Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 08 - Death in the French Quarter (12 page)

On one side of the room, a jazz band belted out the
blues while, on stage, stoned strippers struggled unsuccessfully to synchronize their stripping with the music.

Julie paused at a closed door and whispered. “I don’t
know why Bones brought us here tonight. Byrne’s is
kind of the no-man’s land between Bones’ and Jojo
Warner’s boys”

I frowned at him. “I’ll explain later,” he said, opening the door. A cloud of joy smoke billowed out, sweet
and inviting.

To my surprise, Bones and the others were already
seated at the tables, which had been arranged in a T
with Bones and Punky at the head table with an empty
chair between them. Bones laid his hand on the back of
the chair. “This is your seat, Tony. Especially for you”

The rest of his boys, his associates, were seated
around the table, dressed in their evening finery of
jeans and T-shirts. Ziggy and Gramps grinned at me.
The others glowered, especially Ham, whose scratches
were just beginning to scab over.

My heart pounded like the proverbial trip-hammer,
and I couldn’t help remembering the numerous James
Bond movies in which the unsuspecting victim was offered a chair, and the floor came out from under him,
sending him plummeting into the waiting jaws of a
dozen sharks.

Surely, the sewers of the French Quarter held no
sharks. Alligators maybe, but no sharks, although I didn’t
see any significant difference between one or the other.

Before I could sit, the door burst open and a half
dozen thugs stomped in, all in black and all with shaved
heads. Raucous, riotous music poured in around them
from the bar, filling the room.

Bones motioned for his associates to remain seated.
In an amiable though chilling voice, he spoke over the
pounding music. “This is a private party, Jojo.”

Jojo Warner was about my height, but had welldefined muscles three times the size of mine. The only
way anyone could build muscles like that was to gobble
steroids three times a day and work out forty-eight
hours a day. He shuffled forward, his heavy boots
scraping on the wooden floor. “You ain’t going to have
no party here, Bones. This ain’t your turf.”

The pounding of my heart shifted from racing mode
to supersonic. I glanced around the room, spotting a
rear door behind me, and next to the rear door, light
switches.

Bones rose slowly, his eyes half closed. “Could be
I’m thinking about making it mine.”

Jojo exploded. With a scream of rage, he leaped
upon the first table and, his clenched teeth bared,
threw himself at Bones. The party erupted into chaos.
I slammed my shoulder into Bones, knocking him
aside.

Jojo hit the floor, cursing. At the same time, I
grabbed the wooden chair in which I would have sat
and just as the heavily muscled thug rolled to his feet,
smashed the chair over his shaved head and shoved
Bones toward the rear door.

“Cops!” I shouted. “It’s a bust!” I switched off the
lights and stumbled out the door after Bones into a narrow alley filled with shadows.

We raced through puddles of water until Bones
grabbed my arm and pulled me into a dark corridor. “In
here,” he whispered, shoving open a squeaking gate
and leading the way along a pitch-black tunnel.

“What about the others?” I whispered.

He chuckled, “Don’t worry none about them. They
can handle theirselves.”

Moments later, we emerged through a door into the
back room of Spells of New Orleans, a voodoo store
selling every imaginable charm and spell for which a
person could ask, and if they didn’t have it, they would
make it up while you waited.

Bones nodded to the old woman smoking a cigar behind the counter and then we stepped out on to Royal
Street, half a block from Byrne’s. He arched an eyebrow at the two police cruisers parked in front of the
bar, their strobes flashing.

“Thank you, Zozette,” I whispered to myself.

Ten minutes later, we slipped into a table in one corner of the Cafe du Monde. Over coffee, he studied me.
“That was fast thinking for an old man.”

“I’m not that old,” I replied with a grin, sipping the
rich, chicory coffee.

With a half grin, he arched an eyebrow. “That’s not
what I hear. What are you, forty, forty-one?”

I tried to look surprised. As I had surmised, he contacted Marty. “How’d you know that?”

Bones gave me a sly look. “I still got friends back in
Austin. What’s the story on the pulled license?”

“No story,” I replied, stirring my coffee and feigning
indifference. “They think I took a bribe, and I didn’t.
Like I told you this morning, I’m suspended while they
investigate.”

“Who caused-” Before he could pursue the matter
any further, Punky and Ziggy pushed through the crowd.

“Hey, we made it,” Ziggy said with a laugh. He
winked at me. “Fast thinking, turning out them lights.”

“Self-preservation. I don’t like to fight. Man can get
hurt that way”

He laughed and slipped in at the table.

Bones leaned forward. “What about the others?”

With a grunt, Punky hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “No problems. The bluebirds picked up a couple of
Jojo’s boys. We got away clean”

Moments later, the others arrived. Hummer grinned
at me, and I had the feeling that maybe I was about to
be awarded the dubious privilege of joining their organization, at least on the periphery. The inner sanctum
would come later.

I should have known better than to get my hopes up.

Bones pushed to his feet and looked down at me.
“Thanks, Tony. We’ll get together later.” He turned on
his heel. “Let’s go, boys.”

His eyes meeting mine, a smug sneer played over
Punky’s lips when he pushed away from the table, as if
he was harboring a hilarious secret. Julie lingered momentarily, shrugging his shoulders and holding his
hands out to the side in a gesture of ignorance and
apology.

With a grin, I held up my hand and nodded to the
young man, telling myself to be patient. Regardless of
Bones’ slight, I felt I had made progress.

I made more than I expected for next morning while
I enjoyed my daily shot of coffee au lait and powdered
beignets, Bones slid in at the table beside me. “Want
some company?”

“Sure,” I replied casually, my pulse speeding up, my
mind racing. Now what did he have in mind? Had he
discovered I had lied about the license? Was he on to
my deception? I promised myself right then that once
this was over, I would never go undercover, such as it
was, again.

“About last night, Tony. You did a good job. That’s
two times you bailed me out. I just want you to know, I
didn’t forget.”

We both knew he was talking about leaving me behind the night before. “No problem” I sipped my coffee. “Business is business.”

He arched an eyebrow, and a sly smile played over
his thin lips. “Glad you understand. Just be patient.”

I laughed. “I can be patient, but tell that to my pocketbook.”

Pushing back from the table, he rose and nodded.
“Tell it to be patient too.”

Staring at the retreating back of the tall Redbone, I
felt excitement stirring in my blood. He had as much as
told me that sooner or later, I would be taken into his
organization.

But, pausing to reflect, did I really want to take that
step, knowing what one slip-up could bring about?

Seldom have I been deliberately reckless, although at
times my blunders would appear so. I was taught by dirtscratching Cajun farmers to always lay judicious plans
and follow through as far as happenstance would permit.

And I always struggled to follow those precepts, but
now emotion and passion over my murdered cousin
stood toe-to-toe with common sense, slugging it out to
see which would emerge the winner.

Being of Acadian descent, I wasn’t at all surprised
when passion and emotion won out. From the time my
ancestors were dispersed from Nova Scotia, retribution
on a personal level for wrongs done to our families was
an integral facet of our lives.

I could do no different.

Another thunderstorm rolled through that afternoon,
dumping a deluge on the city. I watched it from the second floor of the Cabildo Museum, where I could also
keep an eye on Rigues’.

After the storm passed, I spotted Julie hurrying up
Chartres and ducking into the restaurant.

He was standing on the sidewalk when I exited the
Cabildo. When he spotted me, he waved and hurried to
me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I sensed a purpose in his movements.

He grinned broadly. “Hey, Tony. I been looking for
you. “

“You found me. What’s up?”

“Nothing” He glanced around nervously.

I acted as if I didn’t notice. “So, how’d everything go
last night?”

“Huh?” He frowned, momentarily confused.

With a nonchalant shrug, I said, “I just figured Bones
had some work for you guys when you left the cafe.”

“Oh? That?” He shook his head. “No problem.” He
made a sideways cutting motion with his hand, palm
down. “Everything’s cool. That’s kinda what I wanted
to talk to you about”

We strolled across Jackson Square. I tried to contain
my excitement. “What about it?”

He dropped his voice into a conspiratorial tone.
“Look, Bones likes you. He wants you in, but he ain’t
going to do it for two weeks”

“Two weeks?” An uncomfortable feeling settled in
the pit of my stomach. “Why two weeks?”

“Something about checking you and the PI licensing
board in Texas. I don’t know any details. It’s something
about a hit there in Austin and bribes. I don’t know any
details. All I know is his contact with the licensing
board is on vacation for the next two weeks”

My blood ran cold. The moment Bones talked to his
contact, I was dead meat.

I arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah? How do you
know that? He tell you?”

Julie shook his head, his red ponytail flopping behind. “Not exactly. I guess he said something to Punky
because I heard Mule and Ham talking about it. Ham
wasn’t too crazy about the idea of bringing you in, but
it didn’t seem to bother Mule.”

Suppressing a grin, I figured Ham still remembered
his abrupt descent from my balcony that first night.
“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to find something to entertain myself for the next couple weeks, huh?”

Julie laughed. “Yeah. Hey, you and me, we can hang
out together. I don’t got nothing to do unless we’re
working.”

“Sounds good to me. What about dinner tonight?
Word is that The Red Devil has good shrimp.”

The young man frowned and tugged his Saints cap
down over his eyes. “We’re working tonight, but what
about coffee in the morning? Rigues’? About ten?”

“Sounds good to me”

“Great” He turned on his heel. “See you then”

I kept walking, keeping my eyes forward just in case
we were being watched, but my brain was spinning in
disbelief. Did Bones indeed have a contact at the licensing board in Austin? He must have, I told myself.
Otherwise, why the two weeks? I shivered. That was
one complication I hadn’t anticipated. His contact
could tell Bones that there was no investigation.

My clock had just begun running. The time to sit
back and wait had passed. Now, I had to make something happen. I paused at the entrance to Jackson
Square, staring unseeing at the passing traffic as a chilling thought hit me. What if Bones’ contact returned
sooner? What then?

After leaving Jackson Square, I went back to my hotel where I scribbled a short note to Jimmy LeBlanc,
briefly detailing what had taken place during the day. I
didn’t tell him I planned on tailing Bones, fearful he
would insist I drop my investigation and run me out of
the state.

I reread the note after I finished it, wondering myself
at the wisdom of what I had in mind.

Zozette was not at the corner of Decatur and
Toulouse. I peered into the Coral Sea Saloon, but she
was nowhere to be seen, and then I remembered LeBlanc
telling us to move to another corner every couple days.

Back outside, I continued down Decatur. At the next
corner, St. Louis Street, I spotted her, wearing a different but just as seductive outfit.

I palmed my message, and just as I approached, she
turned and walked into me. “Hey, why don’t you watch
where you’re going?” she shouted, backing away and
straightening at her hair with one slender hand while at
the same time slipping my message under her wide belt
with the other.

That evening, I wandered the French Quarter around
Jackson Square, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of
the gang. As far as I knew, the night might be a complete waste.

Just before ten, from inside a curio shop in the building that housed the Cafe du Monde, I spotted Hummer
and Ziggy coming down North Peters on the east side of
the French Market. After they passed Jackson Square,
they turned down the promenade toward Rigues’.

Easing down to the corner of the promenade and the
square, I leaned up against the wrought-iron railing and
watched idly as pedestrians, most with drinks in their
hands, stumbled past.