by Kris Calvert
“Shopping. Tell him I’ll meet him out front, if he doesn’t mind bringing a car around. I’d really like to leave out the front of my house and not slink out the back.”
Hawk gave me a single nod. I closed the front door and went back for my purse. I didn’t want to seem demanding, but after a year and a half on the open sea free as a bird, I suddenly felt cooped up and watched like a pet parakeet—a parakeet with only food, water and yesterday’s news to line my cage.
I heard the roar of the blacked-out SUV hum to an idle outside the front door. Donning my sunglasses, I stepped out of Jackson House and took the stairs down to meet him with a kick in my step. I was actually getting out of the house again.
Hawk opened the door for me and I stepped on the running board before climbing into the massive car. Shutting the door, Hawk gave the hood a tap and away we went.
I looked over at Tree. He’d changed his clothes from the usual tactical looking green pants and white shirt to a pair of jeans and an untucked yellow linen shirt. His shoulder-length hair was tied back as Leo wore his. The dark shades hid his face from the world, but I knew who he was, and he wasn’t my Leo. Still, I supposed he looked as much like Leo as Bea looked like me.
At the end of the lane that led to Jackson House, Tree paused. “Where to, Mrs. X.?”
“What do you think your dad is up to?” I asked.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am?”
“You heard me. What do you think your father is doing today?”
I watched Tree glance at my left hand perched on the armrest between us. He was looking for my ring. “I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Polly. Or boss,” I said, jokingly. “I like that better.”
Tree didn’t laugh. “I suppose he’s teaching class today.” He paused. “Well. Wait. What time is it?”
“Noon.”
“He has a lunch break and then a planning period until two. He eats in his room. Likes to use that time to catch up on grading papers and stuff.”
“Do you think he’ll mind if we dropped in?”
I watched Tree’s brows rise above his sunglasses. “I don’t suppose. Is there something you need from him?”
“Remember the other night when you told me about Ephraim Jackson?”
“Yes.”
“You said your father was big into New Orleans history.”
“I did.”
“Let’s just say I have some history questions for him.”
Tree maneuvered the car, taking the next street that would put us on our way to Benjamin Franklin High School and sighed. “Whatever you say, boss.”
With school in session, Tree and I had to be buzzed and checked in with the front office for visitor passes. The halls were bustling with teenagers and my mind wandered back to my days in high school in Montana. I missed Ron and Mitch. I missed them terribly. Leo promised after this was all over, I could call them. We could go see them. I was going to hold him to it no matter what.
Bumping into kids rushing to eat their lunch, flirt aimlessly, or torture one another, I followed Tree down several hallways until we made it to his father’s classroom. Tree rapped on the door twice and let us both in.
“You’re back.” Patrick Knight stood upon our entrance, half of a sandwich still in his grip.
“I’m sorry we’re interrupting your lunch.” I said with a pained face. “I feel awful.”
“Don’t,” Mr. Knight replied. “I’m always by myself for these two hours. I welcome the company. What can I do for you? Do I need to get the microscope?”
I shook my head. “Nothing like that. It’s just, Alex told me you were a scholar of New Orleans history.” I pulled up a chair and watched Tree’s stoic military face soften when I used his real name instead of his call sign.
Patrick Knight glanced up at his son with a pleased smile. “He did, did he?”
I nodded. “I was impressed with Alex’s knowledge of New Orleans. He told me you are the real history buff.”
“Well…” Knight’s face blushed and he looked away. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll tell you what I know.”
“What do you know about Lafitte?”
“Jean Lafitte? The pirate?”
“One and the same.”
Knight took a sip from his water bottle and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “He was a character, to say the least. He was said to be many things. Some people called him a pirate, some a patriot. He was even known as a smuggler. He was here in New Orleans in the early 1800’s.”
I leaned in, my eyes bright with curiosity. “Mr. Knight, you are exactly who I want to talk with.”
“I told you,” Tree said. “He’s good.”
“Go on. Please. I’m particularly interested in whether or not he knew Napoleon.”
“Really,” Knight mused. “Well, around 1810 he reigned over a group of outlaws headquartered on Grande Terre Island in Barataria Bay—you know, near the Gulf of Mexico.”
I nodded, but had no idea where Grande Terre Island was located.
“Jean and his brother Pierre were in command of a fleet that was used to raid ships in the Gulf. He was an interesting man. In the more colorful high school parlance, you could say he had big balls.”
“What do you mean?”
“When the Governor of Louisiana offered a five-hundred-dollar reward for his capture, Lafitte offered a fifteen-hundred-dollar reward for the governor’s head.”
“So he was ruthless?”
Knight held up a finger. “Not exactly. In 1814, the British, who were at war with the United States, offered him a full pardon, a captaincy in their navy and thirty thousand dollars to help them in an attack on New Orleans. Lafitte refused and then went to the US powers to tell them what the British were planning.”
I couldn’t hide the look of surprise on my face. “That was pretty big of him.”
“That’s not all he did. He then offered the services of the Barataria smugglers to help the US forces. He fought with General Andrew Jackson in the battle of New Orleans, and for his help, received a full pardon from President Madison.”
“So he was a good guy after all?”
Knight dropped his chin to look at me over his glasses. “Let’s just say he had his moments. After his pardon he was invited to the governor’s house where he met and charmed the pantaloons off of many well-to-do ladies of the city—and by that I mean literally.”
I laughed. “So he does a little good, but can’t help being a bad boy.”
Knight nodded. “About the same time he was sleeping his way through the bedrooms of the blue bloods, it’s said he received a message from France.”
I sat up in my seat. This was what I’d been waiting for.
“Napoleon was about to go into exile for the second time on the Island of Elba in Italy. Supposedly, he asked Jean Lafitte to smuggle a portion of the French national treasure out of the country before he was sent to the tiny island. The deal was if Lafitte could accomplish the task, Napoleon would give him a third of the treasure.”
“Did he do it?” I asked. “Did Lafitte take the job?”
Patrick Knight shrugged his shoulders. “No one knows. Lafitte was gone from New Orleans during that time and would’ve had every opportunity to make the trip to France. But did he? There are plenty of people who’ve asked that over the years. All we really know is that he did come back to the Gulf of Mexico, this time flying the black flag—something he’d never done before. He built a pirate colony on Galveston Island, called Campeche. Then around 1823 or 24, history loses him. There are those who say he died that year and others who think he left and moved somewhere in the US, changed his name and lived out his days in peace.”
“What do you think, Mr. Knight?” I swallowed, my voice soft in light of all I’d heard.
“You mean do I think he took Napoleon up on his deal?”
I nodded.
“If I agreed with that theory, Miss Polly, I suppose I would’ve been another man with a metal detector a
nd a shovel like so many who’ve combed the area from Texas to New Orleans looking for where he buried his third of the treasure. But I’m a teacher, Ms. Benson, not a treasure hunter.”
“But you do think it’s a possibility?”
Knight stared at me and said kindly, “My dear, anything is possible. It’s been said that Lafitte amassed a great treasure of gold, silver and diamonds during his career. Legends say it was buried on the island, up and down the coast, or even inland where he would regularly sail his ships up the rivers. There’ve even been tales from the old settlers about Lafitte and his men hiding treasure in the river swamps.”
I leaned in with excitement. “Really? Where exactly?”
Knight straightened away from me, taken aback by my rabid interest. “Well,” he said dragging out the word and a taking map of Louisiana from the wall of his room. “There’s a place about midway between the mouth of the narrows and Niblett’s Bluff called Forty Guns,” he said running his finger across the location. “It’s in the Old River where a fourteen-mile island divides the Sabine near West Bluff.”
I listened and watched, taking in his story and the locations.
“There are trees there that grow in a particular shape—three in fact. They kind of look like a ship. There are people who believe one of Lafitte’s ships is buried in the mud below, but nothing has ever been found.”
I felt my face flush. “Three trees,” I breathed. Just like the map.
“Polly?” Tree placed his hand on my shoulder. “Polly, are you okay?”
Pulling myself together I nodded, touching my chest to feel the ruby encrusted key tucked into my bra. “Ah…yes. I’m fine. Thank you, Mr. Knight—for everything.”
“No problem, Polly. Are you planning on going on a treasure hunt?”
I forced a smile, a reluctant laugh escaping my lips. “No. Nothing like that.”
I stood and Tree gave me a single nod, blowing out a heavy sigh. “We finished here?”
I smoothed the red shirt over my jeans and nodded. “Yes. We should let your father get back to eating his lunch and planning his classes.”
Mr. Knight stood behind his desk. “It was my pleasure. Honestly. I always enjoy speaking with others about the history of our wonderful city.”
I cleared my throat. “Thank you for the ah…enlightening information.”
“Hey,” Tree interjected, saving me. “I’m going to the, uh, boys’ room before we leave. Will you be okay here for just a moment, Polly?”
A hint of desperation showed on his face and I knew he must’ve needed to go badly. Otherwise he would never leave my side. “Of course I’ll be okay.”
Tree walked toward the door. “Wait. Son?”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you’ve got a weapon on you, I need you to leave it here. You can’t take that into the boys’ bathroom of a high school. I don’t want you armed and in a compromising position. What if one of the kids got it from you somehow?”
Mr. Knight was speaking to his son like a child and the disapproval showed on Tree’s face. “Dad…” he ground out.
“No.” Knight shook his head. “I’m serious.”
Walking back to the desk where we’d sat together, Tree removed a gun from his waist and one from his ankle. Then in a childlike protest, he emptied his pockets as well. Some loose change, a stick of Trident gum, a pocket knife and the keys to the SUV parked outside the school.
“Satisfied?” Sarcasm filled Tree’s voice and I was embarrassed for him. His father was dressing him down, literally in front of a client.
“It’s cool, Tree,” I said using his call sign for the first time since we’d arrived. “I’ll be right here.”
“And I’ll be right back.” Tree opened and shut the door without looking at his father.
Mr. Knight turned to toss what was left of his lunch in the wastebasket and I took the opportunity to swipe the key fob to the SUV, sliding it into the back pocket of my jeans.
This was my chance. I knew Lafitte’s story. I knew Kostas’ story. I had the key hanging around my neck. All I needed was to get there—and without Tree. This was a family matter and needed to be handled privately.
“You know, Mr. Knight? Maybe taking a bathroom break isn’t such a bad idea.”
“I’m sure you’re not armed, are you?”
“No sir. I didn’t even bring a purse into the school,” I said, holding my hands in the air.
“The girls’ room is just down the hall to your left.”
I pointed in the right direction and nodded. “To the ah…left.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Pretend you’re leaving the building and you’ll walk right past it.”
I opened the door to his classroom and turned around. “I bet you’re an amazing teacher, Mr. Knight.”
“Sometimes it’s a thankless job, too much red tape, not enough money. But the students make it all worthwhile.”
I pointed to him. “Again, thank you. For everything.”
“Not a problem.”
Out the door, I was finally on my own. I hurried down the quiet hallway, brushing past paper banners on the walls advertising the upcoming school dance. I saw the bathrooms side by side and rushed past them, praying Tree didn’t come out before I could turn the corner. Looking up for exit signs, I tried to remember how we came in. The hallways were full and I was following Tree. Looking up and down the corridor, a girl walked out of a nearby classroom, hall pass firmly in her grip.
“Hey,” I said with a wave. “Which way to the front office?”
“Straight ahead. You can’t miss it.”
Looking behind me, I walked briskly. The urge to run was overtaking me.
Finally at the front door, I started to walk out and was stopped by a security guard. “Excuse me ma’am. If you’re a visitor, you need to sign out.”
I looked down at the paper badge stuck to my chest and turned on my heels to walk into the office. “I need to sign out?”
Three older women looked at me over their glasses. “It’s on the counter there, sweetie. Sign your name and please leave your badge behind. Trash can is next to the desk.”
I scribbled something illegible, ripped the sticker from my breast and tossed it, with controlled fury. I needed to go.
“Thank you,” the office secretary shouted as I rounded the door and rushed to the front exit. This time, the security guard held the door open for me, encouraging me to leave. I thanked him and took off for the SUV as fast as my feet would carry me.
Parked in the visitors’ lot, the oversized vehicle sat so high I could see it in the distance even with the row of cars parked in front of it. Digging the key out of my back pocket, I hurried in between the cars and pressed unlock on the key fob. The car chirped twice and the lights flashed. I was almost home free.
A searing ache radiated through my body. A white flash came across my eyes. My body went numb. Then…darkness.
27
LEO
I’d spent my morning at Oscar’s bedside. Still not awake, I talked to him as if he were, asking the nurse to leave us. It hurt my heart to see him lying in the bed, bruised and battered. He did look a little better each day, but Dr. Atwood was crystal clear with me. “He is an old man, Dr. Xanthus. And although I know you think he’s tough, the body can only withstand so much. Even if he wakes up, there’s no guarantee he’ll recover completely.” But he had to. Oscar was the only family I had. I’d buried him once already. I wasn’t about to do it again—at least not for a while.
The rest of my day, I spent at my desk. Being away from Jackson House had given us refuge and safety, but there were things around the property that needed to be changed. Jackson House was mine—mine and Polly’s and I needed to turn it into a home for us. Considering the past of my family, there were plenty of things about the antebellum mansion I wanted to update.
So consumed in my thoughts, I didn’t hear Tristan call my name when he strode into the front parlor with purpose—jeans, motorcyc
le boots and all. He’d been on the streets, feeling the vibe amongst the drug dealers since Chief Norwood’s apparent suicide. We both knew what had happened. A pang of guilt filled my gut. I hadn’t pushed the man, but I’d handed him over to Falconi all the same. Ratting out the chief’s arrangement with the dealers was a death sentence for him. My hope was that Falconi would rough him up, but not kill the bastard.
“What’s the word?”
Tristan’s jaw tightened, his steely blue eyes focused. “Big Man isn’t wasting any time running roughshod through the list you gave him.”
My fingers flexed against the phone in my hand. I knew when I gave him the names, Falconi would turn it into his own personal hit list. I could ask him to pull back but it wouldn’t matter and I’d only look weak. Tommaso Falconi played by a different set of rules than the rest of the world. He took what he wanted. He murdered whom he thought he must. I knew it was a price I’d have to pay, but it wasn’t pretty. “Jesus God, tell me he hasn’t killed anyone else.”
Tristan shook his head. “No. He’s scared the shit out of most of the cops who were on the take. One ended up with a broken arm. Some rookie who didn’t know who he was dealing with.”
“I guess he showed him, huh?”
Tristan nodded. “He hit nearly every location and officer on the list. The cops who weren’t threatened have heard what’s going on and have backed way down.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “At least he hasn’t whacked anyone else.”
Tristan glared at me. “Yet.”
I dropped the burner phone and tapped my fingers on the desk. I wanted to get out of the house—leave. I’d been out of the house every day since we returned home except today. Already I was going stir crazy. No wonder Polly complained.
Quietly and without warning, Liz rushed into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Leo.”
“No, it’s fine. What is it Liz?”
“Dr. Atwood? Upstairs? He’s asking for you.”
“Excuse me, Tristan.”
Rushing past Liz and up the stairs, I burst into Oscar’s room, opening both doors in a frantic scramble. I was afraid of what I would see. Was Oscar dead? Is that why he’d sent for me? “Dr. Atwood?” I nearly shouted his name. I broke out in a nervous sweat, my hands trembling. “What is it?”
