Longarm and the Voodoo Queen (21 page)

He was cold when he woke up, so cold that he thought he would never again be warm. The chattering of his teeth told him that he was still alive. A dead man couldn't feel like this--or so Longarm assumed. But then the thought struck him that maybe he was dead. Maybe what he was experiencing was the coldness of the grave.

And the fact that he was aware of the sensation meant that he was being brought back to a mere shambling semblance of life. He was being turned into a zombie!

The cry burst from his lips before he could stop it, and he heard an ugly chuckle from somewhere nearby. "Waking up, Parker--or whatever your name really is?"

The question came from Jasper Millard.

Someone else was close by. Longarm felt icy fingers clutching at his hand. The fingers of a corpse? No, they weren't that cold, he decided, and they had the strength and vitality of life as well.

"Custis! Please wake up, Custis. I thought you were dead."

Longarm's eyes fluttered open. "A-Annie?" he croaked out.

Her face swam into his line of sight, filling his vision as she leaned closely above him. Her hair was wild and damp, and there was a fresh bruise on her face. But she still looked beautiful to Longarm, because she was alive and that meant he was alive too.

The real question was how long that would hold true for each of them.

His vision had cleared enough for him to be able to look up past her and see a wooden roof high overhead. As she babbled her gratitude that he was still among the living, her voice echoed hollowly, and Longarm realized now that Millard's words had had a definite echo too. They were in a large room somewhere--not the Brass Pelican, Longarm decided. Someplace else.

"I think we should just go ahead and shoot him right here and now. He's bound to be a lawman."

That was Millard's voice again, booming out its threat. Someone answered him in a smoother, more sophisticated tone. "No, it will be much more effective to feed him to the alligators. Perhaps part of his body will be found too, and send a message to the authorities." Paul Clement, thought Longarm. That son of a bitch.

"Yeah, like we sent a message with that other badge-toting snooper? It was bad enough that all of his corpse didn't get eaten, but then you had to go and leave that voodoo doll on his boss's doorstep. I don't like messing with that voodoo shit, and besides, it just stirred up the law that much more."

"I believed it would confuse the issue enough to throw off any investigation into Ramsey's death," Clement replied coldly. "I did what I thought was best, Jasper--and you should remember whose idea our arrangement was in the first place."

"Yeah, yeah," replied Millard in a surly tone. "You're a damn genius, all right."

"I've made us a great deal of money so far. The other plantation owners on Saint Laurent and the neighboring islands are quite happy to meet our price for the workforce we provide."

Their squabbling had confirmed all of Longarm's speculations and answered all the questions that had brought him to New Orleans. The knowledge wasn't going to do him a hell of a lot of good, though, unless he could somehow get away from his captors and find some help.

While Millard and Clement were talking, Annie had been stroking Longarm's face and huddling against him in fear. He was aware now that he was soaking wet and lying on a hard floor. Probably no more than half an hour had passed since the runaway cab had plunged into the river; based on that fact, the high ceiling, the shadows that filled the big room, and the likely proximity to the riverfront, he figured they were in a warehouse. Millard probably owned at least one such building, so that he could store the goods he smuggled into New Orleans until he had a chance to dispose of them.

A warehouse would be a good place to hold prisoners who were destined to be shipped out to the West Indies and a life of slavery on the sugar plantations too. Longarm wondered if there were any such captives here now, or if he and Annie were the only prisoners.

There was only one way to find out. His hands weren't tied, he realized, so he got them under him and pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Don't try anything, Marshal," warned Clement. "You are a United States marshal, I take it."

"Custis Long," admitted Longarm. "I'd show you my badge and bona fides, but I left 'em back in Denver."

"Ah, they sent in a man all the way from Colorado, just so that no one here would recognize you. Quite a plan." Clement's tone was mocking.

"Yeah, and it worked too," said Longarm dryly. "All you bastards are under arrest."

Clement laughed, but Millard just glowered at Longarm. The two partners in crime were standing about a dozen feet away. They were flanked by four gunmen, no doubt some of the assassins who had been sent after Longarm and Annie at the hotel. The men had their weapons drawn and ready, so even though Longarm's hands and feet were not tied, there was no way he could make a move against Clement and Millard.

The warehouse was perhaps half full of crates of various shapes and sizes. There was probably all kinds of contraband hidden here, thought Longarm. He wondered if there was anything around he could use for a weapon. Faint light filtered in through small, filthy windows that were set high in the walls just under the ceiling. A couple of kerosene lanterns that had been placed on crates also provided illumination.

To stall for time, and to satisfy his own curiosity, Longarm asked, "Why did your men pull us out of the river instead of letting us drown? From the looks of things, you wanted us both dead anyway, so you could've let the Mississippi take care of it for you."

"I was nearby, keeping an eye on things," replied Clement, "and when I saw that cab go into the water, I put in an appearance and ordered the men to rescue you and Annie. Then we brought you here because I have an even more appropriate fate in mind for you both."

"Yeah, I heard," grunted Longarm. "You plan on feeding me to the gators. Is that what you're going to do to Your own sister?" Beside him, Annie grew even paler, and her hands tightened on his arm.

"Of course not," said Clement with a shake of his head. "Jasper here got worried when he found you snooping in his office, so he decided that the best thing to do would be to get rid of you, even though you might have been telling the truth about wanting one of those Cuban cigars. I concurred. We can't afford to take any chances of our operation being discovered by the law. Then poor Annie realized that we were trying to have you killed after that donnybrook at the Mardi Gras parade, and she became quite upset. I had to take stern measures to calm her down."

"You raped me!" Annie hissed at him. "The same way you've been raping me for years, ever since I was fourteen years old! How could you? I'm your sister, you... you..." Hatred and horror made words fail her.

Smiling, Clement slid one of the Cuban cigars from his vest pocket and sniffed it appreciatively. "Hardly," he said. "You were never told about it, my dear, but our parents merely adopted you when you were only an infant. You're not a blood relation at all, so I saw no reason not to avail myself of your charms." His fingers tightened on the cigar as venom began to drip from his words. "As a matter of fact, you're an octoroon, darling Annie. You have nigger blood flowing in your veins." Clement controlled himself with a visible effort, stuck the cigar in his mouth, and said around it, "So I've decided to send you to one of the other islands so that you can work in the fields with the other niggers."

"You... you..." Again, Annie could not find the words to convey her loathing of the man she had considered her brother.

"Son of a bitch?" suggested Longarm. "Low-down rabid skunk? No, I reckon that'd be an insult to the skunk."

Clement shook his head and said, "Go ahead and have your fun, Marshal. You're going to be dead very soon anyway."

"Yeah," put in Millard. "And you were a piss-poor right-hand man. Sure, you helped out a little those times Royale tried to get at me, but I could've just as easily been killed."

"What about Royale?" asked Longarm, again trying to postpone his impending death. "What's his part in all of this?"

"Just what I already told you," said Millard. "He runs another smuggling ring, and he wants to put me out of business."

"Does he run slaves to the West Indies too?"

Millard shook his head and snorted in contempt. "Not that I've ever heard. He may be a murdering, cold-blooded bastard, but he's too good to get his hands dirty with something like slave-running."

That just about wrapped it up, thought Longarm. Royale's activities and the involvement of the Voodoo Queen had been mere distractions in this case, despite the dangers they had represented. Almost from the moment of his arrival in New Orleans, he had been right in amongst the very men he was after. Clement's part in the smuggling scheme, and in Douglas Ramsey's murder, had been unexpected, but Jasper Millard was indeed a villain, just as Longarm had suspected from the beginning.

Clement drew a small pistol from his pocket. "Now, Marshal Long," he said, "I believe you have an appointment with some scaly friends of ours."

Annie pushed herself in front of Longarm. "No!" she cried out. "You can't do this, Paul." Her tone softened. "If... if I ever meant anything to you, I'm asking you to spare us-"

Clement leveled and cocked his weapon. Beside him, Millard also drew a gun, and the other four men raised theirs. "Oh, you meant something to me, all right," he said to Annie, "but not nearly as much as the money does. And I'll simply shoot you too unless you get out of the way."

Longarm saw that he was going to have to shove Annie aside, out of the line of fire, and then come up off the floor in a desperate lunge at Clement and Millard. He'd be shot full of holes before he got halfway there, he knew, but at least making such a play might save Annie's life.

Though what sort of life it would be, condemned to slavery, was another matter entirely.

Longarm's muscles were tensed and he was ready to move, but he didn't have to.

Because behind Clement and Millard, the huge wooden double doors that led into the warehouse suddenly blew up with no warning.

CHAPTER 15

The explosion shattered the doors, sending a hail of flame, noise, and splinters into the warehouse. Clement and Millard were thrown forward as if a giant hand had slapped them on the back. Their gunmen were staggered too. A couple of them cried out as large splinters of wood from the doors sliced their hands and faces.

Longarm grabbed Annie and threw both of them flat on the floor, shielding her with his body. The force of the explosion and the debris that it flung out passed over them, leaving them unharmed. Longarm barked, "Stay down!" in Annie's ear, then levered himself up off the planks of the floor. He put all the momentum of his movements behind the punch he threw at Paul Clement.

His fist smashed into Clement's jaw so hard that Longarm felt a satisfying shiver all the way up his arm to the elbow. Clement's head slewed around and his knees came unhinged. Longarm made a grab for the pistol as Clement fell, but it slipped out of Clement's hand and bounced away across the floor. Longarm saw Millard's mouth working and read the bald man's lips. Kill them! Kill them! But he heard only muffled sounds because he was half-deafened by the explosion. He realized that Annie might not have heard his order to stay down, and when he turned his head to check on her safety, something crashed into him. As he fell, the hands of the man who had just tackled him closed around his throat, cutting off his air.

That sensation brought back memories of almost being killed by the first so-called zombie who had come after him, Luther's brother, whom Longarm had been forced to kill. This man was no zombie, just a hired ruffian, and Longarm was able to loosen his grip by bringing a knee up into his groin. He felt that, all right. Longarm brought his cupped hands up and slapped them over the man's ears. He howled in pain and let go, and Longarm was able to heave him off to the side.

Longarm rolled over and came up on hands and knees, and as he did so, he saw a wagon burst out of the smoke hanging in the opening that had been blown in the wall. The horses pulling it were wild-eyed from the smoke and the noise of the blast. Or maybe they were just Hell-horses, Longarm thought crazily, because the men who clambered down from the wagon sure enough looked like denizens of Hades.

They were huge, and Longarm had to ask himself if their eyes were actually glowing or if it was just a trick of the light. Their slow, awkward movements were familiar to Longarm, as was the way they jerked but did not fall from the bullets fired by the gunmen. Clearly, the explosion and this attack were presents from the Voodoo Queen.

Longarm could wonder how Marie Laveau had known of the danger he and Annie were in later, after things had settled down. For the moment, he was still concerned with keeping the two of them alive, and the best way to do that was to remove the threat of Clement and Millard.

From the corner of his eye, Longarm saw one of the men from the wagon grab hold of a gunman. The hired killer shrieked and emptied his pistol into the man's chest, but the effect of the shots was too late to save him. The death blow was already falling. The man's balled fist came hammering down on the gunman's head, crushing his skull like an eggshell. Longarm's hearing was starting to come back, and he could have sworn that he heard the crunch of bone. Slowly, both men toppled over, dead before they hit the floor.