by JM Gulvin
‘By the look on your face I guess that was the client,’ Franklin said.
Tobie still had his hand on the phone. ‘I had to explain that it didn’t work out because we weren’t able to guarantee the timing.’
‘What did they say?’
‘They said exactly what I’d expect them to say. They reminded me that their intention was to make a statement that would resonate around the world and for that there was only today.’
Sitting down in his chair he stared beyond Franklin to the yard outside. ‘From father to son we’ve been in business for over a century and this is the first time we’ve not been able to fulfill a contract.’
‘This is different,’ Franklin said. ‘Quarrie showed up before Ali came out. When we’ve dealt with him we can go back to the client.’
‘No, we can’t. I just told you. It had to be today.’
‘What about Quarrie?’
The old man’s gaze was thin. ‘I said we’d kill him when we were sure there could be no response from the Rangers and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.’
*
The following morning Quarrie was in the kitchen making coffee when James came through in his pajamas. ‘Dad!’ he cried. ‘I never knew you were coming home.’ He flung himself against his father and Quarrie hoisted him off his feet.
‘Never knew it either, kiddo. I was in Houston yesterday and back here late last night.’
James looked at him with a hopeful expression on his face. ‘Do you have to go back again?’
‘I don’t know yet. Maybe, though I wasn’t planning on it. Been away too long as it is.’
While Quarrie took a shower James got dressed and they ate breakfast together at the kitchen table. The boy told him how he’d been practicing making different tracks in the sandbox Quarrie had filled with dirt. Quarrie said that as soon as school was done for the day he’d show him how to figure out if a man was running or walking, looking uphill or down or about to make a turn. Outside he fired up the Riviera and let her run for a couple of minutes before driving his son to school.
As he pulled back into the yard an hour later Gigi came bustling out of the bunkhouse and strode across to the cottage. He could tell something was wrong by the look in her eyes and when she spoke she was a little breathless. ‘John Q, your captain was just on the phone.’
Quarrie peered across the roof of his car. ‘What did he want?’
‘He didn’t say. I told him you’d taken James to school and he said for you to call him as soon as you got back.’
‘OK, honey, thanks.’
‘And Pious,’ she added. ‘Right after your captain put down the phone he called too. He’s in Denver, said he’d catch up with you as soon as he can.’
In the kitchen Quarrie called the Department of Public Safety in Amarillo and Van Hanigan came on the phone.
‘Captain,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m here at the ranch. Why?’
‘I just had SAC Patterson on the phone. He’s flying up from Houston with an arrest warrant.’
Quarrie stared where his gunbelt hung from a hook on the back of the door.
‘That rifle in the hotel room. The only prints they found were yours, John Q.’
Thirty-three
He didn’t go to Amarillo. Instead he had Gigi drive him south to Love Field and left her with a phone number for the Hotel Magnolia and another for De La Martin. Showing his badge to the attendant at the desk he jumped the queue for the shuttle and a couple of hours later he emerged from the passenger terminal at Moisant Field.
*
Franklin was outside in a year-old Mustang. Eyes bright, he stared through the windshield as Quarrie came out of the terminal building. Quarrie did not see him. He hailed a cab from the rank and the driver eased up to the curb. As they pulled away Franklin followed a few cars behind.
*
Quarrie glanced out the window as they passed an NOPD cruiser with two uniforms riding up front. The cab driver was a black man with a gold earring and a gold front tooth and he seemed to study his passenger in the rear view mirror. ‘You’re the Texas Ranger the newspapers been writing about.’
Quarrie caught his eye.
‘Gigi Matisse and all: that pharmacist who got murdered. I heard on the radio how Gigi ain’t anywheres about.’
‘What’s your name?’ Quarrie asked him.
‘Amos Brown.’
‘Amos, do you believe everything you read in the papers?’
With a laugh the driver shook his head. ‘I know Gigi pretty good as it goes. The drummer in her band, Etienne, that’s my second cousin. So where’s she at then? On the radio they said how she disappeared.’
‘She’s in Texas right now,’ Quarrie told him. ‘She’s fine. If I told you somebody’s been hand feeding those reporters what would you say?’
‘I’d say this is New Orleans.’ He glanced over the back of the seat. ‘So where is it you want to go?’
‘I ain’t sure,’ Quarrie said. ‘I thought about the Hotel Magnolia but there’s a federal warrant out on me right now so maybe I should try somewhere else.’
‘Canal Street you talking about, where-all Yvonne Pettier works?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, Yvonne’s a pretty good girl. She’s from the 7th like me and we ain’t known for being particularly blabby.’
They drove downtown and when they got to the hotel Amos told Quarrie to wait in the cab while he went inside to find out if anyone had been asking for him.
*
Franklin saw the cab pull up and the driver get out and disappear under the arch. He saw him come out to the sidewalk again then Quarrie climbed from the cab.
*
Yvonne greeted him with a slightly wary look and gave him the same room he’d had before. Upstairs he laid his bag on the bureau and opened the closet where the Dallas newspaper was still on the floor. He took a moment to study the piece on Muhammad Ali then tossed the paper on the bed. Unbuckling his shoulder holsters he took one of the pistols and opened the loading gate before pulling the base pin and removing the cylinder. He emptied the shells then repeated the process with the second gun, placing all twelve rounds on the bureau. Fetching a strip of oil cloth from his bag he was meticulous as he cleaned each chamber. He was reassembling the weapons when the phone rang.
‘John Q.’ He recognized Nana’s voice. ‘I just talked to Gigi and she said you were back.’
‘Yes, mam, there’s a warrant out for my arrest.’
‘And you’re down here on account of it?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’
She was quiet for a moment then she said, ‘What we talked about in my apartment, there’s something I’m going to tell you, but before I do – we never had this conversation.’
It was dark on Canal Street by the time he went out, the streetlights igniting the median like a row of massive candles. From the hotel courtyard he glanced across the road to the parking bays but there was no sign of Franklin or his taxi. Walking to the crossing at St Charles he hopped a trolley car and settled in the back.
There was no reply from the small gate at Colback’s house so he rang again and finally the front door was opened by a diminutive woman with shoulder-length hair. She looked to be in her forties and seemed to hover a little uncertainly. The gate still locked, Quarrie called from where he stood in the glow of the street lamp.
‘Mrs Colback? I’m a friend of your husband. Is he home?’
‘Not right now, I’m afraid.’
‘My name’s Quarrie, mam. I’m a Texas Ranger.’
The buzzer sounded and he opened the gate. At the door he took off his hat. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you. Do you know when the lieutenant will be back?’
‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
He looked beyond her to the staircase where the family portraits climbed the wall.
‘There’s been a mix-up in Texas and I need t
o fetch some papers I’m hoping might help straighten it out. We were looking at them together and he put them in the safe.’
‘Well, if he did I can’t help you.’ Very definitely Mrs Colback shook her head. ‘I have no idea what the combination is and I don’t get involved in my husband’s work.’
Quarrie nodded. ‘That’s all right, mam. I understand. Do you think I could leave him a note?’
She led him to the study where polished wooden panels scaled the walls from the floor and Colback’s rifle hung on a couple of hooks. Quarrie wrote a note telling the lieutenant that he needed to talk and would come back later on. When he was done, he put his hat back on and followed Mrs Colback out to the hall. At the door his gaze drifted to the paintings once more. ‘Impressive,’ he said, ‘all those portraits. Your husband told me they’re all from your side of the family.’
‘Yes, they are.’ A little pride in her eyes, Mrs Colback considered the height of the stairs. ‘Louisiana since 1865, we hail from Ohio originally and might’ve been there yet if the Yankees hadn’t chased us out.’ With a smile she offered her hand. ‘I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Rosa. My maiden name was Tobie. That’s my great-grandpa at the top of the stairs.’
*
Quarrie walked as far as the junction with St Charles Avenue before he stopped. Conscious of the film of sweat that laced his brow he stood staring across the trolley car tracks, thinking about what he’d been told just now and what Nana had confided earlier. Spotting a phone booth on the corner he searched his pockets for a dime. ‘Hey,’ he said when he heard Yvonne’s voice. ‘Have you had any visitors yet?’
‘No, sir. Not so far.’
‘OK, good. Look, I figure they must know I’m in town already so I need you to fetch my bag from my room. Hide it in the office, would you? Can you do that for me, Yvonne?’
She seemed to hesitate.
‘Yvonne?’
‘Sure,’ she said, ‘of course. If anyone shows up though, what do I say?’
‘Tell them I checked in then changed my mind and checked out again right away. Show them the room if they ask. It’ll be the FBI so do whatever they tell you, just don’t let them see that bag.’ Something else occurred to him then. ‘There’s a newspaper on my bed, Yvonne, a Dallas paper, get rid of it, will you? I need you to burn it.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I can do that.’
‘I need you to get me a cab,’ Quarrie told her. ‘Call United and ask them to have that same driver who picked me up from the airport go to Lee Circle. The Enco station, tell them he has to collect a fare.’
‘Sergeant,’ she said, ‘you had a phone call after you left, a man called Pious, said he was a friend of yours and he needs to talk to you right away. I told him I didn’t know when you’d be back so he said to tell you he was going to call the other number you left.’
‘When did he call?’
‘About ten minutes after you’d gone.’
‘All right, Yvonne; thanks. Listen,’ he said. ‘I need for you to do one last thing. Call the 3rd Precinct Station House on Chartres Street. Ask for Detective De La Martin. Tell them his snitch wants to meet in the bar where they met before.’
Hanging up the phone he lifted it again and waited for the operator then asked her to connect him to the ranch, collect.
‘It’s me, Pious,’ he said when the call was answered. ‘You’ve been looking for me, bud. What’s up?’
‘Plenty.’ Pious’s voice was stiff. ‘Gigi and Eunice been talking and there’s things I think you should know.’ When he was finished Quarrie stared at the streetlight across the road.
‘That ain’t all,’ Pious said. ‘I called that detective whose number you left just now, and what else I got to tell you I ain’t sure I should be doing it on the phone.’
‘It’s too late to be worrying about that,’ Quarrie said. ‘What is it you want to say?’
When he put down the phone again he headed north and came out on Carondelet. From there he made his way to Howard Street and turned towards the river once more. As he approached the circle he could see the lights from the gas station and the taxi parked half a block down. He remained in the shadows watching till he was sure it wasn’t under surveillance then he crossed the forecourt and got in.
‘I got your message.’ Amos looked round as he settled in the back. ‘Is everything OK?’
Quarrie did not reply. He was thinking about what Pious had said and his mouth felt crusty and dry.
Making their way around the circle they headed towards the river and back onto Camp Street. Quarrie directed Amos to pull over a little way from Colback’s house. Glancing over the seat Amos caught the expression on his face. ‘So, you asked for me specially, do I need to know what this is about?’
Quarrie’s attention was on the house where lights burned in the windows and he could see Colback’s Ford as well as a ’66 Mustang parked in the drive.
‘John Q?’ Amos’s voice seemed to echo through the darkness.
‘It’s about vipers, Amos: copperhead snakes.’
They drove back to the French Quarter and rumbled along Chartres Street. ‘That bar yonder.’ Quarrie pointed to the seafood place across the road from the station house. ‘I need you to go over there and see if there’s a fat man inside wearing a grubby-looking suit. His name is De La Martin and he’s a cop. If he’s there I want you to fetch him out.’
Three minutes later Amos was back with the detective and De La Martin’s expression was sallow as he got in the car.
‘How you doing, D-Lay?’ Quarrie said.
‘From what I heard on the phone just now – a whole lot better than you.’
They sat side by side, Quarrie with his hat in his lap. ‘I guess you know there’s a warrant out, a federal ticket, so it won’t be long before the boys from Loyola show.’
‘Yeah, that’s about what your buddy said.’
Leaning forward Quarrie rested a palm on the driver’s shoulder. ‘We’re going back to Camp Street, bud. I want you to stop by the hotel on the way.’
A couple of minutes later they pulled over in front of the American Bank building and De La Martin got out. Crossing the road he went into the hotel and a few moments after that he came out again and signalled from the courtyard gates. When Quarrie made the sidewalk the detective told him he’d spoken to Yvonne and two FBI agents had been there fifteen minutes before.
In the lobby De La Martin chewed tobacco and watched the courtyard while Quarrie shucked off his jacket and unfastened the straps on his shoulder rig. Yvonne fetched his bag from the office and he unrolled his regular gunbelt and buckled it on. Holstering his Blackhawks he checked the leg ties and hammer clips.
Back in the cab they drove the length of St Charles with De La Martin riding up front.
‘So you were right then,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder, ‘about Muhammad Ali, only you got there before they could take him out.’
Quarrie nodded. ‘They screwed up with the timing I guess. Ali was still inside the Processing Station when I showed up and the triggerman had to take off. They knew I was coming, though. With my prints on that M1C already, the Feds were always going to haul me in.’ He let a little air escape his lips. ‘D-Lay, it wasn’t Moore who hid that file in Gigi’s house; it had to be our blond-haired boy. They knew I’d find it and figure out what was going on. It’s like I told you, whoever their client is they want the case closed real quick so someone has to take the fall. Whether they’re actually involved or not don’t matter just as long as they go down alone.’ He was silent for a moment then. ‘That’s the way it’s always been. They did it with Oswald in Dallas, maybe Carl Weiss back in the thirties and they figured on doing it with Wiley before he ran into me.’
They drove on and Amos turned onto Camp Street where he slowed the cab to a crawl. Shifting his weight De La Martin looked over the back of the seat. ‘You positive you don’t want me to come in there with you? Maybe it’s me that should go in first. I
could make up some story about hearing how you were wanted and see how the land lies at least.’
Quarrie shook his head. ‘I left Colback a note and told his wife I’d be back. I can show up and he’ll let me in and we’ll see what happens after that. Give me at least ten minutes before you come knocking, OK?’
De La Martin looked unsure. ‘That’s all well and good but you don’t know who else might be in there, do you?’
‘I got a hunch all right. You just show up in a piece.’
‘And if it all goes to ratshit in the meantime?’ The detective hooked his mouth at the corners. ‘I can think of lots of reasons why they wouldn’t want to kill a Ranger ahead of time but now there’s a warrant out. Resisting arrest, John Q: it’s better than the courthouse, right?’
Thirty-four
It was Colback who opened the door. Quarrie regarded him with an easy smile.
‘Lieutenant,’ he said, ‘did your wife tell you I was here before?’
Looking up and down the street Colback did not return the smile. ‘Yes, she did. Come in, Quarrie. There’s a warrant out on you right now.’ Stepping back from the door he glanced at the guns on Quarrie’s hips.
‘I want the paperwork,’ Quarrie told him. ‘What we found in that locker. I know what we said before but I need to show it to the Feds.’
Colback led him into his study. There was no sign of anyone in the living room but Quarrie noticed the door at the end of the hall was ajar.
‘So this warrant, it kind of puts me in an awkward spot.’ Colback spoke as Quarrie’s gaze was drawn to the rifle where it hung on the wall.
‘Don’t worry about it. I spoke to my captain. All I need are those notes. I’m sure it was Anderson who wrote them so there has to be something there. You were with me when we found them. You were on the north shore when we discovered the photos of Moore and Gigi together and you know about the parking garage.’ He spread a palm. ‘We need to locate Gervais, Lieutenant; any word on where he might be?’
