Natchez Burning (102 page)

“What the fuck are
you
doing here?” he demands, starting toward me.

For the first time I remember the straight razor in my back pocket.

“Easy, Randall!” Brody barks, raising his hand to stop the charge. “Mayor, I believe you know Randall Regan, my son-in-law.”

“We’ve met.”

“Screw this,” Regan hisses. “I’m done playing with this guy, Brody.”

Regan takes another step toward me and reaches for my throat, but just then a soft yet commanding voice says, “Hold it, ace. Listen up a sec.”

Regan’s hand stops within inches of my throat, and he turns his head enough to locate the speaker. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks Kirk.

“Just an interested bystander.” Kirk faces Regan from an angle, as though prepared to throw him across the room if necessary. “But I’m not going to let you hurt anybody. Strictly for informational purposes, if you touch the mayor, you’re going to wake up in the ICU next to your wife.”

Regan’s eyes rake up and down Kirk Boisseau’s frame, estimating his speed and power.

“Randall?” Brody says, “I appreciate you coming to check on me, but you ought to get back with Katy. The mayor and I have come to an understanding.”

Regan straightens his jacket, his jaw working as he tries to ratchet down his fury. He’s had a hell of a day, and the idea of beating me senseless must be tempting. But Kirk looks a little too much like a spoiler to risk that. Regan holds his ground for a few face-saving seconds, his left cheek twitching, but at last he turns and stalks out, leaving the door wide open.

Brody is looking intently at Kirk. “I know you,” he says at length. “You’re Marguerite Boisseau’s boy.”

“That’s right.”

Royal laughs softly. “You owe me for a bulldozer, don’t you?”

Kirk rolls his eyes with resignation.

“Don’t worry about it, son. Seeing that little standoff was worth the balance of your loan. Now, you boys get out of here and let me tend to my daughter.” He points his forefinger at my chest. “I’ll call
you
later. Don’t let your girlfriend do anything stupid before you hear from me. I’m not the forgiving type.”

OUTSIDE THE HOSPITAL, KIRK
and I stop between our vehicles, each digging for our keys. I’m glad I decided not to show Pithy Nolan’s straight razor to Brody after all. The last thing that old woman needs is that bastard angry at her.

“I feel like I need a shower after that,” Kirk says. “I knew a son of a bitch like Royal in the corps. A colonel. He covered up a blatant rape by a buddy of his. Buried the whole mess, and the girl was really messed up, too. But they never even thought twice about it.”

“The world’s full of bastards like him,” I mutter, just wanting to get away from this place. “Hopefully they’re dying off. Can you follow me to the newspaper office?”

“No problem.”

My ride across town is quick and uneventful, but about halfway to the
Examiner,
I remember that I never stopped by Edelweiss to see Mom and Annie as I promised. I told Mom to tell Annie I’d be back by dark, and I’ve gone many hours past that deadline. For a moment I consider stopping by, but Caitlin is waiting to hear the result of my meeting with Royal, and the longer I take to bring her the news, the angrier she’s going to get. I’ll wake Annie when I’m done arguing with Caitlin.

After I park in the rear lot of the
Examiner,
Kirk pulls in behind me, then gets out to shake hands. I’m glad to see a cop guarding the back lot, and I make a mental note to thank Chief Logan for this courtesy. Kirk greets the policeman, then peers into my eyes with a measuring gaze. Kirk is too good a friend to question my character outright, but his doubts are plain enough.

“I heard a lot of what you said up there,” he says. “You didn’t sound much like the guy I remember.”

“I know. I didn’t much like doing that. But I’d deal with the devil to save my father. I guess I just proved that.”

Kirk nods philosophically. “Do you think Royal can do what he claimed?”

“If he can’t, neither of us is likely to see my dad again.”

Kirk stares into my soul a little longer, then squeezes my left shoulder. “Call me if you need me, bud. I’m here for you. You and your father.”

“Thank you.”

The ex-marine climbs back in his truck and gives me a crisp salute. “
Oo-rah,
brother.”

“Oo-rah,” I echo dispiritedly, already dreading my conversation with Caitlin.

WALT GARRITY PULLED
Drew Elliott’s nondescript pickup truck off Highway 61 and drove west into downtown Baton Rouge, where the state capitol towered above the Mississippi River. Colonel Mackiever had chosen the city’s riverfront casino hotel as their meeting place. Walt wasn’t excited by this; any casino-related business was bound to have security cameras. With the APB out, he worried that his face might be picked up by the NSA’s facial recognition software, which could lead to a lightning-quick arrest. Surely Mackiever understood that risk, yet Walt gauged the probability that his old friend was setting a trap for him at less than 1 percent. Still … that didn’t mean Forrest Knox wasn’t watching his boss’s movements. Walt decided not to stay in the hotel any longer than he had to, and to keep his derringer cocked in his pocket both going in and coming out.

The seven stories of the Sheraton hotel squatted behind the downtown levee, linked by a skywalk to the riverside casino, the Belle of Baton Rouge. Walt pulled his hat low over his face, gave Drew’s pickup keys to a valet, told him to park it close, then walked into a large, glass-ceilinged lobby that looked like a bastard child of the Crystal Palace, which had burned down in London when Walt was a boy. When he asked the desk clerk to connect him to “Mr. Griffith’s” room, the clerk asked him to wait. Walt kept his head down to avoid being recorded by the elevated cameras behind the desk, and he didn’t raise it when the clerk took an envelope from a slot behind him and handed it across the counter. Walt walked a couple of steps away from the desk, opened the envelope with one hand, and read the faxed handwritten message inside:

Ranger Captain,

I had to take an unexpected trip to New Orleans regarding our mutual problem. Tough times, partner. They’re coming after me, too. I hope to be back tonight, ASAP. Please check into a room under the name Bill McDonald and wait as long as you can. It won’t be time wasted, and you’ll be safe here. No bushwhackers on this ride.

Captain M.

Walt didn’t like the idea of waiting, but he didn’t have any doubt that this message was from Griffith Mackiever. For one thing, he’d signed his old Texas Ranger rank, when in fact he was a colonel of the Louisiana State Police. For another, Mackiever had instructed Walt to check in under the name of one of the most respected Rangers ever to wear the badge. It was Captain Bill McDonald who’d said, “No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that’s in the right and keeps on a-comin’.” In later years, Walt had heard more educated men hold forth on the “moral advantage,” but no one had ever put the idea quite as succinctly as Cap’n Bill.

Checking into a hotel and waiting like a lazy duck on a glassy pond didn’t strike Walt as the smartest of options, and Mackiever’s mention of being assailed himself was worrisome. If Forrest Knox knew Mackiever was onto him, he might decide that a good offense was the best defense and strike preemptively. Given how quickly Trooper Dunn had gone for Tom by the river last night, Knox might already have gone over to the offensive.

With an ache of presentiment in his chest, Walt followed his friend’s instructions about the room, then walked to the elevator and waited for the door to close. He thought of Tom and Melba, waiting for him ninety miles upriver. He hoped they hadn’t let the isolation of the lake house lull them into a false sense of security. He hoped they were being as careful as he was. Not one moment while he was in the lobby had Walt taken his finger off the trigger of his derringer.

TOM AND MELBA
sat on bar stools at Drew’s counter, finishing some eggs Melba had scrambled. They’d watched television for a while, but nothing held their interest, and Drew’s satellite offered no local news. Melba’s eyes betrayed exhaustion, but she’d brewed some coffee to stay awake.

“Don’t just sit there brooding,” she said. “You might as well talk about it. The time will pass faster.”

Tom wasn’t so sure. But after a while, he said, “I’ve got two sons, Mel. One is trying to save me, the other to destroy me. There must be a deep truth in there somewhere.”

His nurse kept her eyes on her plate. “Don’t be too sure. This world is hard. Always has been, always will be, till Judgment comes.”

Tom marveled at the certainty of her faith. Melba never proselytized, but she had an adamantine faith in God, and in the teachings of Jesus.

“
Judgment,
” he said. “That’s an ominous word.”

She looked up, her deep eyes holding his. “Not just for you. I’ve got my own stains on the inside, that no one but God knows about. We do the best we can, Doc. That’s all we can do. Though it don’t hurt to kneel in prayer now and then. You could have done a little more of that over the years. Wouldn’t have hurt you none.”

“I suppose not,” Tom said, though he disagreed. If you didn’t believe in a God who heard or answered prayers, then wasn’t prayer a kind of secular heresy? A failure of character—or at least of nerve? “Melba, I want you to go home after you finish that coffee.”

She looked up sharply. “Have you lost your mind? Captain Garrity left me here to watch over you, and I mean to do it. There’s no way I’m going to stand beside your casket and tell Mrs. Peggy I left you here alone to die.”

“What exactly will you do if I have a coronary? The nearest ambulance is thirty minutes away. All you’d be doing by calling 911 is opening yourself to criminal charges for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

Melba looked indignant. “I’m a nurse, aren’t I? I can do compressions till the paramedics get here. And you’ve got adrenaline in your overnight bag. I checked it when you were in the bathroom.”

Tom smiled and laid his hand on her wrist. “And if a bunch of old klukkers find us?”

Melba drew back her hand and folded her arms across her chest. “I reckon I can shoot a pistol as well as most men. And it wouldn’t trouble me much to shoot a Klansman, I can tell you.”

Tom laughed. “I believe you. But it’s not worth your life, Mel. You’ve got grandchildren, and they need you.”

“So do you, old man!”

“Yes. But I made the choices that put me here. You didn’t.”

Melba’s eyes glistened. “I’m here by choice, too.”

“You’re here because you’re a good woman, and a good friend. But you can’t give your life for me. I won’t let you. You’re going to finish that coffee and drive home. Walt will be back well before dawn.”

This time, Tom could see he’d gotten through to her. The nurse shook her head, then wiped her tired eyes. “Dr. Cage, please tell me you know what you’re doing. All the years I’ve been with you, I’ve never doubted you. But this time … maybe you’re not thinking straight. People do crazy things when they feel guilty about something. Tell me you’re not planning to do something crazy.”

When he realized what she feared, he felt ashamed. “I’m not going to kill myself, if that’s what you mean.”

Melba lowered her chin and looked up at Tom like the experienced nurse she was. “Maybe not with your own hands. But if you put yourself beyond medical help, or where harm is likely to come to you, that’s just as much of a sin.”

Tom didn’t know how to answer this.

She leaned forward and touched the center of his chest. “Your patients
need
you. Where could they go if you passed? These young docs don’t care about folks the way you do. Especially old folks. You owe it to them to keep going as long as you can.”

Tom didn’t verbalize the obvious, which was that he had to die someday, and it would likely be sooner rather than later, no matter what happened tonight. Melba was right that his patients would suffer, especially those with chronic illnesses, but what could be done?

“There’s nobody here but us,” he said gently. “Won’t you call me Tom now?”

She shook her head almost involuntarily, and Tom wondered what troubled her so about crossing that formal boundary. “What if I called you Nurse Price out here? How would that make you feel?”

Blood rose into Melba’s dark cheeks. After some thought, she said, “If I call you Tom, will you let me stay until Captain Garrity comes back?”

“No. I can’t make you leave, but I’m asking you to. My heart will beat a lot easier if you go.”

Melba picked up her fork and tapped it on the china plate. “I can’t believe it’s come to this. All those good works you’ve done, and it’s come to running like a common criminal.”

“We never outrun our sins, Melba. None of us.”

“And you tell me you don’t believe in God! How can you believe in sin, if you don’t believe in God?”

“I don’t know what I mean, exactly. I just use the words I know.”

A tear rolled down the nurse’s cheek. “I still have hopes for you … Tom. You’ve always done God’s work, whether you know it or not.”

His throat tightened so much that for a moment he couldn’t breathe, much less speak. “Thank you, Melba. Now, you give me a good, long hug, and then walk out to your car and drive home. Walt will be back soon, and we’ll resolve this mess.”

“Do you really believe that? Don’t lie to me.”

“I do. That old dog still has a trick or two left.”

Melba looked grateful for the lie. After a moment, she rose from the stool, and once he’d followed suit, she took him into her arms and hugged him, taking care not to put pressure on his wounded shoulder. At first the embrace felt awkward and stiff, but then Tom felt something let go in the nurse’s frame, and it was as though they’d been married for thirty years. In a way, he supposed, they had—just as he and Esther Ford had, and of course Viola, though their relationship had crossed into something far more intimate.