Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 07 - The Swamps of Bayou Teche (10 page)

“Tony!” Jack screamed.

I ignored his shouts. Twisting the throttle to full
power, I cut toward the cane, angling away from the
powerful boat roaring across the water on a collision
course with us. I glanced to my right, grimacing when
I saw that the driver had altered his course in an effort
to cut me off before I could reach the sea of cane.

Our little jon boat couldn’t outrun the big deep-V.
Our only chance was to outmaneuver him. Jack
shouted above the roar of the motors. “He’s going to
hit us, Tony! Turn this thing.”

When the wicked bow of the speeding boat was almost upon us, I whipped the small aluminum boat to
the left, almost pivoting on the stern and heading back
in the opposite direction. A cold chill swept over me despite the suffocating heat when I glimpsed the men
behind the console as the boat shot past. They were
the two swamp rats from Mae’s Fish and Bait Camp.
Their wake almost swamped us.

The racing powerboat made a broad circle, and by
the time he completed the circle, we had reached the
cane and were racing through it, running over the
slender stalks. Jack sat hunched in the bow, frozen
with fear and clutching the kitten to his chest. Deep in
the cane, I cut back in the direction of the bait camp,
hoping that in our blind rush through the cane, we
would not run aground.

Off to the right came the sound of our pursuit slamming into the cane. Moments later, the powerboat shot
past our stern, missing us by about ten yards. Instantly
the driver whipped in a circle. I cut to the right, and
shot into the open water.

Then I spotted one of the oil line canals, a narrow
waterway less than five feet wide and lined with thick
growth of underbrush hanging over the edge of the
water. I cut sharply toward it.

I threw a hasty glance over my shoulder. The powerboat leaped from the cane. Jack’s eyes were wide. His
mouth was working, but the combined roar of the motors drowned his words.

The pitch of the powerful motor intensified into a
shrieking whine. The boat barreled down on us. Our
little ten horsepower engine strained. It seemed as if we were standing still. Slowly, the mouth of the canal
grew closer.

By now the screaming powerboat was less than
thirty yards behind us. I clenched my teeth, straining
every muscle to urge our little boat to move faster.

“Hurry, Tony, hurry!” Jack shouted, clutching the
tiny kitten to his chest.

The next instant, we shot into the canal. The square
bow slammed the underbrush aside. Branches snapped
and leaves flew. I glanced over my shoulder, expecting
our pursuer to swerve, but he had not altered his
course.

He hit the mouth of the small canal, and when he
did, the sharp bow of the large boat shot out of the water. All I saw next was a white blur as the powerboat
bounced over the canal levee and slammed into the
thick undergrowth beyond.

I slowed the jon boat, and that’s when Jack
screamed and started kicking at the deck. “Snake,
snake, snake” At his feet, a yellow and black water
snake slithered rapidly across the deck and gracefully
arched over the gunnel into the water.

Jack sighed with relief, then cursed at the top of his
lungs. “Snakes! They’re everywhere!”

And then I caught the musky smell of snake. I
looked forward. Stretched on the branches reaching
out over the canal lay hundreds of sunning snakes,
mostly small because, fortunately for us, the slender branches could not support the heft of larger snakes.
“Stay in the middle of the boat, Jack!” I shouted above
the purring on the engine. “They’re more scared of
you than you are of them”

He snorted. “You want to bet?” I didn’t think his face
could grow any whiter than it was, but it paled noticeably when he gagged and jabbed his arm at the levee
ahead. “Stop this thing, Tony. There’s an alligator.”

I couldn’t stop unless I wanted the sunning snakes
to start dropping in the boat. Perched on the levee
within spitting distance was the alligator, a small one,
maybe five feet, but large enough to create panic if he
launched himself into the jon boat as it passed. Those
black, beady pupils in those yellowish-green eyes
watched us. “Just be quiet, Jack. He won’t bother us”

“H … How do you know that?”

“I just know,” I lied, mentally crossing my fingers.

We both sighed with relief after we shot past the alligator. Now all we had to worry about were the snakes.
Two or three more fell into the boat but quickly slithered over the side.

Five minutes later, we emerged back into the cypress swamp and headed for the bait camp. By now
the sun was dropping below the treetops. The shadows
were creeping over the swamp, and we were limp with
relief.

Finally, we scraped ashore. Jack climbed out and, breaking into a string of profanity, staggered toward
his Cadillac, which sat forlornly on four flat tires.

By the time road service drove out from Maida and
changed four tires, the moon was high in the sky, and
the mosquitoes were doing their best to either drain
our blood or carry us off.

During the drive into town, I called Charley Benoit
and asked if Moise Deslatte had left the lodge on the
night Hardy vanished.

“Mail no. The man, he be so mad, he keep the bar
open all night.”

I thanked him and punched off. Jack glanced at me.
The headlights from oncoming cars lit the fear on his
face. “Don’t lie to me, Tony. Who’s trying to run us
off? Deslatte?”

“He wouldn’t have had the time. None of themDeslatte, Juju, or Marcel-were ever out of our sight.
Then ten minutes after we leave, that boat jumps us.
Those two were waiting for us”

“What two?” He frowned at me.

“The two back at the bait camp. You remember, the
two who were eyeing this car.”

Jack gulped. “You sure?”

“Positive. Now, the big question. Just how did they
know we were going to go out there?”

“They saw us at the bait camp”

“No. What I mean is, how did they know we were at
the bait camp?”

He flexed his fingers about the steering wheel and
pursed his lips. “It’s spooky, Tony. I know you say
there’s nothing to that loupy garou business, but how
does whoever it is know where we are all the time. I
tell you, it’s almost supernatural.”

I knew how he felt even though I also believed there
was a logical explanation for the series of eerie
events. “It isn’t supernatural. Someone is behind it.”

“Then who?”

I shook my head slowly. “Who have we talked to?
Laura Palmo, Hardy’s personal secretary; Charley
Benoit; Sue Cullen” I paused, and with a chuckle
added, “Your biker friends.”

“Don’t go there, Tony”

I laughed again. “And Sergeant Jimmy LeBlanc and
Deslatte’s secretary”

Jack shook his head, his heavy jowls flopping. “It
just doesn’t make sense to me”

Nor did it to me.

But one fact stuck in my head, one indisputable, incontestable fact that made my blood boil. Someone
was trying to scare us off, not once or twice, but four
times: the falling tree, the dangling snake, the message on Jack’s Cadillac, and now, the powerboat.

And if they were that determined to frighten us off,
then there had to be more to the case than simply a
man dropping out of sight.

We stopped at the first motel we came to, The Cypress Knee, which obviously took its name from the
swamp behind it filled with cypress knees protruding
from the dark water.

By no stretch of the imagination could I be called a
stickler for detail, but usually when I’m working a
case, each evening, I’ll routinely plan the next day’s
itinerary.

However, after the harrowing day Jack and I had
just survived, and despite the anger surging through
my veins, I didn’t even take time to undress before hitting the bed, nor even exert the effort to shove the kitten off the pillow where he had decided to sleep next
to my head.

The last thing I remember was Jack had plopped down on his mattress and had pulled a bottle of beer
out of the case he had placed by the side of his bed.

During the night, I felt the tiny kitten suddenly
bounce off the pillow, and moments later, I heard her
tiny paws hit the floor. Then she hissed and yowled. A
warning screamed in my numbed brain. I jerked upright and fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand next
to the bed.

Snapping it on, I spotted the kitten in the middle of
the floor, back hiked, hackles quivering, and facing
the spade-shaped head and black coils of a cottonmouth water moccasin.

Instantly, I was wide awake, my frantic eyes darting
about the room for a weapon, anything I could use.

From the other bed, Jack mumbled, “Hey, what’s
going on?”

I shouted over my shoulder. “Stay on the bed, Jack.
A snake’s in here.”

Jack screamed and began shouting some of the
most creative profanity I’d ever heard. In the next instant, some sort of missile flew past my head and
slammed into the floor in front of the coiled snake.

I jerked around to see Jack, looking like a bowling
ball wearing boxer shorts and undershirt bouncing up
and down on the mattress, grab another bottle of beer
from the case beside his bed and hurl it at the snake,
all the while screaming and shouting. The glass bottle
shattered in front of the cottonmouth, showering the
serpent with Big Easy beer and glass.

When the first bottle exploded in front of the snake,
the tiny kitten jumped aside, startled, but quickly returned to the attack, hissing and snarling and lashing
out at the weaving head of the cottonmouth.

The combination of exploding beer bottles and a
yowling kitten must have unnerved the cottonmouth,
for abruptly, the serpent slid sinuously out of his coil
and slithered across the floor, disappearing through
the narrow crack between the open door and the jamb.

Jack unleashed a final bottle that burst just behind
the retreating snake.

And then all fell silent until the motel patrons on either side of us pounded on the wall, and in less than
polite terms, shouted for us to be quiet.

We stared at each other for several moments. I tried
to still the pounding of my heart and sort the confusion of thoughts running through my head. “You came
in after I did, Jack. Are you sure you closed the door?”
I hoped he hadn’t. If he had, then that could mean
only one thing.

In a shaky voice, he replied, “I think so. I’m not
certain. I was worn out, but I’d swear I closed it.”

Slipping into our shoes, and armed with bottles of
beer, we searched the room. To my relief, we found no
snakes under the beds or curled in the corners. When
we completed our search, Jack and I looked at each
other and nodded.

Without a word, we dressed, packed, loaded up, and
the three of us-Jack, me, and the little kitten-found ourselves another motel for what little remained of
the night.

When I awakened next morning, the tiny kitten was
sleeping on the pillow beside me. I couldn’t help grinning. I hadn’t wanted another pet, not after Oscar, my
little Albino Barb exotic fish, died, and my cat, Cat,
vanished. On the other hand, I couldn’t let Marcel and
Juju use the kitten for alligator bait, and I couldn’t
dump him alongside the road, and now the little guy
had perhaps saved our lives.

So with a sigh of resignation, I knew that in the grand
scheme of things, I was stuck with another pet. And if
the truth were to be known, I’m better with pets than
with people, having been divorced once and then in an
on-again, off-again relationship for the last several
years with Janice Coffman-Morrison, heiress to one of
the largest distillery fortunes in the state of Texas and
my one-time partner in the detective business.

I rolled over, and, stretching, felt like I was caked
with an inch of dirt, but before I climbed out of bed, I
quickly scanned the floor. With a sigh of relief, I
padded into the bathroom.

After a hot shower, shave, and other morning
amenities, I slipped into clean jeans and a Polo shirt. I
felt human once again.

I wadded my soiled clothes into a plastic bag. I hesitated, staring at the kitten sleeping peacefully on my pillow. I put the rest of Jack’s beer in the ice chest and
rolled off some tissue paper to spread in the bottom of
the box for the kitten. I’d have to pick up a carrier and
litter box later.

We decided to visit the local IHOP for breakfast,
and over a rib-sticking meal of fried eggs, pancakes,
spicy sausage, grits, gravy, biscuits, and hot coffee,
Jack brought up the snake in our room. “Someone
doesn’t want us around here, Tony. You know that?”

I grinned crookedly. “Oh, really? Now what makes
you think that, Jack?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Don’t get funny. Look, I
know I closed the door. I’ve been thinking about it. I
remember because I automatically reached up to lock
the safety chain and there wasn’t one. That’s how I remember. Someone turned that snake loose in our
room, maybe the same someone who tried to run us
down with the boat. Or the tree,” he added. His face
grew serious, and he leaned over the table.