by Matt Hilton
Voices from across the site caught his attention. Not the words, but a single wolf-like howl of excitement. He rushed to see what was happening, and spotted two men approaching one of the construction-crew pickups. The first was a thick-bodied giant, with wild hair. The second was a tall man, but he looked diminutive and austere by comparison. He wore a ball cap. Instantly Po recognized the Menons from Tess’s description.
‘Don’t come back here,’ Po told Pinky. ‘Get on the Chatards’ trail: I think Emilia is definitely in that van and it needs stopping.’
‘What about you?’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll arrange my own ride.’
THIRTY-SEVEN
To Tess, Maine felt a million miles away, and as distantly removed in time as it was by location. She could hardly believe that it was less than twenty-four hours since she’d boarded the flight out of Portland International Jetport, so much had happened since. There’d been little opportunity after arriving at the hospital in New Iberia to gather her wits, what with all the jumping around they’d done in the meantime. When Po had gone missing, and she’d charged around with Pinky hunting for him, she wouldn’t admit to anyone that she was frantic with worry for her lover, and failing to find him had almost burned her out. The manhandling she’d suffered at Cleary’s hands had left her rattled, aching all over, and no less stressed, but more so because she’d realized the dire peril that Emilia was in if she had fallen into the clutches of the Menons. Now it seemed that the worst-case scenario was true and she didn’t feel any less fraught. She was strung out, riding on fumes, and although it was a contradiction, she was also re-energized by necessity to get the young woman safely home.
As she concentrated on driving, she could feel the small hairs prickling on the back of her neck, and the skin on her face felt too tight. Adrenalin and anxiety bubbled inside her. Even at speed the Toyota Camry handled the levee road easily enough, but had shown its limitations as a cross-country vehicle when they’d almost got bogged down trying to block the road. Pinky had to jump out and help shove the car clear of boggy ground, and thankfully he kept them moving, but the delay had meant they were now having to play catch-up. Pinky hadn’t admitted the delay to Po, because it was pointless: they were late and that was that. They’d gained ground on the Dodge Ram, its lights winking like a demon’s baleful glare from the distance, but had no idea if the Chatards had eyes on the van yet.
As they were supposedly working in tandem, they had swapped cellphone numbers with the Chatards. Pinky rang Francis. It was Darius that picked up, because as Tess was, Francis was concentrating on the chase. Pinky put the phone on speaker mode.
‘Can you see them?’ Pinky demanded.
‘They’re aways ahead,’ Darius said, ‘but we’re catchin’ up. We’ll have dem in minutes. That you behind us?’
‘It is.’
‘We’re not waitin’ for you. We catch ’em, we’re takin’ Emilia back wid or widout you.’ Darius’s accent had thickened with emotion.
‘You should wait,’ Tess cautioned. ‘The more of us there the better. We can help stop the van safely.’
‘We’re supposed to wait while you catch up? Fuggedaboutit … first chance we get we’re stopping dat van.’
‘And how do you plan on doing that, you?’ Pinky demanded. ‘You gonna ram it off the goddamn levee? Cause I can’t see how y’all gonna do it otherwise.’
‘Wait ’til we get there,’ Tess said again. ‘One of us can overtake, the other move in close behind. Together we can box it in and stop it safely.’
Muffled argument arose in the Dodge Ram, the words coming too fast and thickly accented for Tess to catch, but it was clear the Chatards didn’t appreciate her knowledge – or past experience – of bringing a moving vehicle to a controlled halt.
‘We’re doing it wid or widout you,’ Darius proclaimed again. ‘If you wanna be in on it you’d best get your butts movin’.’
‘We are coming.’ Tess flattened the gas pedal to the floor and the Toyota surged forward in response. ‘Just don’t go doing something stupid, OK?’
Francis’s voice broke in. ‘They’re turning left, taking the bridge over the bayou. Looks as if they’ve picked up another tail.’
‘Cops?’ Tess asked hopefully.
‘No. Shit-kickers in a truck,’ Darius corrected.
‘Could be an innocent coincidence.’
‘No,’ Francis said, ‘they flashed their lights at each other and the pickup stopped and let them cross in front of them, then followed them over the bayou. Looks like a prearranged meeting to me.’
‘Then it’s even more important that you wait for us, otherwise you’ll be outnumbered.’
‘We’ve enough bullets for all of dem,’ Darius growled.
‘Stop being a dick, old man,’ Pinky snapped, ‘and let Francis do the thinking.’
‘I’ve enough bullets for one more smart-mouthed nigger,’ Darius warned.
‘Fucking Klan peckerhead!’
‘Keep it up, faggot, an’ I’ll have Francis stop and I’ll wait for you after all.’
‘Gentlemen!’ Tess’s voice rang sharply. ‘This really isn’t helping, is it? Let’s just drop the macho bullshit and concentrate on saving Emilia, shall we?’
‘So now we’ve a girl callin’ all d’ shots?’ Darius snarled, but this time Francis came to her assistance.
‘She’s right, Papa. This is about Emilia. Let’s keep focused on her.’
‘See … at least one of them ain’t a dipshit,’ said Pinky, and Tess snapped a frown on him. He got the message: his attitude wasn’t helping. He held the phone nearer her as she continued powering along the levee. The Toyota rose and fell as it crested small humps in the road. Ahead of them, Francis applied the brakes on the Dodge as they approached the turn-off for the bridge.
‘Do you know what’s on the other side of that bayou?’ Tess asked.
‘Wilderness,’ Francis replied as he negotiated the narrow span over the bayou. ‘Swamp and pine forest all the way over to the Atchafalaya.’
A new voice cut in: Jean Chatard.
‘There’s more construction going on out there. I saw something on the news about it, some activists were demonstrating about the damage they were doing to the environment. Some of the land has been prepared for the pipeline coming through. They had to cut out a path, get levees and culverts in place. I think the pipeline takes a sharp turn to the east there so it goes around Attakapas Island … it’s a wildlife refuge area.’
‘You throw a stick anywhere out here it lands on a goddamn wildlife-management area,’ Darius put in, and it was evident his tone had taken on a different edge. He was worried. ‘An’ I’ll tell you somethin’ else. You throw a stick it’ll probably land on a grave. People have been hiding their dirty laundry out in dose swamps for hundreds a years. If they’re diggin’ holes in the ground, sure as shit is brown, somebody got sumpin’ dey wanna dump in it.’
‘That’s what they’re planning for Emilia.’ Tess was stating the obvious, but they all needed reminding. Her greatest fear wasn’t that Emilia was in the back of the van, but that it was her corpse. Maybe they were already too late to save her, and her dead body was being delivered to its final resting place.
Approaching the turn-off at speed, Tess began applying the brakes in anticipation. The Toyota was still traveling too fast, but she fought the back-end skid, fishtailed briefly, and wind-blown forest litter was kicked up in its wake as she eased on the gas once more. Pinky jostled, but continued to hold out the phone. The Dodge Ram was now only a hundred yards or so ahead, following a narrow track into the swamp.
‘We need to back off a little,’ she cautioned the Chatards, ‘and drop your lights or they’ll know they’ve got a tail.’
‘Where they gonna go if dey do spot us?’ Darius demanded. ‘I’m betting dis is the only road in or out.’
‘They didn’t bring heavy excavation equipment down this track. There must be other ways in.’
Darius shut up.
The lights of the Dodge went dark. Following their lead, she shut off the Toyota’s headlamps. Immediately the night engulfed them, but she could see enough of the Dodge’s dim shape to stay on the track. The foliage grew close to the trail, and here and there had fallen astride it. The tips of twigs and branches rattled on the paintwork, and others were crushed to mulch under this the fourth vehicle to grind over them in the space of a minute.
The cellphone still had an open line, but all had fallen silent in the Dodge. Tess took the moment of calm to make a suggestion. ‘Let’s see exactly where they’re going first. We wait until we get eyes on Emilia, and then take things from there. Agreed?’
The cellphone went dead.
‘Buttheads,’ Pinky said, but Tess thought the lack of argument meant the family had realized she was speaking sense. They’d lost the opportunity of catching the van on the open road, and now that another pickup had gotten in place between them, they had to take things more careful. If they moved on the pickup, those in the van might be alerted and make their getaway, and now they were on this narrow track, hemmed in by bog on both sides, there’d be no continuing the chase.
The track led into the heart of the swamp. As it progressed the going got tougher for the saloon car. But Tess remained dogged, and got them through the worst of it. Finally, she had to pull over, and she clambered out alongside Pinky, but it was OK, as the Dodge had also slowed, with Francis reversing it onto a grassy knoll alongside a stagnant stretch of water. The sky was overcast, and yet Tess’s vision had adjusted to the dimness. Through the shroud of the forest she could spot a break in the canopy ahead. A trio of figures moved around the Dodge, the Chatards disembarking for a better look.
Tess and Pinky hurried to join them as they crouched in the undergrowth at the edge of the forest. Darius glowered at Pinky, and Pinky tsk’d under his breath, but largely their disagreement of minutes ago had been put aside now they’d other enemies to contend with. She ignored their rancour as she peered out across a broad strip of land recently terraformed to support the pipeline: it was an ugly wound in the landscape. The grey earth shone dully beneath the lowering clouds, glistening with patches of seeping moisture, but a huge embankment had been built at its centre and stretched away into the distance, and along it a number of concrete plinths had already been erected, and culverts set in place to divert the swamp waters. Huge excavation equipment stood idle, awaiting the return of the workforce at dawn – bulldozers, excavators, backhoe loaders, and dumper trucks were immediately recognizable, other pieces of heavy machinery took a little more figuring out, but she guessed some were used to clear the trees before digging could commence, others to compact the earth afterwards. She wondered which was the tool of choice when it came to burying the dead.
But she spent no more time on consideration. Beyond the fleet of excavators was a collection of buildings, and unlike those at the compound these were permanent structures. They were tall and blocky, and from them extended large industrial machines. Her guess was that it was a pumping station, situated at the point where the pipeline changed direction. The van and the pickup truck had drawn up abreast a fence that surrounded it.
Having no need to go without lights, those of both vehicles lent ambience to the scene, and Tess took an involuntary step forward as she spotted someone being unloaded from the side of the panel van. She halted, grabbing at Darius’s sleeve, because he too had taken a lunge forward when spotting his daughter being manhandled by a stocky guy with close-cropped hair; thankfully Emilia was still on her own two feet. Tess urged him to wait and take stock before acting. Reluctantly he agreed, but he gripped the butt of a revolver tightly, counting the numbers of those he wished to punish. Three other figures stood guard, none of them recognizable as either Menon brother, but Tess thought the fattest guy was Rory, the man Pinky had tripped and held under his gun while Po extracted information from his friend. She took a closer look at the others, and yes, decided that one of them was the driver dragged by his lip from his pickup outside Emilia’s apartment. She didn’t know who the bearded guy was, but he exhibited the mannerisms of one who believed himself in charge. Even as he directed the activity, he held up a hand, calling for quiet, and then delved in his pocket and fished out a cellphone. The blue glow from its screen picked out his features like a photographic negative.
The bearded man spoke briefly into it, then turned to peer into the distance, further along a wider service trail that ran parallel to the pipeline-levee. Following his gaze, Tess spotted distant headlights dipping and flaring as a vehicle approached. It struck her that the service trail must originate adjacent to the compound headquarters, to allow access back and forth to the dual sites, but that the panel van wasn’t equipped to handle the boggy terrain and had therefore taken the longer route they’d followed, as well as gone to rendezvous with Rory and his friend in the pickup. The vehicle now approaching had come via the shorter route so would most likely be an off-roader. As it got closer, she made out the shape behind the headlights, and it was one of the 4x4 pickups employed by Al Keane’s construction workers. It was the same type of vehicle Zeke Menon had driven away from the hospital.
‘I think it’s them,’ she wheezed. ‘Zeke and Cleary.’
‘They don’t trust those other assholes to finish off Emilia by themselves,’ Darius growled.
‘No. They don’t want to miss the fun,’ Tess corrected. ‘They want to do it themselves.’
‘Sick motherfuckers …’ Francis began to move and Tess was afraid he was going to run directly into the fray. But he didn’t, he began marshalling his father and cousin into motion. ‘We have to do this before we’re outnumbered. Papa, you’re not very mobile on that lame foot. I think you should stay up here with the truck, and just come on down if it gets too much for us. Jean, you with me?’
Jean hefted a sawn-off shotgun. It was the only answer necessary. But Darius wasn’t for staying behind.
‘I’m coming.’
‘You’ll slow us down.’ Francis aimed a finger at the Dodge. ‘Better if you bring down the truck once we have Emilia, and you can get her out the way.’
‘I’m not leaving ’til Zeke’s paid up in full.’
Tess butted in. ‘Francis is right, Darius. We need someone to bring down the truck to transport your daughter to safety. You’re the best man for the job.’
‘While a skinny-assed girl like you gets in on d’ action. Do I look fuckin’ useless to you?’
‘I’d do it, but our car can’t make the trip,’ she said. ‘Besides, there’s no more time to argue about this. We have to move now before the Menons get here. We can have Emilia safely out of the way before the real fighting starts. Isn’t that what’s most important?’
‘Do you have a gun?’ he demanded.
‘No. But …’ She was about to say she’d take his.
‘Francis. Give her d’ keys to the truck. She can bring it on down, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be sidelined while my kin are in danger.’
Tess bit down on her response. He did have a valid right, after all. She glanced once at Pinky, caught his nod of agreement with the menfolk, and turned to face Francis. ‘OK. Give me the damn keys.’
As soon as he handed them over, Francis searched along the road at the approaching vehicle. ‘We’ve got two minutes at most. Let’s do this.’
The four immediately moved out, Pinky moving away to the right as the Chatards headed in a clump towards the pumping station. Darius lurched along on his injured foot, but his kin stuck closely to him. Tess shook her head. Bunched together like that they invited gunfire, she was glad that Pinky had used savvy and gone alone. She was confident he’d do his bit though to help free the prisoner, as would she. Because she was damned if she was going to sit idle while a rescue was underway.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Held hostage in the back of the panel van for the second time in hours, Emilia couldn’t help feel that she was stuck in a continuous loop of t
orment, and she had begun to wonder if she would again be secured in a chair in a tiny, airless room, to be threatened by Zeke Menon and his knife. It was wishful thinking, because she knew she hadn’t been spared his blade earlier just so he could repeat the process. Wherever she was to be delivered this time it wouldn’t be a holding cell. The first time she was loaded into the van, her jailer was Cleary Menon, and he’d been very attentive of her, not giving her more than a few inches of freedom at any time. He’d practically laid over her, fondling her hair and stroking his hands up and down her outer thighs as he exhaled deeply in her face, his breath coppery and foul. This time her captor kept his distance, only threatening to strike her if she as much as moved. There was no doubt that he’d follow his warning, because she could tell by his jittery mannerisms and the cold sweat flooding his features that he was out of his depth here, and totally uncomfortable with what he’d become embroiled in. He’d strike out in reaction to his own disquiet. She had heard the stocky man referred to as ‘Croft’ by his bearded pal, Tyson. Croft wasn’t a murderer, or perhaps he’d never imagined he could be, because he’d looked almost as fearful as she about reaching their destination. She thought that perhaps she could have reasoned with his better senses, convinced him to let her go before he got in worse trouble, but for the gag that was still firmly in place. Then again, no amount of reasoning with him would work, because she could tell he was terrified of betraying the Menons: if he allowed her to escape, then he knew full well who’d end up their next victim.
Croft bickered with Tyson who drove the van. Tyson sounded only marginally more assured about their orders, but Emilia could sense that he too wished he were elsewhere. They were victims of consequence almost as much as she, but she felt no pity for them. As long as they remained cowards, they were to be reviled. Instead of trying to earn their sympathy she stayed silent, thinking and plotting her escape. Her hands and legs were free. When Zeke had handed her off to Croft back at that construction site, she’d been too stunned from being hurled against a doorframe to struggle, and she’d easily been delivered to the side door of the van. But since then she’d determined she wouldn’t go as easily to her grave. There were only the two men. Her hope was that when they arrived at their destination, she could break free of them and flee. She was confident she could give them a run for their money, and perhaps their lack of enthusiasm for the task wouldn’t match her need to get away. She’d first thought about waiting until they opened the sliding door, feigning weakness and forcing Croft to help her step down, when she’d kick him where it hurt and run for it. But that plan had been dashed when she heard Tyson announce that their friends were in place, and she heard the names Harry and Rory. What hope did she have of giving four men the slip?
