Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 15 - The Mona Lisa Murders (15 page)

Latasha excused herself. ‘Be right back.’

I decided to avail myself of the facilities, so I stepped inside.

Lavatories were at one end. Along the adjoining wall were twelve or so wooden stalls with plastic curtains in front. A communal shower with half-a-dozen showerheads took up the back wall. A heavy black privacy curtain hung to one side.

I set the tote bag on the Formica cabinet while I washed my hands. A cold voice at my ear froze me. ‘Mister Boudreaux. We finally meet.’

I looked into the mirror and stared into the cold eyes of Hatchet Face.  In as nonchalant a tone as I could muster, I replied, ‘You talking to me?’

The room was empty except for the two of us. With a sneer, he muttered, ‘No one else around.’

I tried to still the pounding of my heart. ‘You got the wrong man, friend. Sorry.’

‘I don’t think so. That red and black backpack in the bag tells me different.’

I glanced at the bag. The top gaped open. The backpack was obvious. I looked into his grinning face. He chuckled. ‘We almost missed you, but you messed up.’

When I didn’t reply, he explained. ‘You led us right to you.’

Still watching him in the mirror, I dried my hands. ‘I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘The license plate—the dealer plate. There ain’t no Jim Daniels Ford in Fort Worth.’ He flipped open his cell and hit a button. ‘Shawn? At the restroom behind the office. I got the goods.’

You always hear folks talking about ‘fighting fair’. To me, ‘fair fighting’ is the world’s most absurd oxymoron next to a ‘fine mess’. When I fight, it’s to win, not come in second.

He clicked off and chuckled. Before the laugh rolled off his thin lips, I slammed a sharp elbow in his belly. He doubled over in pain. I grabbed the back of his head and slammed his forehead against the cabinet three times.

With a groan, he slumped to the concrete floor.

I shot a hasty glance at the door, expecting it to open at any moment. Without hesitation, I slipped my hand through the straps of the tote bag and grabbed him under the arms. Breathing hard, I dragged him to the rear of the room into the shower area.

The door in front swung open. I grabbed the curtain and pulled it in front of us and held my breath, listening. Another patron entered, then another.

I stood motionless behind the curtain. A thousand thoughts raced through my head, all bad. Finally after the last flush died away, after the last spigot was turned off, after the door slammed shut, I peered around the corner of the curtain.

The place was empty.

There was no time to waste. I stared down at Hatchet Face. Then an idea hit me. Despite being figuratively neck deep in a bayou full of alligators, I grinned.

Quickly, I knelt by the unconscious goon.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Latasha was pacing outside the door. When she saw me, she threw her cigarette on the concrete and crushed it with her foot. ‘I was about to come in and look for you. What took—’

I jammed an armload of clothing in the trash and grabbed her arm and spun her around. ‘Let’s go. Fast. We got about two minutes to get to the truck and out of here.’

‘But, you said they were watching the truck.’

‘Not right now. Hurry.’

We half ran, half trotted across the flea market to the pickup.

 Between groaning and panting, she gasped. ‘What happened in there?’

‘I’ll tell you later. Now hurry!’

Five minutes later, we were on the back roads winding our way to Mineral Wells, and then on to Graford where we planned to turn off to the Steep Bluff Ranch.

Latasha giggled. ‘You didn’t. All of his clothes?’

I kept my eyes on the road. ‘Not all. I left his socks.’

‘That’s what you were throwing in the garbage, huh?’

‘Yeah. He called the one you knocked off the landing. Told him to come to the bathroom. That’s how I knew no one was watching the truck.’

‘Did he have a gun on you?’

‘No. He just stood there, sort of a smug look on his face.’

She leaned back and giggled some more, then grew serious. ‘Was he one of them? I mean, the octopus and all?’

I knit my brows in a frown. ‘Now that you mention it, I didn’t notice one on his arm.’ I paused. ‘But then, I was too busy stripping him so I didn’t think to look for one.’ Flexing my fingers about the wheel, I asked. ‘Where does road take us?’

After a moment, she looked up from the map. ‘Graford. We ought to be able to get directions there.’

The few vehicles we met on the narrow road were farm and ranch trucks hauling hay and pickups pulling horse and cattle trailers.

A hour later, we rolled into Graford, a small community of around six hundred souls. The business district was one block off the main highway on South Main Street. Populated with red brick buildings, many of which were shuttered, the village was over a hundred and fifty years old, but commerce appeared to still do a lively business in the handful of stores on either side of South Main beyond Powell Street.

I pulled up in front of Graford Feed for directions. ‘I’ll ask. Get behind the wheel and lock the doors.’ I gave her a weak smile. ‘Just in case.’

I stepped out into the heat and caught my breath. I felt as if every ounce of fluid in my body was being sucked out. I climbed onto the loading dock and headed for the door.

Just inside was the office. I peered through the window. Two old men in overalls, faded blue shirts, and Graford Feed gimme caps sat at a desk smoking cigarettes and watching ‘The Price is Right’ on TV. They looked up when I opened the office door. Their eyes went from my western straw hat to my Nike running shoes, and they knew they were staring at a Drugstore Cowboy, a grown man playing at being a cowpoke.

A smile leaped to one’s lips. ‘Howdy, stranger. What can I do for you?’

‘I’m looking for the Steep Bluff Ranch.’

The second old man nodded. ‘Steep Bluff. They run registered Santa Gertrudis out there. You buying some?’

‘No. Just visiting.’

The first old man snorted. ‘Hush up, Finas. Now, young feller, you head west out of town. A few miles out, it’ll junction with Farm Road Sixteen. Take it and follow the signs. Can’t miss it.’

I thanked him. ‘Any place around to get a bite to eat?’

‘Back down the street at Olive’s.  That’s a hamburger joint out on Two-Fifty Four. Just go back to the blinking light and take a right.’

‘Thanks.’ I touched my fingers to the brim of my hat.

Finas spoke up. ‘You kin to the Buckalews?’

‘Who?’ I frowned.

The first old man lifted an eyebrow. ‘Buckalews. Them the ones what own the ranch. He’s a big time lawyer over to Fort Worth. Got his own plane.’

‘Nope. No kin.’

‘Buying horses, huh? He’s got a stable of dandy quarter horses out there. Won a handful of ribbons at the Fat Stock Show last year.’

A tickle of discomfort ran up my spine with the questioning. ‘Don’t even know them. I’m just dropping off some stuff he ordered.’ It was a vague response. I hoped it worked.

‘Lord, young feller. Don’t mind old Finas here. He’s only got me and his hound to talk to. Anyone unlucky enough to get around him sure picks up hisself an earful.’

Finas snorted. ‘That ain’t right, Jake. Only reason I was asking is because them other fellers what come in here.’

My blood ran cold. ‘Others?’

Jake shrugged. ‘Aw, he’s talking about them two cars wanting directions to Buckalew’s. One this morning and one yesterday. City folk, but we get a lot of them this days. Farming and cattle-raising like it was is done and gone. Today them lawyers and doctors buy big spreads and run exotic animals on them.’

Finas cackled. ‘Tax write offs for them, but it gives us a living wage. Them fancy animals got to have fancy grub. Ain’t that right, Jake?’

The two old codgers bantered back and forth a few more seconds, but I paid them no attention. My concern was on the two vehicles carrying ‘city folk’.

‘Did you find out how to get there?’

Latasha studied me from behind the wheel as I closed the passenger door. ‘Yeah.’ I hesitated.

She frowned. ‘But?’

I looked around at her. ‘But I’m hungry. Go back to the blinking light and take a right. There’s a burger joint out there.’

She didn’t argue. Slipping the Ford into gear, she made a U-turn and headed back to the main highway. ‘So what’s going on? Something’s wrong. I can tell.’

We waited at the blinking light as three eighteen wheelers loaded with cattle headed east.

I related the conversation with the two old men. ‘Two more cars stopped to asked directions to the ranch. One today, one yesterday.’

‘So? The ranch sells horses and cattle. Maybe they’re buyers.’

‘May be, but so far, when those goons have come after us, we’ve been able to run in just about every direction. We walk in there, and there’s no place to run.’ Ahead a sign flashed ‘Olive’s Burgers’. I pointed it out. ‘That must be the place.’

We pulled under the awning and placed our order.

‘Won’t we be all right with This Vasco’s men there?’

‘With them, yeah. With Nemo’s boys, no. Let’s see if Danny’s in. Maybe he knows something.’ I punched in the call. His man gave me the same message as previously.

Our order arrived.

The hamburgers were thick and juicy and the French fries would have put McDonald’s to shame. The drinks were cold and icy.

My cousin attacked hers with a feral ferocity. Between bites, we discussed our next step. ‘I think we should go on in,’ she said around a mouthful of tomato and lettuce and bun. ‘Vasco’s men are there. We’ll be okay.’

‘We don’t know that for sure.’ I wiped my lips and folded the tissue around the untouched half of my hamburger.

Latasha nodded to it. ‘You going to eat that?’

‘Nope. I’m full. Take it.’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Thanks.’ She took a bite and while she chewed, said, ‘I still think we ought to go on through with it.’

I didn’t like the idea. I wasn’t too keen on walking into something we knew nothing about. And I couldn’t hire anyone to drop of the package. What if something happened to them?

She arched an eyebrow. ‘Danny said that Vasco had sent his boys over here.’

‘I know what Danny said and what Joe promised. That doesn’t mean it’s done. We just have to be cautious.’

She pursed her lips. ‘So what do you suggest?’

A car pulled in beside us. I had my back to the window. When I glanced around, I froze. On the other side of the window, a cold-eyed goon with slicked-back hair had a revolver pointed between my eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

At the same time, an identical Lincoln pulled up behind us, effectively blocking us in. I glanced out the back window.

The goon jerked the door open. ‘You ain’t got nowhere to run, pal. Tell the lady not to make no funny moves. You climb out.’

That .38 in his hand looked like a monster .357. Over my shoulder, I said. ‘Do what he says, Latasha.’

He snorted. ‘Smart boy. Now out. Keep the hands down and climb into the back seat of the car. The rear door opened and a second soldier climbed out. Even through wearing a sport coat, he looked as if he’d been pumping iron and gulping steroids all his life. He held the door and motioned for me to climb in.

The crazy idea of popping in though one back door and out the other hit me, then quickly disappeared when I saw another goon in the back seat. He was half the size of Muscleman outside. Dressed neatly with a clean jaw, he could have stepped straight out of the pages of ‘Gentleman’s Quarterly’, but when he looked at me with those dead black eyes, I knew he was no gentleman.

We pulled out on the highway. I glanced through the back window. Latasha was following, and the soldier with the slick-backed hair sat beside her in the Ford.

The goons on either side of me wore jackets, so I had no way of knowing if they were Throat Cutters or Vasco’s boys. A few miles west of town, I cleared my throat. ‘You Vasco’s men?’

Muscleman grunted. ‘Vasco? Why—’

The second soldier snapped. ‘Shut up, Rosey.’

Rosey clamped his lips together.

I had my answer. I leaned back and stared out the heavily tinted windows, seeing nothing of the vast woodlots and pastures holding hundreds of grazing cattle.

We turned south on FM 16, headed for the Steep Bluff Ranch.

All I could do was say a little prayer and wonder what was going through Latasha’s mind.

Ten minutes later, I felt the Lincoln slowing. Ahead large limestone wings buttressed either side of a white-gravel lane cutting back toward the river. Brass letters on the wings glittered in the sunlight. Steep Bluff Ranch.

The Lincoln shuddered only slightly as it crossed the cattle guards in the road and headed for the dense line of trees bordering the Brazos River.

We wound through the tall oaks and cottonwoods. My heart pounded in my chest.

Ahead I spotted the main house, a two-story structure of native stone with a covered porch supported by stone arches. The rustic structure looked to be as long as a football field.

The limousine pulled up in front and stopped. Gentleman Quarterly climbed from the car. Rosey gave me a shove on the shoulder, his eloquent way of politely telling me to get out.

I scooted out of the car, feeling the lump of my cell phone pressing against my leg. For a moment, I toyed with the wild idea of opening it up in my pocket and dialing 911. I shelved the thought when I realized the phone would beep, and the way our luck was going, those goons would hear it. No, I’d wait until later, if there were a later.

Behind us, Slick Hair crawled from the pickup, tote bag in hand. Latasha hurried up to me, her eyes showing the fear gnawing at her.

Two more soldiers climbed from the Lincoln.

The heat was stifling.

G.Q. turned to one of the goons. ‘Put the pickup in the barn, Tootsie.’

‘Yeah, Franco.’

Franco turned on his heel. ‘‘Inside,’ he said, leading the way.

Any other time, I’d have been mightily impressed with the house. The cavernous edifice reminded me of Nineteenth Century Americana with stone floors and rugged beams. But today, self-preservation occupied my thoughts a heck of a lot more than unique interior design.