Catahoula: Shallow End Gals (A Shallow End Gals Book 4)

by Vicki Graybosch

  Reuben quickly wrote his private cell number on the back of his card and reached in his jacket pocket. Cat noticed a slight shake in Reuben’s hand as he produced a flash drive and placed it on the desk.

  Reuben focused his gaze on Cat and asked, “Can we watch this first?”

  Cat sat in his chair and inserted the flash drive into his computer. He turned his monitor so Reuben could narrate. The picture was decent quality, if not slightly grainy. A well-dressed man was leaning against a brick wall in a narrow alley smoking a cigarette. Cat thought the man did look like his memory of Ed Meyer. It was obviously night and the green and red lights from an adjoining bar sign reflected on the wet pavement. A dumpster could be seen a few yards farther down the alley. A car abruptly pulled into the alley forcing the man to retreat backwards toward the dumpster. The headlights of the car clearly blinded Edward as he raised his forearms to shield his eyes.

  The car door opened and a man walked over to where Ed was standing. Ed put his hands up in a defensive move. The attacking man slugged Ed and did something to his neck.

  Reuben broke the silence, “Hit stop. I have blown up this portion and I believe he is injecting dad’s neck with a needle. You’ll see him put something in the dumpster in a minute.”

  Cat hit the play button and watched as Ed was dragged back to the car and shoved in the driver’s seat. The attacking man appeared to be doing something to Ed and then he kicked the car door shut. The man removed gloves from his hands and appeared to be clutching some stained rags. He threw them in the dumpster, walked back to the car and leaned against the trunk as he made a call on his cell phone. Cat didn’t recognize the man’s face.

  For nearly five minutes it looked as if he was guarding the car. Suddenly he abruptly turned his head and walked quickly out of frame. A swarm of police and flashing lights began to fill the alley from both directions and the man in the car was dragged out, slapped around, handcuffed and taken away.

  Cat hit the stop button. “This was your dad’s arrest?”

  Reuben’s eyes had filled with tears and he nodded. “Will you help us?”

  Cat removed the flash drive and put it in his pocket. “I don’t want you coming back here.” Cat looked at his watch, “I have to leave. I’ll call you. Soon.”

  Reuben stood and shook Cat’s hand. Martha noticed Reuben quickly wipe his eyes as he left Cat’s office. Cat’s door reopened a few minutes later. He announced he was late for court and left. Martha twisted in her chair as she watched him wait for the elevator door to close. Her eyes instinctively narrowed. She could read his body language like a book. Something real big was real wrong.

  Acer watched Stone’s parachute glide off to the right and waited until Stone was halfway to his landing. He activated the helicopter’s 3 AIX autopilot, put on his chute and jumped. If his timing was right, then Stone would land about the time that Acer’s chute would be concealed by tree cover a few miles away.

  Acer’s feet hit the ground the instant the helicopter exploded. He smiled. Figured Stone would leave clean. Acer unclasped his harness and walked toward the motorcycle he had left outside of the small town of Crawsville. It was about a thirty minute walk. Just enough for him to have a little planning time. He had the advantage now. Stone will report the mission clean. Acer will prove it wasn’t. Until then, Stone won’t be worried about consequences and he certainly won’t be worried about Acer.

  Yeah, Stone was good. But he was better.

  Officer Dante had pulled his patrol car off the main road for a nap. He had his sunglasses on so no one driving by would see that his eyes were closed. Not that anyone would be out this early. Sun wasn’t even up yet. The static from the dispatch radio startled him awake.

  “Dante! Got old Clyde Perrine out at his place, says a helicopter just dumped some screaming guy into the sinkhole. Copy.”

  Dante removed his sunglasses, rubbed his hands over his eyes and grabbed his radio. “That drunken fool ain’t supposed to be out there! Been evacuated! Copy.”

  The dispatcher answered, “I know. Don’t think he’s drunk now though. Got a call about five minutes after his. Some geologist sayin’ the same thing. Best you get over there. Copy.”

  What the hell? Dante started the car’s engine, turned on his police lights and sped toward the Assumption Parish sinkhole. He suddenly realized he didn’t know exactly where he was going. That whole area had been sanctioned off as dangerous and he had no idea where this geologist had set up camp.

  Dante grabbed his radio, “Where in the hell is this geologist? Copy.”

  The static on the radio answered, “He doesn’t know. Says he’ll turn on some kind of special spotlight.”

  “Tell him to send up some flares. Copy.”

  “Did that. He says flares might cause the whole damn lake to explode. Copy.”

  “Shit!”

  Reuben logged into his computer at the Times-Picayune and quickly glanced around the large room at the bustling people scrambling to meet deadline. His editor, Walter Trayer, had his door open and was screaming at someone on the phone. Reuben still felt shaken from his meeting with Catahoula. So much was riding on Catahoula helping them.

  Trayer yelled from his office, “Reuben! Get your ass in here!”

  Reuben grabbed his notebook and pen and stuck his head into Trayer’s office.

  “Get over to Assumption Parish. Cops got a call that some guy was dropped out of a helicopter into the sinkhole.”

  Reuben’s involuntary response was to say “What?” even though he had heard perfectly. Trayer raised an eyebrow at him indicating he wasn’t about to repeat himself.

  Reuben dialed his dad on the ride over. He couldn’t help but worry every time something strange happened that his dad was involved. “Dad? You okay?” Edward answered he was fine and Reuben added, “I gave Catahoula the flash drive. I think he’s going to help us.”

  Ed returned his phone to his pocket and noticed his split nails. He winced at his reflection in the storefront window next to him. It seemed he was staring at a complete stranger. Where had he gone? Who was this staring back at him in the glass? His clothes were filthy, his hair a mass of dirty brown tufts. Working the docks at night, for cash, had been the only work he could do. Eight years of hell. Each dreadful day carved deep into his now leathery skin. His mind shot back to life before Katrina, when he had manicured nails, fine clothing and styled hair. When he had a name.

  All of that ended that terrible summer. First his freedom. Then his identity.

  Ed ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it. He was tired - of everything. Most of all, he was tired of being invisible. He missed talking to people. He missed laughing. He missed people asking for and respecting his opinions. Ed realized tears were running down his cheeks. My God, was he crying? Ed wiped his face with his sleeve and straightened his shoulders. His heart was pounding and the street sounds were blurred and contorted. Ed took a long, deep breath and forced himself to calm. He hadn’t survived the last eight years to end up a blubbering idiot on the streets.

  Reuben had shown the video to Catahoula. There was no going back now. This was real. Reuben’s call had stirred something in his soul that he hadn’t felt for a very long time. Hope.

  Soon, he told himself. Soon I won’t be invisible anymore.

  Izzy woke as the first ray of sunlight breached through the cream colored lace curtain. Gram’s cold body lay as Izzy remembered. It hadn’t been a nightmare after all. Izzy tried to imagine what Gram would tell her to do. She would have to call an adult, so Gram was taken care of properly. Adults would want to make her a ward of the state. That’s what Gram said happens. Izzy thought of her friend Tina, Gram said Tina turned into a ward of the state. The police came and Tina disappeared. Izzy never saw her again.

  Izzy peeled the orange she had brought for Gram and slowly began to eat it. She decided she didn’t want to disappear. She would need vitamins if she was going to raise herself. Gram would say she needed a pla
n. Izzy found Gram’s key to their house and put it in her treasure bag. It wouldn’t hurt to have two keys. She unlocked the bathroom window in case she had to crawl in later tonight. The police will want to take her away and they might put a special lock on the door. She will have to be careful.

  Izzy took a bath, changed into clean clothes and packed her few clothes into her school backpack. There were only two days of school left before summer break. Best not go back. If, for some reason she couldn’t come home tonight, then at least she had clean clothes. Gram always said, “Many reasons people be poor. No good reason people be dirty. You can clean up at lots of places for free.” Izzy decided to put a small bar of soap and her pink washcloth in her backpack, too. She re-laced her shoes with her new shoelaces and sighed.

  Izzy’s gaze wandered over to Gram’s closet door. Gram had a little tin box in her closet she told Izzy would be hers someday. Izzy dragged a chair from the kitchen, stood on her tiptoes and pulled the box down from the top shelf. She sat on the bed next to Gram and pried open the lid.

  A small worn Bible was the first thing Izzy saw. She carefully lifted it toward the sunlight and opened the leather cover. Inside was a list of Izzy’s family’s names. Her eyes swelled up with tears as she read: Joanne Dubois, Izzy’s mother, died in childbirth. Izzy leaned over and kissed Gram’s cheek. “Thank you, Gram.”

  Izzy laid the Bible next to her on the bed as she pulled out a beautiful locket on a chain of gold. Izzy remembered seeing the locket years ago. Gram had told her she was too young for it then. Izzy’s tiny fingernails sprung the latch to reveal the treasure inside. On the left side of the locket was a tiny picture of Gram and on the right side was Izzy’s mom. They both looked beautiful.

  Izzy lifted the chain above her head and watched as the golden locket dropped in front of her eyes to rest on her shirt. She pressed her hand against it and cried as she looked at Gram. This was all that was left of where she came from. What if someone stole it? Izzy dropped the locket behind her shirt and felt the cold metal against her skin. She vowed to wear it always.

  Hidden in an envelope in the tin box were fifteen twenty dollars bills. Izzy gasped. She had never seen so much paper money all at once in her whole life. How had Gram saved this? Why hadn’t Gram used this money for her medicine? Izzy felt a wave of panic. How could she keep this money safe? She decided to put one twenty in her pocket and divide the rest to put in her socks under her feet.

  Gram looked like she was sleeping. Izzy knew Gram was in Heaven now. Gram would watch over her. She had promised. Izzy picked up the cell phone the state had given Gram. She dialed and waited for someone to answer.

  A man came on the line and said, “911. What’s your emergency?”

  Izzy took a deep breath. Her throat tightened and her voice choked. “My Gram died last night and needs a proper burial. She is at 42 South Mission Street. I’ll leave the door unlocked.” Izzy hung up and cried. She already knew she wasn’t going to like being invisible.

  Officer Dante could see the eerie light of the beacon in the distant dark sky. He searched for a road that was still passable. The static of the car radio broke through Dante’s cursing as he came upon another roadblock. He listened as his face contorted in a scowl, backing up the patrol car yet again.

  “While you’re out there, we got a helicopter or small plane crash ‘bout ten miles east of you. Copy.”

  “Jesus! Ain’t there anybody else workin’ today? Copy.”

  Acer’s screaming motorcycle whipped past Officer Dante doing at least fifty miles an hour over the speed limit. “Son of a bitch!” Dante knew he was losing the darkness to daybreak and the beacon would be of no use if he didn’t hurry to the camp site.

  He slammed his palm against the steering wheel and answered dispatch, “Call the FAA or whoever it is ya call when a plane goes down. I’ll get to it when I get to it. Assumin’ I don’t get sucked into that damn sinkhole!”

  Cat walked the large marble rotunda and waited for the bailiff to announce court was ready. The north wall of the huge hall was covered with portraits of prestigious men who had served the court. In a position of prominence was the portrait of William A. Javis, Prosecutor, and former Director of the Eastern Division of the U.S. Attorney General’s office in New Orleans. Cat’s eyes rose to concentrate on William’s image. Even his portrait projected a man of strength and honor.

  Cat felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He turned and acknowledged his boss, Theodore ‘Ted’ Dupre. Cat looked back to the portrait, “Still can’t picture him putting a gun to his head.” William Jarvis had committed suicide two weeks after Molly, his wife of forty years, had been murdered.

  Ted took a moment and added, “He and Molly had one of those Hollywood movie type marriages. After her murder, well…..you know the rest.”

  Cat couldn’t seem to find the time to date regularly, let alone sustain a serious relationship. William had managed to have it all. Cat lifted his court brief up and smiled, “I’m here for this. Why are you here?”

  “This isn’t public yet, but some people think I should run for Governor. Thought I would swing in and gauge my support.”

  “Governor? Congratulations.” Cat wasn’t surprised. The U.S. Attorney General’s office was the favored stepping stone for state politics. Cat suspected Ted had postured himself for this from the day he took over William’s position.

  Cat allowed his gaze to rest a moment too long on Ted before he spoke. Cat sensed that Ted wanted Cat’s reaction away from the office. Cat raised an eyebrow, “Can’t help but notice the timing.”

  New Orleans was under a federally mandated consent decree to reorganize the entire justice system in New Orleans. Corruption and incompetence were systemic and reorganization promised to be a long and dirty battle. Cat expected his case load to explode any day.

  Ted chuckled, “That was a consideration.” Ted lost his smile, “I also wanted to tell you that if you want my job, it’s yours.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I expected you would say no. I’m actually glad. I can’t imagine what would happen if we didn’t have you in litigation.” Ted gave Cat’s shoulder a politician’s pat.

  Cat appreciated the compliment, but realized he was heading for some rough waters. “At least requisition some new bodies for this consent decree before you hit the campaign trail.”

  Ted nodded, “I’ll take care of that today. Anything you want. Just ask.” Cat knew Ted meant what he said.

  The bailiff announced that court was ready. Ted joined a small group of men in the center of the hall and began eagerly shaking hands. Cat looked at the file in his hand. A political corruption case he was well prepared to nail. No big story, sadly a mere commentary on an established system. He heard an eruption of loud laughter from Ted’s group and wondered who his new boss was going to be. Not that it mattered.

  Cat glanced back at the picture of William. Very few men had earned that level of respect. Cat felt a sense of duty and dread as he fingered the flash drive in his pocket.

  Cat came to New Orleans directly after Katrina. Just weeks after Molly’s murder, the arrest of her killer and William’s suicide. Cat witnessed the relentless dedication Ted and his team poured into the case. Before they could go to trial, Katrina hit and Molly’s killer was one of the convicts that had drowned during the Katrina prisoner transfer. His body had eventually surfaced in the putrid sludge and his identity confirmed as Edward J. Meyer.

  Sasha poked her head through the heavy, red velvet cloth covering the door to Spicey’s crystal ball room. Spicey sat flipping through her big tattered book titled ‘Truth Seeker’.

  “You know you got peoples lined up clear ‘round the corner?”

  Spicey looked up and scowled. “Beyond me why people wanna be famous! Look what it gets ya! I ain’t even had breakfast yet.” Spicey frowned at her reflection in the small mirror on the wall next to her and began smoothing her hair. “Ever since Mambo hooked me up with real spirits, we been havin’
to put on disguises just to go to dinner.”

  Sasha chuckled, “Don’t look like we missed too many dinners.” She smoothed her flowered skirt over her hips. “You want me to go out and sort that crowd a little? Send the squirrely ones home?”

  Spicey smiled, “Good idea girlfriend. Most them folks be glad to leave if they knew I still be learnin’.” Spicey frowned at the words on the page in front of her. Mambo had given her this book six months ago, along with some real potions. Problem was most of the book was very hard to understand. There were special chants you had to do in special order. Spicey shook her head and made a ‘tsk tsk’ sound. Pure luck she hadn’t turned some unsuspectin’ soul into a toad by now.

  Sasha flipped on the neon House of Voodoo sign and unlocked one of the doors to the sidewalk. It was a corner shop with doors to each street - prime real estate in the French Quarter. Sasha walked down the line of people explaining that Ms. Spicey couldn’t possibly see them all today. Most of the people in line were gracious and stated their business could wait a day or two. One lady toward the end of the line just stared straight ahead as Sasha walked toward her.

  Sasha cleared her throat, “What be your business with Ms. Spicey today?”

  The woman’s huge black eyes looked as if they were seated in the back of her skull. Her face had a spider web tattoo that crept from one side of her face to the other with a dangling spider hanging from the corner of one eye. She had long, stringy black hair and porcelain white skin. Her black lipstick had been applied narrower than her lip line, and her nose piercing held a small skull. Her nails were at least ten inches long, twisted at the ends and painted black. Around her neck she wore several scarves even though the temperature was already in the eighties and humid.

  Her large black eyes fixed on Sasha and she answered in a low, raspy voice, “Ms. Spicey will see me.”