“I said I saw what you did.”
“No insurance?” Charles pressed on, scanning the table. The woman and Mr. CAT Diesel both shook their heads.
“Damnit!” the old main shouted, throwing his cards away. “I don’t expect much from a shithole like this, but I ain’t gonna sit here and be cheated!”
“Take it easy, pops,” CAT Diesel mumbled.
“Like hell I will,” the old man railed. “You think I never seen bottom-dealing before?”
Charles felt his cheeks flush and lifted a casual hand to get Antoine’s attention. Best to extinguish this situation as quickly as possible.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t see it?” the oldster demanded of the woman on his left. She gave a noncommittal half-shrug and developed a serious interest in her gin and tonic.
“Why don’t you take a break, sir?” Charles said nervously. “Come back another time, have better luck.”
“I ain’t leaving till I get a refund!” the gambler yelled, slamming a liver-spotted fist on the table.
A group of slots players had pivoted around on their stools, drawn by the noise. Sensing he had an audience, the old man raised his voice even louder so that it cut through a Buddy Bolden track on the juke.
“Place is nothing but a goddamn clip joint,” he shouted, waving to the slots players. “Watered down drinks, tight slots, hell, that’s par for the course. But a cheating dealer is too goddamn much!”
Charles was starting to panic, but relaxed when he saw Antoine rise from his stool. About time the fatass started doing his job. With any luck, this ancient cracker would be hustled out the back before Mr. Abellard got wind of the disturbance.
“We got a problem here?” Antoine said.
“Damn right we do,” the gambler replied.
“Gentleman’s had too much to drink,” Charles offered. “Cards haven’t being going his way.”
“That’s because you’re dealing ’em crooked, you little bastard!”
Antoine had heard enough. He felt certain a racial epithet was begging to spring from the old man’s spittle-flecked lips, an eventuality sure to cause more trouble than anyone wanted.
“Come on,” he said, laying a persuasive hand on the man’s shoulder. “Let’s step out the back way, nice and easy. Nobody’s making a fuss here.”
The oldster cast a last pleading look at his two fellow gamblers, searching for some sign of solidarity. Both were ignoring him, which appeared to deflate his ire. The moment had passed. Nodding like he’d expected no better, he pushed himself away from the table and allowed Antoine to steer him toward the rear exit.
“Don’t seem right,” he muttered quietly.
“Everybody gets their ass handed to ’em sometimes,” the security guard mumbled in commiseration as they stepped off the casino floor and turned into the rear hallway. “Shake it off and win it back another day.”
Antoine never saw the kick launched at his left kneecap. It struck dead-center, hard enough to open a hairline fracture in the bone. A much harder blow than he would have imagined possible from such a feeble attacker. He didn’t even feel the pain immediately. What he felt was gravity yanking him down hard as his leg buckled from the kick’s precisely aimed impact. He landed flat on his face, tasting carpet.
A knee dug into his back with enough force to rob him of his breath. Then the tip of something very sharp nudged up against his jugular vein.
“Feel that, big man?” Rusty said through the tangled fibers of the false beard. “I’ll split you like a can opener if you don’t do exactly what I say. Got it?”
“Fuck you,” Antoine growled. He still didn’t know what was going on. The voice sounded somehow familiar, but more confounding was how the old bastard had felled him with one crippling kick. The numbness in his knee was rapidly oozing into a febrile throb.
“Think twice, Antoine. You’ll bleed out before the boss even gets a whiff there’s something wrong.”
A jab of the razor-like tip verified that threat. Antoine nodded in assent.
Rusty gripped the Marrow Seeker’s handle tightly, careful not to press too hard. He knew perfectly well what kind of damage the deceptively sharp wooden blade could do. He wanted to incapacitate Antoine, but not lethally.
“Listen real close,” he said, spitting away some hairs from the beard. The damn thing had irritated his skin since Prosper applied it along with the prosthetics hours earlier, using an excess of spirit gum in Rusty’s opinion.
“You’re taking me to Abellard’s office,” he continued. “Knock three times like I saw you do before.”
“He ain’t here.”
“Better hope that’s bullshit,” Rusty said, making a downward slash with the blade that ripped open the collar of Antoine’s shirt and took away some skin in the process. The security guard yelped like a kicked puppy.
“He’s here, he’s here!”
“Good news for you. Now what are we doing?”
“Knocking on the door three times.”
“When he asks what you want, tell him there’s a situation on the casino floor that demands his attention.”
“He said not to be bothered for nothing.”
“Then you’ll have to convince him. Trust me, it’s in your interest for him to open that door.”
“Then what?”
“Step aside. Get in my way, you bleed. Are we clear?”
Another terse nod. Rusty retracted the blade but kept it within striking range.
“On your feet. Let’s do this.”
Antoine lumbered into an upright position and stepped forward. Rusty followed closely behind. He sensed a compression of energy as the security guard pondered making a quick move.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Antoine. Your boss ain’t worth opening a vein for. You know damn well he wouldn’t do it for you.”
The guard raised a fist and rapped on the door three times.
“Goddamnit!” Abellard’s muffled voice came through the two-inch oak. “What the fuck did I say!”
“Tell him the Sheriff’s here,” Rusty nudged. “Investigating a complaint about that crooked blackjack dealer.”
“This is important, boss. Man out here from the Sheriff’s Office. Wants to talk to you, shoving around a piece of paper supposed to be a warrant.”
Rusty nodded in approval.
No reply came. Five seconds passed, then ten.
“Prod him some more,” Rusty hissed in Antoine’s ear.
“What else am I supposed—”
The door opened, stopping his unfinished question. Joseph Abellard filled the frame, backlit by the office’s bright lamps.
Rusty collapsed Antoine’s left leg with a hammering kick to the back of the knee, the same one he’d targeted before. The security guard staggered forward, all his weight falling into Abellard. The half-second it took for the two men to right themselves gave Rusty time to press the Marrow Seeker against Abellard’s neck. Pulling him to the floor in a wrestler’s takedown, Rusty shouted at Antoine.
“Shut that door!”
Antoine’s eyes flicked from his boss to Rusty and back. Abellard bucked against the weight pushing down on top of him, but the knife’s advancing pressure persuaded him to stop.
“Shut the door or he dies!”
“Do it,” Abellard said, nodding furiously. Antoine pushed the door closed.
“Good. Now back off into the corner. Sit on that safe. Hands on top of your head.”
“You’re dead, old man,” Abellard mumbled. “Whoever the fuck you are, you’re dead.”
“Shut up,” Rusty said, watching the guard do as he’d been told.
The moment Antoine lowered himself onto the metal safe, Rusty used his free hand to drive a fist into Abellard’s mouth. A pair of prominent upper teeth tore through the shriveled, liver-spotted latex on Rusty’s knuckles, digging into the skin beneath. It felt good.
“Come here to rob me, old man?” Abellard demanded, blood running from his split lip. He jerked his h
ead toward the safe. “Think I’m opening that for your ass?”
“I’m not here for money, Joseph. You and I got some unfinished business.”
Abellard froze, recognizing the voice without being able to place it. Rusty slammed another fist into his face, breaking the nose.
“Remember me now, asshole? You fucked up on the bay. Should’ve stuck around to make sure I never found the surface.”
Abellard’s breath came in ragged gulps as he pieced together what was happening. His eyes rotated around in their sockets, scanning the office for some sign of how to reverse this situation.
“Never walking out of here, motherfucker,” he muttered without much conviction, still dazed.
“Shut up and listen. I told you yesterday why I’m here. Nothing’s changed, except now you’re gonna take me to her.”
Rusty sensed movement in the corner of one eye. He whipped his head to the left in time to see Antoine clumsily lifting himself from the safe.
“You wanna see him die? I wouldn’t blame you, but that’s gonna leave you with a whole lot of questions to answer. Sit down, Antoine.”
The security guard stood in place until Abellard yelled for him to be seated.
“Alright,” Rusty said. “You and me are going for a drive, Joseph. We’re taking that nice Escalade of yours.”
He saw Abellard shake his head, regaining some composure. The casino boss appeared to recover quickly from the shock of being attacked by a man he thought was dead. Now he was obviously focusing on how to regain the advantage.
“I ain’t going nowhere. Go ahead, shiv me. See how far you make it out of here.”
“I got no interest in cutting you just yet. I need you alive, so you can take me to Guillory’s place. Guillory has her, isn’t that right?”
Those words brought a moment of silence, the only sound heard in the office a muted bassline from the jukebox thumping through one wall.
“There’s no point lying now, Joseph.”
“Man, I told you it’s none of your damn—”
“Shut up. You’re taking me to see Guillory, and I’ll take it from there. You just better pray she hasn’t been hurt. Where are the keys?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Rusty pressed harder on the Marrow Seeker’s handle. The tip dug into the skin below Abellard’s chin, drawing a pinprick of blood.
“The keys!”
“On the desk,” Abellard said through gritted teeth.
“Toss them to me,” Rusty ordered to Antoine. “Slowly.”
Antoine stepped over to the desk. He picked up a heavy key ring and gave it a heave. Rusty caught it with his free hand, slipping the keys into his jacket pocket.
“Is it parked out back?” Rusty asked him. Antoine nodded.
“Back on the safe, big man.”
The security guard again seated himself.
“OK, me and Joseph are stepping into the hall and walking to the right. Same way you fuckers carried me out yesterday. Sound the alarm or try to stop our progress in any way, he dies. Understand?”
“I hear you,” Antoine replied.
“We good, Joseph?”
Abellard didn’t move, then gave one terse nod of the head.
“Alright, up nice and easy.”
Both men slowly rose from the floor. Rusty placed a hand on the back of Abellard’s neck and turned him around toward the door.
“Step out and make for the exit. I’m right behind you.”
Abellard opened the door and the casino’s juke filled the room. Rusty nudged him and Abellard stepped into the hall, looking left to see if there was anyone whose assistance he could flag down.
“Other way,” Rusty said, giving a jab to encourage forward movement. “Let’s go.”
He shot a final glance at Antoine, still perched on the safe. The security guard didn’t move as Rusty and his hostage disappeared out of the office. The look on Antoine’s face was one of ambivalent consternation, as if trying to calculate how long he should wait before sounding the alarm. And wondering if it was even worth trying to save his miserable boss at this point.
28.
The black Escalade rolled out of the Carnival’s badly paved lot, sending up a small hailstorm of dust and gravel. Abellard fumed in the driver’s seat, safety belt securely tightened at Rusty’s insistence. Rusty occupied the passenger seat, leaving the belt off so his left hand could hold the knife within an inch of Abellard’s neck.
Neither man said much as they passed over the Mississippi and turned eastbound on the I-10. Abellard merged into the fast lane and floored it. Rusty cautioned him to watch his speed, getting stoney silence in response.
“I hope you’re not planning to do something stupid,” Rusty said, “like driving in such a way that gets us pulled over. Maybe Antoine’s already put the call out to some cop on your payroll and there’s a patrol car looking for us right now. Word to the wise: anyone tries to flag us down, it’s not gonna go well for you.”
Abellard did not reply, just goosed the accelerator.
“Or maybe you’re thinking about getting us in a wreck,” Rusty continued. “You can forget that too. Even if the airbag keeps you safe, nothing will stop this blade from doing its work.”
“You gonna talk the whole fuckin’ way? You’re getting what you want, so why not shut up?”
“Just making sure our position is clear. You’re worth something to me as long as I think you’ll take me to where she is. The minute I stop believing that, your life loses any value.”
Rusty used his free hand to peel off his salt & pepper wig, then the beard. He hadn’t disguised himself since performing in Vegas, and he hadn’t missed it much. The beard’s rough, ticklish fibers had been driving him nuts since Prosper applied it in his kitchen at the house on Camp Street, pulling out a closet’s worth of professional makeup and stagecraft devices. Monday had watched with rapt fascination, offering some helpful comments.
Itchy as the beard was, the liver-spotted latex nose bugged Rusty a hell of a lot more. He detached it from his face with a moist pop, enjoying his first unrestricted inhalation in hours. Then the latex applications covering his hands came off, one finger at a time like form-fitting gloves.
“Jesus Christ,” Abellard sighed with a disgusted shake of the head. “Nothing but a dime store Halloween mask.”
“Not even close, but nice try.”
“Fatass lets you walk right in the door…”
“Don’t be so hard on him. These are expert prosthetics, applied by a master. You wouldn’t have made me either.”
Abellard didn’t reply. He flipped on the headlights as the sky descended into something deeper than twilight.
They’d driven another twenty miles on the interstate, retracing the route Rusty had taken from New Orleans, when the Escalade turned left onto State Highway 22.
“We’re heading north?” Rusty asked.
“Livingston Parish, outside Maurepas.”
“Are you sure you’re taking me to Guillory?”
Abellard nodded.
“Her house or somewhere else?”
“House. I know the place.”
“And that’s where Marceline is?”
“If she ain’t, she’s somewhere close by. I’m getting her back tonight,” the big man continued, voice steadily rising. “Already laid the groundwork to make that happen, it’s all set.”
“Guess I’m ruining your plans, huh?”
“Smirk all you want, motherfucker. I was doing this my way, and you’re fucking it up!”
“You’ve had plenty of time to do it your way, Joseph. I’d say you’ve done a shit job so far. We’ll do it my way from now on.”
Rusty could practically see the gears of Abellard’s mind at work, seeking a way to alter the circumstances.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and devoid of the usual thuggish edge.
“I’m telling you, man. I care about that girl more than your dumb ass will ever understand. She don’t wa
nt to be with me, that’s her call. I’ll still provide for her and the child, and she’s free to do as she wants.”
Rusty watched the play of approaching headlights across his face. Abellard’s expression had softened with the same elasticity he’d noticed before. In place of rage and frustration was a hint of something like real remorse.
“She’s not free now, is she? And that’s your fault, Joseph.”
Abellard opened his mouth to refute that statement, but the words didn’t make it.
“At first I thought you’d snatched her, or worse. Jealous man, can’t stand the idea of her walking out, especially with a kid on the way. But when I met you, I got a different impression. Didn’t really want to believe it. I wanted to think you knew where she was. But that’s not what my eyes told me. You were genuinely worried about her.”
“Shit,” Abellard muttered. “I told you as much.”
“Thing is,” Rusty continued, “I saw more than worry in your face. I saw guilt, and I knew you had something to do with it.”
“You don’t know jackshit.”
“I can take a stab at it, since we’ve got some time on our hands. Claude Sherman tried to steal a goddamn umbilical cord from Bon Coeur. You got him that job, or pressured Dr. Roque to provide a reference. The same Dr. Roque who got diced up with one of his own surgical knives. My guess is you and this wacko professor are running some kind of medical scam. Selling biological material that’s too scarce to come by or flat-out illegal. Roque was in on the scam but someone decided to ice him.”
Abellard mumbled under his breath, but didn’t say anything to contradict what he was hearing.
“I don’t give a shit about that part,” Rusty continued. “When Sherman got caught, Marcie connected him to you and threatened to talk, since the hospital brass was too chickenshit to report it. So you show up at the ward like the fucking hothead you are, and it gets ugly. The damage is done, and the risk is there as long as she’s free to talk. Three days later, she vanishes. Only it wasn’t you that grabbed her.”
Abellard’s hands tightened on the wheel like it was his passenger’s trachea.
“I’m guessing it was Sherman who pulled the abduction. I walked in on him at her place a few nights ago. Maybe he was there to collect some evidence he’d left behind, I don’t know. Anyway, I don’t think he was acting on your orders. Guillory sent him there.”
Blind Shuffle Page 20
