When we landed on the front lawn Senator James Bourdieu's stately home, he stepped out of his mansion along with three astonished bodyguards. A dozen reporters and their cameras had arrived just early enough to be rolling when we touched down.
Poodoo trotted up to the prick among camera flashes and shouting reporters. I arrived right behind her.
“Senator James Bourdieu,” she said, flashing her badge, “you are under arrest for murder, kidnapping, false imprisonment, conspiracy, as well as at least a dozen US and International Maritime violations.” Without producing a gun, she brought out a pair of handcuffs that the Coasties had loaned her. This action prompted two of his three guards to also pull steel from under their jackets — but theirs were H&K .45 automatics.
I figured they weren’t about to shoot an FBI agent on camera, but I had no desire to wait long enough to be certain.
I put them both down with Poodoo’s .45. One shot each between their eyes — you just don’t draw down on me unless you really mean it.
The third guard raised his hands, not knowing that all the gun held was two rounds. What he would have done, where he would have gone, who knew anyway. He was just lucky he wasn’t as stupid as his two companions.
If we went through with the arrest, the senator and his bodyguard would be humiliated for months, maybe years before getting a shiv in their gut by some Federal prisoner who found child molesters a bit distasteful.
For ten thousand dollars, I would have put a bullet in the senator’s head, as well.
That’s right; I would have paid ten grand for that privilege.
The senator had been dumbfounded, but finally spoke. “What the hell? What’s going on? You come up and kill my body guards. You arrest me? What the hell?”
I told him, “Your son has implicated you in a whole shitload of really bad stuff.”
“My son? I don’t have a son.”
“DNA will prove otherwise, Senator.”
“Look, this is absurd. He’s mentally challenged. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I don’t know what he’s been into, but I had nothing to do with it.”
“He’s in the chopper,” I told him, and stepped up behind him. Negrad really was in the Coasties’ helo — but still very dead. I said, “With him as a witness, you’re going down.” I grabbed him by the collar when I saw that a couple of FBI agents had shown up at the scene and was pushing through the crowd.
I yanked the back of his shirt down hard, and the buttons popped off the front of it. Twisted him around to face me, I made sure his back was to the crowd and the cameras. He stood shirtless, a colorful serpent and rainbow tattoo covering him from hips to shoulders.
I knew Senator Bourdieu’s emotions and ego would win out over common sense, and l left my gun hand within easy reach.
He grabbed it. After stealing Poodoo’s DoubleTap pistol from me, I let him take me hostage.
Now with me facing the crowd, him behind me, and the DoubleTap pistol to my head, the senator yelled into my ear, spittle striking my face and neck. “You interfering, nosy prick!”
The FBI agents stopped twenty feet short and Poodoo backed away. The Feds glared at me with guns drawn. Can you guess who the FBI agents were? Correct again; it was Supervisory Special Agent Bob Crank and Special Underling Agent Dick Moranus.
I nodded to them. “Crank, More Anus. So glad you could come.”
Bourdieu told me, “Shut up! Not another word out of you, asshole.”
“Asshole?” I said. “No, I’m afraid you have me mixed up with More Anus, there.”
Bourdieu shouted. “Quiet, Knight!”
Perfect, I thought. He’s really getting worked up. “Oh, we gonna sing? You really are confused. First you want asshole, now you want to sing Christmas Carols. But I think you mean ‘Silent Night’.”
“Smart ass. I’ll silence you. Had to be a big shot and come down here to NOLA and spoil everything? Well, now you’re going to die — and I don’t care if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
I smiled. “I’m so glad you made that clear.”
He snarled and pulled the trigger.
As the hammer on the DoubleTap .45 hit on an empty cartridge, I twisted away and both Crank and Moranus fired four bullets into the former living politician.
Funny how Crank and Moranus had waited until it was obvious the senator was pulling the trigger. I guess I was just lucky I hadn’t caught a stray bullet.
CHAPTER 28
You Can’t Get There From Here
Poodoo drove us to the airport in her SUV, with Billy riding in the back seat. He was going to see us off and then return her vehicle to her apartment. We’d purchased one of those small canvas pet carriers for little Jazzy Brass, sure she’d grow out of it within a month. But Billy took her out and held her in his lap when she began to whine.
I was both surprised and pleased I’d been able to easily talk Poodoo into making the trip back to LA with me. SSA Crank had also surprised us both, granting her a few days’ vacation time to relax after being undercover for over a year. I wondered if this might be the start of a really wonderful, if not wild and weird relationship with FBI Special Agent Pooh Dorcas Dooley.
We’d left early in order to swing by Zack’s Jazzy Brass horn shop one last time on the way to the airport. I figured Zack would be staying someplace nearby, probably over at his girlfriend Ann Monett’s house. I looked forward to jaw-jacking with our friend. I also looked forward to his Walter Brennan laugh.
Billy was as concerned about Zack as I was. As we pulled up across from the burned out building, Billy asked, “Where’s Zack staying now that his shop’s gutted?”
Poodoo’s face filled with shock as she got out, and we stood in front of the charred remains of the building.
I asked, “What’s going on, Poodoo? Has something happened to Zack?”
“Oh, my,” she said, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I thought you two knew.” She placed her arms around our shoulders and pulled us together. “Zack, his dog and all but the one pup you rescued was killed in the fire nearly three days ago.”
“No, he was alive. He was moving.”
“When the fireman got to you, he was pretty sure Zack was already dead. And by the time he got you out and went back inside with help, it was too late for sure. He told me that Zack was all covered up in burning debris.” Poodoo sniffed and wiped tears from her eyes and cheeks.
“No,” I said.
She continued, “Our little pup inhaled a little too much of the smoke, but I was able to resuscitate her. You had her tucked nice and safe under your shirt. But all the others and Ella Fitzgerald burned up with the building.”
We looked back at where the horn shop once stood. Satchmo watched us from the sidewalk where the front door used to be. He held five tennis balls in his mouth.
Poodoo said, “They carried you to an ambulance and put you on oxygen, then did the same for the pup. They laid her on your chest for the drive to the hospital.”
She moved close and took my arm. “But I knew you wouldn’t be safe at no hospital with Legba still out there. It took some mighty firm FBI scoldin’ to get them to take you to my apartment instead. I had to promise to have a doctor come look at you, besides show them my gun.”
“No!” I said. “I was with Zack from the time I got loose from your handcuffs to the time we took off in the Coast Guard helicopter. Hell, he even came back to your place with you just before you took off the cuffs. He greeted me, and we talked. He was there the whole time I was getting dressed and you were telling me all we did when I was under the spell of the hallucinogenics.”
“E Z,” Poodoo said, “I’m sorry, but Zack had been dead for two days by then.”
Billy seemed devastated. He leaned against the corner street sign, his head bowed.
“But I talked to him,” I said. “He came into the bedroom before you. He rode with us in Goofy’s little pickup out to the port. That’s why you had to sit so close to me.”<
br />
“Hon ...,” she said, and put her arms around me. She gazed up at me and placed a finger on my lower lip. “...no. I sat so close because I was falling in love with you.”
She gave me a kiss and sadly laid her head on my shoulder.
Billy walked back to Poodoo’s SUV slowly and got into the back seat.
I tasted bitterness on my tongue like I’d just been knocked in the head. The drugs, I realized. I had imagined Zack was with us the entire time because of the drugs.
As we followed Billy to the SUV, I asked, “Did you get Marie Paris Dumesnil de Glapion?”
“Sweetheart, Zack killed her at Legba’s cabin. You told me that.”
I wasn’t about to mention that it had been Marie who kept me from saving Zack at his shop later that same night. The strangeness of it all was overwhelming. I’d heard of people whose minds play tricks on them. Even though I’d been drugged, I was sure I wasn’t one of those people.
We stood outside her vehicle as Poodoo hugged me with her head against my chest. She was staring through the side window at the golden puppy Billy held on his lap inside the SUV.
She asked, “What we gonna name our little bundle of joy, E Z?”
I hadn’t had time to mourn our friend’s passing. I hadn’t had a chance to get even with Marie Paris Dumesnil de Glapion. I glanced at the singed sign laying a-kilter in the doorway of Zack’s burned out horn shop.
“Jazzy Brass.”
* * *
I’d tried to talk Billy into taking the puppy, but he insisted I keep her. We left the young Marine in Poodoo’s SUV at the curb in front of the airport.
Poodoo and I breezed through security, with our puppy Jazzy Brass in the canvas kennel. Her FBI credentials were a huge asset.
Once on the plane, Poodoo got a call as we got seated. I’d taken the window and she the aisle, with the puppy in the kennel between us.
After she hung up, she looked to me solemnly. Even frowning, she was beautiful.
“E Z, hon. I must deplane.”
“What? Why? What’s going on?”
“This is how it was going to end, anyway — just a little sooner than I’d hoped,” she said and reached into the kennel to give Jazzy Brass a last petting. Then she stood up, leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. Without another word, she turned and walked off the plane and out of my life.
EPILOGUE
Visiting Friends
Eight weeks later —
We had a party for Billy White Cloud at Smokey’s Marina. Billy finally got his AWOL situation straightened out and his leave days re-awarded. The whole gang was there. Tamara, Harper and Smokey seemed to have become fast friends, and all were having a ball giving me a hard time about anything they could come up with.
I think I’m in love with all three of those girls. Still, my mind was on a lady back in the Big Easy. I’d never met a woman like Poodoo before and probably would never again.
I discovered the reason she’d rushed off the plane in NOLA. She called me to explain a week later. I hadn’t realized she was married. Her husband, nearly two years estranged, had been in a terrible traffic accident in Dallas. She felt obligated to fly there instead of LA with me. Her husband did recover, and now he and Poodoo were trying to work things out. I told her that if she ever needed me, all she had to do was call.
I don’t know why, but I’ve got a funny feeling she’ll do just that, someday.
The rest of the marina gang was there. A young girl named Jada, who waits tables and does odd jobs around the marina, and Smokey’s little girl Dolly were nursing Jazzy Brass with a baby bottle. Tamara had invited a writer named Gordon Kessler to attend. She’s going to have him record my adventures in a sort of electronic journal. She’ll use these reports in the event there’s ever any backlash or she ever needs to use the info to support me. For some reason, she seems to think this won’t be the last time I find it necessary to slip over the law’s fence and go play on the other side of the street.
With a meal of Billy’s favorite trout almandine finished, we found ourselves out on the dining deck of the marina, the entire group sharing a wonderful evening together.
I discovered Smokey’s bartender Osia “Oz” Papadopoulos was one mean drink mixer. Not a man who normally likes martinis, I’m telling you, his make me come back for more. I was glad he set a limit of two per customer. He was pretty good with Shirley Temples for the kids, as well.
Still, in all the merriment, I felt a little uneasy — you know, like something wasn’t finished, like the old cliché, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But I didn’t’ let on to the others. I played my guitar — a little Jimmy Buffet, some Darius Rucker and Hootie and the Blowfish stuff. I topped it off with the Israel “Iz” Kamakawiwo’ole “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” “Oh What a Beautiful World” medley. Iz was one of my favorites.
Several of the gang joined in and sang along, but none have a sweeter voice than Smokey. And man, what a mean baritone Oz’s blind friend See Saw has.
Soon after that, everyone moved along — it was getting late.
I walked out to my boat and gazed out to sea. But I noticed a lone figure fishing from the end of the pier.
I didn’t recognize him as one of the other boaters, and the sight caused a chill to go up my spine.
I stepped closer, caution dominating my mind, remembering where my Beretta was inside the cabin of my boat, had I needed it. Why should I have felt so uneasy about someone fishing from the end of the pier? I didn’t know.
I got to within twenty feet and readied myself for a confrontation. “Having any luck, buddy?”
The man looked over his shoulder at me, and I felt the blood drain from my face.
“I’d suspeck m’luck jus’ changed fo’ the bettah.”
* * *
It’s Black Zack.
An unbelieving grin takes over my face. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you horn man?”
Zack laughs like Walter Brennan. “‘Bout a mill’on miles, I suspeck.”
The big man labors to get up as I step next to him.
My good friend says, “Ol’ bones need a rest.” He stretches his back.
“Zack, I never got to thank you for your friendship. And thanks for helping me find Billy and save all those kids, too.”
“No need t’thank me. Pleasure’s mine, E Z boy.”
Thinking of my new little companion that Jada is watching over, I say, “I’ll take good care of little Jazzy Brass.”
“I know’d y’will.” He gives his special laugh again. “Ella Fitzgerald know’d it too.” My hallucination deepens as the mama golden retriever steps up from the water and onto the dock. Black Zack pats her on the head and the other pups gather round. All have an aura about them, a bright yellow glow the color of shining brass. I wonder what my aura will be when I find the afterlife — probably a shit brown.
Zack says, “Y’jus’ keeps on keep’n on — keeps doin’ things t’help folks, E Z boy. They’s beaucoup folks — a ‘ho’ buncha people needin’ y’kinda help’n this o’world.”
He produces a broom from out of nowhere and lays it across the end of the pier, then turns and steps out onto the ocean. But before he leaves, he looks back over his shoulder one last time, gives me a wink and says, “An’ y’can think a’me once in a while, when the Moon’s bright an’ the mood’s a little bluesy.” He has his trombone in his hand, now. He plays a few very mellow, drawn-out and beautiful notes.
“Au revoir,” he says.
Then Zack, Ella Fitzgerald and the pups stroll away on a walk made of shimmering moonlight reflected on the ocean.
I smile at them, wondering if and when these damn hallucinogenic drugs will ever wear off. Right now, however, I’m enjoying the trip.
“Who you talking to out here?” Smokey asks as she steps up behind me. She has the tiny puppy cradled in her arms.
I smile at her. Smokey and I have grown close over the past few weeks, but our relationshi
p is still plutonic. She has a considerable hill to climb making peace with the memories of her recently departed husband.
I tell her, “Oh, just a good friend who stopped by for a visit on his way home.” I know Smokey’s spiritual Native American heritage helps her understand my words.
We stand at the end of the pier, and she leans against me, both of us gazing out at the moonlit sea.
But, then I feel a familiar pain below my gut and double over slightly.
“What’s wrong?” Smokey asks.
“I think I’m having a little kidney-stone trouble,” I answer wishing I’d taken the pins out of the Voodoo doll when we were back on our container raft before I’d given it to Tallie.
I cringe, realizing I don’t even know where she lives or how to get ahold of her.
I feel the sharp pain again and wince.
“You poor man,” Smokey says.
“I’m okay.” I tell her, hoping Tallie will get tired of playing with the little dolly and put it away soon. “It’ll probably pass…in a year or two.”
Smokey frowns at my answer. Then she glances down and shakes her head.
“What?”
“Rabbit must have left that broom on the end of the dock.” She starts to bend toward it.
Gently placing my arm around her shoulder and pulling her back, I say, “Leave it for now, will you?”
She eyes me with a quizzical smirk.
From the water, a hand shimmering in a red glow reaches toward the broom. I know it’s Marie’s. Smokey’s watching me and doesn’t see the thing.
I stomp it.
When she looks to see what I’ve attacked, the hand is gone.
The wind blows by a nearby sailboat’s mast, making its stay lines vibrate like a woodwind reed. An eerie howl erupts.
I tell her, “The broom’ll keep the evil witches from coming in.”
She scrunches her face in humored disbelief as she gazes at me.
KNIGHT'S REPORTS: 3 Book Set Page 15
