I heard a noise behind me and my blood froze. I made myself keep going, refusing to quicken my pace. Imagination, damn it. That’s all it was.
There was an open doorway ahead. When I got to it I would take cover, turn around, scan the shadows.
Ten yards, that’s all. There was no way they could get a good shot in the darkness.
Five yards.
My spine was tingling.
One yard.
I stepped into the darkness and suddenly hands reached out and grabbed me and I heard a shout.
I flailed away with my right arm and heard a grunt of dismay. Something crashed onto the sidewalk in an explosion of glass and fingers of wetness grabbed my ankle.
“Goddamn,” somebody swore. “What the hell’s going on? You busted my damn bottle.”
The man I had by the neck was cowering, his eyes wide with fright. His clothes stank and his body was trembling. I let him go and stepped away.
“Sorry,” I said.
“What about my bottle?” he demanded. “You broke it. What about my damn bottle?”
I walked away quickly, leaving him to call epithets after me. My legs were soaked and the sour smell of cheap wine assaulted my nostrils.
It was a mistake, a stupid mistake. I had blundered into him in panic and now it was over. So why wouldn’t my heart settle down? Why did I still have the feeling someone was behind me?
Esplanade was just ahead. A boulevard that forms the boundary of the French Quarter, it would have people and cars, even at this hour. All I had to do was get there, make it the block or so to the car.
In my mind I heard the roar of the car, bearing down on Leeds; saw him stop, turn around to face it. Except that now it wasn’t Leeds they were after, it was me …
I was so conscious of the sense of being followed that I missed the shifting shadow a half block in front of me, at the corner. And when I came up to it, it was too late.
The man who stepped out in front of me was the size of a grain silo. If I’d had any thought that he just wanted a match it was banished by the sight of the man next to him. It was one of Ordaz’s goons. And if I turned to run, I’d crash into the one they had coming up from behind.
“Mr. Dunn,” the smaller goon said, taking a step forward. Like myself, he was wearing a guayabera, and I knew he’d have a gun stuck in his belt, but with the Hulk beside him he didn’t need artillery. “You taking a big chance, you know?”
I stopped, the hairs on my neck bristling. “Don’t tell me: Mr. Ordaz sent you to rescue me.”
The goon gave me a crooked smile. “Quién sabe? If you help him, he will do all in his power. He has instruct’ me to tell you that message.”
“Good of him,” I said. “But I already have a lawyer.”
The Hulk took a step forward and I wondered if he’d understood anything that we’d said. Whoever was behind me was close now, so close I was expecting a shot to the back of the neck at any second.
When it came, though, it was from the front. The Hulk took a single step and then slammed me in the pit of the stomach with a fist the size of a ham hock. I crumpled, the breath shooting out of me like air from a ruptured punching bag. The sidewalk came up, but before I hit it, hands grabbed me, holding me upright. The Hulk was amazingly fast for a big man and that was unnerving. He held me by one hand and the smaller goon got in my face.
“Mr. Ordaz wants what you got belongs to him. Now.”
“I haven’t got it,” I wheezed.
“Then you will get it. We will go with you.”
I tried to catch my breath. “It’s in a bank box,” I said. “I can’t get it in the middle of the damn night.”
There was a half second of respite and then a knee like a redwood crashed into my groin and red tracer bullets crisscrossed in front of my eyes. I flew back against the wall and bounced, feeling my dinner rising up in my throat. I was on all fours, staring down at the concrete sidewalk, where a patent leather shoe, extra-large, was poised to catch me under the chin. And there was nothing I could do.
Not even when the small goon grabbed me by the hair and pulled back my head, like the holder in football, giving the placekicker his shot.
The big foot drew back and I gritted my teeth.
And the foot froze, just as the hand holding my hair let go.
“Chinga,” somebody muttered and I sensed alarm. My two tormentors had temporarily forgotten me. Something had frightened them, and they were facing behind me. Even as I crawled around to see what they were looking at, there was a muzzle flash from the darkness and a bullet whined off the bricks a foot from the smaller goon’s head. He had the big Browning out now, but before he could aim, the muzzle flash came again and he grunted, grabbing his left arm.
It was too much even for the giant. He was half a block away by the time I got to my feet, with his wounded friend close behind. I sagged against the building, relieved.
I knew who it had been behind me all those blocks now, and I was ready to make a novena of thanks. I spit out some of the bile and watched the shape solidify in the darkness.
“Sandy, remind me to give you a raise,” I said as she came out into the half-light from a street lamp, tucking the .25 away into her leg holster. “That was some shooting with a lady’s gun.”
“Luck, Micah. I was scared I was gonna hit you. But I figured you was getting hit enough already, another wouldn’t matter.”
“Probably right,” I groaned. “How did you find me?”
“Why don’t we talk about it in the car. Even this little gun makes enough noise to bring out the cops.”
As if in answer, I saw a light go on in one of the upstairs apartments. I forced myself upright against the pain and followed her across Esplanade to where her Mustang was parked.
By the time we were pulling out onto the boulevard, all the lights were on and a few people had come out into the street. They might find a drop of blood or two, I thought, and maybe even a pair of spent casings. But I doubted it. With no body, the cops wouldn’t come back till the daytime, and when light came, the evidence would be obliterated.
“I was enjoying myself on the coast when I heard about you being arrested,” Sandy said. The windows were down and the sultry night air was whipping me in the face, bringing me back to my senses. “Well, I knew I had to come back and see what I could do. I was outside your place; I thought you might be stupid enough to try to get back there. But the cops had it covered. You know, a white car with an antenna and two guys in suits? Real low profile, right? I told myself, ‘Even Micah ain’t dumb enough to walk into that.’”
“Thanks,” I said.
“But then, just as I was leaving, who do you think I see coming out of an apartment on Dauphine? None other than the man Micah himself. So I follow behind. Maybe my eyes are going bad, you know? Maybe this Micah’s got a twin. Or leading a double life …”
“Funny.”
“I thought so. Anyhow, I follow the dude, and what’s the first thing he does? He heads into a doorway and tries to pick a fight with some wino. Man, I figure this Micah must’ve been hit on the head by the cops over in the St. Tammany Parish jail. Then, if all that ain’t bad enough, he decides to pick a fight with Frankenstein and his keeper.”
“An oversight,” I said dryly. “He didn’t look so big in the dark.”
“Micah, you a real clown.”
“I feel like it.” Then I told her about the jade and about my interview with Ordaz, and the events of the past twenty-four hours. “I really didn’t want to get you involved,” I said. “You don’t get paid enough for this kind of trouble.”
“Paid?” She shot me a killing stare. “Micah Dunn, you think I’m doing this for pay? Because if you do, I’ll put your ass out right now and you can walk.”
I smiled. “Sorry, Sandy. I didn’t mean to insult you. I should have known you’d count yourself in.”
“Damn right.” We drove on through the night. I’d closed my eyes, letting my thoughts drift and some o
f the pain wear away.
“I love you, Sandy,” I said.
“Sure you do. Now what’s the next step?”
“Can we go to your place?”
“I mean after that, fool.”
“For one thing, I’ll need the jade.”
She started to argue but I cut her short. “It’s the key to this whole business. Whoever holds it is a target. If I’d realized that, I’d never have given it to you to begin with.”
Sandy lived in an upstairs condo overlooking the lake. It was the first time I’d been in her place, but I was too exhausted to admire the neo-primitive decor. I collapsed into the big wicker chair and dialed Katherine’s number. She answered breathlessly and calmed down when I told her I was all right. I told her where to find her car and when she asked where I was staying obliquely mentioned that I had found an old friend. When I hung up I found Sandy staring at me with a suspicious eye.
“Who is this woman, anyway?”
I told her and her expressive brows climbed even further. “Micah, you getting hung up on this lady?”
“God, no,” I mumbled, irritated. “I just like her, that’s all. And she helped me when I needed help.”
“Gratitude, huh? Listen, friend, I can see that look in a man’s eye a mile off. It’s made a lot of trouble for me. It means a man’s getting ready to do something crazy.”
“Sandy, for God’s sake …”
“No, you listen: What’s the first thing you lectured me on when I came to work for you? Don’t let your guard down. Don’t trust anybody. Everybody out there’s a suspect. And now you turn around and forget the whole thing. Micah, how you know she’s not the killer?”
“Sandy, it doesn’t make any sense. What does she have to gain?”
“What does anybody have to gain? That’s the hangup. What is it about this little piece of green rock?”
I nodded wearily. “You’re right. And I have a feeling that Jason Cobbett has the answer. Trouble is, he isn’t back in town until tomorrow. And even then my guess is he’ll be hard to dig out, because I’ve already scared him once.”
Sandy smiled malevolently. “Why don’t you leave him to me?”
It seemed like an eminently sensible idea. I nodded once and then let her help me to bed. That night I dreamed of the Hulk and his associate with the cannon. The man with the gun kept smiling and I wondered why he was so friendly. And then I realized he was really Mancuso, who took off the mask and told me it had all been a joke. When I awoke in the darkness, though, for some reason I wasn’t laughing.
15
I awoke at ten with the sun in my eyes, a pain in my groin, and the telephone bell jangling my frayed nerves. I reached out for the pink monstrosity beside the bed and then stopped. How could I know who it was? I looked around for Sandy, vaguely aware that she had spent the night on the pull-out couch in the next room. The phone rang a fourth time and still she didn’t come.
I fumbled the receiver to my ear, determined to hang up if it was someone I didn’t know.
But there was no need to have been apprehensive: Sandy’s voice grabbed me over the fiber-optic wires. “Micah? You still alive?”
“I don’t know,” I groaned. “Where are you?”
“At the airport, honey. There’s a man you want to see coming in. I came to meet him.”
“How did you know when?”
“Do you think all men are as immune to my considerable charms as you are? I happened to find a certain security person who admires a woman of class and warmth. I convinced him that access to certain flight records was of the utmost national importance. And I said I’d go out with him tonight.”
“Bless you,” I said. “I can get a cab, be there …”
“You are a fool. Every cabbie in the city has your description. You just leave this to me. I intend to give our friend a free ride. Just call it special delivery.”
“Sandy. You can get life for kidnapping …”
But it was too late. The dial tone was buzzing in my ear. I replaced the receiver and swung myself upright. It was, I reflected, probably as good a plan as could be concocted under the circumstances. But what if it didn’t work? Suppose Cobbett didn’t know anything? What then?
I made some toast and looked out the window at the brown surface of the lake. There was really nothing to do but wait.
An hour passed. Two. I stalked from one side of the apartment to the other. Noon melted into evening. I saw sails on the lake and wished I could be with them, with the wind in my face, instead of hiding for something I hadn’t done.
I went to the bookcase and scanned the titles, frantic for something to take my mind away. Most of them were texts from Sandy’s brief stay at college and among them I found a book by J. Eric Thompson on Maya civilization. I made an effort to skim through it, telling myself that I might find something about the jade, but my mind wouldn’t focus. I put the book back and returned to the boats.
It was half past four when I heard movement outside the door. I reached for a flower pot and stepped behind the bedroom door for cover. The lock turned and then the door came slowly open.
“Micah, you there?”
“Sandy.” I stepped out into the living room, putting down the pot. I looked around. “Where’s Cobbett?”
“Downstairs. Come on, plane was late, this dude’s in a hurry to get home.”
“You mean he’s just waiting?” I asked incredulously.
“Don’t have nothing else to do,” she answered cavalierly and jounced out with a wave of the head for me to follow.
I followed.
Her Mustang was downstairs and I saw at once that it was empty.
“My God, he’s escaped.”
“Not hardly.” She nodded toward the back of the vehicle.
“Under the blanket,” she said and I craned my neck to look into the rear passenger area. There was a red blanket on the floor and even as I stared at it I saw it move. There was a muffled protest from underneath as I lifted a corner. A pair of frightened eyes stared up at me and lips moved incoherently under the adhesive gag.
I shook my head in mixed horror and wonder. “How did you get him in?” I asked, as she pulled away from the curb.
“Easy. I told him I was with airport security, and when we got down to the baggage claim I stuck my gun in his back and told him to keep walking. When the parking lot looked clear I told him to get in the back and then I slipped him a pair of cuffs.”
We took the expressway north and then swung east, toward the edge of the city. As we came down off the interstate, I realized where she was taking us: We were headed for what had been an old plantation, until its fields were carved by a grid of streets with names like Abundance, Agriculture, and Industry. One street was even named for the plantation owner’s daughter, Desirée.
But it is a misnomer, for there is nothing desirable about the housing project that the city, in its wisdom, has placed there. The Desire Street development is a no-man’s land where even the police seldom venture in less than SWAT strength.
“Sandy, are you sure …?”
She smiled evilly and turned in to park on a street cluttered by junked autos. She left the motor running, then swiveled around and whipped off the blanket. “Sit up, sucker,” she commanded, and I reached back and dragged Cobbett upright. I tore the adhesive strip from his mouth and he gave a little yelp of pain.
“You,” he squeaked.
“I’m glad you read the papers,” I said. “Because that means you know I’m wanted for murder and am a pretty desperate character.”
“That’s Micah: desperate,” Sandy intoned.
“I will ask you a question and I will ask you once only,” I said. “The first time I showed you the jade you recognized it. Why?”
He shook his head back and forth, his mouth half open, but he saw denial would do him no good. “I … you mustn’t tell him I told you,” he begged.
“Who?” I knew, but I wanted to hear the name.
“Ordaz,”
he breathed. “Señor Ordaz. But for God’s sake, don’t ever tell him. He’ll kill me.”
“He isn’t here and I am. Under what circumstances did you see it?”
He hesitated, eyes shifting back and forth as if for some imaginary policeman, but all he saw were graffiti-splashed walls and cars on blocks. “You have five seconds,” I said.
His tongue flicked out over his lips. “All right. He had this collection, don’t you know? Artifacts from a Mayan site, somewhere in Yucatán. He wanted me to appraise them. I do appraisals. It’s not illegal. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
He coughed, trying to regain some semblance of poise.
“Get on with it.”
“Yes. Well, most of it was junk. There was this jade hacha or pendant, though, that I thought was rather interesting. It had some Mayan glyphs carved in its center.”
“Does that make it valuable?”
“It does if it was a calendrical glyph,” Sandy said unexpectedly. “Like if it had a date around one thousand A.D. Maya didn’t make any dates after that.”
I tried to hide my surprise and reminded myself to get to know Sandy better when this was over.
But Cobbett was already jerking his head back and forth. “No. It wasn’t a calendrical glyph. It was something else. Maybe the name of a God. It was fascinating, and I’m not aware of any other black jade just like it, but …” He gave a little shrug. “It was worth maybe a couple of hundred dollars, a thousand tops. I gave it and the other artifacts back to Ordaz. And that’s the last I saw of them until you showed me the hacha the other day.”
“You didn’t suspect that they came from Ek Balam?”
“They could have come from anywhere in the Yucatán. They might have been in somebody’s sea chest for fifty years. Happens all the time.”
“Then why were you so surprised when I showed you the jade?”
“Because you were telling me Gordon Leeds had been murdered and then showing me something I had no reason to expect you’d have. I knew that it belonged, or had belonged, to Ordaz. I knew that you could not possibly have had it innocently.”
The Maya Stone Murders Page 14
