by Polly Iyer
“Not to get in his head and not to help the police find him.”
“And I suppose you gave him your word on that too.”
“Yes, I did.”
“And I suppose you’ll draw on some twisted sense of honor to keep that promise.”
Diana pushed herself up. Anger built inside her, and she felt her face scrunch in disdain. “The hell I will. When I’m finished with that sick bastard, he’ll wish he never heard of Diana Racine.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Speechless for Once
“I don’t want to do this right now,” Diana said. “It’s late. We have to wait at least until tomorrow. Give him a chance to feel safe.”
McCoy Jenrette joined the group, furious with Diana for the dangerous stunt she pulled. “Why? That’ll also give him more time to get away. You’ve already done your damnedest to make sure he does.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Diana said. “I did what was best for everyone involved. If you want to put me in jail, go ahead. I’m too tired to argue.”
“I don’t know whether to put you in jail or your father for reckless endangerment in letting you go,” Jenrette said. “My opinion, you’re both guilty of obstruction of justice.”
“Look, when I start on Macon, I want him far enough away so he can’t turn around and do what he promised. That man’s crazy.”
“Ya think?” Jenrette said, the sarcasm hard to ignore. “He’s probably on his way to Mexico as we speak. We got a call from a dealer not far from Alice Mayburn’s apartment. Said a ’94 Camry went missing from his lot. Stupid old boozer didn’t even know the car was missing till today. They took a plate from his office, so I’ve added the number to the BOLO already in place. I bet Macon’s ditched it by now and stolen a new one. Won’t be long before someone reports a missing car and we find the Camry. Goddamn long way to the border. We’ll get him.”
Lucier watched Diana’s every twitch, and both Jenrette and Galen watched Lucier—the latter with an uncomfortable shifting in his chair but with a silent tongue. Diana closed her eyes, unaware of everyone’s vigilance.
“My daughter’s being released tomorrow,” Galen said. “I guess we’ll head back to New Orleans to pick up the equipment, then home to South Carolina so she can rest.”
Diana opened her eyes. She exchanged glances with Lucier. “I’m staying in New Orleans until this is over, Galen, but I want you, Blanche, and Jason to head home. There’s no need for you to be here.”
Galen blustered at the request. “But—”
Jenrette interrupted. “I’ll still be on it here, in case either one of them shows up again. The bastard’s wanted for kidnapping and murder. Every cop in the country is looking for him. He’s zoomed to the top of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted, his and Alice’s pictures are flashing all over television, and every Mexican and Canadian border has been alerted. He’d have to be a ghost to get by all that. We’ll keep an eye on Joey Dree too. Ya never know.”
“Don’t put anything past him, Sheriff, he never does the expected,” Diana said. “They could ditch the car and hop a bus or train. They could commandeer a ride and cross the border with two other people looking like they’re on vacation. Or they could stay put somewhere nearby and wait till this all blows over. That’s the one I’m most worried about.”
“We’ll be waiting, ma’am.” He stood up, squared his shoulders, and jiggled his cigar around in his mouth. “I’m heading back to the station. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything. Coming, Ernie?”
“Be right with you. Give me a minute.” Lucier turned to Diana. “There’ll be a cop on the door until you’re released tomorrow. We’ll go back to New Orleans together, with your parents. I want you safe before you do whatever you have in mind. Let’s hope they catch him before then.”
“Okay, whatever you say. Right now I need rest. I think I might have overdone things today.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“We’ll be here,” Galen said.
“Please, Galen, you and Blanche need to go. I’ll sleep better with no one in the room.”
“Are you sure, dear?” Blanche said.
“She’s sure, honey,” Galen said. “Stop worrying your pretty little head over this. I’ve got everything under control.”
Blanche turned to her husband. “Galen, shut up. Don’t you talk down to me like I’m some kind of idiot. I won’t take it anymore, you hear?”
Galen’s mouth hung open, speechless for the second time in recent memory. “Yes, dear. I hear you. Sorry.”
Diana feigned a yawn to hide the smile beneath.
Chapter Forty-Six
Just Another Day at the Lake
“Dammit to hell, Harley, I don’t get it. Why’d you wanna come back here? We could’a been halfway to Mexico by now.” Alice threw off her hat, shaking out her mass of frizz, and paced the floor. She stuck her hand in the neck of her shirt and pulled her bra strap back onto her shoulder, joggling her ample appendages into place. “I couldn’t believe you drove back to the lake.”
“Alice, let me ask you a question,” Macon said, settling into the sofa. “Where do you think the cops expect us to go? Mexico, maybe?”
“Well, sure, Harley. That’d be the logical pla—” Alice’s eyes opened wide. “Oooh, I see. Goddamn, Harley, you’re as smart as they come. They’ll never think we stayed around here.”
“Bingo. Or that we’ll go to New Orleans when Diana Racine gets out of the hospital tomorrow. Nope, they’ll think we’re hotfooting to Mexico. She expects to be safe in the Big Easy, but guess what? She’s in for a surprise.”
“If you still want to get her, why didn’t you take her out at the park?”
“I planned to, but you heard her. She would’ve alerted those cops, and they’d have been all over us. I should’ve controlled the meeting instead of letting her take charge. That was my damn fault. Stupid,” he said, banging his head with the palm of his hand. “She mixed me up with those damn headaches.”
Alice plopped down next to him and pecked away at his face, while one hand roamed to his crotch. “You did what you had to, baby.”
Damn, this woman turned him on. He couldn’t think with her hand rubbing the swelling between his legs. “Even if those cops didn’t get us, they would’ve seen the car. But maybe this will work out better. She’ll be off guard and so will her boyfriend cop. We’ll ditch this car, get another, and finish the job. Then we’ll lay low for a while. When everyone thinks we’ve managed to get out of the country, they’ll let down their guard and we’ll cross over the border somewhere. Hell, the illegals do it every day.”
“You’re a genius, Harley. I’m glad you’re gonna get her.” Alice drew her eyes into narrow slits. “Did you see the way she ignored me in the park? She wouldn’t even look me in the eye, snotty ass bitch. Lemme do her when the time comes, Harley. Will ya, huh?”
Macon threw his head back and laughed. “No way. I’ve waited too long for this. If I’d finished her off at the cabin like I should’ve, I’d be sitting on a beach in Mexico drinking margaritas.”
Alice climbed onto his lap. “But you wouldn’t have me, so I guess it was worth turning out this way, ain’t that right, Harley?”
“That’s right. Now we got a little time on our hands, and you got my dick standing at attention. Why don’t you show me those tricks you were talking about. I’m horny as hell.
* * * * *
Macon woke with a hard on. Had he been hard all night after Alice performed her magic? Scanning the naked body next to him didn’t help. Before prison, he’d had his flings with older, more experienced women. They’d been grateful for his youth, good looks, and oversized cock, he for their instruction. And of course there was—but that ended long before. He missed women the most on the inside. Sometimes they were all he could think about, at first finding inadequate relief for his urges in manual stimulation. He’d resisted the overtures as long as he could, but twenty years is a long damn time
, and he eventually gave in. Macon rubbed his temples, willing the memories from his mind, convincing himself that those things never happened. But they did. Just the way things were in the joint. Not like it was the first time. He willed away those memories too. All circumstances. That didn’t make him a pervert, just a victim of circumstances. Nothing more.
* * * * *
Macon drove the car into the brush on a dead-end dirt road and covered it with limbs. The location of the lake cottage turned out to be the perfect refuge, unless, of course, the owner decided to show up. So far, so good.
He’d learned from a short news brief that Diana had left the hospital, but nothing was mentioned about her plans. Conversely, news of Alice and him filled the local time spots with endless speculation. The police, FBI, and border patrol insisted the fugitive couple couldn’t have crossed the border into Mexico without their knowledge, drawing the assumption they were still in the country. If so, where? The Camry was never found and no other car had been reported stolen. Macon followed every report, satisfied he’d outsmarted the local gendarme once more.
Alice cut her hair short and bleached it blonde, washed off her makeup, and removed all her jewelry, leaving no semblance of the woman pictured in the media. She looked younger without all the crap on her face, Macon thought. She ventured out wearing big sunglasses and the oversized plaid shirt to cover her voluptuous figure, parking out of sight and walking the rest of the way. The seasonal area was deserted except for a few old black men she reported hanging around exchanging exaggerated yarns about the old days. They didn’t even look at her.
Macon understood the lure of fishing. Peace and tranquility on the lake, the lapping sounds of water and the cacophonous symphony of insects and birds. He’d seen numerous boats drop anchor and spend hours reeling in nothing to speak of. But now, mentally exhausted thanks to Diana, and physically spent courtesy of Alice, the gentle rocking of a boat would no doubt lull him to sleep, and he’d fall overboard into the deep and drown.
Hearing music nearby, he told Alice to stay put while he followed the sound. New growth sprouted along the bank, a sign of regeneration where hurricane flooding had washed away the shoreline and everything else in its way. Unable to tread the carpet of twigs and branches without announcing himself, he ambled around the point, an outdoorsman on a nature stroll.
A man sat on a canvas folding chair, beer in a recessed pocket in the arm, fishing rod in hand, and a cooler at his feet. Macon presumed another container held bait and the daily catch. The radio blasted classic rock, and the slim fortyish man tapped to the beat while he baited his hook. He wore well-worn cargo pants, an old faded Polo sweatshirt and sunglasses under a Tulane cap.
“Hey there, how’s the fishing?” Macon asked as he approached.
The man registered surprise at the unexpected visitor. “Nothing much today. A few bites, but no dinner yet.” He appraised Macon then turned his attention back to his rod and reel. “You walking or scouting a fishing spot?”
“Out for a little fresh air. Beautiful day for sitting out with a rod, though. I’m tempted to go back to the house I’m renting and get one.”
“You staying nearby?” the man asked.
“Next door. Nice little place.”
“The Holden place? I’ve never known them to rent before. You a friend?”
“Not really. We stopped by one of the realty offices and told them we wanted a quiet place with a view for a few days, nothing long term. They made a call and rented me this one.”
“Well, I guess George decided to make a few bucks. Nothing wrong with that. They hardly ever use the place anyway.”
Lucky for that. Macon scanned the area all the way up the trail to the house. The man’s place was bigger than Macon’s borrowed cabin. “That your place?”
“Yup. Come here regularly to do a little fishing, a little writing. Get away from the rat race for a few days. You know how it is.”
“Sure do,” Macon said, crouching down. He picked up a few pebbles and skimmed them across the water. “Your family with you?”
“Nope. This is my week. No wife, no kids. Interferes with my fishing.” The man stood up and cast his line into the middle of the lake, let it settle a minute, then sat down and started jerking the rod. “When I come, I come alone. Don’t even call home. The wife travels with her friends. I come here. We have a pretty good arrangement.” He looked up at Macon. “What about you? Married?”
“Naw, I’m here with a woman, but nothing serious. She’s got her attributes, though, if you know what I mean.” He winked conspiratorially.
The guy laughed. “Do I ever.”
The way he laughed, Macon wondered if he might have a woman who wasn’t his wife waiting up in his house. Another inspection of the area and he said, “Don’t you get bored?”
“Bored? How can you get bored in heaven? I fish all day, usually catch dinner, then write the rest of the night. I’m into that man back to nature thing. All I’d need are a couple of lanterns to write by and I could be back a hundred years or so. Oh, I forgot, except for the computer.”
Naw, no woman. The guy was too straight. Macon looked around, checking for anyone around the bend. Saw nothing to spoil his just made-up plan. “That’s the life. What kind of stuff do you write? Murder mysteries?”
“How-to books. How to do this, how to do that. Handyman stuff, you know? No bestsellers, but a nice living.” The man turned to face Macon, squinting in the sun. His narrow-eyed gaze lingered a little too long, but then he said, “Want a beer?”
“Don’t mind if I do, thanks.” The guy opened one of the coolers and pulled out a Bud. Macon pushed aside some twigs and sat on the ground. Snapping open the top of the can, he noticed the fisherman’s continued stare.
“You look familiar. You been around these parts before? Maybe we’ve run into each other. Name’s Rich Corbeau.” He put his hand out to shake and stopped midway, his mouth open. “Um, what…what’s yours?”
“Macon. Harley Macon.”
Corbeau summoned his willpower to act nonchalant, but stunned hesitation gave him away. “That’s what I thought,” he mused. “Saw you on TV. Too bad.”
“Yes, it is.” Macon took the knife from beside the fish cooler and swiped the blade across the man’s throat. Corbeau’s face froze in surprise, then he slumped in his chair, blood spurting from his neck like a geyser. He dropped the rod.
* * * * *
“Looks like Lady Luck is on our side,” Macon said when he returned to the cabin. “I got us a car.”
“Yuwee, Harley,” Alice squealed. “How’d you do that?”
He told her about meeting Corbeau, his Volvo, the credit cards, and four beautiful hundred dollars in his wallet. “I think we’re about ready to leave this place, babe. Get yourself together, ’cause N’awlins is a-waiting.”
Alice grabbed Macon’s ass and pulled him close enough to squish her major assets into his face. “How much of a rush are we in?”
“Hmmm, I guess another hour won’t matter.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The Inevitable Vision
Macon met Joey Dree at a convenience store parking lot in front of one of the only phone booths around. “You owe me, Joey, and you’re gonna pay up. If you hadn’t ratted me out, I’d be long gone by now, in Canada or Mexico, and that bitch would be dead.” Considering the stink of fear emanating from the little ferret face ex-con, he’d do whatever Macon wanted.
“I couldn’t help it, Harley. They was gonna charge me as an accessory. I didn’t know nothin’ ’bout no murder. You know that. I done everything you asked. License, ID, even got you a gun. What was I s’pposed to do?”
Macon pushed his face so far into Joey’s that their noses almost touched. “I’ve got nothing to lose. They catch me and it’s the needle. End of story. You don’t do what I ask, I’ll kill you, and I promise the last moments of your life won’t be pleasant. Understand?”
“Yeah, Har- Har-ley, sure, sure.”
“Now, where can you put me up? Me and Alice.”
“Lemme think. I gotta think. You can’t stay with me. The cops’ll be all over my ass.”
Macon put his hand on Joey’s scrawny arm and jerked away, as if his ex-prison buddy shot sparks into his hand. He shook off the vision. “Well, think fast. We need a place for a few days, maybe not even that long, near the city. I don’t know how long this car will be safe, so I can’t travel far. The longer I’m out in the open, the greater the risk.”
Joey paced around, then stopped. “I got a friend across the river in Gretna. He owes me money for a job I did. Maybe he can put you up for a couple of days. Thing is he’s married, and his wife watches him like a hawk. If she even thinks he’s doing anything illegal, she’ll chop his balls off. She hates me. Thinks I’m a bad influence. I’ll call him at his bar and hope he’s there ’cause if I call his house and she answers, I’ll give you the phone. She’ll recognize my voice and hang up. His name’s Castor. Frankie Castor.”
Macon grabbed the receiver—which by some stroke of luck hadn’t been yanked out—and stuck it in Joey’s hand. “Now, Joey. Call him now.”
“All right, all right. Don’t get your bowels in an uproar.”
Castor agreed to meet Joey at his bar a few blocks from where he lived in Gretna. Harley and Alice followed in the Volvo.
* * * * *
It was hard to ignore Frankie Castor. A doctor would describe him as morbidly obese, a heart attack waiting to happen. He took up most of the bench seat, forcing his massive bulk into the edge of the table. Joey would have been lost in Castor’s enormous tent of a shirt.
Joey leaned across the table and spoke in a hushed voice. “Got a couple of friends who need a place to stay. You owe me a favor, and I’m calling in the marker.”
Castor squeezed a dirty fingernail into the space between his teeth to pick at a remnant of food. He liberated the stringy substance and wiped it on his pants. “What’d they do?”
“Never mind, you don’t wanna know. You gotta find somewhere no one’ll see ’em. Only for a day or two. Maybe three. It’s important, Frankie.”
