Mardi Gras Mambo (24 page)

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Authors: Gred Herren

BOOK: Mardi Gras Mambo
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I nodded.
“Well, then we have to make sure nothing happens to Alexander—make it up to him somehow.” It was a command.
My cell phone rang. I walked out into the hall, leaving them to talk. “Hello?” I answered.
“Scotty? Is Sasha.”
“Where are you?”
“Meet me at your house. Have bad news for you.”
“Sasha—” I struggled for a minute. “Bad news? What do you mean?”
“The bad guys—they have Frank.”
And the line went dead.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Four of Cups
a time for reevaluation
 
 
 
I just stood there in the hallway, staring at my cell phone in disbelief.
The bad guys have Frank?
Pray for a brave heart.
Everything started to get a little fuzzy and my vision swam. I don't know how to describe it, really. My entire mind and body went numb, and there was this awful buzzing in my ears. Somehow, I could hear my heartbeat over the buzzing. Then I couldn't seem to catch my breath. My lungs seemed determined to gasp every last molecule of air in my lungs out and didn't seem to want to take any back in. My eyes filled with tears. My legs wobbled and I grabbed for a Louis XVI decorative chair to keep myself from falling. I held on to the chair with all my strength, but my arms seemed to be made of limp pasta, and I kept sinking toward the floor until I was somehow able to take a deep breath. Finally, my blood started flowing again and I was able to right myself. My stomach clenched and unclenched, spasming with cramps, and I started gasping for air again. Spots began to dance before my eyes. This time I realized I was hyperventilating and bent over, putting my hands on my knees and consciously trying to slow my breathing. Tears were flowing out of my eyes uncontrollably as I huffed and puffed and tried to get control of myself again. With a conscious effort I shut down my mind and focused. I closed my eyes and thought about my happy place—one of the beautiful beaches of the Florida panhandle, where the sand is as fine as sugar and just as white, where the warm waves are a beautiful clear emerald green, turning blue as the water gets deeper farther away from the shore. I focused on the warm sun; the gentle, cool salty breezes blowing over me; the cry of the gulls; and the slightly fishy smell of the gulf. Finally, after a few moments, when I wasn't completely sure I was going to be able to pull it together, my breath started coming more evenly and my heart rate slowed down.
All those years of teaching aerobics
finally
paid off.
I swallowed.
The bad guys have Frank.
How in the hell had that happened?
My hands still shaking, I pressed the callback button, but it just clicked over to voice mail, a toneless voice telling me to leave a message. I dialed Colin's number, but after one ring it too went to voice mail.
Okay, I have to get home,
I thought crazily. How did Sasha know where Frank was? How had the bad guys known how to get him?
I
knew
something was wrong with Frank leaving. I'd been right. It wasn't like Frank to run off with someone. I
knew
it. Wait till I saw Colin again....
I walked, a little shakily but okay, to the door to the parlor. Voices were still going—not arguing, but it was definitely a heated discussion. I don't think I'd ever seen Maman quite so animated and passionate, so alive. If it weren't so important I get the hell out of there, I would have just enjoyed watching. Of course, when my family gets going, you can't just sit there quietly; you eventually get pulled in. There's no such thing as passive observation. You can just be sitting there, minding your own business, trying not to be noticed as the conversation rages and boils around you, not saying a word, just enjoying yourself, and then someone sees you out of the corner of his or her eye and will turn on you. You can't beg off, pretend not to have an opinion. No, there's no avoiding it; they're all looking at you then, and there's not a damn thing you can do but join in.
As much as I would have loved to have voiced my opinion on all the secrecy and lying that had been going on within the family circle for just over two years—Storm was making that very point, and doing a very good job of it, judging by the redness of my mother's face—I didn't have time for that now. I managed to catch Rain's eye and motioned for her to join me in the hallway. She rolled her eyes, got up, and walked out without anyone batting an eye.
“What?” she whispered once she joined me, her eyes still focused on the room. Mom was now defending herself passionately, jabbing her finger in the air as she made her points, Dad backing her with an occasional “Yeah” and by tightening his grip around her waist.
“I need you to take me home like five minutes ago,” I whispered back. “But I don't want anyone to know. You up for it?”
“Sneak out of a family meeting?” She giggled like she used to when she was a teenager. “We haven't done that in years.” She considered it for a moment. “I don't know, Scotty. I hate to miss this.” She gestured back at the room, where now Maman was making the point she was hardly a delicate orchid who needed her family to protect her from the world. As she spoke, some of her hair worked out of place and I saw, for the first time, the strong resemblance my mother bore to her. Hell, Mom had to get all that spirit from someone; I just never dreamed it was quiet, ladylike Maman. Rain listened for a little while longer before giving me a broad wink. “Looks like Maman's got everything under control.” She giggled again. “Let me get my purse.”
It's relatively easy to sneak out of family meetings. The secret was to wait till the discussion got so heated and focused that the participants were completely unaware of anyone in the room who wasn't participating. Of course, you ran the risk of being noticed as you made your escape and getting dragged in, but Rain was a master of the trick. I don't know how she did it. I never could manage it without her assistance. She once told me she walked out of a particularly virulent one and not only got fifty dollars out of Maman's purse, but had Dad give her his car keys without a second thought. As I watched her slip back into the room, grab her purse, and soundlessly walk back out, I believed it.
It was like she was invisible.
“Is this one of your little adventures?” she asked as she slipped the Range Rover into gear and we pulled out of the driveway. “I've always been so jealous of them.” She sighed. “They must be so much fun.”
“Well, in a way it is—but they're hardly fun.” I closed my eyes as she pulled out way too fast in front of a cab to be able to stop and waited for the impact. When none came, I opened my eyes to see the cab swinging around us, the driver angrily giving Rain the finger as he honked his horn. She gave him a big smile and flipped him off with both hands. “I mean, being kidnapped and tied up isn't all it's cracked up to be, you know.” I sighed.
Which is what's happening to Frank right now
. I didn't say it out loud, although I was about ready to have a complete meltdown. “Did you know Misha was our uncle before today?”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “Maman told me after he married Aunt Sylvia. She didn't tell me there were three of them, though.” She shook her head. “That was kind of a shock to find out. I mean, wow, it's like something out of
All My Children
—you know, how long-lost relatives you never know you had show up? She got a thoughtful look on her face. “They've never done triplets, though.”
“Why didn't you tell me?” I looked out the window. “Why did Maman tell you?”
“Looks like the rain is letting up, so maybe Orpheus will roll after all,” she said absently. She was silent for a moment and then said, “Scotty, I'm sorry. Maybe I should have said something . . . maybe Maman should have. I don't know. In hindsight, yeah, keeping these secrets maybe wasn't a smart idea, but it's easy to say that now. Maman had her reasons for keeping it quiet, and I had to respect that. She asked me not to say anything to anyone else, so I didn't. I didn't think it was that great of an idea, but it wasn't my place.”
“What other secrets are there?” I sounded like a pouting little kid, but I couldn't help myself. “What else don't I know?”
She shrugged. “Hard to say, baby bro. I think that's everything—but it's a pretty big one, don't you think?”
My mouth opened and closed. I braced my hands on the dashboard as she slammed on the breaks as the light at Louisiana turned red right in front of us. She glanced over at me. “You look pretty upset, boo.”
“Well, considering the fact that I just found out I have three uncles and two of them have been murdered in the last two days—one of them right in front of me—I'd say, yeah, I think I am a little upset,” I said crossly. “I mean, I know I don't pay much attention when the family's together so I miss things sometimes, but still. . . .” I tapped my hand on the window.
“Yeah, well.” She gave me a little smile. “We're hardly a normal family, are we?”
“Define normal,” I grumbled. “I mean, really. Mom and the grands can't stand each other, the grands are ashamed of me, Papa had an affair
and
triplets with a Russian ballerina—just your typical American family.”
A horn blared behind us. The light had turned green, but Rain ignored it. The car honked again, and Rain rolled her window down and waved it around her, putting on her flashers with her other hand. She turned back to me, frowning. “Where on earth did you get the idea that Mom and the grands hate each other?”
“Um, Rain, do you mind driving? I'm kind of in a hurry.”
“We're not moving until you tell me.”
“Rain, the guys who shot Misha and Pasha have Frank, and I
need to get home now!
”
She looked at me for a moment, put the car in gear, and said, “Why didn't you just say that?” She floored it and the Range Rover's back tires spun with a loud squeal and the stench of burning rubber permeated the vehicle. The car leaped into the intersection after fishtailing a bit. I winced. “So this is one of your little adventures?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the road and passing a slow-moving Toyota with Oklahoma plates on the right. “What are you and Colin going to do? Go rescue him?”
I flipped open my cell phone and dialed Colin's number again, but it still went to voice mail. “Damn it!” I swore, slamming it shut. “I can't get hold of Colin. I don't know where the hell he is. He went after the guys who shot Misha. . . .” I couldn't help myself—I started crying. Anger, frustration, and helplessness flooded into my mind, taking turns controlling my mind, and my heart started beating faster again. I put my head down, knowing that the gasping would be right behind.
Rain started petting my head. “It's okay, boo, don't cry. I hate it when you cry.”
Rain had always hated it when I cried when we were kids. She was always trying to make me feel better, stop crying. Sometimes she would pet me and talk softly to me, telling me it was all right until I stopped; other times she would try to make me laugh. She's a great sister—you couldn't ask for a better one.
I heard another horn blare as she ran the light at Martin Luther King. She ignored a stop sign, then swung into a vicious left turn onto Calliope that I wasn't sure she was going to make. She swung into the right lane and flew up to St. Charles, where the light was green, and she sailed through. Then she slammed on the brakes to avoid rear-ending a Porsche at the Carondelet light. “Okay, I'm not crying!” I held up my hands. “I've stopped, look! Now I am just in terror of my life!”
She looked at me and then grinned. “Frank'll be okay, Scotty, you'll see. He's trained for these kinds of situations. And you'll get hold of Colin, and you know he can do anything.”
I took some deep breaths.
Stay calm and focused. Getting killed on the way home isn't going to help Frank. Just be patient and you'll be there soon enough.
Pray for a brave heart.
I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer for strength and patience, and when I opened my eyes we were moving again. I felt somewhat calmer. Of course Rain was right. I had to stay calm. Frank would be fine. If I panicked, I wouldn't be any use to anyone. I tried calling Colin again, but no luck.
He can't just be on the phone this whole time. He must have just shut it off.
Why would he do that?
I wondered, and then realized Rain had said something I hadn't heard and was waiting for me to answer as she turned onto O'Keefe. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”
“I was asking you again why you think Mom and the grands hate each other,” she replied. “I mean, that's just crazy.”
“Well, I think it's pretty obvious the way they talk to each other—”
She waved her hand. “Please. They just like to argue. Papa and Maman adore Mom. And Dad, too. They may not always agree—well, they never agree—but the grands are really proud of them.”
It was my turn to stare. I'm sure my jaw had dropped too. “You aren't serious?”
“Scotty, who always bails Mom and Dad out of jail?” She laughed. “Maman and Papa, that's who—and they never just send someone or a lawyer. They go, every time, and sit there in the waiting room until Mom and Dad come out, and then they all go out for dinner and drinks.” She gave me a wink. “Like you said, just your typical American family.”

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