Longarm and the Voodoo Queen (22 page)

Longarm scooped up the pistol Clement had dropped and swung around toward Millard. A desperate look was on Millard's face as he shouted, "Scott! Willie!" at the two remaining henchmen who were still on their feet. Scott and Willie had problems of their own, however, and couldn't come to his help. Both of them were trying to avoid the lunges of the zombies who were after them.

Millard grimaced and pegged a shot toward Longarm. The bullet whipped past Longarm's head as he returned fire. Millard was already darting aside, and Longarm's shot missed. Millard threw himself toward the piles of crates, intending to use them for cover. Longarm ran after him.

Millard knew the layout of the warehouse a lot better than he did, Longarm realized. Once Millard got in that maze of stacked-up boxes, he would be as difficult to track down as a rat in a hole. Longarm snapped another shot at him, then grated a curse as he saw the slug kick up splinters from the crate behind which Millard had just disappeared.

"Custis!" Annie cried out behind him.

He jerked around to see that she was on her feet, pointing toward the other side of the warehouse. One of the gunmen was dangling limply by the neck from the hands of one of the Voodoo Queen's men, but the other one was still struggling with his almost inhuman opponent as flames danced around their feet. Longarm saw the shattered chimney of a lantern shining in pieces on the floor near them, and knew that in their struggle they must have jostled it off the crate on which it had been sitting. The kerosene that had spilled when the lantern broke had ignited furiously, and now the flames were spreading rapidly across the floor to more of the crates.

Longarm cast a glance over his shoulder toward the spot where Millard had vanished. There was no time to try to root him out now. Instead, Longarm ran across the big room toward Annie. As he reached her, he saw the broken body of the final gunman being cast aside. The zombie shambled a couple of steps as if confused, then stopped and sank to his knees. His shirt was sodden with blood, the spreading stain black in the harsh glare of the flames. He pitched slowly forward onto his face, and then lay still as death claimed him. Longarm realized that he and Annie were the only ones still on their feet.

He grabbed her arm and hustled her over toward the wagon. The horses were trying to rear up in their traces, driven mad by the smoke and the smell of blood. Longarm helped Annie up into the bed of the wagon, then ran back for the one gunman who was still alive, the one who had been trying to choke Longarm to death until he had busted the man's eardrums. Longarm saw trails of blood leaking out of both ears as he stooped to grab the unconscious man under the arms and drag him toward the wagon. Deaf or not, he could still testify against Clement and Millard.

Longarm hoisted the man and threw him into the back of the wagon. Annie cringed away from him. Longarm turned back for Clement and realized angrily that the mastermind behind the slave-running scheme was gone. "What the hell!" Longarm exclaimed aloud. Only moments ago, Clement had been lying right there on the floor where he had fallen after Longarm knocked him out... hadn't he?

Longarm didn't know. In the noise and confusion, almost anything could have happened and he might not have noticed. What mattered now was that he was running out of time. One entire wall of the warehouse was already ablaze, and the flames were spreading toward the jagged opening where the doors had been.

There was no sign of Millard either. Longarm didn't know if he had gotten out of the building by some other way or was still somewhere in those small mountains of crates. Being careful that he didn't get anywhere near the lashing hooves of the horses, Longarm hurried to the front of the team and reached up to grab the harness of one of the leaders. It took all of his strength to haul the animal back down and bring it under some semblance of control. Straining and pulling, he led the team in a circle until they were pointed back toward the opening.

"Hang on!" Longarm shouted to Annie, then he slapped the closest of the leaders on the rump as hard as he could and jumped back out of the way.

With the sight and smell of open air in front of them, the horses lunged forward, pulling the wagon behind them. Longarm saw Annie holding tightly to one of the sideboards as the vehicle rocked and clattered out through the opening. Longarm cast one more look around the inside of the warehouse, making certain that everyone else was dead. There was still no sign of Clement or Millard.

Longarm ran out into the fresh air after the wagon. It was an overcast day, but the sunlight that made it through the clouds still seemed almost painfully bright after the dimness of the warehouse. Longarm saw a crowd of dockworkers converging on the burning warehouse, and somewhere in the distance he heard bells clanging. The fire wagons would be here soon.

He gulped down deep breaths of air, and despite the humid stickiness and the rotten fish odor, nothing had ever smelled quite as good to him. When he looked back at the building, thick gouts of black smoke were billowing up from the warehouse, filling the sky above the Crescent City and the mighty river that ran through it. The roof was blazing now, and with a roar, part of it fell in. All the contraband Clement and Millard had stored there was going to be consumed in the fire.

The thought of Clement and Millard made a bitter taste clog Longarm's mouth. The two ringleaders had gotten away. They were responsible for the murder of a federal lawman, as well as untold suffering on the part of the men and women who had been kidnapped and forced into slavery. Add to that the suffering of the loved ones left behind by those victims of the slavery ring, and the toll was high.

Longarm was not going to rest until Clement and Millard had paid for it.

One of the dockworkers came running up to him and grasped his arm. "Hey, mister, you all right?" asked the man. When Longarm managed to nod, the dockworker went on. "What in hell happened?"

"Hell," murmured Longarm, but it wasn't a curse. "You're closer to right than you know, old son."

Longarm turned away from the man, who had a confused expression on his face, as a woman called urgently, "Custis!" The voice didn't belong to Annie Clement, though. When Longarm turned around, he saw Claudette hurrying through the crowd toward him.

She threw herself into his arms and kissed him. Instinctively, Longarm embraced her, pulling her close against him. After a moment, Claudette moved her head back, breaking the kiss, and asked anxiously, "You are all right, you?"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "A mite wet and bedraggled and beat up, but you can bet I'll live."

"When I saw from the window of the hotel room, me, how those men were shooting at you, I knew I had to help you. So I pulled my clothes on and took myself off through the back of the hotel mighty quick-like, and I went to see Marie Laveau."

"How'd you know where to tell her to find me?" asked Longarm, puzzled.

Claudette shook her head. "Marie Laveau, she got her ways of findin' anybody she want to. An' so do I."

The answer didn't satisfy him, but Longarm let it pass for the moment. The important thing was that he and Annie were still alive, thanks to Claudette. Not only that, but several of the men who had been working for Clement and Millard were dead, and the two schemers themselves were now on the run. Their stranglehold on the West Indians who lived in New Orleans was broken.

With an arm around Claudette, Longarm went over to the wagon, which had come to a halt a safe distance from the burning warehouse. Annie was still sitting in the back of the vehicle, looking half-stunned. Near her, the man Longarm had tossed into the wagon was stirring around as consciousness came back to him. Longarm turned to a couple of the curious bystanders and pointed to the man. "I'm a United States deputy marshal," he told the onlookers. "Grab that fella and hang on to him until the local law gets here. He's under arrest."

The men were only too eager to help, even though Longarm hadn't flashed a badge or any other identification at them. They climbed into the wagon and found some rope, which they promptly used to truss up the prisoner.

Meanwhile, Longarm stepped up onto the driver's box and leaned over the back of the seat to hold out a hand to Annie, who was still huddled against the sideboard. "Come on, Annie," he said. "Let's get you out of there."

She looked up at him, hollow-eyed with shock, but after a moment her gaze cleared a little and she was able to nod. She reached up and clasped Longarm's hand. He lifted her to her feet and helped her down from the wagon.

Claudette stood nearby, watching curiously, and over the clanging of the bells from the fire wagons that were approaching, she said, "Mademoiselle Annie is all right?"

"She will be," said Longarm. "With any luck, she will be."

The fire wagons raced by and came to a stop in front of the warehouse, but it was evident that nothing could save the building now. More than half of it had already been consumed by the inferno. The concern now was to keep the flames from spreading to the surrounding structures, and the firemen joined their efforts with those of the bucket brigade that had already formed to wet down the other buildings. With the river so close by, there would be no shortage of water for the tanks on the fire wagons.

Men were running around and shouting, but even in that confusion, Longarm heard someone bellow, "Parker!" Only one man would still be calling him that out of habit, Longarm thought as he jerked around and looked toward the burning warehouse in time to see something that would remain etched in horror on his brain for a long time to come.

A figure lurched out of the fire-filled opening in the wall, and even though flames flickered all around it, the blazing form managed to keep moving. Longarm recognized the human torch as Jasper Millard, and knew that Millard must have tried to get out of the warehouse by some other means, only to fail and be trapped in the blaze.

Annie and Claudette were flanking Longarm, and both of them gasped and cried out. Millard's shambling gait reminded Longarm of the zombies, but no potion or black magic ritual was animating the man's body. Millard was moving and staying alive through the power of sheer hate, and as he stumbled toward Longarm the firemen and the crowd of dockworkers and onlookers fell back, just as horrified as Longarm and the two women were.

Somehow, Millard managed to keep coming until he was only a dozen feet away from Longarm. The flames surrounding him had died out, leaving behind only a blackened, crackling husk of a man. Millard raised his hands and lurched toward Longarm, the bones of his fingers showing through the burned flesh.

Then Longarm raised the pistol he still held in his hand and said, "I'd tell you to burn in Hell, Millard, but I reckon you're already there."

The whip-crack of the pistol shot shattered the eerie silence that had fallen. Millard's head jerked back as the bullet bored through a brain that had already boiled in its own fluids. One more stumbling step, and Millard collapsed. Longarm almost expected him to fall apart in ashes when he hit the street, but the charred corpse remained intact. Longarm slowly lowered the gun as more flames and smoke rose from the burning warehouse.

"Drop that gun, mister!"

The order came from behind Longarm, roared in a harsh voice. Before he turned, Longarm leaned over and placed the gun on the ground, then straightened and swung around to face a furious Captain Denton of the New Orleans police force. The captain's face was brick-red with anger.

"Damn it, I just saw you murder that man!" burst out Denton.

"I'd call it putting him out of his misery--and ours," said Longarm.

"I don't care what you call it, you're under arrest!" Denton gestured to the blue-uniformed men with him. "Take this man into custody!"

A tired grin plucked at Longarm's mouth. "I'll go peaceablelike, Captain, especially if you'll take me to see the special prosecutor."

Denton frowned in confusion. "What in blazes are you talking about?"

"I've got a story to tell that fella... all about Pikes Peak."

CHAPTER 16

Saint Laurent rose green and beautiful from the waters of the Caribbean, an island some twenty miles long and ten wide, its eastern end dominated by a rugged volcanic peak that had long since become inactive. From the mountain, the land sloped gradually to the west in a series of gentle hills and broad valleys filled with stalks of sugarcane. Along the western shore was a sandy beach dotted with clumps of palm trees. It was a truly lovely place, thought Longarm as he stood at the railing of the ship that had brought him here, his hands gripping it tightly.

Too bad Saint Laurent had such ugliness hiding amidst its beauty.

A week had passed since the fire that had consumed the warehouse used by Paul Clement and Jasper Millard to house the goods they smuggled into the country--and sometimes those they smuggled out. Longarm had spent a goodly portion of that week explaining things first to Captain Denton, then to a series of the captain's superiors, culminating in that special prosecutor whose summons had brought Longarm to New Orleans in the first place. Then there had been the flurry of telegraph messages burning up the wires between the Crescent City and the Mile High City as Longarm attempted to clear everything up for Billy Vail. None of it had been easy, but finally everyone involved had accepted Longarm's explanations, and Vail had ordered him to return to Denver.