Let the Dead Sleep

by Heather Graham

  Quinn realized, yet again, why he liked Larue. Larue wasn’t making Sam feel like trash; he was treating him with the respect due a human being.

  “Well, as you surely know,” Sam began, “I was out there—out at Leroy’s—for illegal purposes. But there was a group of us that day, and Leroy was saying he was going to be flying high. He was going to manage the easiest break-in ever and come away with one stupid object that would make him rich the rest of his life. It was strange because Ivy didn’t seem happy about it. He was telling her to shut up every time she told him she didn’t like it and that he really needed to quit his bragging. And now...well, other folks are turning up dead and...I guess the person who wanted the object got his hands on it and killed Leroy instead of paying him. And poor Ivy,” he added.

  “What do you know about Eyes, Sam? Brandt Shumaker?” Quinn asked.

  “Eyes himself doesn’t come around a whole lot. He doesn’t dirty his hands.”

  “Okay, but I got word that he went to Leroy’s to acquire his illegal substances,” Quinn said.

  Sam raised one shoulder in a shrug. “Might’ve been his big black limo drivin’ around that night. Yeah, hell, there aren’t that many big black limos in that area. Eyes...supposedly, he has eyes everywhere and that’s how he got his nickname. That car of his...filled with his goons...it’s like this black monster that moves in the night all on its own. Everyone steers clear of him.”

  “But you didn’t see him? You didn’t hear that he’d threatened Leroy or anyone?” Larue asked.

  Sam shook his head. “All I heard is that this object is more valuable than all the money in the world—if you know how to use it. Supposedly it’s something that can give the owner incredible power over others. Sounded kind of religious or satanic to me,” Sam said. “Sounded like something you want to keep away from. Besides, I thought they were all talking rubbish. And if some idiot thought he could get the devil to do his will through it...well, then, as long as Leroy didn’t go ’round hurtin’ nobody, it didn’t matter a damn to me.” He looked troubled. “Some say Eyes has fooled around with strange groups. That he’s not into voodoo like those who see it as a real religion, but into voodoo kinda Hollywood-style, you know—all the hocus-pocus, raising the dead, sticking needles in voodoo dolls and all that crap. Blood sacrifice.”

  Larue turned to Quinn.

  “You can question Shumaker, at least. Intimidate him a little,” Quinn said. He knew that Larue had been hoping for more.

  Larue nodded. “We can question him, but I don’t have anything on him other than that he’s driven around in a black car and he may or may not have been in Leroy’s neighborhood. But thank you, Mr. Johnson,” he said to Sam. “Thank you for telling us what you know.”

  Sam’s expression was troubled. “I guess someone is out to kill me now. If it’s Eyes, I’m good as dead.”

  “We’ll see that you’re kept in a safe house while the search goes on,” Larue said, getting to his feet. “It’s not much, but you’ll have an officer with you, watching over you.”

  Sam’s eyes became huge, and he trembled slightly. “You’ll...put me somewhere, and have someone watch me?”

  “Yup.”

  “You mean a jail cell?”

  Larue smiled. “No, more like a cheap room, but it’ll have a shower and we’ll keep you fed while we’re sorting this out. It’s obvious that your life is at risk—and we really are here to serve and protect,” he said dryly.

  Sam looked over at Danni and she clasped his hand. “You’re going to be okay,” she promised him, not for the first time.

  “It was an angel I saw when I opened my eyes this evening,” Sam said.

  “Well, Sam, it’s the police, not the angels, who are going to work hard to save you,” Quinn told him. “And, in return, if you think of anything, you make sure you tell us right away.”

  Sam appeared pensive. “There’s something bad, I can tell you that. Something real bad. And it’s not like you can just arrest Eyes, even if you find a reason. This is more than one man. There’s a bad element here. People who are looking for something they don’t have—and they think this...thing can get it for them.”

  “We’ll be careful.” Larue tapped his intercom. “Officer Boyle, will you come in here, please? We need to take Mr. Johnson to the safe house. Can you get him some clean clothes for after he’s showered and a meal?”

  Boyle, a big, well-muscled man, must have been waiting right by the door; he was there in seconds. He nodded at Sam and said, “Come along, sir. We’ll have you squared away in a few minutes.”

  Sam paused, looking at Quinn. “How you know about those tunnels in a place where there should be no tunnels? Are you one of them Biblical Brothers?” he asked.

  Quinn sensed Danni studying him, waiting for an answer.

  “No, I’m not a Biblical Brother,” he said. “I just have a lot of...friends.”

  Sam didn’t push it. He turned back to Larue. “I look like scum—and smell like it, too. But I swear I never sold nothing to kids and I never sold nothing harder than marijuana. Ain’t legal, I know that, but didn’t seem so bad to me. Never saw no pothead split open someone’s skull like I seen in bars.”

  Larue shrugged. “You may be right, Sam. But, right now, it’s not legal.”

  “If it was, half of us wouldn’t have had nontaxable work. Anyway, you’re helping me. I want you to know I never willfully hurt another human being in my life.”

  “That’s good to hear, Mr. Johnson,” Larue said.

  Sam smiled and looked at Quinn, touching his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Sam turned to Danni. “Angel, you take care.”

  “You, too, Sam.”

  When Sam had left the office, Larue coughed loudly. “Sweet Jesu, but you all smell like hell!”

  “Yeah, a shower would be in order,” Quinn agreed.

  Larue pointed a finger at him. “When you knew what you were doing, you should’ve told me. We could’ve been there earlier—and we might have a lead on the men who were in the cemetery.”

  “If a dozen cop cars had shown up, Sam would’ve disappeared,” Quinn told him. “Hey, come on! You don’t think I wasn’t hoping we’d get our hands on one of those goons! Especially since it looks like the one we’re trying to get is Eyes.”

  Larue waved a hand in the air. “Out of my office. You really stink. Even Sam smelled better.” He shook his head. “Wait! Who else knows about that tunnel?”

  “The Biblical Brothers, of course,” Quinn said.

  “I thought they all died years ago.”

  Quinn couldn’t help grinning. “It’s a secret society these days. So, if you are a Biblical Brother, I guess you don’t tell anyone.”

  “I can find out about the last entombment,” Larue said.

  “I’m sure you can. Me, I don’t know who it was. I had an old friend named Ben Wheedon—he told me about the tunnel. When he died, he was buried at Lafayette Cemetery with his family. We through here for now?”

  “God, yes!” Larue said with disgust, holding his nose. “But, Quinn, remember. You’ve got to keep me informed on this. The dead are piling up.”

  “Yeah.” Quinn stood. “Thanks for getting the troops there so quickly tonight.”

  “Sure.” Larue nodded. “It’s what I do,” he said sarcastically. “Now, for the love of God—go bathe. Even poor Wolf is wrinkling his nose at you.”

  As if in agreement, Wolf whined and thumped his tail on the floor. Quinn and Danni rose, and the three of them left the station.

  It was very late.

  They might have found a trail, but they hadn’t managed to follow it very far.

  * * *

  Danni was thoughtful as they drove home. They were both tired—no, exhausted—and with
the mud created by bone and tunnel dust combined with the water they’d crawled and sloshed through, she couldn’t have felt more physically gross.

  She wondered if she was too tired to think rationally.

  But she felt somewhat numbed...and shocked, once more, at the situation in which she found herself.

  “Did my father know about the tunnel?” she asked Quinn, turning in her seat to face him. “Did he know everything you know? How do you know what you know?”

  He glanced at her, then looked ahead again and shrugged. “I’m a friendly guy. I can’t be sure whether your dad knew about that tunnel. We never had occasion to need it when we were together. It’s a long story and I’m not trying to hide anything from you, but it’s late and we have to get started again in the morning. I’m pulling up in front of your place, so... Lord, Larue was right! We are rank.”

  The car stopped. They were at her shop and home. She felt a cold nose and warm muzzle brush her neck—Wolf, saying goodbye from the backseat.

  Quinn opened her door and she got out. His good-night smile seemed a little grim. “I’ll see you in,” he told her.

  “You think someone might be after me?”

  “I think it’s the French Quarter, and stray drunks and muggers and pickpockets might grab a woman on the street.”

  “Well, then, thanks.” She dug out her key and walked to the shop. He watched her as she went.

  “Hey!” he called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Take Wolf.”

  “What?”

  “Take Wolf for the night. He’s perfectly behaved. Give him a minute outside, and he’ll be great until morning.”

  “Quinn, that’s good of you—I appreciate your concern. And I love Wolf. But I’m not set up for a dog right now.”

  “Take him, anyway.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Please.”

  She hesitated, thinking that perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea. The world had changed so much. She didn’t even know if she felt safe in her own home—the home she’d loved all her life—anymore.

  “These guys have big guns! If someone’s shooting at a dog...well, a dog can’t dodge a bullet,” she reminded him.

  He countered that with, “Wolf has a big bark, which is a nice warning sound, and a bigger bite.”

  The dog hopped out of the car, tail wagging.

  “I don’t have any dog food,” she said.

  “He’s fine with a full English breakfast.”

  She nodded slowly and smiled down at the massive dog. “Wolf, want to stay for a slumber party?”

  He wagged his tail more vigorously and looked at Quinn.

  “Watch out for her, boy,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, let yourself in so I can leave with a restful mind and get to a shower!”

  She studied him a moment longer. Even stinking of fetid water and muck and whatever else had adhered to them in the tunnel and tombs, he was somehow attractive. Maybe it was his courteous concern for her. More probably it was his size and physique—eyes, facial structure and his rueful smile.

  She cringed inwardly. I’m starting to like him! she thought.

  “I’m going in. And you text me when you’re home safe, all right?”

  He gave her a brief salute, leaning on the car door until she’d unlocked the shop and stepped inside. Then he went around to the driver’s seat, gunned the motor and headed down Royal.

  “Well, here we are,” Danni told Wolf. “What do you think? Or have you been here before—and I just don’t know it?” The dog wagged his massive tail again. No answers there. “Let’s go out to the courtyard...and you can do what dogs do.”

  It occurred to her that she’d have to clean the courtyard in the morning; with Wolf’s size, she might as well be keeping a horse overnight.

  Wolf quickly went about his business and returned. She locked up, then checked the alarms and hurried upstairs to her bedroom, exhaustion really setting in. Wolf lay down inside her room, right in front of her door.

  She realized she liked the idea of having the dog. There was something so...reassuring about Wolf. He made her feel safe, secure.

  Like his master.

  The shower beckoned like a long-lost lover. Danni stripped and threw her clothing straight into the bathroom trash can, then stood under the spray of water, relishing the heat and steam, before seizing the soap and energetically removing all the slime—real and imaginary. She zealously scrubbed her hair, and when she emerged at last, she thought she might have scrubbed some of her flesh raw. But it felt wonderful.

  She slipped into a T-shirt and boxers, patted Wolf and climbed into bed. She was afraid her mind would race, that tired though she was, she’d never drift off.

  But in seconds, she was deeply asleep.

  She had no concept of time passing but she awoke to the thunderous sound of the dog’s barking. It was loud, jarring, and she shot out of bed, confused, as she fought off the remnants of sleep.

  Wolf was standing at the door, barking—and howling. He looked back at her, then jumped up, scratching the door.

  “What is it, boy, what is it?” she asked.

  He barked again. He wanted out of the room.

  In all her years in the French Quarter, she’d never had a problem. No one had ever tried to break into the store. And now, of course, if there’d been an attempt, the alarm would have gone off.

  The alarm hadn’t, but Wolf was definitely sure that danger threatened from somewhere.

  “Wait!” she commanded the dog.

  She glanced around her room. She’d never worried about a weapon for self-defense before. She hadn’t played Little League baseball, so she had no leftover bat to grab.

  The best she could find was a high-heeled shoe. It was one of the only pair of spikes she owned. It could make a hell of a weapon, she decided—in a movie, anyway.

  But she wasn’t too sure about her ability to wield a shoe....

  She gripped it hard and opened the door to her room. Wolf raced out and down the stairs as she trailed more slowly behind him.

  Arriving downstairs, she realized she had a wealth of weapons as she seized a mace from the mannequin clad in the suit of armor and hurried through the shop, following Wolf to the courtyard doors. He stood there, barking, begging to be let out.

  “Hey, I’m not getting you shot, Wolf,” she said, trying to peer out the windows.

  She heard something and swung around. For a moment, she tensed, her fingers tight around the mace.

  “What is it?” came a whisper.

  Billie had come down from his attic room.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “The alarm didn’t go off, but the dog’s going crazy.”

  If Billie was surprised or dismayed to find a horse-size dog in the shop, barking and jumping at the door, he didn’t show it.

  He walked to the door. “What is it, Wolf?”

  He keyed in the code on the alarm pad, then cautiously opened the doors. Wolf bounded out, barking, and dashed to the side-street wall, where he stood and continued to bark.

  As Billie moved past Danni and into the light, she saw that he was carrying something—a small pistol.

  She’d never been aware that he owned one.

  He followed the dog out into the courtyard, where Danni watched from the doorway.

  Billie patted Wolf on the head, then turned from the wall and came back to Danni.

  “They’re gone now.”

  “They’re gone?” she asked. “They—who?”

  “Whoever was trying to break in. I don’t know if they would’ve gotten past the alarm, but it’s a good thing Wolf scared them off. I mean, if these guys are running around with guns, they might’ve figured they had time to shoot the place up before the police arrived.
Wolf informed them they couldn’t get away with it.”

  She frowned at Billie. “How long have you had that?” she asked.

  “Pardon? Oh, this,” Billie said, gesturing with the gun. “Maybe fifteen years? Small, but it’s rifled, and my aim is still darned good.” He looked at her. “They won’t be coming back tonight. They found out you have the dog and they must realize you have a direct line to the cops.”

  “Billie! What do you know about this?” she demanded.

  “I know I’m here to protect you,” he said. He stood tall—skinny as hell with his wild, thin white hair—but still as dignified as a knight of old.

  “That’s fine, Billie, thank you,” she said. “But—”

  “Same service I performed for your father, Danni. I wish he’d told you more. He just didn’t see the end coming so soon. I do know this—whatever is out there, you have to bring it in or destroy it. I also know that your father trusted Michael Quinn, and between them, they did what they needed to do. You have to take on his role in the world. I can’t explain it, but that’s the way it is. Let’s get some sleep.”

  “Oh, no, no!” Danni protested. “Let’s have some tea instead. Let’s talk.”

  Billie groaned softly. His face twitched, but he didn’t argue with her.

  She led him to the kitchen in the shop, switching on lights as she went. Once there, she put on the kettle and brought out tea bags, milk and sugar. She set them on the table while she waited for the water to boil and indicated to Billie that he should sit. He did, clicking the safety on his little pistol as he placed it next to him.

  Wolf lay beside them, half underneath the table, head on his paws, ears alert.

  “Cookies?” she asked. “I have shortbread cookies.”

  He raised one thin shoulder, his expression uncomfortable.

  “Cookies, it is,” she said. She brought the canister. The kettle began to whistle, and she poured the water into a teapot, along with a couple of the bags. Arranging everything on the table, she joined him.

  “Now talk, Billie,” she said sternly.

  He lifted his hands. “I have been your father’s assistant for years and years,” he began.