by Linda Ladd
Claire’s attention sharpened considerably when Black’s old love, Jude—no other name, just Jude, because she was such a super-famous fashion model, bless her skinny little heart—was escorted into the room by a maid. And yes, she looked just like a modern version of Scarlett O’Hara entering and wowing all the menfolk in her über-slinky scarlet sequined dress. She was also wearing a gaudy display of emeralds around her neck. Yep, all decked out in red and green. Guess she had gotten into the Christmas spirit. No To/From tag hung off her come-hither holiday package, however, unless she had it attached where no one could see it without opening it up first. Claire would bet it had Black’s name on it, though, and in capital letters. Upon her appearance, the rowdy men all stood up like even wealthier versions of Rhett Butler or Mr. Darcy, but without top hats or male scornful attitudes. Well, maybe some of the attitudes.
The lovely-beyond-compare Jude sat down beside Black, of course, making one of the other guys give up his chair. She was all over him immediately. Black wasn’t encouraging it, but he wasn’t exactly throwing her hand off his arm like it was a scorpion, either. The party progressed, with toasts galore, and the two of them had their heads together at times, smiling at somebody’s joke once in a while, but mainly talking seriously in low tones. Black didn’t look like he was nailed to the floor, but he didn’t kiss her or look like he wanted to drag her into the bedroom and unwrap her, so Claire gave him a pass on that.
After a while, Black, as the host, stood up and made some toasts, and the party went on, through the meal, through the dessert and the singing of “Happy Birthday.” Jude stuck like glue to Black’s side the entire time, but when she left early, he didn’t go with her, didn’t walk her to the door, didn’t kiss her good-bye, not even a peck on each cheek for old times’ sake. In fact, he acted relieved to get rid of her so he could get back to drinking and kidding around with his Tulane buddies. Okay, he hadn’t had a quickie with dear old Jude, no matter how hard she’d tried to get her lips on him. So, okay, nothing untoward had happened. No need to get bent out of shape.
More important, Jack Holliday was there with him, having fun and laughing and not strangling a small woman to death on Carondelet Street. It looked to Claire like Holliday was off the hook. Still, some inconsistencies in his story nagged at her. If somebody had attempted to frame him with the murder by planting a glass with his prints on it, they were either inept or they’d done it in a big hurry. Either way, they’d done one crummy job since he had a whole passel of eyewitnesses to corroborate his alibi. Once, not so long ago, somebody had tried to frame Black for a murder and done a much better job of it. Even she’d had her doubts on that one for a while, but at the time she’d recently hit her head in a car crash and hadn’t remembered if Black was a good guy or a bad guy, so there you go.
A distant sound filtered through the trees, somewhere way out on the bayou road. Concerned, with visions of sewing needles and black thread and white candles and the smell of death erupting in her head, she walked outside and stood on the aft deck under a string of white lights and realized soon enough that she had company coming down her road, all right. Recognizing the roar of a big, souped-up Harley Davidson when she heard it, she pulled her weapon, held it down alongside her right leg, and stepped back into the shadows where she couldn’t be seen. She kept her eyes peeled on the dirt road up near the house. When the motorcycle came into sight, jouncing down the hill toward her over ruts and gravel, it didn’t take long for her to identify the rider. Well, well, her friend Rocco hadn’t had any trouble finding her, after all.
Rocco stopped the bike at the bottom of the gangplank beside her white Range Rover, turned off the motor, and sat there staring up at the boat. Claire didn’t move a muscle. She watched him swing a leg over the seat and set the kickstand. Tonight he was dressed in a faded denim jacket, black jeans, and a gray sweatshirt, actually almost looked like a regular human being, except for the giant red swastika painted on the front of the shirt. He didn’t have a gun in his hand, which was always a good sign.
“Hey, anybody home on there?” he yelled, but he still didn’t step foot on the gangplank. Probably afraid Claire might jump out and shoot him.
“Over here,” she called out, and when he saw the business end of the Glock in her hand, he raised both his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot. I come in peace.”
Claire re-sheathed her weapon. “So, Rocco, tell me, what’s up with the skeezy Blackbeard impersonation?”
Rocco grinned. “Jack Sparrow’s my man. Admit it, Annie, he’s a cool dude. Or, wait a sec, I gotta call you Claire now, right?”
When he grinned, looking as devilish as always, Claire was just so glad to see him that her throat clogged up and she couldn’t speak for a second. It had been years since she’d seen Gabriel LeFevres before she’d run into him at Voodoo River. His parents were the ones who had lived up the hill in the house when she’d been with them. Gabe had been her best friend and confidante when they were both ten years old. His family had taken her in and treated her like one of their own children. Back then, she had absolutely worshipped the ground Gabe walked on. Still did, in fact.
“Well, c’mon, now, Annie, don’t I get a hug or a kiss, or something good like that?”
Gabe strode up the gangplank, and Claire went quickly into his arms. She clutched him, just so glad he was safe. He led a dangerous life, but he’d always had a wild and reckless streak inside him. One that often got him into trouble, even when they were little kids.
“Damn it, Gabe, what the hell are you doing, riding around with those cretins?”
He laughed softly. “Tell you one thing, for sure. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you and your partner waltz into that bar. I thought you were gonna shoot up the place there for a minute.”
Claire stared up at him and examined his handsome face, and then she shook her head. “That dumb little beard braid is weak, Gabe. Pretty sucky, actually.”
“Makes me look tough, and you know it.”
“It makes you look stupid, is what it does. By the way, I don’t appreciate your calling me a bitch. Three times, if I recall.”
Gabe perched a hip on the aft railing. “Your partner shouldn’t’ve messed with Manny. That guy’s psychotic and stupid, and not afraid to show either one.”
“I think you’re psychotic for hanging out with him. They’ll kill you if they even get a hint that you’re undercover.”
“Not gonna happen, unless you poke your nose in Voodoo River again and try to start something. I got hell for defusing the situation. They wanted to beat you and Zee to shit. Still do. And they will if they ever see you again, trust me. So watch out for them. You’re on their radar now.”
“You just be careful. You always did take too many chances.” They smiled at each other. Claire shook her head. “So how long have you been back home? Rene spun us the usual cover story—you know, that you’d gone bad and spent time in prison. Last I heard, you were working undercover narcotics in Seattle.”
“Six months.”
“Thanks for coming by and saying hello.”
“Hey, I’m risking my neck right now, coming out here. Yours, too. But I wasn’t followed. I made sure of that.”
“Well, I need to talk to you about a case. It’s important.”
“Yeah, that one-on-one remark came through to me loud and clear. And I’m sorry to hear about Maddie. She was a good kid, messed up in the head for sure, but sweet, in her own way.”
“Yeah, well, guess what? Your name’s already come up as a suspect. In fact, it was Rafe Christien who told us that you liked to mess around with her. He’s sitting in NOPD lockup, by the way.”
Gabe frowned and stood up. “That’s because I put the local cops onto him.”
“You been sleeping with her, Gabe?”
“Hell, no. Why?”
“Because she was pregnant when she died. Which might turn out to be the motive. You may have to give us a paternity test, unless your DEA boss can fix
it with my sheriff.”
“She can fix it. I’m getting close to taking down the entire Skulls outfit. But I’ve got no problem taking the test, if you want me to. The kid’s not mine. She slept with nearly all the Skulls, one time or another. She turned tricks at Voodoo River. It could be anybody’s baby.”
“Any of those guys into voodoo rituals?”
Gabe smiled. “They like to wear the skulls and crosses and all that shit, but none of them practice it. Why?”
“Because Madonna’s body was found right up there in your old dining room, smack dab in the middle of a voodoo altar.”
Gabe glanced up at the dark house. “Man, Mom and Dad would’ve hated that.” He looked back at her.
Claire said, “Do you still miss them and Sophie?”
“Yeah. I’ve felt all alone for a long, long time. It’s hard not having a family, especially right now at Christmastime. I’ve got my uncles and aunts, though. They try to be there for me when I need them. And I’ve got you every five years or so.”
Claire smiled, but she knew all about not having a family. She didn’t like thinking about it. “I heard about your parents’ car wreck, but not until a long time after it happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help you get through the funeral. I can’t believe you lost them all at once, even poor little Sophie. That’s just awful, Gabe.”
“Clyde and Luc and the other guys kept me sane, somehow.” Gabe wouldn’t look at her, obviously not wanting to talk about the deaths of his parents and only sister because he quickly changed the subject. “How bad was it for Madonna?”
“Horrendous. She was beaten black and blue. The killer sewed her eyes and mouth shut with heavy-duty thread.”
Gabe looked repulsed. “No shit? Sounds like a whack job’s on the loose.”
“Yeah.” Claire sighed. “And we aren’t getting much yet, either.”
“You will. A scene like that should give up lots of evidence. Any suspects?”
“Jack Holliday’s a suspect.”
“The Tulane football star? No way. He was a great quarterback when I went there.”
“You ever see him with her?”
“No, but I remember her talking about him all the time. She had it bad, but I was pretty sure she was makin’ all that stuff up. From some of the stories I heard, I figured she was stalking the guy.”
“You’re probably right. He’s got alibi witnesses all over the place. Problem is, we got his prints on a glass at the murder scene, and he says he’s never been there.”
“Could’ve been planted, I guess.”
“Yeah, I thought of that.”
“I’d believe him, if I were you. Like I said, Maddie was fucked up, big time. Her brother didn’t help, either. Rafe gave her anything she wanted to get high on, and she wasn’t particular about what she took. Anything that numbed her to her life did it for her.” Gabe hesitated, looked away, out over the slow bayou current just barely visible in the boat lights, and then back at her.
“I hate to tell you this, but Madonna was one of my confidential informants.”
“She was a CI? Are you kidding me?”
“Why’d you think I sweated her taking drugs so much? She started using more after I recruited her.”
“You’re damn lucky DEA’s gonna back you up, Gabe. Otherwise, you’d look pretty damn guilty. They’re gonna say you wanted to get rid of her because she was going to blow your cover. You’re playing a dangerous game here.”
Gabe shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
“Would anybody in the Skulls kill her?”
“Sure. Hell, they give out special patches for murdering people. But none of them have the intellect to think of leaving her on an altar with her orifices violated.”
“Well, did anybody get a shiny new kill patch this week?”
Gabe laughed, and he did look good when he smiled, even with that stupid chin braid. “Nope, and I would’ve heard about it. They get drunk and run their mouths. Most of them are fine with her. Unless they found out she was a CI. If that’s why they killed her, I’m next.”
Claire wondered how he could stand being part of such a sleazy, violent, disgusting world. “What about voodoo? You sure none of them are into that?”
“Pretty sure it’s all talk.”
Claire said, “When are you getting out, Gabe? They’re gonna find you out, sooner or later. You do know that, right?”
Gabe shrugged again. “I’ve got almost enough on them to shut it down. I’m gonna make sure that every single one of them goes down on drug charges.” He glanced inside the galley windows. “I came out here once to see if I could find you. You had beer in the fridge. How about a drink before I take off?”
“You’ve been coming out here looking for me?”
“Yeah, heard you were back and wanted to see you. I think a lot about the good old days when we were little and you lived with us. You ever think about it?”
“Yeah. A lot’s happened since then.”
“True. We went our separate ways, that’s for damn sure.”
“God, Gabe, it’s good to see you again.”
“I’ve read about you in the newspapers, y’know. You’re quite the famous detective. You still dating that shrink?”
“Yeah, but I’m kinda ticked off at him at the moment. C’mon, let’s sit down and catch up.”
Gabe walked inside and got them cold bottles of Dixie beer. They sat down across from each other at the round picnic table on the upper aft deck. They just talked for about an hour, smiling and remembering all the times when they’d fished off the bank and shot at birds with slingshots and stolen the best sugar cookies in the world out of his mother’s pink-and-white-flowered cookie jar.
“So, Gabe, tell me, who’s your squeeze with the classy tattoo on her boob? You get married and not tell the family?”
“Bonnie’s FBI.”
Well, that shocked the hell out of Claire. “No way.”
“We work together. She’s good, but she’s reckless and takes way too many chances. That’s why I keep her so close to me. If she’s my old lady, the other guys won’t bother her.”
“Sexually assault her, you mean?”
Gabe didn’t answer, which probably meant yes.
“How’d you come up with that ridiculous name? Rocco? Come on.”
“Had a nice ring to it.”
“What’s the last name?”
“Ramone.”
Claire leaned back her head and laughed out loud. “Rocco Ramone. That is just downright pitiful.”
They drank and talked and listened to the night sounds of the bayou for a while. Finally, Gabe said, “I’ll see what I can find out about Maddie. Just don’t expect much. I don’t think the Skulls were involved. I would’ve heard something by now.”
“Thanks. Things just aren’t adding up very fast. Madonna was with lots of men, but we haven’t found anybody with a real motive. Except for Holliday, because of the stalking. And now we got the CI thing, which could be a reason. I don’t think Holliday did it. He’s way too eager to prove his innocence. But maybe he’s slick. Using voodoo as a distraction sounds more like him than your biker buddies.”
“Some killers come off as white as snow. He had a motive. She was driving him crazy. I can attest to that. Could be she was accusing him of fathering her baby. He sure wouldn’t want the press to get hold of that.”
“He was in New York with lots of eye witnesses. So he could’ve hired it done. The Skulls are all thugs for hire. And the Montenegro family’s into lots of criminal activities.”
Claire stiffened at the Montenegro name. Black had a closer association with the Montenegros than anyone knew, not that he was ever involved with their underworld dealings, true, but very few people knew about the connection. And she didn’t want Gabe to know about it, either. Fortunately, the sound of a car approaching interrupted their conversation. They both stood up. Gabe looked at her.
“Who’s that? Your partner? You didn’t tell him who I wa
s, did you? You can’t tell anybody. You gotta promise me.”
“No, of course, I won’t. It’s probably Black out looking for me. We had a little disagreement. He’s determined we’re going to talk about it tonight.”
“Good, I’ll get a look at him. See if he’s really good enough for you.”
“Well, just keep your mouth shut and let me handle it. He’s a shrink, and he’s good at it. He’ll see right through your biker act. He’s jealous sometimes, too, but he’s too polite to attack you outright. But he can handle himself, trust me, so don’t sell him short. I’ve seen him in action.”
Gabe gave a low laugh. “I was jealous over you, too, once a long time ago. ’Member the time you went fishin’ with Freddy Sabattein at his secret fishing hole and didn’t tell me? Boy, was I ever pissed at you. Especially when you caught a whole string of crappie to fry up for supper.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t speak to me for two days. Okay, just sit right there, look tough, and say nothing. It’ll go better, believe me.”
Gabe merely grinned, apparently enjoying her predicament. Ignoring him, Claire watched Black’s Range Rover appear just as she predicted. She walked down the gangplank to meet him and to keep him away from Gabe.
A Very Scary Man
Once back at the assassin’s condemned house where Malice planned to keep his victims until the maze was complete, he carried his old girlfriend’s two children inside and laid them in front of his impressive voodoo altar. He had prepared it earlier and with the sole intention of scaring the hell out of anybody unlucky enough to be trapped inside the house with it. He tied the two kids to lawn chairs first off, binding their legs and feet with tape. They were still sleeping peacefully, poor little drugged sacrificial lambs. He hated them, almost as much as he hated their dead parents. But at least they were going to provide him with some pleasure. But, first things first. He got out the battery-operated tattoo gun he’d purchased for a pittance in the slums of Mumbai and started with the little girl. Her arms were taped palms up on the arms of the chair so he started inking the tattoo of his Veve at the inside of her wrist. He drew it carefully freehand, just as he intended to draw it on every one of his future victims. It was his gift to the Loa he had adopted. Papa Damballah would be pleased to see his symbols worn upon such a young and innocent person and would bless the kills sacrificed to him.
