by Polly Iyer
“First you gotta tell me why or else no deal.”
“The cops’re looking for them. They ain’t gonna get you in trouble. They ain’t looking to get caught any more than we want ’em to.”
Castor’s beady eyes never left Joey’s. “What’s his name?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“Name, Joey.”
Joey mumbled Macon’s name.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Castor looked around to make sure no one heard. “That psycho’s picture’s everywhere. The cops’d be all over me like flies to shit.” He pulled a wrinkled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow, then he looked around the restaurant. “You don’t have him with you, do you?”
“He’s in the car,” Joey said, then added, “but we parked out of the way. No one saw nothing.”
“Jesus H. Christ, you brought Public Enemy Number One to my joint? I’m gonna fucking strangle you.”
“Well, I don’t have a hell of a lot of choice, do I? Either you kill me or he does. He might even kill you if you don’t get him a place to put up. You gotta do me this one favor. I promise, I’ll make it up to you ten times over. Licenses, IDs, passports, whatever you need. I’ll never ask you for another thing.”
Castor reached across and clutched Joey’s arm in a vice grip. “What’s to keep him from killing both of us once he gets what he wants?”
Joey pulled his arm away and rubbed it. “Find him a safe place for a few days. What’ya say?”
“Christ, when you call in a marker, you don’t fuck around.” The big man leaned back and cleaned out his left nostril with a fat pinkie, flicking the gob under the table. “Lemme make a few calls. Wait here.”
Castor shuffled to the rear of the bar and shifted sideways into a back room, closing the door behind him. Joey guzzled his beer and ordered another. By the time Castor waddled back to the table, Joey had drained the second beer and contemplated ordering a third. He was sweating like a goddamn pig, felt his sticky underarms glued to his T-shirt.
“I know nothing about this, understand, Joey? If you tell, you’re a dead man. You won’t know when or where, but trust me, you’ll be dead.”
“I promise. No one’ll ever know. I promise.” Joey crossed his heart with a jittery finger. “You think I want the cops to find out I’m helpin’ this guy? My brother says that’s accessory after the fact.”
“He’s right. You’d be back in the slammer for good.” Castor lowered his voice enough that Joey leaned in to hear. “Now listen good. There’s a place about twelve miles out of town, a series of deserted warehouses at the end of a working industrial park. Number 1220 will have a key for the second floor taped to the inside top of the mailbox.” He passed Joey a scrap of paper. “Here’s the address. They can stay two days, three tops. Tell him to pull his car around back into the space under the building.”
Joey read the directions. “Thanks, Frankie. I’ll pay you back. You’ll see.”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
Joey scrammed for the door and broke into a run until he got to the Volvo. He stuck his head through the open window and shoved the directions into Macon’s hand.
“We’ll follow you,” Macon said. “And don’t do anything funny.”
Joey’s head bobbed around on his shoulders. “No, no, I can’t. I got some business to tend to. I gave you directions. You’ll find the place easy. Won’t be no trouble.”
“I don’t feel like getting fucking lost at this hour of the night, Joey. Anyway, I need you to stop and pick up food, fried chicken or something, Cokes, and some fries. Then when you show us where it is and make sure the key’s there, you can go. After that I don’t care if I never see you again.”
Joey wanted to say the same thing but held his tongue. He didn’t want to piss off Macon. He’d seen the cold-eyed threats under the surface charm while in prison. And Macon had done some kinky things while he was inside. Things that if Joey ever told, Macon’d kill him without batting an eye.
“Okay, okay, fine, just until I get you there. Then I’m gone.”
“Right. Now, let’s get going. Alice is tired and so am I. I’ve got a lot to do in a short time.”
Joey drove his beat up Mustang into a KFC drive-thru, a Mini Mart, and then out of town. Macon followed. He turned into an industrial park, drove to the last street, and stopped in front of a deserted brick building with the numbers 1220 visible on the mailbox. Macon eased alongside and told Joey to retrieve the key and drive around back.
“Why? You said I could leave when you got here.”
“I want to make sure the key works and the place is fit for humans. Then you can go.”
Joey got out of his car, extracted the key where Frankie said it would be, and drove around back. When Macon got out, Joey handed him the key. The sharp thrust of the knife entered below his rib cage and moved expertly up the center of his chest. The last thing Joey saw was Macon’s familiar smile that alternated between charming and deadly. Tonight it was deadly.
* * * * *
Macon watched with a smile as the bony heap fell to the ground, noting the quizzical expression when Joey gasped his last breath. The runt reminded him of a hooked fish flapping his gills, desperate for water. He saw the exact vision when he touched his arm earlier. Joey sold him out. Not a good thing to do if he wanted to live. When Joey stopped jerking, Macon picked him up at arm’s length to avoid getting blood all over himself. He told Alice to open the trunk of Joey’s car, then he stuffed the body inside. He took the runt’s keys and drove the car into the space under the warehouse, beside the Volvo.
“Let’s eat,” he said. “I’m starved.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Forgone Conclusion
Lucier registered Diana into a boutique hotel on the fringe of the Quarter not far from the district 8 police station. He carried her bags to an overly decorated but comfortable suite, consisting of a bedroom and small sitting room.
Diana surveyed the suite. “This hotel is more luxurious than where I stayed before, and cheaper. How did you find this off-the-beaten-path place? I’d never have guessed how beautiful it is from the outside.”
“A friend of mine owns it. Nell Devoe is a real character. You’ll like her. She’ll take good care of you.”
Lucier failed to mention that Nell had been a madam in her previous life and crossed paths with Lucier officially. After she quit the life, she opened the hotel, and they developed an unusual friendship. Sometimes, when he worked late, he stopped by her dining room for a leftover dinner. He offered to pay; she refused. In return, he recommended her hotel to guests of the city.
“I’m glad we convinced Galen and Blanche to leave with Jason and head back to South Carolina.”
“Your father understood that if Macon was still around, their being here put you in more danger.”
Diana reclined on the sofa and closed her eyes.
“You need to rest,” Lucier said. “I’ve ordered dinner, then I promise to leave you alone. Cash will collect you in the morning.”
“Sounds like a good idea. I am tired.”
A knock and voice announced room service. Lucier checked the peephole. A waiter wheeled in a table set with china, silver, and crystal stemware. Champagne chilled in a silver bucket. He set a spinach, pear, and blue cheese salad topped with creamy poppy seed dressing before them, then uncovered warmed plates of medium-rare filet drizzled with bordelaise sauce, rosettes of garlic mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and crème brulée for dessert.
“I’m impressed,” Diana said, perking up, “and starved.”
Lucier tipped the waiter, and he left. “Nell runs one of the best kitchens in a city full of great kitchens. Her dining room has a two month waiting list, even now.”
Diana looked squinty-eyed at Lucier. “And she feeds you some nights? What do you have to do to get that kind of treatment?”
He laughed. “Not what you think. I come late and get the leftovers. She feels sorry for me. Doe
sn’t want me to waste away.”
Diana squeezed the muscle in his arm. “Neither do I.”
The quality of the dinner matched its presentation. When they finished, the waiter whisked the table away, leaving the half-empty bottle of champagne. Lucier filled her glass, then his own and settled next to her on the loveseat. She leaned into the corner and swung her legs across his. He rubbed them and kneaded her feet. They picked up their glasses and toasted.
“To Harley Macon’s capture,” she said. “Damn him to hell.”
* * * * *
The next morning at the station, Sam Beecher plopped down in the chair in Lucier’s office. “I’m happy you like this woman, Ernie. About damn time you came back to the land of the living. You can’t mourn forever, you know.”
“I appreciate your concern, but we’ve got a vengeful killer on the loose, and that’s all I’m interested in at the moment. My personal life is just that. Personal.”
Beecher looked as if he’d been slapped. “Sorry, Lieutenant, I stand told off.” He rose slowly and started for the door.
Lucier shook his head, angry for letting stress get the better of him. “Sam, wait. I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that.” He leaned back, released a long sigh. “Fact is, you’re right. I do like Diana, and I don’t want anything to happen to her, because I couldn’t go through that again. Until Macon is caught and I know she’s safe, I’ll be uptight. If the captain knew about this relationship, he’d take me off the case, so please, don’t spread it around. The guys might suspect, but they don’t know for sure, and right now I’d like to keep our relationship under wraps.”
“They won’t hear anything from me.”
“Thanks. Cash is bringing her over in a few minutes. We’re going to try something I hope doesn’t backfire.”
“What you’re gonna do, is it dangerous?”
“Yes, especially if he’s still around. Diana mentioned the possibility. Be a smart maneuver, really. The whole country—the Feds, every PD, and John Q citizen—is looking out for the two of them, and they might be here in New Orleans.”
Beecher walked back to Lucier’s desk and sat down across from him. “Do you think he’s that foolish?”
“Or smart. The longer those two are loose and the car’s not found, yeah, I think there’s a good possibility. One I don’t like at all. Right now, you, the captain, and Cash are the only ones besides me who know where she’s staying. I’ve been thinking how to handle this because if I’m right, we’ll need someone to watch the station.” Lucier walked to the window. He searched the street. “It’s logical she might come here, and if Macon’s around, he’ll be watching. Willy will bring her in through the back parking area, but this guy will have thought of everything.” Lucier turned to face Beecher, pointing his finger. “Oh, and another thing. Can we get a permanent tail on Joey Dree, without him knowing?”
“I’ll call Sheriff Jenrette.”
“If Macon’s clever enough to come back to New Orleans, he’s bound to contact Joey for a place to hide out. He’ll convince the little prick he owes him a favor for squealing, and Joey’s too much of a pussy to refuse. You heard him. He’s scared shitless of the guy.”
“What else?”
“Get a dump on Dree’s phone and a warrant for a tap. I want to know every call in and out.”
“I’ll get on it.” Beecher started for the door.
“Sam,” Lucier called. “I’m sorry about before. You’ve been there for me, and I haven’t shown my appreciation sometimes. That’s because I’m an asshole.”
“I understand, Ernie. Always have.”
When Beecher opened the door to leave, Lucier heard the commotion in the squad room. He followed Beecher to see what was going on. His heartbeat raced at the sight of Diana. She still looked rough, walked with a careful gait, but had a smile for everyone there.
“Thanks, guys. I haven’t had a chance to thank you all in person. If you hadn’t found me when you did, I’d surely be dead.” She looked at everyone individually. “Thanks.”
Wishes for a speedy recovery buzzed through the room.
She made her way to his office, and he closed the door behind her. He wanted to take her in his arms, but all he could manage was, “How did you sleep last night?” Diana stood close to him, almost touching. He backed away. Not here. Not in my office.
“Not so great. Nightmares about Harley scared me awake at least three or four times.”
“I’m sorry. We’re trying to track down an acquaintance of his in hopes he can lead us to him.”
Diana moved closer. “Stay with me tonight. Just be close, that’s all. Nothing more.”
“I don’t know if I can do that. I’m only hum—”
Beecher knocked and stuck his head through the opening, acknowledging Diana. “Joey Dree’s disappeared. He’s not in his apartment, and no one’s seen him since yesterday.”
“Dammit!” Lucier said. “Harley Macon is in New Orleans.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Curbing Temptation
After issuing a watch on Dree’s car, Lucier asked Jenrette to question Clayton Dree to find out Joey’s haunts, girlfriends, and anything else that might help find him. “If my hunch is right, Macon must have threatened Joey to find him someplace to hole up.” Lucier massaged his forehead and spoke almost to himself. “He never went to Mexico. Never intended to. He’s after Diana and won’t quit until he gets her.”
Diana listened to them talking as if she weren’t in the room. Somehow nothing Lucier said surprised her. Why would Macon tell her the truth when they met? She lied to him. He no more planned to leave town than she had of staying out of his head. They shared a lot in common, and she squelched a shiver to think she was capable of playing on his field.
“I don’t want you out of my sight,” Lucier said.
“I like that idea.”
He sat down beside her. “Get serious, Diana. This guy’s obsessed with you. Killers like him don’t let much get in their way, and they don’t quit.”
“How well I know. I’m still hurting. I want to get him, Ernie. Let me be the bait. We can control this.”
“Uh-uh. No way, I’m not letting you put your life on the line again.”
“My life’s already on the line. You have to use me or you won’t get him.”
“Out of the question. You snookered me once, pulling that stupid meeting. Maybe I should lock you up. At least you’d be safe.”
“But you won’t do that.”
He poked his finger in her shoulder. “Don’t be too sure, lady.”
She waved him quiet. “Listen to my idea. I want to do one more performance in New Orleans. Let everyone see that Diana Racine is alive and well and not hiding from that psycho. I’ll find a theater and get that pain-in-the-ass Griffin to write it up in exchange for a personal interview when Macon is caught. He’ll report that the police think Macon is on his way to Mexico. Macon won’t be able to resist. He’ll come after me and you’ll get him.”
“Oh, and you think he’s just going to sit in the audience and watch your performance? He’s not stupid. Crazy, yes; stupid, no. You barely escaped with your life the first time, and you were damn lucky to get away the second. Haven’t you had enough of him?”
“So much that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life worrying when he’s coming after me or my parents.” She paused. “Or you. And he will. You can’t stop him, and you can’t stop me. I’ll do it with or without police assistance, so you might as well agree. Besides, with your men all over the place I won’t be in danger. Listen, then tell me what you think.”
* * * * *
Lucier listened to Diana’s plan, knowing she’d go it alone, exactly like she said she would if the police didn’t help. Now all he had to do was convince the captain.
Beecher stuck his head in the office. The big man hoisted up his pants, but they ceded to gravity and slid beneath his belly. “One of my snitches called when he heard we were looking for Dree. He saw
him at Frankie Castor’s bar last night. Said Dree talked to Castor, then Castor went in back. He came out and handed Dree a slip of paper, then Dree left in a hurry. My man didn’t see where he went. Halloran went to the bar, but the bartender said Castor left on vacation with his wife early this morning. No one knows where. Do you find that interesting or what?”
Lucier rubbed his chin. “Very interesting. Frankie Castor’s harmless. A big fat bar owner with a big fat wife who scared the hell out of me when I bumped into them one night at a restaurant. She wanted to know how come I knew her husband. I can tell you who’s got the balls in that family, and it isn’t Castor. Ask Willy to check out his holdings. See if he owns any property other than his house and the bar. And pull his phone records.”
“You bet.” Beecher noted the wad of wrinkled clothing on the chair, raised an eyebrow at Diana, and left.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Lucier asked.
Diana reached for Macon’s gray T-shirt. “I’m sure.”
Preparing himself for whatever would happen, Lucier watched, his heart in his throat. Diana clutched the shirt, and with a glance at him, closed her eyes. She sat rigid, no movements or visible signs that the shirt offered any more insights than when it lay crumpled inanimately on the chair. Five minutes later, she opened her eyes. “Nothing. Not a damn thing.”
“That’s it,” Lucier pronounced. “We’ll get him without the hocus-pocus.”
“What? Is that what you think this is? Hocus-pocus? Let me remind you—Harley Macon can do what I do, and as long as he can, he’s dangerous. He has to be stopped.”
“And I said we’d stop him.”
Before Diana could respond, Beecher knocked on the door again and stuck his head through the crack. “Sorry, but I thought you’d want to know. The only calls Castor made from his bar last night were business related.”
“Check them out and call his cell company. Get a warrant if you have to. Someone offered up a place for Macon to stay.”
