted a glow of
light coming from around a corner.

A single light bulb illuminated a narrow damp corridor of brick with an arched ceiling from which several
bricks had fallen. As I hurried along the clammy tunnel
to the next corner, I noticed secondary tunnels leading
off the main one. What had I stumbled into, some kind
of ancient catacombs?

Behind me, the door squeaked open at the same time
I heard voices ahead. I slipped into one of the side tunnels, feeling my way with my hands. A few feet inside,
I discovered a large opening in the wall. Feeling further, I found a shelf, long enough to hold a coffin. I extended my hand and touched the cold surface of a
wooden casket.

I jerked my hand back and dropped into a crouch,
peering at the light in the opening of the tunnel in
which I was hiding.

Moments later, Bones, Gramps, Julie, and Pig passed.

Wasting no time, I crept forward, ready to leave the
tunnel to them, but then I heard Punky ask, “You come
in together? I would have sworn I heard the door open
before you came in.”

Bones snarled, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Well, I think so. It could have been my imagination. I’ve never liked coming down here this way. It
gives me the creeps”

“We came in together,” Bones said harshly. “Just to be
on the safe side, let’s see if some bum stumbled in here.”

Easing deeper into my tunnel, I slipped onto a shelf,
my back to a wooden coffin. I crossed my fingers they
wouldn’t bother to search the ledges. I held my breath
as a beam of light flashed down the tunnel, then disappeared.

Later, after the voices had faded away, I slipped out
and headed down the corridor. The gang was ahead of
me. If I heard them coming back, I could dart into any
of the numerous tunnels branching off the main one.

Around the next corner, I came to three forks. Now
what? I studied the floor to see if I could figure out
which way they went. I couldn’t so I took the left fork,
which led to an apartment complex across the street.
The middle fork ended at a brick wall.

The third fork ascended a flight of stairs. As I started
up, I heard voices above. Dropping into a crouch, I peered over the top of the stairs into a low-ceiling mausoleum about twenty-feet wide and thirty long.

The lights were dim but I spotted wooden crates
stacked in front of the tombs along three walls. Three
rows of crates were stacked four high in the middle of
the room. I couldn’t make out the words stenciled on
them, and I wasn’t about to try to slip any closer.

Backing away, I found me a secure little niche behind a casket on a shelf in one of the many tunnels and
waited.

Sometime later, lights flashed down the tunnel. I held
my breath as a beam of light played over the coffin behind which I lay hidden.

The light disappeared, and I released a sigh of relief.

After the last voice died away and complete darkness
enveloped me, I waited for what I guessed was another
hour. Sliding from my hiding place, I crept through the
darkness to the main tunnel, which was lit dimly by
light from the top of the stairs.

I eased up, peering over the top tread, wondering if
someone had remained behind.

Patiently, I scanned the room, seeing no one, hearing
no one. A single bulb burned dimly near the front door.
Rising to a crouch, I darted to the first row of crates and
pressed up against them, looking first one way and then
the other. My heart thudded against my chest.

Turning my head, I peered at the black stenciling on
the end of a crate. The words were of a language completely alien to me, but the numbers were familiar: 47. I
caught my breath. AK-47s were assault rifles. Could that be what I was staring at? I looked up and down the
row. There must have been twenty or thirty crates. A
chill ran up my spine. Easing over to the next row, I discovered crates of 7.62mm and 7.62 x 39 light weapon
rounds. I wasn’t sure, but to the best of my recollection,
those were Kalashnikov cartridges and PK machine
gun cartridges.

Before I could snoop any further, I heard a noise on
the other side of the room.

Peering around the end of the row, I saw Mule closing a door behind him on the far wall. He was puffing
away on a joint. He headed in my direction. On tiptoe, I
hurried to the far end of the row and pressed up against
the end as he passed. Quickly, I headed for the door he
had entered. As I passed the crates lined next to the
wall, I glimpsed the label. These, I could read: YM-I
IRANIAN ANTIPERSONNEL MINES.

I grimaced. I had stumbled onto a big time smuggling ring. Gently, I opened the door a crack, peering
into the night. Nothing moved. Quickly, I slipped out
into the shadows cast by the tomb.

Seconds passed. I looked around. I was outside the
wall surrounding the cemetery. Now, all I had to do was
make it back to my room without being seen.

I dropped into bed at four o’clock. At five o’clock, a
knock awakened me. It was Julie. He forced his way in
when I opened the door.

Light from the hall cast a rectangular patch of yellow
on the worn carpet. He stopped in the middle of it. “I got to talk to you, Tony. Right now.” His slender face
was tight with concern.