Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 15 - The Mona Lisa Murders (7 page)

‘
Oui
, but the bridge at Highway Ninety back east, she okay.’ He took a long drag of his cigarette and smiled smugly at us. ‘You not to worry. Me, I take care of the cars. I get you from N’awlins to Texas.’

Latasha looked up at me. I tried to give her a reassuring grin. A Shakespearean quote from my days teaching English at Madison High popped into my head. ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries.’

Why those particular words spoken by Brutus came to mind, I have no idea, but I knew of what he spoke. We had no choice but to keep going. And hope we were skipping over the shallows and miseries.

I couldn’t help admiring Latasha’s gritty determination even though it bordered on reckless abandon. I hated to see such foolish courage go unrequited. Taking another sip of coffee, I visualized our route in my head. Turning to Edmund, I said, ‘How long do you figure it’ll take us to get to the Southplace Courtyards?’

The wiry Melungeon frowned. ‘Southplace?’

Latasha cleared her throat, but I spoke up. ‘Yeah. Why?’

‘It be flooded. Four, maybe five feet.’

I muttered a curse. Without the key—

Latasha Domingue had the proverbial ace up her sleeve. ‘No problem. That’s what I started to tell you,’ she responded brightly. She pulled off her running shoe. From inside the lining, she extracted a key. ‘A spare,’ she announced. ‘So we’re set to go.’ She gave me a smug grin of superiority and slipped the key in her pocket.

Even though I don’t figure we were kissing cousins, I could have kissed her. She saved us a long trip to Metairie and Southplace Courts. Suddenly, I was miffed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the spare key?’

One side of her lips ticked up in a wry smile. ‘You should know. You never lay all your cards on the table. Never can tell when you’ll need a joker.’ She punctuated her remark by taking a deep drag on her cigarette.

Edmund chuckled.

I shook my head. ‘All right. So that’s settled, but what about the river. It’s bound to be full of debris.’

He shook his head. ‘No worry.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Me, I know this river like you know your face. I, Edmund Benoit, be the greatest pilot on this old river.’ He took a drag on his cigarette and winked at Latasha. ‘Don’t you be worrying,
cher
. Edmund, he get you where you want to go.’

Edmund’s cell phone started playing ‘Geaux Tigers’, one of the Louisiana State University fight songs. He grabbed it. ‘
Oui
?’ he listened and nodded; nodded and listened, muttering an occasional ‘
oui
or
oh-mon-non
’. A grim expression had tightened his face by the time he punched off. ‘Three men who say they be the law come see Octave. They ask about the four-wheeler and where you both be. Octave, say he don’t know.’

Looking around at Latasha, I muttered. ‘Those guys aren’t stupid. If they found Octave, they can find Edmund.’

‘You be right,’ the little Melungeon said, punching out his cigarette. ‘We go now. I take us to fish house near river. We put Octave’s pickup inside, spend night, then leave before the sun, she come up.’

I nodded to his cell phone. ‘Mind if I use yours? Mine is back in the swamp somewhere. I’ll pay for the calls.’

Edmund slid the phone across the table. ‘Here it be. You keep it.’ With a shrugged, he added. ‘You and Latasha, you might need it. Me, I use Zozette’s.’

I reached for my wallet. ‘Let me pay you—’

‘
Oh-mon-non
. No pay. Not in family,
oui
?’

‘Yeah.’ I grinned. ‘
Oui
.’

‘Number be on back,’ he said.

Latasha frowned up at me. ‘Who are you calling?’

‘An old friend. I can do it on the way to wherever we’re going. I don’t like this mess we’re in, especially since I don’t know what it is all about.’ I looked at her and then Edmund. ‘I feel like an idiot going through all this without knowing why.’

Angrily, she crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘My tuition, that’s why. Look, Edmund can tell you. Growing up, I had nothing. Everything I have, I earned myself and took care of my mother until she passed away. I’ve never taken anything from anyone, and I don’t plan on starting now.’

‘You’re taking my time,’ I snapped, irritated at her testy reply.

‘Leave if you want to.’

‘You know I can’t, that I won’t. Besides, that isn’t what I mean. You say the box contains the ashes of the model for the Mona Lisa. All right. I can understand that. I’m not that dumb. What I don’t understand is why this Nemo dude is willing to kill for them. You understand what I mean? No one kills over a box of ashes. There’s more to it. There has to be!’

She glared at me, refusing to answer. I looked at Edmund. ‘You understand what I’m saying?’

He nodded slowly. ‘
Oui
, me, I know what you mean.’

I turned back to Latasha. ‘I’m in this because you’re family. The same reason Octave and Edmund are helping. I don’t want to see you hurt. And I sure don’t want to see me hurt.’ I held up the phone. ‘I know someone who can find out what I want to know. There has to be more involved here than a box full of burned bones.’

Edmund slid behind the steering wheel. Latasha and I climbed in beside him. He handed me a coil of black wire. ‘You need this. Charger for the phone. Plug it in cigarette lighter.’

Chapter Eleven

Security stopped us four times crossing the small community, but the agents knew Edmund and waved us through.

During the ride, I called my old friend, Eddie Dyson.

Over the years, I had developed more than adequate computer skills, but nothing to match Eddie’s. Once Austin’s resident stool pigeon, he had become a computer whiz and wildly successful entrepreneur.

Instead of sleazy bars and greasy money, he found his niche for snitching in the bright glow of computers and comforting security of credit cards. Any information I couldn’t find, he could. Personally, I figured he hacked into some kind of national database. What kind, I have no idea, but he always came up with information, information that suggested his total disdain of any premise of personal privacy.

There were only two catches if you dealt with Eddie. First, you never asked him how he did it, and second, he only accepted VISA credit cards for payment.

I never asked Eddie why just VISA. Seems like any credit card would be sufficient, but considering the value of his service, I never posed the question. As far as I was concerned, if he wanted to be paid in Gambian Dalasis or Yemen Riyals, I’d load up a couple dozen bushels and cart them over to him.

Failure was not a word in his vocabulary. His services did not come cheap, but he produced, reemphasizing the old axiom that sometimes the end is indeed worth the means.

I got his voice mail. I requested details on the excavation and reconstruction of the alleged Mona Lisa model, Lisa Gherardini, as well as any information he felt pertinent to my request. Then I asked for anything he could find about Parnchand Nemo.

In addition to Edmund’s cell number, I gave him my universal e-mail address, adding that I didn’t have access to my regular e-mail.

Next I called Danny O’Banion in Austin. Rumor was that Danny was the Austin Branch
Caporegime
for the Southern Mafia. I knew the truth, but I never spoke of it. Besides, the Mafia was not the overt force it had once been although there were still four or five families in New York with widespread branches about.

Danny and I go back to high school where in the eleventh grade, we managed to get into a few scrapes together. He dropped out of school, and I ended up an English teacher, then an insurance salesman, and finally a private investigator.

Later, Danny and I ran into each other at an Oklahoma, U.T. football game in Dallas. We laughed some, lied a lot, and emptied his silver flask of excellent Scotch.

From time to time over the years, Danny gave me a few hints on various cases. I paid him back more than once. One occasion I saved his bosses several million bucks, which made them very happy with him. Another time, I managed to keep his cousin, Bobby Packard, from riding the needle up in Huntsville, which made him very happy with me.

I’m probably one of the few Joe Six-Packs who can get through to Danny. He greeted me with his typical ebullience. After we traded a few guy-type insults, I got down to business, giving him the names of Parnchand Nemo, Uberto Bianchi, Antone Moretti, and da Luca. ‘I don’t know the last joker’s first name, but he’s a broker for Bianchi who is supposedly a dealer in antiquities.’

Danny laughed. I could see the freckles on his face running together in one big blotch. ‘Antiquities dealer, huh? You know what that means in Italian, don’t you?’ Before I could reply, he continued. ‘Smugglers. That’s what.’

‘Oh yeah. I almost forgot. It might mean nothing, but three of the bozos that chased us had a tattoo of an octopus on their forearm. A black one.’

‘Octopus?’

‘Yeah, you know. Those things in the ocean with five or six legs.’

‘That’s a new one on me. But don’t worry, old buddy. I’ll see what I can find out. How do I get in touch with you?’

The storm had pushed ten or twelve feet of water up to the city. Up and down the muddy river, trawlers and shrimp boats lay submerged. Others bobbed above the piers that normally rose ten or fifteen above the water.

The ground was muddy from the rain, but there was no sign of flooding in our area. I opened the huge doors to the fish house, grimacing at the smell.

Edmund chuckled as he drove in.

He pointed to a flight of stairs. ‘Up there. I be right up after I check the generator.’

The room was a combination office and sleeping quarters with a shower. He put coffee on and frozen dinners in the microwave. ‘Zozette, she whip up gumbo and freeze it. Never can tell how long me and the boys, we be at the fish house.’ He pulled out a pack of Camels and offered one to Latasha. ‘Rest. I make sure boat, it be okay.’

Outside, the blood red sun balanced on the horizon, bringing dusk then darkness quickly. Patches of lights popped on around the predominantly dark town. An eerie silence fell over the city.

Latasha lit up as we sat at the table and poured coffee. She took a sip and wrinkled her nose and pushed back from the table. ‘This coffee is worse than mine,’ she growled, opening the refrigerator. ‘Ah, beer. Want one? You got a choice, Abita Blue or Abita Blue.’

I sipped my coffee and shuddered. She was right. Week old sox would have tasted better. ‘Make it Abita Blue. Help me relax.’

The beer was cold thanks to Edmund’s generator. ‘Tastes good, huh?’ I smacked my lips.

‘Yeah.’ She plopped down in her chair and stretched her arms over her head. ‘I’m beat.’

I nodded to the adjoining room. ‘Bunks in there. Grab a few winks.’

She took a long drag on her Camel and then several gulps from her beer. ‘Sounds good. What about you?’

In a few minutes. I’m going downstairs and see if I can give Edmund a hand.’

I watched as she closed the door behind her, then took another sip. Octave’s wry comment brought a crooked grin to my face. ‘Don’t you be worrying,
cher
. Edmund, he get you where you want to go.’

I hoped he was right about Edmund, but the coming days promised to be something less than a picnic.

Somehow we were to cross a flooded river, snake our way through the flooded Ninth Ward to the Americanways Bus Terminal on Jefferson Parkway, then head north on the Navigation Canal to Highway Ninety.

A cinch!

In a pig’s eye.

I gulped another couple swallows then rummaged through the cabinet, coming up with a box of plastic sandwich bags. I grabbed a couple rubber bands from the office desk.

If nothing else, I’d keep my cell phone and charger dry.

Downstairs, Edmund was filling the gas tank under the console of an open bow eighteen footer with a Bimini top. ‘This one be a shallow one, special built here in Greta by Marlin Boats,’ he said when I appeared. ‘Two engines. Best we have backup,
oui?
’

‘You bet.’ I glanced at the Mercury engines.

After capping the tank, he climbed back onto the pier and stepped back before lighting a cigarette. He offered me the package, but I declined. The far side of the river was a dark line against a sky full of stars. What few lights blinked were from tankers moored along the banks, riding out the high water.

Edmund pointed his cigarette at the black water churning past. ‘Good thing that us, we don’t go out there tonight. Tomorrow bad enough. The river, she full of trash. We go slow.’

‘What happens if someone stops us?’

‘Do not worry.’ A sly grin wreathed his swarthy face with a grin. With a booted foot, he shoved the small powerboat from the pier. ‘That why.’

On the side of the craft was the logo of a bright red fireman’s helmet with the lightening stroke words, Gretna Search and Rescue, emblazoned with bold gold and red stripes.

He winked at me. ‘What you think?’

I chuckled. ‘I see what you mean.’

Chapter Twelve

Upstairs, Latasha slept the sleep of the innocent. All I could do was manage three-minute naps between hour-long sessions of worry.

Around four or so, Edmund awakened us, a cigarette dangling from his lips. There was an urgency in his voice. ‘We go. Now.’

I sat up. ‘Trouble?’

‘Who knows? Zozette, she call. Two cars, they drive by the house. One park down the street. The other leave.’

Latasha spoke up. ‘You think they’re coming here?’

I jammed by feet into my Nike running shoes. ‘No sense in waiting around to find out.’

Edmund turned on his heel. ‘
Oui
.’ He paused in the office to grab a backpack, then we hurried down the stairs.

The sky was clear; the air was still and heavy. Clambering into the Marlin powerboat, we donned red windbreakers, lifejackets, and broad-brimmed floppy hats, standard gear for rescue workers. ‘Shove your hair under your hat, little girl. Come day, helicopters patrol the flooded wards. They see us,’ he explained, slipping on a windbreaker. ‘They think we just first responders.’