Fat Tuesday (38 page)

The man in the passenger seat turned to him."Will you shut up?

We're trying to talk here."

"Are you guys feds?" They laughed and the driver said, "Yeah, that's us. Feds."

Disliking the sound of their snickers, Gregory began to whimper.

"I was forced to be an accomplice. Basile, he's meaner than hell. He threatened to kill me if I didn't help him. I didn't even know what he was going to do. I ... I didn't know anything about the kidnapping until it was a done deal."

Since his avowals of innocence didn't seem to faze them, he took another tack."My daddy's rich. If you take me to his house, he'll pay you a lot of money, no questions asked. Just tell him what you want, and you'll get it. He's wealthy, I swear."

"We know all about you, Gregory," said the one in the passenger seat "Now shut the fuck up, or I'm liable to get mad."

Gregory swallowed his next earnest entreaty and began to cry qui officers, and all doubt of that was removed when they drove into the underground parking garage of an office building. At this time of night, the garage was empty save for only a few other cars.

A parking garage had been the setting for countless movie murders, and those grisly scenes kaleidoscoped through his mind. He figured that this was where they would have him face the concrete wall and shoot him in the back of the head. His faceless body would be discovered tomorrow morning by an office clerk arriving early for work.

"Please," he blubbered, recoiling against the seat when they opened the car's rear doors."Please don't."

But the man he'd mistaken for a cop reached into the backseat, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him out. He sank to his knees and began to beg for his life, but they pulled him to his feet and prodded him toward the elevator.

Okay, so they weren't going to shoot him in the parking garage.

Probably didn't want to get blood on their clothes. They were going to take him up to the roof of the building and throw him off, making his execution look like a suicide. For being an accomplice in a kid napping, Gregory James had gone over the edge. Literally.

However, before reaching the roof, the elevator stopped on another floor. When he was dragged from the cubicle, Gregory was surprised to find himself in a carpeted corridor, lined on either side by mahogany doors. At the end of the austere hallway was a set of double doors bearing an engraved plaque.

When he read the name etched into the brass, Gregory's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor.

"Get up," one of his escorts said.

"Come on, don't be an asshole."

Gregory assumed the fetal position and whimpered miserably.

The double doors opened, and he heard a voice thundering down the hallway."What's going on?"

"He won't get up. What do you want us to do with him, Mr. Duvall?"

Hearing the name spoken aloud was worse than reading it on the brass nameplate. Gregory covered his ears. But he watched a pair of shiny reptile loafers coming nearer, making size-eleven impressions in the plush forest green carpet. When the shoes were within a few inches of his head, they came to a stop.

From above him, Pinkie Duvall said, "It's not what we're going to do with him, gentlemen. From this point, Mr. James's fate is entirely up to him."

Duvall? Sir, pardon the interruption. It's Miss Flarra on the telephone. She's in a state."

"Thank you, Roman. I'll take the call." As soon as the butler withdrew from his study at home, Duvall picked up the extension.

"Flarra?

How are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm worried sick is how I am! What's going on? I had to beg Roman to let me speak to you. He said he'd been instructed to hold all calls.

Where's Remy? Why hasn't she come to see me? I haven't heard a word from her in days. Something terrible has happened, I know it."

"Calm down. Nothing terrible has happened."

"Then what's going on? Remy hasn't been here all week, and she never misses. Every time I call the house, I'm given the runaround."

"Your sister's had a bout with strep throat." Evidently alarmed, she said, "Is she okay?"

"A few days more rest and she'll be fine."

"Why wasn't I told?"

"Remy didn't want you to worry unnecessarily, so she asked the staff not to mention it to you. She's on antibiotics and is doing much better, although her throat is still very sore. It's hard for her to talk.

I've been distracted by a case that is demanding all my time. I apologize for not calling. It's unforgivable of me."

Pinkie listened to the silence coming from the other end as Flarra assimilated his lie. If he had told her the truth, he would have a hysterical woman on his hands, and that would only compound his problem Flarra was impulsive and unpredictable, he didn't need the additional worry of how she might react to her sister's abduction Soon he would be faced with informing her of Remy's demise, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

'"Can I come see her tomorrow?" she asked.

'"I'm afraid not, sweetheart. She's contagious. The last thing she'd want is for you to catch the infection. Sister Beatrice would never forgive us if we started an epidemic of strep throat at the school."

"Did Dr. Caruth prescribe Remy's medication?"

"What difference does it make?"

"I don't know, Pinkie, it's ... Remy's been so run down lately."

"So?"

"Well, I was just thinking that maybe I'm guessing, of course but could she be, you know, pregnant?"

Pinkie's eyes focused on the Steuben crystal paperweight on his desk, but he didn't really see it. Nothing registered except his young sister-in-law's absurd suggestion, which suddenly didn't seem so absurd.

Unaware of his reaction, Flarra continued."If she is, should she be taking antibiotics?"

"She's not pregnant."

"Are you sure?"

"If my wife was pregnant, don't you think I would know it?" he snapped.

"Well you don't have to bite my head off. I don't mean to pry, Pinkie.

It's just that I think Remy secretly yearns for a baby and regrets that she's never been able to conceive. I was hoping that might be the reason she's been so puny lately. I even asked her."

"What did she say?"

"She said no."

"So there you have it. Why would she lie?"

"I guess you're right," Flarra said."It was just a thought." Then she asked if he would hold the phone up to Remy's ear."Just so I can say hi to her. I won't make her talk."

"She's asleep."

"Oh, well, I guess you shouldn't wake her," she said, obviously downcast."She's been told about your calls and appreciates your concern."

"One reason I was so worried," she said as an afterthought, "Remy must be awfully upset over Errol."

"You heard about that?"

"I read about it in the newspaper. Remy must have freaked out."

"Actually she doesn't know yet. She's been so ill I haven't had the heart to give her the bad news."

"Do the police have any leads?"

"None that I know of. I'm afraid it was one of those random acts of violence, a crime that will remain unsolved."

"Errol was strong as an ox," Flarra mused aloud."How could an ordinary mugger get the jump on him?"

"I don't wish to speak unkindly of the dead, but Errol's physical strength far exceeded his mental fortitude. He should have known better than to go for a stroll along the levee alone in the middle of the night."

"I guess, but it seems strange that " Tiring of the conversation, Pinkie interrupted."Flarra, sweetheart, you must excuse me."

"Have you given Fat Tuesday any thought? You know, about me coming to your party?"

"I've given it some thought, yes. But I haven't yet reached a decision, and I really can't talk about it now. Another call has just come in, and it pertains to my case. I'll give Remy your love."

"Okay," she replied with a marked lack of enthusiasm."Tell her to call me as soon as she feels up to it. Bye-bye." As soon as he hung up, Pinkie asked Roman to summon Bardo. When the man arrived and entered the study, Pinkie handed him a Rolodex card.

"Put one of your best guys on this. Have him be discreet, but I want to know what she eats for breakfast." Bardo nodded and pocketed the card.

Pinkie asked him, "Has our pseudopriest decided to cooperate?"

Bardo grinned evilly."We're giving him a little longer to think it over."

"What about Mccuen? Heard from him yet?"

The policeman had failed to keep his appointment with Bardo earlier that evening. Men were sent to check his house. They reported that no one was at home and that the place was in total disarray, as though it had been abandoned in a hurry.

"I've got guys looking for him. He'll turn up," Bardo said with his customary cockiness. Then, less sure, he asked, "What if neither the fag or Mccuen comes across?"

Pinkie glanced down at the telephone and recalled his most recent conversation. Stroking the receiver with his finger, he smiled like a gambler with a winning ace up his sleeve."I'll try something else."

"Lord, who could that be?"

Joe Basile figured his wife had every reason to sound grumpy. Her day had got off to a bad start at dawn with Doug Pat's unannounced visit.

Now she'd been awakened by the telephone in the wee hours. He groped for the receiver and answered on the fifth ring "Mr. Basile, this is Mac Mccuen again. Please don't hang up on me until you hear me out."

"What is it, Mr. Mccuen?" he said impatiently.

"I lied to you this morning."

Joe levered himself into a sitting position on the side of the bed.

"How so?"

"I told you Basile had invited me to join him on a getaway. He didn't.

But I must get in touch with him. I lied because I didn't want to involve you in this. Unfortunately I've run out of options."

"Involve me in what?"

"Your brother is in a shitload of trouble."

Although more crudely put, his statement was consistent with Pat's.

"By trouble, do you mean that he's in danger?"

"Grave danger. If you know where he is, you've got to tell me. I must reach him before anyone else does."

That, too, was almost verbatim what Pat had said. After calling Dredd's Mercantile twice and receiving no answer, Joe hadn't tried again. Now he wished he had. If Burke had gone on a retreat, he was most likely at their fishing cabin. If Burke was anywhere in that vicinity, Dredd would know.

Personally, the grizzled taxidermist and his spooky dwelling gave Joe the willies, but there was a strong bond between Dredd and Burke.

Joe reasoned he could rely on Dredd to tell him the truth, if he knew it.

Unfortunately he hadn't been able to reach him.

"Mr. Basile, Joe, please tell me," Mccuen implored."Do you know where Burke is?"

"I told you this morning that I didn't."

"That's what you told me, but do you?"

His tone didn't sit well with Joe Basile."Forgive me, Mr. Mccuen, but you're the one who sounds desperate and in trouble, not Burke." After a long pause, Mccuen said, "I apologize for insinuating that you're lying. In your place, I'd lie, too. I respect your loyalty to Basile.

But you've got to believe me when I tell you that you're doing him harm by not telling me how I can reach him."

"At the risk of sounding repetitive, I don't know where he is," Joe said, enunciating each word.

"You must have some idea," Mccuen argued. Joe hesitated for only a millisecond, but Mccuen seized upon it."What can I say thatll convince you to help me find him? What can I say?"

Characteristically, Burke was a light sleeper. That's why it surprised him that he didn't come awake until she began thrashing her arms.

She was trying to raise her right hand, and couldn't because it was shackled to his left. It was the sharp tugging on his wrist and the bite of the handcuffs that roused him from a deep sleep.

At first he misunderstood the reason for her agitation."Hey! Cut it out."

But as he came more fully awake, he realized she wasn't struggling to free herself from him. The mosquito netting hanging from the ceiling had fallen and landed directly over her face, she was frantically trying to extricate herself from it.

Her attempts had resulted in the fabric becoming wrapped around her left arm. The harder she tried to shake it off, the more entangled she became. She opened her mouth to scream, but her inhalation sucked the fabric into her mouth, increasing her panic.

"Relax. I'll get it off."

Her eyes were open, but either she was in the throes of a nightmare or panic had pushed her beyond reason, because when Burke moved his hand toward her face and tried to help pull the gauzy material away, she began fighting him. She flung her head from side to side. When she tried to raise her head, that only drew the netting tighter across her face.

She slapped at Burke with her left hand and continued to yank her right hand against the unyielding metal cuff. He threw his right leg over hers to protect himself from her vicious kicks. Again she tried to scream, but the cloth was in her mouth and the only sound she made was a harsh gasp.

"Be still, for God's sake," he said."I'm trying to help you."

Finally, he managed to get hold of the netting and pulled at it so hard that it ripped, relieving the tension across her face. But the torn sections drifted weblike over her. She brushed at them with her left hand until they were no longer touching her. Her breathing was labored and loud and rapid.

"You're all right," he said, speaking in a low, soothing voice.

"It's gone now. You're fine." He reached up to smooth away strands of hair, but her left hand struck his hard."Don't touch me!"

"Calm down," he said, patting the air between them."The mosquito netting fell over you. That's all it was." She stared at him dazedly while her breathing gradually slowed down."Could you use a drink of water?"

She nodded. Earlier she had set a glass of water on the rickety three-legged table that acted as a nightstand. Burke reached across her for it."Can you sit up?" Propping herself on her elbows, she drank from the glass he held for her.

Rain was still pattering monotonously on the shack's corrugated tin roof. Even so, a muddy gray moonlight shone through the windows.