by Sandra Brown
"Not a chance." "Then tell me they're wrong," Mac said, raising his
voice to an argumentative level.
"I never asked to be your goddamn idol, Mac. I didn't ask to be
anybody's." "Who was selling us out?"
"I don't know, and I don't care," Burke lied.
"You may not know, but you care. You care a hell of a lot. I'd stake
Toni's ass on that, and I'm very attached to her ass."
"With good reason." He tried to smile, but it didn't quite work, and Mac
continued to glare at him, demanding an explanation.
"Okay, Mac, I care. I care because the son of a bitch got Kev killed.
But the harder I tried to root him out, the more unpopular I became
around the N.O.P.D.
"After the business with Sachel, and Ray Hahn turning up dead, I reached
a saturation point of disgust, thought Screw this," and got out.
I've breathed easier ever since and haven't regretted my decision."
Mac thoughtfully puffed his cigar."That's your official line.
Give it to me unofficially."
"Unofficially? When I find out who was working both sides, I'm going to
kill him."
Burke and the younger officer exchanged a long stare. After a moment,
some of the tension went out of Mac's broad shoulders."It makes me feel
better to hear you admit it. How can I help?"
"No." Burke adamantly shook his head."Kev was my key man and my friend,
and he died by my gun. It's my problem."
"Okay, I understand where you're coming from. But I don't think you can
do it on your own, and it'll be much harder to do from the outside.
Come back to the department and work it from the inside."
"Can't do that."
"The time to resign is when everything is going right," Mac argued.
"Not when everything's in the shitcan. Your friend dies bloody.
Your marriage collapses. You're under a lot of pressure within the
division.
Everybody knows you're bummed out. So, if something happens to one of
the guys in Narcotics and Vice, who're they going to suspect first?"
Mac's argument had merit, but Basile said, "That's a chance I'll have to
take." He narrowed his eyes against the smoke rising from his cigar.
"Did Pat put you up to giving me this lecture?"
"No. But if he was here,
he'd be telling you the same thing."
"He already has told me the same thing. Just today, in fact."
Burke had had his first appointment with a divorce lawyer early that
morning. Barbara hadn't wasted any time in filing, and that was fine
with him. It just irked him that he was out the expense of an attorney
when he'd already told her she could have her football coach her
divorce, and anything else she wanted.
"Pat called Barbara and got the name of my lawyer. He left a message
with him for me to call," he explained to Mac "And?"
'"He tried to talk me into coming back, just like you're doing.
But you're both wasting your breath. I'm out and I'll stay out." "Okay,
fine," Mac said irritably."But it's not just your reputation that needs
protecting, Burke. It's also your hide."
"Ah, the warning on the back of your business card. I thought I'd walked
into a detective TV show."
"Maybe I was a little melodramatic, but when you screw with Pinkie
Duvall, you'd " "Who said I was screwing with Duvall?"
"A lot of people have been asking about you lately. Where are
you living? What are your plans? That kind of thing. Most are just
curious or genuinely interested. But one of the guys who felt me out is
associated with Wayne Bardo. Connect the dots and you've got Duvall. I'm
worried that they're planning to move on you, now that you're no longer
protected by the department."
"Duvall had plans for me, all right, but it wasn't disposal. He found me
and offered me a job."
"A job?"
Burke told Mac about the interview.
"A job," Mac repeated thoughtfully."Well, at least they aren't plotting
to kill you. All the same, I don't like it. If I.A. heard that you had
dealings of any kind with either Bardo or Duvall, it would look bad for
you."
Burke ground out his cigar."No cause for you to worry, Mac. I've gone on
record with my opinion of Duvall." He stood up."It's getting late.
I'd better shove off."
Mac also came to his feet."Where are you living now?"
"Why?"
"In case I hear something, I need to know how to reach you."
"I haven't found a permanent place yet."
"Let me know when you do."
"Sure."
"What are you going to do?"
"About what?"
"About what we've been talking about," Mac replied impatiently.
"Do you have any money? Gossip is that Barbara is cleaning you out."
"I'll manage. In fact, I was thinking about going away for a while."
"When?"
"Soon."
"For how long?"
"I don't know. Long enough to sort things out, make some decisions."
"Where are you going?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"Out of the country?"
"I haven't decided yet," he repeated testily.
If he'd told Mac that he had buried Kev's memory and was going to leave
it alone, Mac would have known he was lying. So he had vowed vengeance,
which had appealed to Mac's idealism and enhanced his image of Burke
Basile the Legend. But this barrage of questions put Burke on guard
again. Was Mac's interest as sincere and innocent as he wanted him to
believe?
He glanced toward the house, where he could see Mac's young, pretty wife
through the windows, moving around in the kitchen. A Playmate of the
Month who could cook and clean and obviously liked the role of wife and
homemaker. The kid had it all.
Which left Burke to wonder why Mac appeared so hungry all the time. He
was like an alley cat, anxious and on the prowl, not like a satisfied
cat who had a bowl of cream that never ran empty.
As though sensing Burke's suspicion, Mac smiled his infectious grin and
slapped him on the shoulder."Whatever you decide to do, the odds are
definitely in your favor. You'll come out on top. Bet you a hundred to
one."
In all seriousness, Burke replied, "That's one gamble you might lose,
Mac."
The temperature began to drop significantly, but Mac sat out on the
patio long after Burke had thanked Toni for the dinner and departed.
Burke Basile already had an established reputation when Mac joined the
police force. Basile didn't win any popularity contests because he
didn't accept graft, but he was respected. He used his brain in
preference to his pistol, although anybody who called him a coward was a
fool. Basile liked to outsmart the drug dealers, not outshoot them.
He considered the most successful operation to be one in which nobody
got hurt.
Nevertheless, Mac believed him when he'd said that if he ever uncovered
the traitor in their division, he would kill him.
"Mac?" Toni approached on bare feet."Aren't you cold out here?"
He took her hand and kissed it."Basile was impressed. Great meal."
"Thank you. Coming in?"
"In a minute."
"Don't forget to lock up." She withdrew, but on the threshold of the
patio door, she hesitated."Is everything okay?"
"Sure, honey. Everything is fine."
"I like Basile."
"So do I."
"He's nicer than I thought he'd be. By the way you described him, I
expected him to be sort of scary."
Burke Basile was scary. To his enemies he was real scary. Right now, his
future was scary.
But no scarier than Mac's.
"We were so fortunate to find this building unoccupied. It's away from
the city's corrupting influences, which we consider a real plus."
That was Father Gregory's response to Mrs. Duvall's comment that she
hadn't realized Jenny's House was located so far from metro central.
Burke was driving. Gregory, in the captain's seat beside him droned on
about the advantages of the nonexistent facility. The two passengers
were seated in back. A portrait of boredom, Errol stared vacantly out
the window. Remy Duvall listened with interest and occasionally asked a
question.
Burke was more than glad to let Gregory do the talking. While he wasn't
much good at small talk, it seemed to be Gregory's special gift.
Burke hadn't even got out of the van when they picked up Mrs. Duvall and
her bodyguard."I assume Duvall is at his office," he had said when he
parked the van at the curb in front of the mansion."But on the outside
chance he's at home, Father Kevin needs to stay out of sight."
Gregory, looking at peace with God and man, strolled up the front
walkway. Errol answered the door and motioned him inside. Burke mentally
listed all the reasons he should drive away now. There were pressing
arguments in favor of ending this thing before he committed a serious
crime.
But he dismissed them and focused instead on why he must do it: Peter
and David Stuart. They were validation enough. Those two boys would grow
up deprived of their dad, and Pinkie Duvall was the one ultimately
responsible.
The front door opened, and the three came out. Burke looked beyond Errol
to the woman, who was smiling over something Gregory had said.
The phrase "like a lamb to slaughter" flitted through his mind. But by
the time they reached the van, Burke had capped his conscience. When
she'd signed on as Mrs. Pinkie Duvall, she'd accepted the risks of being
married to a criminal.
Gregory's glib chatter continued mile after mile. He was playing his
role well and seemed perfectly at ease. Of course he wouldn't be this
composed if he knew how the afternoon was going to end. Not wanting to
make him nervous, Burke hadn't discussed the details with him. He
assured him only that he wouldn't be harmed and that he wouldn't get
into trouble. If all went according to Burke's plan, that promise would
be kept.
"Excuse me, Father Gregory," Remy Duvall said, interrupting his
ceaseless discourse."Father Kevin, is that smoke coming from beneath the
hood?"
Burke had wondered when someone else was going to notice what he'd been
seeing for the last couple of miles. Father Gregory, who'd been facing
the backseat, came around."Smoke?" "Steam," Burke said tersely."I
checked everything out before I bought the van, but I must have
overlooked a leaky radiator hose."
'"What are we going to do?" Father Gregory was rattled. A busted
radiator hose wasn't in the script.
Burke smiled at his cohort in as priestly a fashion as he could muster
under the circumstances."We'll make it to our destination." "How much
farther is it?" Mrs. Duvall asked.
"Only a couple more miles."
"I don't think it's gonna make it." This from Errol, who hadn't spoken
since leaving the Garden District. Burke could feel his breath on his
neck as he leaned forward and peered over his shoulder to assess the
situation."If you keep driving it like this, you're gonna burn up your
engine."
Gregory's composure slipped another notch."Uh, Father Kevin, maybe we
should postpone this excursion, try again another day, after the van's
been repaired. We don't want to inconvenience Mrs. Duvall."
"Don't worry
about inconveniencing me," she said."I don't want irreparable damage
done to your new van."
"Bless you for being so selfless and understanding," Gregory said to
her. Then to Burke, "Let's just turn around and go back into town."
"It'll never make it back," Errol said."Pull into that service station
up ahead. You can get this heap fixed, and I'll call Roman to come pick
up Mrs. Duvall and me." Gregory said, "Father Kevin, it seems we have no
choice."
The Crossroads was situated in a weed-choked delta of real estate formed
by the convergence of two state roads. The filling station had six gas
pumps and two garage bays. The attached cafe advertised cold beer,
boudin sausage, and a variety of crawfish dishes. Flying above the
buildings were the American flag, the Louisiana state flag and the bars
and stars of the Confederacy.
Burke pulled the van to a stop and cut the engine. Steam was now
billowing from beneath the hood. Hissing water and antifreeze from
beneath the chassis splattered onto the pavement."I'll see if a mechanic
is on duty," he said as he got out."Father Gregory, why don't you take
Mrs. Duvall into the cafe and get her something to drink?"
"That's a very good idea." Gregory looked relieved to have another
workable plan already in place.
"I'll call Roman from the cafe," Errol said."She doesn't go anywhere
without me."
They headed for the entrance to the cafe, Burke went in search of the
auto mechanic. He found him inside the garage. Long, unwashed hair
trailed from beneath a grimy dozer cap and lay on his bony shoulders
like dirty hemp. He was wearing love beads and sandals with his greasy
coveralls.
When he saw Burke, his gaunt face registered astonishment."When you was
here yesterday, I didn't know you was a priest."
"Wonders never cease." Burke pressed a fifty-dollar bill into his hand.
"How quickly can you tape up that leak?"
The mechanic gestured to a roll of duct tape."Soon's it cools down, I'll
hop to. Sure you don't want me to replace the hose? Ain't nothing to it.
Tape won't hold her for long."
"Taping's fine. How long? Ten minutes?"
He sucked on his stubby, yellow teeth."Iffy. It's mighty hot."
Burke passed him a twenty."Wear gloves. The keys are in the van.
When you're done, pull it up out front and leave the motor running."
"Will do. Only, I don't get it. How come you rigged your own radiator
hose to bust?"
"The Lord moves in mysterious ways."
Burke went into the crowded cafe and wove his way through the tables to
join the party of three already seated."We ordered you coffee." .
"Thank you, Father Gregory."
"Did you speak with a mechanic?" asked Mrs.
Duvall.
Sending smiles around the table, he told them confidently that the van
would be repaired shortly. A waitress served their coffees. While
sipping
his, Burke surveyed the room with affected casualness, but
mounting concern.
He had checked out the cafe yesterday afternoon, when he made
arrangements with the mechanic, who had told him that puncturing the
radiator hose before they set out would guarantee that they wouldn't get
far before it started boiling dry. This place had been perfect for his
plan. It was in a rural area, at least four miles from the nearest local
police force or sheriff's office. He'd been here just after lunch. With
the exception of two tired waitresses, a chain-smoking cashier watching
a soap opera on a portable TV, and a handful of desultory diners, the
place had been empty.
Burke had figured that business might increase around dinnertime when a
few locals would come in. Otherwise, it was a quiet, slow, sleepy place
that catered to the occasional motorist who grabbed a bite to eat while
getting the car filled up.
