The Sacrifice

by Peg Brantley

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Mex and Darius were at Boudreaux’s waiting impatiently for Cade. The plan was to make a plan.

  Where the hell was she?

  Darius had edited out the faces of the photographs he’d copied and sent them to his local contacts, Martin Van Buren and Deirdre Benoit. Maybe by some miracle they would recognize the background in at least one of the

  pictures. He’d told them both it was urgent. Possibly life or death. He hadn’t heard back from either one.

  This had always been the hardest part of law enforcement for Mex. The waiting. He was ready. He’d been trained for action. For making things happen and reacting when they did. But for now… wait.

  Darius’s phone rang. He looked at Mex. “Van Buren.”

  “Hey, Martin. What do you have for me?”

  Darius made a note and Mex craned to see what he’d written. Honey Island Shooting Range.

  “Anything else?”

  He made another note. “Okay. Thanks, Martin. You’ve given us a direction. I’ll be in touch.”

  Darius looked at Mex. “Van Buren recognized a couple of the background shots. He said it looks like Honey Island Swamp might be one of the locations where those photos were taken. It’s just outside of Slidell and Pearl River. Might or might not be important.”

  “Get on that damn phone of yours and find out everything you can about Honey Island Swamp.”

  Before he could get online, Darius’s phone rang again. He didn’t want to take the call but he checked the caller ID anyway. “Whoa.” This time he put it on speaker so Mex could hear.

  “Mon cher. I have some

  interesting information for you.”

  “Deirdre, you’re on speaker. My partner, Mex Anderson, is here with me.”

  “Ah… so I should not get too intimate. I understand.”

  Darius looked at Mex, shook his head and rolled his eyes. “What have you found?”

  “You must understand that even the tightest organization can spring a tiny leak. And I cannot name names.”

  “We understand.”

  If this woman doesn’t get to the point, Mex couldn’t be held responsible for what he might say.

  “Word is an important figure is coming to town for a significant Santeria ceremony.”

  Mex felt his body both fire and freeze at that statement. Cade’s

  information was confirmed. Dia. Sedona.

  Darius pushed. “What kind of important figure?”

  “Only the head of one of the biggest drug cartels in Mexico.” Deirdre paused for what Mex thought of as dramatic effect. “It must be something big or he wouldn’t be involved. If this is true, it’s a major event. Something he’s willing to risk his life for.”

  “Risk his life?” Mex asked.

  “Word gets out that you’re in a certain place then your enemies have a place to put an attack together. It doesn’t matter how much security you think you have. There will always be leaks. There will always be people looking to take advantage.”

  Mex couldn’t stand it any longer. “What’s the name of the drug cartel?”

  Suddenly Deirdre turned quiet. Almost shy. “Mon cher, I never divulge the names of certain people I know. You must know that. What is not in their best interest is definitely not in mine.”

  “I’m not asking for any

  individual’s name. Just the name of the damned cartel.”

  Deirdre’s voice took on an edge. “You do not know me, Mr. Anderson, and my death wouldn’t even register with you. Know that I am risking my life to make this call.”

  Darius gave Mex a look that said, back off. “I understand.”

  The hardness left and the sultry tone was back. “Boudreaux’s makes a particularly good Cajun martini. One of these days, I’m gonna make you buy me one.”

  “How did you—”

  “It’s a tiny world, mon cher, and with the number of people I know, it’s even smaller.”

  The call ended.

  Mex ordered two more home brews. He studied Darius. “You sure there’s nothing going on between you two?”

  “Deirdre comes on a little strong, but she knows I’m married.”

  Mex arched his eyebrows. “Since when does that mean anything to women like Deirdre?”

  “How do you know what she’s like?”

  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Darius laughed. “Okay, you’re not wrong. It’s kind of flattering though, and she’s been a good source over the years.”

  “For what kind of stories?”

  “Got me again. I did a series a few years ago detailing high-level escort services in major cities throughout the country. Deirdre provided both my New Orleans and Atlanta information.”

  “I know how you like to

  experience every part of your stories…”

  “Not like that.”

  “Fine. We’ll continue this

  conversation later. In the meantime, I’m pretty sure it’s safe to assume the name of the cartel is the same one Luis is involved with.”

  “La Familia.”

  “La Familia is in competition with Senora-Ciento, Vicente Vega’s cartel.”

  A rush of air came their way as Cade LeBlanc flew into the restaurant. With one hand over her head she

  signaled for a drink as she whisked toward them. In her other hand she held some paper that she slapped down on the table.

  “You’ll never believe what I’ve found.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Cade stood in front of him and Mex could barely breathe. Her eyes were bright with excitement and energy and Mex immediately felt ten degrees better.

  “You’ll never guess what I found out.” She didn’t wait for Mex to

  respond, even if he could have found his voice. And Darius seemed amused by something. “Our Luis Alvarez is not the only actor in our play with family ties to the slow and sticky.”

  Darius, full-out grinning now, asked, “Slow and sticky?”

  Cade laughed. “Kind of a pet name for a swamp. You know, the water? Slow and sticky.”

  Mex cleared his throat. “And?”

  “And, the extended family of Pilar Villanueva also has holdings in St. Tammany Parish.”

  “Let’s go then. What are we waiting for?”

  “Hold on, cowboy. It gets a little tricky now.”

  “Tricky?”

  “There’s not an exact address, just some general landmarks that were written down decades ago. It’s that old. And with special visitors along the lines of Katrina, those landmarks are probably long gone. We’ll need to spend some time with someone familiar enough with Honey Island Swamp to at least get us in the general direction.”

  “How big can it be?”

  Cade cocked her head and

  pumped an eyebrow up. “Does 70,000 acres make you think you can pinpoint anything? I’ve got a lead on two oldtimers who might be willing to help. Just waiting for callbacks.”

  “Why no address? I mean surely the state collects property taxes.”

  “They probably do, but there’s a chance no one really knows the property is there. And it might be a boat launch for all I know. I’m willing to bet it’s a family homestead that’s well hidden from prying eyes, which would make it perfect for Santeria worship.”

  Cade warmed to her subject. “There are things that have been hidden in there for hundreds of years.” A smile played on her lips. “All kinds of things.”

  Darius perked up. Mex figured his friend knew a good story when he heard one. “What kinds of things?”

  “Pirates, for one. As late as 1850, pirate ships that pillaged the Gulf and the Caribbean waters found refuge in Honey Island. An unusual pirate from Scotland was known as the King of Honey Island. His real name was McCullough and he had a New Orleans mansion. But on Honey Island, he used the name Pierre Rameau. After

  McCullough, another gang terrorized wealthy plantation owners throughout Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. The Copeland gang brought the
stolen gold and jewelry to their Honey Island headquarters and buried it. Legend has it it’s still buried somewhere in those 70,000 acres.”

  Cade paused. “Then there’s the monster.”

  Amused, Mex watched Darius pay rapt attention to Cade’s story about the strange creature said to roam the slow and sticky. He struggled with the need to wait for more information from the local historians and his strange response to Cade’s sudden appearance, seeing her all glowing and out of breath. He didn’t much like either. He liked control.

  She was on a second home brew when her phone rang. She checked the Caller ID and said, “This could be one of our sources.”

  While she moved away to talk privately, Darius scooted his chair next to Mex. “Can you believe it? Pirates and monsters? This is just too good to be true.”

  “Before you get too excited, we still need to focus on Dia. You can go looking for buried treasure and monsters after we have that little girl safe.”

  Darius immediately looked offended. “Right. Of course I’d

  completely forgotten about Dia. I’m a shallow feather-brain without an ounce of compassion or willingness to take risks.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Should be.” Darius shifted in his chair, chin up. “I still think the pirate and monster thing is pretty cool. Some good swerve to the book I’m gonna write about our successful rescue of a young girl.”

  “I may have forgotten to mention this, but change my name, will you?”

  “Sure thing. I was going to ask you anyway. Your name is kind of wimpy. I was thinking something along the lines of Mando or Tank. Either of those work for you?”

  “My name is wimpy? Are you telling me that Egbert isn’t? Or for that matter, Darius?”

  “Story’s not about me, my wimply named friend. I’m just a tag-along. And if ever you use Egbert against me, I will truly have some counter ammunition.”

  Cade slid back into the

  conversation. “We’re on for first thing tomorrow morning. La Pines is the place he wants to meet at six-thirty.”

  Darius spoke first. “Not anything we can do now. I suggest we get some sleep. Meet up tomorrow morning at our hotel and head out from there.”

  Cade looked at Mex. “Agreed. We should head off to sleep on our own, then reconnect in the morning.”

  Mex simply nodded and moved to the exit.

  On the way back to their hotel, Mex caught an earful from Darius. “You are some kind of idiot. That fantastic looking woman is hot for you and all you can do is tuck your tail and head back to the hotel. Aren’t you even interested? Even short term?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Yep.”

  Darius was silent for a moment. “You’re looking for something more, aren’t you?”

  Mex sighed. “Maybe.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  La Pines Cafe, pronounced L-A Pines by the locals, was, as advertised, right next to the Slidell water tower. At six-thirty in the morning, the parking lot of the restaurant was already packed. Mex waited for two pickup trucks to pull out before he pulled in. The place was jumpin’.

  Cade led Mex and Darius toward the door. “Mr. Allain told me the café opens at six, but he likes to give the guys who need to get to work a chance to eat and get going. He should be at a table against the back wall.”

  The trio entered and scanned the busy diner. Mex had enjoyed some of the best meals of his life at dives like this one. It reminded him of Juan’s Place back in Aspen Falls, except there weren’t any booths, only tables. And it was light and not dark. And it was a breakfast joint, not a bar. And it was packed. Okay, it reminded him of Juan’s because of the locals who were

  obviously hanging out at “their” place.

  An old man wearing a red plaid shirt, gray hair tumbling over the collar, sat at a four-top up against the wall straight ahead of them. When he made eye contact with Mex, he nodded. Mex pointed the way to both Cade and Darius.

  The old guy moved to stand at Cade’s approach but she waved him down. She made introductions and they settled in. A few minutes later, fresh coffee in front of everyone, the waitress was ready to take their order.

  Paul Allain, menu in hand, asked, “You buyin’?”

  Mex nodded.

  He pointed gnarled fingers at the page he held. “Then I’d like me the Number Five with both the ribeye and the pork chops, merci beaucoup.” Mex smiled. “You’re welcome.” Mama Jim, presumably the chefowner, had a pretty complete menu that was about as far from Weight Watchers as you could get. The Number Five was the most expensive with three eggs, a choice of the ribeye or two pork chops, grits, hashbrowns or home fries, and either a biscuit or toast. Darius placed his order for one of Mama Jim’s Awful Waffles and a side of hot sausage.

  Mex waited for Cade to decide.

  The usually decisive woman seemed torn. “So many things that remind me of my mamere’s home when I was little. My grandmother could fry up everything with the best of them.” Finally, she went with a short stack of pancakes, an egg and a side of smoked sausage.

  Mex ordered the Philly

  Cheesesteak Omelet with toast. If any of them could move after this breakfast he would be surprised.

  While they waited for their food, Cade explained what they were looking for. “It’s an old home, Mr. Allain, out in the Honey. Belonged to the same family for generations until they sold it about twenty years ago.”

  “What’s the old family name?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Well, the new one then.”

  “Villanueva.”

  Allain squinted his eyes then shook his head. “Nope. Not Cajun. Not familiar.”

  Darius sat his coffee cup down. “Wait.” He dug through some notes he’d brought in with him. “Our girl’s full name is Estrada Velasquez Villanueva. At least some of her family were from Cuba.”

  “Cubans? Got a few of those over the years. Hold on, let me think.”

  The waitress came by and refilled the cups with more strong Louisiana coffee. Paul Allain rapped his swollen knuckles on the table in a soft rhythmic pattern and seemed to disappear in thought.

  “Sacré Bleu!” Allain reached into a pocket of his shirt and pulled out an iPhone. Mex wondered how the arthritic old fellow was going to work the small keys with his large digits.

  He held the phone in front of him. “Call Henri.”

  Mex did an internal eye roll. Man, he needed to get caught up.

  Allain held up a finger asking for silence, the finger actually pointing more toward the wall than straight up. Some soft and quick words that Mex assumed were a mix of French and Cajun and English poured from Paul Allain’s mouth while the three of them sat in respectful silence. Mex kept stealing glances at Cade to see if she might be following the one side of the conversation they could hear. If she was—if she could—she didn’t let on.

  The man completed the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Without the modern gadget in his hands, there was no longer visual conflict for the casual observer.

  “Do you have images from about twenty years ago? Only need the north part of the swamp.”

  Darius hauled out some copies he’d made and riffled through them. “Here. These are twenty-two years ago. North end.” He spread the papers out on the table just as the waitress came up with a tray loaded with their food.

  “Coo-Wee! That’s the best looking food I’ve ever laid my eyes on. The frissons are runnin’ up my arms.”

  Mex gestured for Darius to put the papers away and looked to Cade for translation.

  “Goosebumps. Frissons are goosebumps.”

  “And Coo-Wee?”

  “Just what it sounds like. It’s a way of telling someone to look at something amazing.”

  Allain reached for his napkin. “I was worried I wasn’t gonna be able to help. Now that I know I can, I can eat this food with the enjoyment it was meant to have. We’ll go over the swamp details after we’
re done full.”

  Mex stilled his impatience. Nothing to do for the delay, and there was every chance they’d have a solid direction to take.

  If they weren’t too late.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Cade had actually listened carefully to Paul Allain’s side of the conversation. He’d focused on Cajun words, followed by French and only the occasional English word filtered in. Like she wouldn’t understand.

  The good news was that she understood it all. Hello? Her name was Acadia LeBlanc and she lived in New Orleans. Like she wouldn’t get it? Still, she tried to keep an ignorant face while she heard the soft tones on their end of the phone call.

  Between Paul Allain and the friend he was talking to, Henri, they knew exactly where the house in Honey Island Swamp was located, at least where it was located twenty years ago. But there were a couple of questions: first, how to find it now after decades of storms, including Katrina; and second, did either one of them really want to get involved with the powerful Santeria group known to operate from the area. The cult’s connection with La Familia could mean all kinds of bad endings for anyone stepping in from whatever fringe.

  After the call Cade was able to breathe. Paul Allain seemed to be willing to do the right thing. When he was both ready to eat his breakfast and take a look at old photos to identify landmark locations, she knew they were dealing with an honorable man.

  The foursome dug into the heaps of food in front of them. Cade wanted to put her house up for sale and move into the restaurant. She felt as if she’d come home.

  Twenty minutes later,

  miraculously emptied plates swept away, they focused on something other than good food.

  Paul Allain pushed his empty coffee cup toward the side of the table. “Before we continue this little exercise, can you at least tell me why it’s all so get out important?”

  Cade started to answer, but Mex beat her to it. “This is all my doing, Mr. Allain. I need to find this house because I believe a young girl is in danger. The reasons I’m here are complicated, and like you, this isn’t something I’d normally find myself involved in.

  “I recognize that the risk you’ve taken by simply breaking bread with us this morning, let alone sharing any concrete information, is enormous. There is evil at work from all sides. If you choose to back away now I can’t stop you, but I can’t stop myself from being upfront. I believe you’re the kind of human being who is invested in courage, your own and that of others. The kind of endurance required to fight enormous odds.