Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 13 - The Diamonds of Ghost Bayou (22 page)

I walked at his side. I didn’t want to irritate the old man, even
if it meant pretending I believed in the loup-garou. “Why do you
figure the loup-garou went after-who was it?-Primeaux and-”

“Vitale. Charley Primeaux and Dudley Vitale,” he said, supplying their names. His phlegmy old eyes grew suspicious. “I
didn’t figure you believed in the loup-garou.”

I shook my head and stared out into the darkening swamp
and lied like a dog. “There’s things that we’ll never understand.
The more I think about it, the more I think you’re right. I saw
the lights out there in the swamp.”

He smiled smugly and punched his sunken chest with a bony
finger. “Me, I know I’m right.” He made a sweeping gesture to the swamp. “There be spirits out there that we don’t even know
about.”

“Yep. So, tell me. Why did the loup-garou go after those two?”

He pursed his lips. “The loup-garou take them what it finds.”

“You mean it could have taken anybody?”

He reached for the door handle. “Oui”

“How well did you know Primeaux and Vitale?”

“They come up from Morgan City-” He paused. “I don’t
know, maybe twenty years back. They got themselves a shack
down on the bayou and bummed around town for what they
could get. I figure that’s how come old Benoit, he stole them cars.
He was just shiftless before they come here, but he took up with
them, and their ways rubbed off.”

“So the three hung together?”

Old Rouly opened the door. “Thicker than gumbo mud. Two
or three times, Primeaux, he visit Benoit up at the pen.”

“Good friends, huh?”

He climbed behind the wheel. Before he slammed the door,
he added, “Me, I always figured they was after the diamonds
and that old Benoit had the ear of the Judice boys up in the pen.
They was both killed about a year after Benoit went up”

I replied, “So, maybe Primeaux and Vitale weren’t such good
friends of Benoit after all.”

“That be about right. I figure if the loup-garou, it hadn’t got
them two, they’d have took the diamonds and disappeared, with
old Benoit still in jail.”

I took a step back, noticing that the bed of his pickup was
once again full of scrap metal. I gestured to it. “Looks like
business is pretty good.”

His wrinkled face broke out in a broad smile. “Oui. Ain’t bad”

Before I went back inside, I walked the grounds, my hand
resting on the butt of my .38 under my shirt. Nothing but crickets and mosquitoes.

In the house, Jack and Diane were watching TV and sipping
their evening dinner through straws. She smiled up at me brightly.
“Your dinner is on the snack bar along with a chocolate milkshake.”

The phone rang. “Grab it, will you?” Jack hissed.

It was Sheriff Lacoutrue, who informed me that it indeed was
Mule driving the Lexus that afternoon at Bayou Country Motors. It was a casino vehicle. It got hit in the parking lot, one of
the valets said. O’Donnell had ordered Mule to take it down
and see about getting the fender repaired.

“Hit in the parking lot?”

“That’s what they figure. Nobody saw it happen”

I thanked him and hung up. I bet nobody saw anything.

“Anything important?” Jack was looking at me.

I decided to wait until after Diane left the room to tell him
the truth. “Nope. Just the sheriff reminding us they’d be watching the place tonight.”

“Good.” Jack nodded at the snack bar. “Get your supper and
come watch the movie with us.” His expression gave away his
concern for their situation.

I patted the .38 under my belt and nodded. On the snack bar
were two large glasses, one with the milkshake and the other
with the concoction Jack was eating.

Diane spoke up quickly. “Hope you don’t mind, but I thought
we’d have the same thing as Jack tonight.”

“Hey, it isn’t all that bad,” Jack exclaimed. “All mixed together, it tastes pretty good”

I looked back at the tall glass containing a revolting green
glutinous liquid. Nothing, I told myself, that looks like that can
be any good.

I looked back around. They were both watching.

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head and picked up my dinner.
“Okay. Where do I sit?”

To my surprise, the green goo called dinner wasn’t bad. In
fact, it was almost tasty as long as you didn’t look at it. I managed to get about half down before I turned to the milkshake.
Don’t ever break your jaw, Tony, I told myself, not looking forward to breakfast, which, according to Diane, would consist of
tasty Cream of Wheat, yummy half-and-half, and sinful honey,
all blended to drink through a straw. I wanted to gag. I’d take
coffee and later on pick up a honey roll somewhere.

Thirty minutes later, headlights cut a wide swath through the darkness, and the sheriff whooped his siren to let us know
he was there.

That night, I lay awake in the front bedroom staring out the
window at the vast array of glittering stars splashed over the
dark. The hum of the air conditioner was a soft, steady purr, its
monotony seducing one to sleep. I sat up and peered out the
window. Nothing seemed to be stirring.

I went back over my little theory regarding O’Donnell. With
Benoit in the same prison with the Judice brothers, and since
they were well acquainted, the casino owner figured Benoit knew
the location of the diamonds; and he also figured that since
Primeaux had visited Benoit in prison, the old man had probably made him aware of the location. Back in town, Primeaux
would probably have revealed the location to Vitale.

When O’Donnell failed to elicit the information from the
two, he arranged for T-Ball to offer L. Q. Benoit a job on his
horse farm to aid in the old man’s gaining parole.

There was also the possibility, though unproven, that O’Donnell
had somehow learned we had gone over to Cocodrie Slough and
sent T-Ball after us-well, after me.

And then there was Oscar Mouton, Al Theriot’s ex-partner
and old friend. I didn’t know what his relationship with T-Ball
was.

Outside, a bull alligator bellowed.

I squinted into the night. A pair of headlights appeared down
the road. The vehicle swung into the yard and turned around. It
was a police cruiser.

I relaxed slightly, thinking back over my neat little idea regarding the casino owner, looking for holes. I didn’t see any.
And that worried me. There are always holes in a theory, and if
there are none, my experience has been that the premise, the
theory, was nothing more than a pie-in-the-sky dream.

Chances were, that was an apt description of Mouton’s involvement, but still, I planned to delve deeper into his situation.

In all honesty, I had nothing hard and fast regarding either one. I just had to keep working at it. More than once, I’d floundered around on a case and, after fifty dead ends, stumbled onto the answer.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and tried to clear my
mind and relax. The last thing I remembered was wondering
just how I could prove any facet of my theory-in time to keep
me from feeding the alligators.

I awoke the next morning not one iota closer to an answer
than when I dropped off to sleep the night before. Then I caught
a whiff of the mouthwatering aroma of frying sausage. I closed
my eyes and groaned at the thought of perfectly good sausage
being pureed into an unrecognizable liquid as thick as Elmer’s
Glue.

The front door was open. I glanced outside at the still bayou.
Another hot day, I told myself.

To my surprise, Jack was at the stove frying up sausage and
eggs. He smiled when he saw me. “Just because one of us has got
to eat baby food, that’s no reason for everyone to eat it. I figured
you and my wife would like something solid this morning.”

I could have kissed him. I glanced around the kitchen.

“She’s still asleep,” he said, turning back to the stove. “Coffee’s ready. Grab some.” He picked up his coffee and sipped
some through the straw. He pointed his spatula at the round patties crackling in their grease. “I don’t know if it’ll work or not,
but I’m going to do my darndest to puree some of this stuff. If
that works, a rib eye steak is next on my list.”

A few minutes later, he slid a plate of eggs, sausage, and biscuits in front of me. “Eat up.” I glanced toward his bedroom.
He laughed. “She always sleeps in.”

How well I remembered.

Jack hefted his bulk up onto a bar stool with his coffee and a
glass of half-and-half, sausage, and egg pureed into a grayish
color. He eyed the concoction warily and then sipped it. A grimace contorted his face, and he shivered from head to toe. “Jeez,
that’s terrible.”

“Put some honey in it,” I replied, cutting off a chunk of sausage. “Maybe that’ll give it some flavor.”

He shot me a dirty look but promptly took my suggestion. “It
isn’t much better. But it’ll have to do”

I shook my head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just enjoy your breakfast. Don’t even think about
me while you eat your eggs and sausage and sop your biscuit.”

Around a mouthful of biscuit, I replied, “What are you trying to do, make me feel guilty?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, and then grew serious. “Now, about what
you were telling me yesterday.”

A knock at the door interrupted us. It was Clerville Naquin,
carrying a covered platter of food.

Jack invited him in for breakfast, but the slight Chitimacha
Indian declined. He extended the platter. “We hear you back
home, so my wife, Zozette, she fry up shrimps for you. They got
a big, thick crust”

I swear I could hear Jack groan in misery. Crusty fried shrimp,
his favorite, and he couldn’t take a single bite. For a moment, just
a moment, I considered suggesting Jack puree it, but I hated to
add insult to injury. Instead, I repeated Jack’s invitation. “You
sure you won’t join us?”

Clerville shook his head. “Me, I got work. You take care.
You need something, just let me or my boys know.”

Jack forced a weak grin. “Thanks.”

I spoke up. “I want to thank your boys again for taking me
over to Cocodrie Slough the other night. I hope Valsin wasn’t
too tired to go to work the next morning.”

Clerville waved his hand. “Mais, non. The casino, it call after you leave. They not need Valsin that next day”

The casino! I tried to hide my excitement. As casually as I
could, I replied, “Oh, that’s where he was going to work, huh?”

“Oui. That one, he help park the cars. I tell them I give him
the message, that he take you over to Cocodrie Slough.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. Here I was, sitting on the thin edge
of frustration, when Clerville Naquin’s unexpected announcement suggested that O’Donnell could have learned that I was
across the swamp at the little village on Duck Lake and had
sent T-Ball to scare me off.

While Jack carried the platter of fried shrimp back into the kitchen, I walked Clerville to his boat at the dock, giving
me time to ferret out a little more information. “Valsin work at
the casino often?”

“Oui, weekends, and then during the week when one of the
regulars is off.” He shook his head. “Don’t pay as good as
shrimping, but it be more regular, even if they be some bad
ones over there. You know what I mean?” He looked up at me.

“Yeah. I know.” I paused, then nonchalantly remarked, “I’d
guess that there would be work over at Bayou Country Motors”

Clerville agreed. “Old Oscar, he got himself a good business.”

“I heard somewhere that Oscar and O’Donnell were partners
in the car business.” That was a bald-faced lie, but I had long
ago discovered that such a trick can sometimes elicit information without arousing suspicion.

Puzzled, Clerville frowned up at me. “Where you hear that?”

Playing the innocent, I shrugged. “I don’t remember. Might
have been in the waiting room at the hospital.”

He chuckled. “No, them two, they not partners, but Oscar,
his company takes care of the casino’s cars and trucks. Every
year, O’Donnell, he trade in his cars on new ones”

“I see.”

From the swamp came the purr of an outboard engine. “That
Valsin?”

He shook his head. “He out at Six Mile Lake.”

“Well, I hope he catches a lot.”

“That be good.” The smile faded from his weather-browned
face, and he ran his work scarred fingers through his full head of
thick black hair. He gazed wistfully into Ghost Swamp. “One
day, he ain’t going to be able to shrimp no more, not because he
gets old, but because the swamp, she changes; she grows smaller,
and the shrimp and crabs, they leave. The casino job, it be only
one an old man can do.”

“Have you ever thought about it?”

My question jerked him back from the reverie into which he had momentarily slipped. “Me? No. Me, I be lucky. I die shrimping.” His eyes clouded over. “I wish the same for them boys of
mine, but I don’t think that happen.”

As he sped away from the dock, I couldn’t help feeling sorry
for the little man and his family-a family, like so many others,
forced to look on helplessly as a way of life vanished.