Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 01 - Galveston (20 page)
Read Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 01 - Galveston Online
Authors: Kent Conwell
Tags: #Mystery: Thriller - P.I. - Texas
Then I remembered the bald-headed goon in Maranzano’s office, the same bald-headed guy who was sweeping the floor at Abbandando’s warehouse when they hustled us into the fourth floor storeroom. I shrugged. “That was nice of him.”
Wilson grinned crookedly. “You got an odd collection of friends, Boudreaux.”
“Yeah. Must be my charm. By the way,” I added, changing the subject. “What’s going to happen to Abbandando and Briggs now they’re in custody.”
He shook his head, his face quickly growing somber. “We don’t have ’em. They slipped through our fingers, but we’ll get them. Unless, Joe Vaster gets them first. If they’re smart, they’ll come to us instead of facing Vaster.” He paused. “I heard you told Vaster where he could find his son.”
“Yeah. There were too many coincidences, the fresh cement, the shoe print, the single wingtip shoe.”
“What gave you a clue?”
“When I told Abbandando what had taken place that night, he asked about the cement truck and the running feet. I didn’t think about it until later. That’s when I realized I’d never mentioned the truck or the running feet to him. They only way he could have known was from one of his boys, which meant he had to know what was going on.”
Wilson breathed out deeply. “Not bad. Actually, you did a pretty fair job. Well, you don’t have to worry now. You’re off the hook. We’ve got enough on Cheshire and Briggs to keep them off the streets for ninety years. Besides, Ben Howard came out of his coma an hour ago.”
I felt a hundred pounds lighter.
Janice squeezed my hand. “Oh, Tony. That’s wonderful, wonderful.”
Wilson glanced at the door. He extended his hand to me and winked. “Well, Boudreaux, truth is, you’re okay. A little green, but you’re learning. If you get tired of the P.I. work, come see me.”
I took his hand. “Thanks.” I glanced at Morrison who was eyeing me warily. Both of us realized Wilson had said nothing about the diamonds. Maybe he didn’t even know about them.
We visited Virgil in his room. He was still groggy from the anesthesia, but he promised to visit me in Austin one day if I would make him a Louisiana gumbo. I agreed.
Ben Howard was less generous, making me promise never to come back to visit him. “You’re nothing but trouble, Boudreaux,” he added with a big wink and hearty handshake. “But, at least, you’re my trouble.”
Janice didn’t understand our exchange, but I did. It was a man’s way of saying ‘I’ll see you later.’
As Abbandando had promised, my pickup had turned into a three-foot square of metal, so Morrison, Janice, and I rode back to the motel in a police cruiser.
Two or three times during the ride, Morrison and I exchanged glances. Both of us were well aware no one had asked questions about the diamonds.
Morrison peered out the side window. “I wonder where Abbandando is?”
“Beats me,” I replied with a shrug, knowing full well he was wondering about the diamonds, trying to cook up some scheme to snatch them from the fat man.
We said nothing, each consumed with sordid emotions of greed.
Our bald-headed friend was waiting at my door for us.
He nodded to Janice and gave us a sheepish grin. “Mister Vaster wants to thank for your assistance.” He handed me a key chain with two keys. He pointed to a bright red Chevrolet Silverado pickup in the parking lot.
“Th … thanks.” I stammered and stuttered, but I took the keys. I told myself I was taking the keys just to humor Mister Vaster, but I knew better. I had been salivating over those Silverados for the last couple years.
Bald-head’s demeanor shifted from meek to menacing although the smile remained on his face. “Mister Vaster would also like to have his goods.”
I looked at Morrison.
For a moment, we stared at each other. Then with a sheepish grin, I turned back to our visitor. Clearing my throat, I said, “No problem. Outside the main entrance to Abbandando’s warehouse is a maintenance pickup.”
“And—”
I gave him the details.
When I finished, he made a call on his cell phone.
Morrison just stared at me in disbelief. “You mean, all the time, you knew—“
“I was going to tell you. Honest.”
He nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah. I bet you were.”
Five minutes later, the phone rang. Our visitor answered, listened, nodded, punched off the phone, and looked up at me.
A big grin played over his lips. “Mister Vaster thanks you—for his goods and his son.”
That’s when I was glad I had not mentioned the diamonds to Sergeant Wilson.
Morrison shook his head. “Some people, you just can’t trust.”
I nodded. “Ain’t it the truth.”
We grinned at each other.
One good thing that came out of it all was that Janice didn’t mind riding in my new Silverado. In fact, we towed her Miata behind us back to Austin. We took the scenic route around by San Antonio then up to the springs at San Marcos.
I lost money on my little side trip to Galveston. By the time I paid the motel room, meals, incidentals, plus a hefty bill from my attorney who provided me with a bodyguard, and IRS taxes on the pickup, I had eviscerated my bank account. I barely had enough to food for my albino barb, Oscar.
But when I said goodbye to my friend, Ben Howard, in the hospital, the grin on his face was worth every cent. After all, good friends, regardless how grumpy and short-tempered, are few and far between.
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