Jana DeLeon - Miss Fortune 06 - Soldiers of Fortune

by Jana DeLeon

  “No. I am armed only with a gun and a push-up bra.”

  “I managed to stuff Mace and my .45 in this outfit, but there wasn’t room for much else.”

  I looked over at her as we walked out of the bar. Where the hell did she have the .45? I was afraid to ask. “What about over there?” I pointed to a section of unoccupied weeds under one of the only scraggly shade trees surrounding the bar.

  “Works for me,” Gertie said. “We should have thought to bring lawn chairs.”

  “We can lean against the tree. I’m hoping we’re not here forever. Carter’s MRI appointment was this morning. I figure he’ll be back sometime after noon.”

  “Do you have a cover story?”

  I turned to face the crowd and leaned against the tree. “I texted him back that we were going out for a boat ride.”

  “At least that’s the truth.”

  “Except for the part where we stop off at the Swamp Bar to look for a meth runner.”

  “Well, yeah, that part. Anyway, if you’re not home when he gets back, he knows the reason.”

  “Yeah, but I have to get into the shower and get these tattoos off of me before he sees them. I don’t have a legit way to link boating to tattoos.”

  “Crap. I forgot about that part.”

  I heard a boat motor behind us and turned to look out over the bayou. I’ve heard the expression “rolling total” for a car that needed to be sent to the junkyard, but in this case, it was a “floating total.” The shrimp boat had definitely seen better days. Red paint was peeling from every square inch of wood, making it look like the boat had a killer case of measles. The bench across the back was missing more vinyl than it had covering it, and foam was blowing out of it as the boat pulled up to the bank.

  The driver climbed out and I felt my back tense. “That’s Benedict.”

  Midthirties. Six feet two. A hundred ninety finely tuned pounds. Heavy drinker, but that might make him more dangerous, not less. Threat level medium without a weapon. High if he was packing a firearm, and I would bet anything he was.

  Gertie causally turned enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. “Yep. Looks rougher and older than I remember, but that nasty scowl is still the same.”

  “Maybe he’ll go talk to someone and things will get interesting.” I pulled out my cell phone, preparing to snap some shots of anyone Benedict spent time chatting with. He headed straight toward the bar.

  “I’ll follow him,” Gertie said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Stay here and hold our spots. I need to get a soda anyway. This cheap scotch tastes like Windex.”

  “You drink Windex often?”

  “I did once, accidentally. It’s not something I care to repeat.”

  She headed after Benedict and I studied the rest of the crowd gathering near the folding tables and steaming pots of heavenly smells. Some of the people looked familiar, but only in a vague way. When it was relevant, I never forgot a face, but these faces were those that had passed in front of me at the Swamp Bar on previous visits or maybe drove by my backyard in a bass boat…some sort of casual sighting. So they registered as people I’d seen in Sinful, but not as anything else.

  About ten minutes later, I started to worry that Gertie had gotten into trouble. I was just about to make my way to the bar when Benedict stepped outside and headed for the pots of food. Gertie trailed behind him a couple seconds later.

  “What took so long?” I asked as she handed me a plastic cup of soda.

  “Benedict went straight for the men’s room. I guess he can hang it over for the one thing, but the boat isn’t the best place for the other.”

  I cringed. “That was way more information than I needed.”

  “It was way more information than any of us needed, but you asked and that’s the explanation I have.”

  “Did he talk to anyone inside?”

  “The bartender asked about work. Said he’d been working with some people out of New Orleans on a deal but if it didn’t take off soon, he’d be heading back offshore.”

  “Interesting.”

  Gertie nodded. “And he asked about the best place to buy lumber. Claimed he was going to do some work on his boat, but you saw the thing. He hasn’t put five cents into that floating shipwreck since he’s owned it.”

  “You think he’s shopping for lumber for a new lab. If he’s in on it, that would make sense.”

  We sipped on our sodas and watched as Benedict lifted one of the pots of steaming food and dumped it on the table. People flocked over to the table and started piling red things onto plastic plates.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Gertie said. “Get a move on.”

  We headed over for the tables as two more men dumped steaming containers of crawfish, corn on the cob, and potatoes onto the tables.

  “Make sure you try the potatoes,” Gertie said. “They are awesome.”

  I grabbed a plate and piled it up with potatoes and crawfish and a corn on the cob, and followed Gertie to one of the folding tables set up for people to eat around. We took a position at the far end where we had a clear view of everyone loading up on lunch. I picked up the crawfish and pulled off the head, then started peeling the shell away from the meat. It took some wrangling but I finally coaxed the red-tinted meat out of the shell and popped it in my mouth.

  “Jeez Louise, that’s hot,” I said, and reached for my soda. “But it’s good,” I managed once I’d put out the fire in my mouth.

  “Told you.”

  “Looks like our friend isn’t exactly Mr. Social,” I said as Benedict fixed himself a plate, then moved off from the crowd and sat on a stump about fifteen feet away.

  I nodded my head toward the parking area. “More people on their way.”

  “Good. I can’t eat much more of this or I’ll be on fire the rest of the day.”

  I watched as a group of people made their way in a cluster toward the tables, then they started to branch out and I got a look at the last two.

  “Holy crap!” I grabbed Gertie’s arm and she yelped. “It’s Nelson and the hooker.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gertie whipped around and then promptly dropped her plate on the table. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “Based on your description, wouldn’t this be right up his alley?”

  “Well, yes, but not if he’s supposed to be upholding the law.”

  “No one really thinks he’s upholding the law. If he recognizes us, the gig is up.”

  “What do we do?”

  I watched as he grabbed a plate of crawfish and shoved it at the hooker. “I don’t know. Just hold tight for a minute. Maybe they’ll go inside.”

  Nelson started to walk toward the bar and I felt my anxiety tick down a notch, then he turned around and whistled. The hooker looked over at him, like a well-trained dog. “Hey, Lynne,” he yelled. “You want a beer?”

  She nodded and he continued to the bar. I frowned. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something besides the obvious.

  A couple minutes later, Nelson came out with two beers and handed one to the hooker. Then he grabbed his plate and looked around. He must have spotted someone he knew because he turned and headed in the opposite direction of where Gertie and I were standing. I was just about to let out a sigh of relief when he squatted down next to Benedict and took a seat.

  “Lynne!” I said. “One of the known associates of Dewey was a Lynne.”

  “Oh,” Gertie said, then her eyes widened. “Oh!”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

  “It’s a coincidence that Nelson shows up in town as sheriff with a hooker named Lynne right when a meth lab explodes and he refuses to investigate it?”

  “Okay, maybe it’s not as big of a stretch as I originally thought.”

  “What do we do?” Gertie asked.

  I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a picture of the three of them. “Watc
h and see if they do anything.”

  “Should we try to get closer?”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean, the costumes are great, but Nelson has us in his sights. Do you really think he won’t recognize us?”

  Gertie blew out a breath. “You may be right, especially in your case. He always was a letch. He’s probably already memorized every curve on you.”

  “Gross.”

  “Definitely, and because he doesn’t know you, he wouldn’t necessarily expect to not see you here. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded.

  “But he won’t be expecting to see me.”

  “Oh no. You’re not going any closer. That has disaster spelled out in neon.”

  “Look, they could be talking about the size of her breasts or running drugs, but either way, we need to know.” Before I could say another word, she took off around the table, sauntering to the other side of the clearing.

  I looked around the crowd, tapping my foot on the ground. If I ran after her, it would attract attention. But if I let her go, chances are she was going to attract attention. It was one of those things you could just bet on.

  Give her a chance. Maybe she’ll find out everything you need to know.

  And maybe the Swamp Bar would become a five-star restaurant by tomorrow.

  She walked around the tables the long way, sidling up near Nelson and the hooker, a table with an ice cooler between them. I had to admit, it was a good spot. They couldn’t see her and if she was within listening distance, she could actually get something. She looked back at me and gave me a thumbs-up. I smiled. This might work.

  I munched on my crawfish and potatoes, keeping a close watch on Gertie. She held position near the cooler as Nelson chatted with Benedict. The conversation did not appear to be a pleasant one as they were both frowning. The hooker looked bored, but as I often wore the same look when men were talking, I couldn’t attribute anything specific to it.

  After about five minutes of conversation, Nelson rose from the ground and motioned to Lynne, who rose as well. The scowl on Benedict’s face was a clear indication of how things had ended. Either that or he had heartburn.

  As they turned to walk away, that’s when it all fell apart.

  Two women standing at a table near Gertie got into a yelling match. Apparently one thought the other was paying too much attention to her husband. The husband in question was a negative four on a scale of one to one billion, so I didn’t quite understand the level of anger, but I suspected alcohol had something to do with it. And IQ.

  The yelling escalated when one of the women threw her entire cup of beer in the other woman’s face. The beer-drenched woman shoved the other woman so hard she flipped clean over the table and crashed into Gertie’s knees. Gertie flew sideways onto the folding table and tackled the ice chest, pitching it off the table and into the lap of two men sitting behind it. The men jumped up and one of their lawn chairs flipped over backward, right in front of a man walking with a full plate of crawfish. The man tried to put on the brakes but couldn’t manage it in time. He stepped right in between the legs of the chair and fell to the side, right on top of a Harley-Davidson, and they both crashed to the ground.

  The two men drenched by the cooler looked back at the motorcycle, then turned around and glared at Gertie. “That’s my bike!” one of the men yelled. “You’re going to pay!”

  Gertie whipped around and took off running for the boat. I was a good thirty feet behind but made up ground fast, passing the angry men and sprinting around Gertie. “Move it!” I yelled as I passed.

  Gertie picked up speed and we rounded the corner of the Swamp Bar to the bank where the boat was parked. Ida Belle, true to her word, must have been listening for the fray and already had the boat untied and was in the driver’s seat, ready to go. I slowed to let Gertie pass me and she bailed into the boat, crashing on the bottom. I shoved the boat away from the bank with my foot and jumped in after her.

  I paused long enough to help her to an upright position in the bottom of the boat and jumped into my seat. Ida Belle didn’t hesitate a second before slamming her foot down on the accelerator. The boat took off from the dock like a bullet shot from a gun. The bandanna flew off my head as I turned to see the angry men jumping into a ski boat.

  “How fast can they go?” I asked.

  “Not as fast as us,” Ida Belle said, but a tiny crease of worry inched across her brow.

  I had no doubt the airboat was faster in a drag race, but the problem with bayous is they weren’t very straight or wide. I turned around to watch as the men launched their boat from the bank and took off. The boat leaped on top of the water and pursued at an alarming rate. Gertie leaned over the side of the boat and looked behind us.

  “They’re gaining on us!” she yelled. She moved back to the center of the boat and lost her grip on her bandanna that she’d been clutching in her hand. It shot between Gertie and me and into the giant fan, then came out of the back of it a second later in pieces.

  “Hold on,” Ida Belle said and made a sharp left into a narrow channel. I clung to the bars, barely managing to keep my seat. Gertie didn’t even try to stay upright. She simply flopped over in the bottom of the boat and waited until we had straightened out again before inching back up to a sitting position.

  I looked back, thinking surely we’d lost them with that move, but the ski boat was speeding along behind us. Ida Belle glanced back and frowned.

  “I can’t lose them,” she said. “We’re almost back to town. I can’t just dock behind your house with them on us.”

  “I have an idea,” Gertie yelled. She flipped open the top to the bench and disappeared behind it. A couple seconds later, the top dropped back down and Gertie emerged.

  Holding a fire extinguisher.

  Ida Belle’s eyes widened. “No!” she yelled and threw her hand over her eyes.

  But it was too late.

  Gertie let loose a stream of spray right onto us. I felt the white foam hit me and threw my hands up to keep it from pelting my face. My sunglasses were completely covered and I couldn’t see a thing. But I could hear yelling behind me. I whipped around in my seat and ripped off the sunglasses in time to see a blizzard of foam hit the guys behind us.

  Ida Belle made a hard right and we shot into the bayou behind my house. The man in the passenger side of the ski boat had managed to duck behind the console and avoid the worst of the spray, but the driver looked like the abominable snowman. He wiped his hand across his eyes and slung a handful of the foam over the side of the boat, then opened his eyes.

  But it was too late.

  He’d missed the hard right and was now barreling straight for the bank. I heard both men scream like girls as the ski boat hit the bank and ran straight into someone’s backyard clothesline. White sheets from the clothesline hit both of the men and wrapped around them. It looked like something from a Scooby-Doo cartoon—ghosts driving a boat on land.

  Ida Belle let out a hoot but never slowed. Minutes later, she drove the airboat halfway up the bank in my backyard and we bailed out. The back door to my house flew open and Ally ran outside, her eyes wide.

  “Oh my God!” Ally cried. “What happened to you?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  “Well, there’s no time for it,” Ally said. “Apparently Carter has been trying to reach you and couldn’t. I just got off the phone with him. He’s on his way over here.”

  “Now?”

  “He’ll be here any minute. And I have a feeling that whatever this is, he won’t be happy about it.”

  Panic set in. No way did we have time to change clothes and shower.

  “Sit down,” Ida Belle said.

  “What?” This was no time for sitting. This was time for running all the way back to DC.

  “I have a plan,” Ida Belle said and pointed to the lawn chairs. “You and Gertie sit down.”

  She jumped into the airboat and grabbed the fire extinguisher, the
n jumped back onto the bank and shoved it in Ally’s hands before taking a seat next to us. “Spray us with it,” she said.

  Ally’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Hell no!” I said. It was already going to take an entire tube of toothpaste and maybe even an electric sander to get the taste out of my mouth.

  “Spray us,” Ida Belle said. “Trust me.”

  Ally’s expression said we’d clearly lost our minds, but she directed the hose at us and sprayed. I squeezed my eyes and mouth shut and forced myself to stay seated as the foam pelted my face and upper body.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Carter’s voice sounded behind us.

  I prayed that whatever Ida Belle had in mind made any kind of sense, but I didn’t hold out much hope. I wiped the foam from my eyes and squinted as Carter stepped in front of us. The look on his face was a mixture of disbelief and fear. He looked over at Ally.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Ally froze for a moment, then shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I’m just following orders.”

  Ida Belle wiped the foam from her mouth. “Skin treatment,” she said.

  “What?” Carter sounded as incredulous as I felt.

  “I read it on the Internet,” Ida Belle said. “It’s supposed to make your skin look ten years younger.”

  “Fire extinguisher foam?” Carter asked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Makes sense, really,” Gertie said, spraying foam as she spoke. “It’s moist enough to put out fire.”

  “You’re fully dressed,” he said.

  “Would you prefer we sit out here naked?” I asked.

  “I…uh…of course not.”

  I struggled not to smile. He probably wouldn’t mind if one of us sat out here naked, except for the legality of it. “Besides, we’re just treating our faces,” I said.

  “You’ve got it all over you,” he argued.

  “Have you ever tried to apply fire foam in a small area?” Ally asked, getting into the act. “We started in the kitchen and it took us an hour to clean up the mess.”