Blood tracks, p.22
Blood Tracks, page 22
His decision brought a smile to her. He was still in bodyguard role, not about to give in to his stubborn fear of flying. She was glad, because after everything she’d said to the contrary she wouldn’t feel whole without him by her side if taking the trip home alone. Hell, she needed him. And not just for the calm-under-fire-attitude he’d shown when escaping Rutterman Logistics – when she’d have run up two flights of stairs seeking the skylight exit, he’d grabbed her by an elbow, guided her to a fire exit and booted the door open, ushered her to the front gate, and boosted her over. No, there was more to it than that. He’d followed her to Louisiana as an employee, but the dynamic of their relationship had shifted. Each had a stake in this case; each had a desire to see it through to a satisfying conclusion. They actually were partners now, she realized. She sneaked a glance his way; he was watching the road ahead with intensity. He must have sensed her observation because he snapped his head towards her, his eyes reflecting the dashboard lights. His mouth bowed in humour, or was it affection? She was immediately reminded of waking to that same scrutiny earlier, and felt a tremor go through her. This time it was an enjoyable sensation.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Tess went through her Baton Rouge hotel room as wild as a dervish, snatching up her things, packing away her laundry, throwing the paperwork off the desk into a carry bag. There was no rhyme or reason to her method, and she simply dumped everything in, haphazard and messy, keen to be off. Some of the papers spilled across the floor in a mini-landslide, and she crouched, puffing and huffing to draw them back to hand. More speed less haste, she told herself. Why hadn’t she travelled as light as Po had? What he owned, he had with him in his knapsack, so there was no need for him to visit his room. He was downstairs, in the lot, prepping their car while waiting for Pinky. His friend had been and gone earlier, and had successfully retrieved the tracking device off the Honda, promising to return and hand it over once they got back.
Ready to go, Tess took one last lingering look around the room. She could guarantee she’d missed something. Her toiletry kit! She headed into the small bathroom, snatching up her toothbrush, wash kit, and other feminine necessities, and pushing them into a drawstring bag. OK, now it really was time to go. They’d booked a 06:20 United Airlines flight out of Louis Armstrong International to Newark, with a connecting flight to Portland, Maine. They’d plenty of time to make departure, yet Tess still felt rushed by ill-restrained urgency. Not only did she wish to get home, but also since their escape from Rutterman Logistics she’d felt like an outlaw, concerned that they’d been identified as violent burglars and were now being hunted by the police. Hell, it felt odd being on the wrong side of the law. It had only been a few hours and the paranoia was eating at her.
She headed downstairs. The same night manager as last night was on duty. As she approached, he lifted his hawkish nose in greeting, his teeth flashing white against his dusky skin.
‘Good evening,’ said Tess, humping her case close to the counter.
‘Evening, ma’am.’
She set hers and Po’s door keys down. ‘I’d like to check out. Two rooms; numbers twenty-eight and thirty, please.’
‘I hope everything was to your satisfaction, uh, Miss Grey?’ he said, after a quick glance at his computer screen to check her name.
‘Everything was lovely,’ she said. They were checking out early, and at an unusual hour, and the manager was wondering why. Let him wonder.
He tapped and rattled at his keyboard, made polite noises about how – unfortunately – she’d be charged for the remainder of the night on both rooms, to which Tess agreed it was fine. She’d already registered Clancy’s credit-card details, and the bill was cleared with no fuss. Despite the extra constraints on her time she turned down the offer to have her receipt emailed to her, and asked instead for a printed copy. The man obliged, and she headed for the exit, tugging along her unbalanced suitcase. It snagged in the doorway, and she had to tug it loose, and practically spilled out from under the entrance canopy onto the parking lot.
Three faces turned towards her, and only one of them she recognized.
A large pickup truck stood with its engine idling a few yards from the trio, its doors wide, signifying the speed at which the two strangers had jumped out to confront Po.
Instinctively Tess pranced away, heading not for the Honda alongside which Po and his two admirers stood, but for Pinky’s SUV parked on the other side of the lot. She averted her face, hauling on the case as if she were simply another harried traveller on her way to parts unknown. The two men standing too close to Po for comfort watched her out the corners of their eyes, aware of a potential witness, but more wary of losing sight of their captive. Tess played the part of rushed and frustrated with almost natural results; equally she hid her fear. She rattled the suitcase along, then deliberately allowed the handle to snatch out of her hands, and she uttered a howl of irritation. The suitcase toppled, and the men again glanced at her, annoyed at her unwelcome intrusion. Sadly neither of them lowered the weapons they aimed at Po’s belly.
It didn’t matter, because as Tess leaned down, pretending to right her case, she dipped her hand into her purse and stood again. Her Glock was hidden alongside her thigh as she turned, but only until she snatched it up. ‘Police!’ she hollered, the gun in a two-handed grip, her knees flexing and her feet set. ‘Lower your weapons. Now!’
She didn’t expect them to comply, and her ruse would backfire if it turned out they were police, but she didn’t think that was the case. She moved forward quickly, so that she’d more chance of getting off a shot that would actually hit something. The two men gawped at her, but held on to their guns. Thankfully they were now aimed low, towards the floor, and Po wasn’t in immediate danger of being gut shot.
‘Drop your weapons!’ Tess yelled again, and by now she’d crossed half the lot.
Instead, the two men raised their firearms, coming up to meet hers. Outnumbered, outgunned, Tess knew it was now or never. Po threw himself into the nearest man, ramming him off his feet and into his pal. Both men staggered, and one of them discharged his gun. Tess felt the snap of the round pass close by, and she flinched in response. Remarkably there was no corresponding bang; the gun was suppressed. Cops didn’t use silenced weapons: assassins did. She almost returned fire.
However, Po hooked a heel around the nearest man’s knee, continued forcing him backwards, and all three went down in a heap on the asphalt. Po’s fists were a blur as he pounded each man in turn, but he was one against two and they were still armed. Any second and the situation could turn deadly. Tess rushed in just as one of the men pulled away and got a knee under him. His gun was swinging towards Po’s head when Tess’s foot clattered against his wrist. The bullet went skyward, the gun spinning away. Tess backhanded her Glock, and felt the solid thunk of metal against bone. Only when the man went over on his butt, hands cradling his face, did she know where she’d struck. She didn’t stop to admire her handiwork; she threaded her fingers through the man’s hair, and rolled her fingers into a fist, yanking him over backwards. She jammed the muzzle of her gun in his throat, snarling at him to hold it.
She searched the tangle of limbs opposite them, saw Po heave up and roll on top of his opponent, straddling his chest. His left hand grasped the man’s gun hand, forcing it against the ground. His right hand went to his boot, and a flash of silver arced towards the man’s throat. Tess squinted, anticipating a horrifying jet of blood.
‘You son of a bitch,’ Po snarled, as he repeatedly slammed the man’s gun arm on the ground. ‘Let it go.’
When Tess next checked, the gun was out of the man’s hand, four or five feet distant, and the man craned to avoid the needle tip of Po’s knife, which was in the hollow under his left ear. Thankfully his throat wasn’t an open geyser.
‘One more move and you’ll be brain dead,’ Po promised. He snapped a glance at Tess, and saw that she had her captive under control, fully submissive. The man she kneeled on bled profusely from a gash in his cheek. Po nodded. ‘Can you get that asshole to his feet?’ he asked. ‘If he tries anything, shoot the fucker in the face.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry. I’ve got him.’ Tess switched her attention to the injured man and snarled through her clenched teeth, ‘Are you going to give me any trouble?’
‘Jesus, bitch, you broke my face already.’
‘Trust me, things could get much worse. Just try calling me bitch again and I’ll show you how much. Now sit up.’ Tess jammed her gun against the side of the man’s neck, hauling him to a seated position by his hair. She switched round behind him, transferred the gun to the nape of his neck, and the man struggled to standing. He was unsteady on his feet. Tess pushed him up against the parked truck, kicked his feet apart.
Po also had his man standing. His knife had disappeared, and in its place Po had drawn his gun. He prodded the guy over, and he too ended up with his chest forced against the truck, his feet splayed wide. Po checked him for other weapons but came up empty.
Sower’s people? Tess mouthed the question to Po, but he shook his head. He didn’t offer an explanation, but it was unnecessary. There was a more obvious answer.
‘So you thought you could claim the bounty on me, eh?’ Po said, his voice amiable now. He directed it at his captive, because Tess’s guy was busy moaning about his bleeding face.
These guys weren’t members of the Chatard family as Tess assumed, just guys hoping to claim the reward on Po’s head.
‘We were told you were in town; we were told to make sure you left.’ The man dipped his head; he’d obviously failed his instructions. ‘We aren’t in the business of killing.’
‘Silencers on your handguns tell a different story,’ Po said.
‘If we were going to shoot you, we would’ve done it from the truck. We didn’t have to speak to you first.’
The man had a point, and was possibly telling the truth. Perhaps the suppressors on their guns were props to add menace to their warning. By the look of things, Po had come to the same conclusion as Tess. She was about to mention that they were leaving anyway, that they’d wasted their time and taken a beating for nothing. She kept her mouth shut. This was Po’s business.
‘The Chatards thought a couple of bums waving guns would make me run away?’ Po snapped out a laugh of derision. ‘How did you think this was going to end: with me making polite goodbyes?’
‘We hoped you’d see sense,’ said the man glumly.
‘Sense never comes at the end of a gun,’ Po told him. ‘Or does it?’ He pushed his weapon under the man’s ribs, digging into a kidney. The would-be tough guy squirmed in fear.
Tess held her breath.
But Po lowered the gun. He stepped away. ‘Turn around.’
The man complied, but raised his empty hands to his shoulders. He had a thick monobrow, beetled in a frown.
‘Put those down, will you?’ Po grunted, meaning the hands. He looked at Tess, and she took the hint. She unwrapped her fingers from her prisoner’s hair, taking a few steps back. Her guy was slower to turn and he did so cupping his face. His hair stood wildly where she’d tangled her fingers, and his eyes were red-rimmed, almost bulging out their sockets. She’d bet that all he was interested in was chugging down a handful of painkillers at his first opportunity.
Po looked at the ground, shook his head wearily. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re leaving, but so are you. You go back and tell the Chatards whatever you want about what went down here. Save face: tell them you chased me off, claim your reward, I don’t care.’ His face grew serious. ‘But tell them this. I didn’t come here for them. Not this time. But I will come again.’
His delivery was calm, controlled, spoken without rancour. Yet Tess felt a wedge of ice push through her chest at the weight of his promise. The faces of the two thugs told her they’d received the message loud and clear.
Po wagged the gun towards the truck. ‘Git. And don’t come against me again. I’m not usually the forgiving type.’
The bleeding man looked to his friend for instruction.
‘Get in the truck,’ said the man, and the bleeder shambled off. He glanced for where their guns lay.
‘Leave them,’ Po ordered.
An engine rumbled.
‘Somebody’s coming,’ Tess warned Po.
He was unconcerned.
He thumbed towards the truck. ‘Git.’
The guy nodded sullenly, but moved for the driver’s door. His bleeding pal had already clambered inside and was resting his head in his hands. Tess went and kicked the dropped weapons towards Po, while shoving her Glock in her purse. He didn’t retrieve them, just stood and waited while a Dodge panel van pulled into the lot. Tess recognized Pinky in the passenger seat, a younger, slimmer black guy driving. They both eyed the truck, faces grimly set. There was no eye contact from the two in the truck. It pulled away, the thick rubber tyres whistling on the asphalt as it made a wide turn towards the exit ramp.
‘What was with Bert and Ernie?’ Pinky enquired after he’d got out of the van. Tess smiled at the description, fondly recalling the Muppet characters from Sesame Street.
‘Messenger boys,’ Po explained. ‘No sweat.’
‘Damn, it looks like I missed all the fun, me.’
‘You didn’t miss much. I had everything under control.’ Po flicked a veiled smile at Tess. Hell, if she hadn’t intervened, God knew how things would have turned out. She didn’t comment; let him enjoy his macho moment. Pinky beamed a smile. He was impressed, Po still his object of worship.
‘The Chatards send them?’ Pinky asked.
Po only rocked his head.
‘Something needs to be done about them,’ Pinky said. ‘You want me to send my boys down to New Iberia?’
Po shook his head. ‘Their beef is with me, old friend. I’ll deal with the Chatards when the time is right.’
Pinky shrugged his rounded shoulders. ‘You know you just have to say the word and the Chatards are out of your hair, Nicolas.’
Po rested his hand on Pinky’s arm. No words necessary.
‘I’m glad I got to see you before you left,’ Pinky said, and his eyes were glassy. He leaned in and hugged Po. Po returned the embrace, unashamed at the big guy sniffing alongside his ear. Po slapped Pinky’s back and they parted. ‘Promise not to leave it as long in future, you,’ Pinky scolded.
‘I promise.’
‘Good.’ Pinky turned to Tess, opening his arms. ‘And you, my pretty Tess, you are always welcome in Baton Rouge. Come here, girl.’
Tess was engulfed by his warm weight, and Pinky even lifted her off her feet a few inches. His stick arms were stronger than they looked. He laid a smacker of a kiss on her cheek before setting her down. ‘Maybe next time you can come visit alone,’ Pinky offered with a wink and nod for Po. ‘I told you, for a woman like you, pretty Tess, I’d change my ways for good.’
‘I’ll miss you, Pinky,’ Tess said, and she meant it.
Po approached; he’d collected the discarded guns. ‘Going away present for you, Pinky. You can use these, yeah?’
Pinky waved at the van driver. ‘DeAndre, fetch me that bag, you.’
The driver got out the van, toting a thick orange sack. Tess recognized it as an anti-ballistic ‘safe bag’ from her law-enforcement days. By the clean cut of him, she wondered if DeAndre was a cop moonlighting as Pinky’s driver. She didn’t ask and he didn’t say: probably best that way. He held the bag open and Po dropped the liberated guns inside. Po then unfastened his shoulder rig and dropped it in too. He dipped his boot, came out with his hidden blade. He turned it over in his palm, shrugged and dropped it inside. ‘Call that a bonus.’
Shoving it in the bag, Tess was relieved to be rid of her Glock, but had to admit that the weight in her purse had grown familiar. Although she had loathed carrying the illegal weapon it had tipped the scales in their favour minutes earlier. Now it was gone, she didn’t hate it as much.
Pinky took the liberated transponder from his pocket. He’d wrapped it in a plastic bag. He passed it to Tess. ‘You’ll want this.’
‘You’ll want these too.’ Po handed over the keys of the Mercedes-Benz. ‘So it’s back to the Chicken Shack,’ he said ruefully. The Honda was bashed up. ‘I guess we’re going to lose your deposit,’ he aimed at Tess.
‘It’s on Emma Clancy’s ticket.’ Tess had no idea how damning her next flippant statement was. ‘I’m sure she’s got more to worry about than paying the excess on an insurance policy.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Their flight to Newark, New Jersey, went without a hitch. Po took the journey in his stride, not so uptight this time, but silently relieved that the airplane hadn’t plummeted to earth when they finally touched down. There was an hour or more to kill before their connecting flight, but they had to change terminals so it wasn’t all time they could spend lounging around. Once they’d caught the sky train to their connecting terminal, Po made his excuses and went outside to top up his nicotine levels.
‘You’ll have to pass back through security again,’ Tess warned him. ‘Try not to miss the flight.’
‘If I miss it, I won’t be crying, Tess. I can drive from here in a few hours. I’m seriously tempted to do just that, I’m just put off by the fact the rental companies will only have goddamn granny cars available again. If I had to choose between a short hop on a plane or drive all that way in another minivan, the plane wins out.’ He winked at her. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be late.’
Tess headed off to find food, got coffee and donuts, but took them with her to the boarding gate. According to the flight information, their plane was on time. She sat on a seat against the wall, surrounded by weary travellers whose heads were buried in a variety of electronic gadgets, only periodically glancing up to check the boarding info. Tess had kept her nose equally buried in her iPad on the way over, checking over her typed notes, and wondering how much she should add to them concerning what had recently occurred. No mention would be made of what happened with the two guys last night, or their goodbyes and exchange of gifts with Pinky Leclerc. She had been tempted to leave out their breaking and entering of Rutterman Logistics, but if they were going to use the tracking device and the accompanying proof that it originated from a box on a shelf at Rutterman’s there was nothing for it. Of course, little would be alluded to concerning Po’s Jailhouse Rock moment with the guard: the assault had obviously gone unreported, because their identities hadn’t raised as much as an eyebrow while checking in for their flight out of New Orleans. That surprised her; she had expected to answer difficult questions from the local PD before they were allowed to leave Louisiana, but the crime going unreported made sense when she thought about it. Rutterman Logistics had much to hide, more than it was worth mentioning a breaking and entry to the local authorities for. She would bet that the box of trackers and the corresponding paperwork had been spirited away from the premises by now, and was glad she’d taken photographs for her records. She didn’t doubt that word of their escape had reached the ears of Sower’s group by now, and they could expect some sort of retaliation from that, but that was OK, because Sower’s killer must have known all along that they’d ignore the warning he’d made of Crawford Wynne. Hell, Tess was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t so much a warning as a prompt that would lead to a full-blown confrontation. Wynne’s death had served more than initially believed: Sower’s killer wasn’t only hoping to strike fear into his opponents; he was stepping up the conflict between them and Sower’s gang, his way of declaring war. It was an insane agenda the killer had set, and she had to wonder at its end game.
