Mind Games (34 page)

Corbeau summoned his willpower to act nonchalant, but stunned hesitation gave him away. “That’s what I thought,” he mused. “Saw you on TV. Too bad.”

“Yes, it is.” Macon took the knife from beside the fish cooler and swiped the blade across the man’s throat. Corbeau’s face froze in surprise, then he slumped in his chair, blood spurting from his neck like a geyser. He dropped the rod.

* * * * *

“L
ooks like Lady Luck is on our side,” Macon said when he returned to the cabin. “I got us a car.”

“Yuwee, Harley,” Alice squealed. “How’d you do that?”

He told her about meeting Corbeau, his Volvo, the credit cards, and four beautiful hundred dollars in his wallet. “I think we’re about ready to leave this place, babe. Get yourself together, ’cause N’awlins is a-waiting.”

Alice grabbed Macon’s ass and pulled him close enough to squish her major assets into his face. “How much of a rush are we in?”

“Hmmm, I guess another hour won’t matter.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

The Inevitable Vision

M
acon met Joey Dree at a convenience store parking lot in front of one of the only phone booths around. “You owe me, Joey, and you’re gonna pay up. If you hadn’t ratted me out, I’d be long gone by now, in Canada or Mexico, and that bitch would be dead.” Considering the stink of fear emanating from the little ferret face ex-con, he’d do whatever Macon wanted.

“I couldn’t help it, Harley. They was gonna charge me as an accessory. I didn’t know nothin’ ’bout no murder. You know that. I done everything you asked. License, ID, even got you a gun. What was I s’pposed to do?”

Macon pushed his face so far into Joey’s that their noses almost touched. “I’ve got nothing to lose. They catch me and it’s the needle. End of story. You don’t do what I ask, I’ll kill you, and I promise the last moments of your life won’t be pleasant. Understand?”

“Yeah, Har- Har-ley, sure, sure.”

“Now, where can you put me up? Me and Alice.”

“Lemme think. I gotta think. You can’t stay with me. The cops’ll be all over my ass.”

Macon put his hand on Joey’s scrawny arm and jerked away, as if his ex-prison buddy shot sparks into his hand. He shook off the vision. “Well, think fast. We need a place for a few days, maybe not even that long, near the city. I don’t know how long this car will be safe, so I can’t travel far. The longer I’m out in the open, the greater the risk.”

Joey paced around, then stopped. “I got a friend across the river in Gretna. He owes me money for a job I did. Maybe he can put you up for a couple of days. Thing is he’s married, and his wife watches him like a hawk. If she even thinks he’s doing anything illegal, she’ll chop his balls off. She hates me. Thinks I’m a bad influence. I’ll call him at his bar and hope he’s there ’cause if I call his house and she answers, I’ll give you the phone. She’ll recognize my voice and hang up. His name’s Castor. Frankie Castor.”

Macon grabbed the receiver—which by some stroke of luck hadn’t been yanked out—and stuck it in Joey’s hand. “Now, Joey. Call him now.”

“All right, all right. Don’t get your bowels in an uproar.”

Castor agreed to meet Joey at his bar a few blocks from where he lived in Gretna. Harley and Alice followed in the Volvo.

* * * * *

I
t was hard to ignore Frankie Castor. A doctor would describe him as morbidly obese, a heart attack waiting to happen. He took up most of the bench seat, forcing his massive bulk into the edge of the table. Joey would have been lost in Castor’s enormous tent of a shirt.

Joey leaned across the table and spoke in a hushed voice. “Got a couple of friends who need a place to stay. You owe me a favor, and I’m calling in the marker.”

Castor squeezed a dirty fingernail into the space between his teeth to pick at a remnant of food. He liberated the stringy substance and wiped it on his pants. “What’d they do?”

“Never mind, you don’t wanna know. You gotta find somewhere no one’ll see ’em. Only for a day or two. Maybe three. It’s important, Frankie.”

“First you gotta tell me why or else no deal.”

“The cops’re looking for them. They ain’t gonna get you in trouble. They ain’t looking to get caught any more than we want ’em to.”

Castor’s beady eyes never left Joey’s. “What’s his name?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Name, Joey.”

Joey mumbled Macon’s name.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Castor looked around to make sure no one heard. “That psycho’s picture’s everywhere. The cops’d be all over me like flies to shit.” He pulled a wrinkled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow, then he looked around the restaurant. “You don’t have him with you, do you?”

“He’s in the car,” Joey said, then added, “but we parked out of the way. No one saw nothing.”

“Jesus H. Christ, you brought Public Enemy Number One to my joint? I’m gonna fucking strangle you.”

“Well, I don’t have a hell of a lot of choice, do I? Either you kill me or he does. He might even kill you if you don’t get him a place to put up. You gotta do me this one favor. I promise, I’ll make it up to you ten times over. Licenses, IDs, passports, whatever you need. I’ll never ask you for another thing.”

Castor reached across and clutched Joey’s arm in a vice grip. “What’s to keep him from killing both of us once he gets what he wants?”

Joey pulled his arm away and rubbed it. “Find him a safe place for a few days. What’ya say?”

“Christ, when you call in a marker, you don’t fuck around.” The big man leaned back and cleaned out his left nostril with a fat pinkie, flicking the gob under the table. “Lemme make a few calls. Wait here.”

Castor shuffled to the rear of the bar and shifted sideways into a back room, closing the door behind him. Joey guzzled his beer and ordered another. By the time Castor waddled back to the table, Joey had drained the second beer and contemplated ordering a third. He was sweating like a goddamn pig, felt his sticky underarms glued to his T-shirt.

“I know nothing about this, understand, Joey? If you tell, you’re a dead man. You won’t know when or where, but trust me, you’ll be dead.”

“I promise. No one’ll ever know. I promise.” Joey crossed his heart with a jittery finger. “You think I want the cops to find out I’m helpin’ this guy? My brother says that’s accessory after the fact.”

“He’s right. You’d be back in the slammer for good.” Castor lowered his voice enough that Joey leaned in to hear. “Now listen good. There’s a place about twelve miles out of town, a series of deserted warehouses at the end of a working industrial park. Number 1220 will have a key for the second floor taped to the inside top of the mailbox.” He passed Joey a scrap of paper. “Here’s the address. They can stay two days, three tops. Tell him to pull his car around back into the space under the building.”

Joey read the directions. “Thanks, Frankie. I’ll pay you back. You’ll see.”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

Joey scrammed for the door and broke into a run until he got to the Volvo. He stuck his head through the open window and shoved the directions into Macon’s hand.

“We’ll follow you,” Macon said. “And don’t do anything funny.”

Joey’s head bobbed around on his shoulders. “No, no, I can’t. I got some business to tend to. I gave you directions. You’ll find the place easy. Won’t be no trouble.”

“I don’t feel like getting fucking lost at this hour of the night, Joey. Anyway, I need you to stop and pick up food, fried chicken or something, Cokes, and some fries. Then when you show us where it is and make sure the key’s there, you can go. After that I don’t care if I never see you again.”

Joey wanted to say the same thing but held his tongue. He didn’t want to piss off Macon. He’d seen the cold-eyed threats under the surface charm while in prison. And Macon had done some kinky things while he was inside. Things that if Joey ever told, Macon’d kill him without batting an eye.

“Okay, okay, fine, just until I get you there. Then I’m gone.”

“Right. Now, let’s get going. Alice is tired and so am I. I’ve got a lot to do in a short time.”

Joey drove his beat up Mustang into a KFC drive-thru, a Mini Mart, and then out of town. Macon followed. He turned into an industrial park, drove to the last street, and stopped in front of a deserted brick building with the numbers 1220 visible on the mailbox. Macon eased alongside and told Joey to retrieve the key and drive around back.

“Why? You said I could leave when you got here.”

“I want to make sure the key works and the place is fit for humans. Then you can go.”

Joey got out of his car, extracted the key where Frankie said it would be, and drove around back. When Macon got out, Joey handed him the key. The sharp thrust of the knife entered below his rib cage and moved expertly up the center of his chest. The last thing Joey saw was Macon’s familiar smile that alternated between charming and deadly. Tonight it was deadly.

* * * * *

M
acon watched with a smile as the bony heap fell to the ground, noting the quizzical expression when Joey gasped his last breath. The runt reminded him of a hooked fish flapping his gills, desperate for water. He saw the exact vision when he touched his arm earlier. Joey sold him out. Not a good thing to do if he wanted to live. When Joey stopped jerking, Macon picked him up at arm’s length to avoid getting blood all over himself. He told Alice to open the trunk of Joey’s car, then he stuffed the body inside. He took the runt’s keys and drove the car into the space under the warehouse, beside the Volvo.

“Let’s eat,” he said. “I’m starved.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Forgone Conclusion

L
ucier registered Diana into a boutique hotel on the fringe of the Quarter not far from the district 8 police station. He carried her bags to an overly decorated but comfortable suite, consisting of a bedroom and small sitting room.

Diana surveyed the suite. “This hotel is more luxurious than where I stayed before, and cheaper. How did you find this off-the-beaten-path place? I’d never have guessed how beautiful it is from the outside.”

“A friend of mine owns it. Nell Devoe is a real character. You’ll like her. She’ll take good care of you.”

Lucier failed to mention that Nell had been a madam in her previous life and crossed paths with Lucier officially. After she quit the life, she opened the hotel, and they developed an unusual friendship. Sometimes, when he worked late, he stopped by her dining room for a leftover dinner. He offered to pay; she refused. In return, he recommended her hotel to guests of the city.

“I’m glad we convinced Galen and Blanche to leave with Jason and head back to South Carolina.”

“Your father understood that if Macon was still around, their being here put you in more danger.”

Diana reclined on the sofa and closed her eyes.

“You need to rest,” Lucier said. “I’ve ordered dinner, then I promise to leave you alone. Cash will collect you in the morning.”

“Sounds like a good idea. I am tired.”

A knock and voice announced room service. Lucier checked the peephole. A waiter wheeled in a table set with china, silver, and crystal stemware. Champagne chilled in a silver bucket. He set a spinach, pear, and blue cheese salad topped with creamy poppy seed dressing before them, then uncovered warmed plates of medium-rare filet drizzled with bordelaise sauce, rosettes of garlic mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and crème brulée for dessert.

“I’m impressed,” Diana said, perking up, “and starved.”

Lucier tipped the waiter, and he left. “Nell runs one of the best kitchens in a city full of great kitchens. Her dining room has a two month waiting list, even now.”

Diana looked squinty-eyed at Lucier. “And she feeds you some nights? What do you have to do to get that kind of treatment?”

He laughed. “Not what you think. I come late and get the leftovers. She feels sorry for me. Doesn’t want me to waste away.”

Diana squeezed the muscle in his arm. “Neither do I.”

The quality of the dinner matched its presentation. When they finished, the waiter whisked the table away, leaving the half-empty bottle of champagne. Lucier filled her glass, then his own and settled next to her on the loveseat. She leaned into the corner and swung her legs across his. He rubbed them and kneaded her feet. They picked up their glasses and toasted.

“To Harley Macon’s capture,” she said. “Damn him to hell.”

* * * * *

T
he next morning at the station, Sam Beecher plopped down in the chair in Lucier’s office. “I’m happy you like this woman, Ernie. About damn time you came back to the land of the living. You can’t mourn forever, you know.”

“I appreciate your concern, but we’ve got a vengeful killer on the loose, and that’s all I’m interested in at the moment. My personal life is just that. Personal.”

Beecher looked as if he’d been slapped. “Sorry, Lieutenant, I stand told off.” He rose slowly and started for the door.