Blood tracks, p.6
Blood Tracks, page 6
‘Your client didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet,’ Po said as he finally turned the Odyssey into the parking lot of a small nondescript hotel, one of a budget chain.
‘We can’t complain. This hotel was chosen for anonymity; I couldn’t exactly demand five stars and a spa.’ Tess looked at the hotel, noting the faded signage over the doorway, the doorframes that were blistering paint, and tried not to show dissatisfaction. ‘First impressions might be doing it an injustice.’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed, without elucidating, and she wondered whose first impression of whom he really referred to.
‘We don’t know what it’s like inside yet,’ she added.
‘Call me a pessimist,’ Po said, as he shut off the engine and unsnapped his seat belt, ‘but it suits me down to the ground. Five stars and a spa? Hell, if we’d turned up at one of those hotels you’d have seen me running a mile.’
The hotel wasn’t as bad as first impressions promised. Tess had to be honest: her room was clean, comfortable, and roomy, and what more did she need. Wi-Fi came free, and she had a desk on which she could set up her laptop, iPad, and phone. There was room enough to spread out the notes in the file that Clancy had supplied. It was an office away from home, and one she’d get good use of. But only after she’d showered.
Next door, through the thin walls, she heard Po bumping around, and then the sound of jetting water. Po had prioritized as she had. Tess felt her cheeks flush when realizing she was picturing the ex-con undressing for the shower and enjoying what she’d conjured. Hell, what was she thinking? Keep your mind on your job, she scolded. Po’s an annoying son of a bitch, arrogant as hell, and where’s the attraction in that? She was still raw from her relationship breakdown with Jim Neely, and discounting a date that had gone no further than a couple of beers with an old colleague from the Sheriff’s Department, she hadn’t thought about re-energizing her love life. Po was almost old enough to be her father, and he was unkempt and had oil ingrained in his knuckles. Not the kind of man who’d ever caught her eye before, let alone her imagination. But then, she had to admit; Po’s rugged exterior, his languidness, and his old-fashioned mannerisms had their own appeal. She switched on her own shower, and as an afterthought turned the temperature to cold.
SEVEN
A rap on the door roused Tess. She sat up on the hotel bed, momentarily fuddled by sleep and alarmed to find herself in an unfamiliar place. She blinked, noted the sheaf of papers scattered across the bed beside her, and finally understood she’d drifted off while perusing her notes.
The knock came again, delivered by a single knuckle, not insistent.
‘Yeah?’ Her voice croaked, and her tongue was sandpaper against the roof of her mouth.
‘Wondered if you wanted to grab some supper?’
Muffled as it was, Po’s voice was instantly recognizable.
‘Uh, yeah, uh, what time is it?’ Tess scratched for her cell phone to check, but Po beat her to it.
‘It’s just after seven.’
Tess had no idea how long she’d slept. Not long, but it had been deeply. It was the damn humidity. Even with the air conditioning on, the atmosphere in her room was treacle-thick. After showering she’d dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Both were damp with sweat, wrinkled from sleep. ‘Can you give me a few minutes?’
‘F’sure,’ said Po.
‘I need to change. But I’ll meet you down in the lobby?’
‘Sure thing. Could do with a cigarette.’
Po must have wandered away, but she didn’t hear his progress on the carpeted hallway floor.
She scraped together her notes and dumped the papers inside the file. A mirror above the desk caught her reflection. Uh-oh. Not good. Her eyes were puffy and her hair frizzy. Maybe Po could smoke a couple of cigarettes while she got herself ready.
Turning on the shower again, she ensured it was hot this time. She showered quickly, but washed and rinsed her hair twice before she was happy. The supplied hairdryer was near to useless but she persevered, and got her fair hair looking almost presentable if not dry. Having brushed her teeth, she pulled on her T-shirt and jeans and slipped on a pair of pumps. Her hair was still damp, her clothing rumpled, but so what? Her attire would pass. After a spritz of perfume, she grabbed her purse, knocked off the lights, and locked the door behind her.
Po wasn’t in the lobby, he was outside, propped against the wall adjacent to the exit. He was dressed in Levi’s and a jean jacket over a black shirt. Ordinarily the double denim look didn’t work for Tess, but on Po it looked right. He stood with one boot heel and his shoulders braced against the wall, a cigarette drooping from his mouth. On noticing her, Po went to pinch off his cigarette.
‘Finish your smoke,’ Tess said. ‘I really don’t care.’
There was somebody out there mutilating people with a knife, and that concerned her more than passively inhaling Po’s smoke. Her first day in Louisiana hadn’t exactly been productive. She owed Emma Clancy a phone call, but what exactly could she report? She was certain Clancy – and Richard Jackson, her boss – expected more for their bucks than their investigator sleeping the afternoon away and filling her belly.
‘Hungry?’ Po asked.
‘Starving. But have we time for this?’
‘We need to eat. There’s a place up the block I’ve heard good things about from the receptionist.’ Without waiting, Po sauntered off. He tossed his finished cigarette in a storm drain, then gestured up the street to a delicatessen. ‘They do coffee and sandwiches. Maybe they’ll rustle up one o’ those po’boys you’ve heard such good things about.’ He was laying on the accent thick, then his mouth turned up at one side. ‘Unless you got finer tastes?’
Po winked, turned away and left her standing. Had Po just flirted with her? She shook her head in disbelief, then hurried to match his pace.
They ordered food and drinks, took a seat at one of the available tables in back of the deli beneath a ceiling fan. Tess was grateful for the wash of cool air. She discreetly dabbed a bead of sweat trickling down her cheek with a napkin. In contrast Po was untroubled by the wet heat, cool as ever. People from the subtropics must have different blood to New Englanders, she thought.
‘Did you sleep?’ Po asked.
‘Does it show?’
Po didn’t comment. He picked at a pulled-pork sandwich filled with rice, coleslaw, and chopped cucumber, liberally coated with barbecue sauce. ‘While you were napping I made a few calls,’ he finally said.
‘You did?’ Tess had been caught mid-bite of her own turkey sandwich.
‘Uh-huh. I put out a few feelers with some old contacts.’
Annoyance nipped the skin between her shoulder blades, and she pushed aside her sandwich. She felt guilty enough that she’d slept most of the afternoon, and his announcement didn’t alleviate it. He was here to protect her, not lead the damn investigation. He should’ve checked with her first before going ahead like that. She assumed that those feelers Po was talking about was to guys he’d known in Angola. OK, she concurred after a moment, it made sense. Crawford Wynne was also an ex-con and probably moved in similar circles to those Po met at the Farm, so maybe she shouldn’t take issue. ‘OK. Did you learn anything useful?’
‘Too early, but they’re going to ask around and get back to me. I think we’ve plenty time to eat our supper before we get a lead.’ His eyes sparkled on the final word, as if enjoying playing detective. ‘Good?’
‘I need you on the ball like that,’ Tess said, and gave him a steady look, ‘but in future you should run any ideas by me first.’
‘I wasn’t seeking approval. I meant your sandwich. Is it good?’
She stared at him, miffed by his disregard and flippant attitude, but she wasn’t going to rise to the bait. He was testing the boundaries of their relationship, and she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing her rattled. She picked the sandwich up. It came in a soft dough bap almost as long and thick as her forearm, bulging with sliced turkey and a mass of salad, again dripping with sauce. ‘I’m in danger of getting fat,’ she said. ‘Mind you, the rate I’m melting, I’ll be a puddle on the floor before the evening’s out.’
Po chuckled. ‘Yeah, I forgot how damn hot it gets down here in the summer. We’ll acclimatize soon.’
He didn’t appear in need of acclimatizing, but now they were on the subject, Tess could feel a warm trickle down the small of her back and she shifted uncomfortably. Her skin prickled as if her clothing was woven from horsehair. Somehow being under the ceiling fan was making her feel worse, not better. She picked up her napkin again and mopped her brow. She used the damp tissue as a pointer. ‘Aren’t you worried that by calling those contacts you’re advertising your presence here?’
‘Not worried,’ he said. ‘If it happens, it happens. I agreed to accompany you here and knew what the consequences might be.’ Po sat back in his seat and held her gaze: for the first time he appeared serious. ‘If the Chatards come looking for me, I don’t want you getting involved. You take a back seat, right?’
‘Chatards? Tell me that isn’t an Acadian swear word,’ Tess quipped.
Po’s eyes grew diamond-hard. ‘It’s the family I’m at odds with.’
‘Yeah, I got that. But here’s the thing, Po: if you’ve got my back, then I’ve got yours. There’ll be no taking a back seat from me.’ Tess wafted the napkin. ‘Before you start getting all chivalrous and treating me like the fairer sex, don’t forget old-fashioned behaviour like that is deemed sexist in some parts. I used to be a deputy, remember, and am not about to run away when the going gets tough.’
Po squeezed out a smile. ‘It’s exactly because you were a deputy that you shouldn’t stick around. I don’t want you bearing witness to what I might have to do.’
How did she answer that proclamation? She stared back at Po. He watched her for a beat, then gave a subtle nod, and bent back to his sandwich.
Her appetite had diminished. She pushed aside the sandwich and reached for her coffee. It wasn’t half bad for being served in a paper cup. ‘I’ll get on to some ideas I’ve been thinking about,’ Tess said. ‘Once we get back to the hotel.’
‘They can wait, right? I’ve asked to meet up with an old friend later. He might prove helpful.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Guy called Pinky. I think you’ll like him.’
‘With a name like Pinky, what’s not to like?’ Tess took another sip of coffee, but then pushed it aside. ‘I’m done. And the stuff I planned can wait. Do you think Pinky can really help?’
‘He won’t lead us to Wynne, but there are other things he can help with.’
‘The Chatards?’
Po didn’t reply. He stood, apparently finished with his food also. ‘You want to walk? It’s a good ways.’
‘In this heat?’ She flipped the napkin on the table and stood. ‘To the Batmobile, Robin.’
‘Is that what we’re calling the chicken shack on wheels now?’ Po asked. ‘I suppose it does help with my street cred.’
They walked back to the hotel, Po taking the opportunity to smoke. He matched his long-legged gait to her shorter steps, for which Tess was grateful. Her clothes were chafing, even her pumps had conspired to rub her toes raw in spots. Maybe those cold New England winters weren’t so bad after all, she thought. She trudged listless and miserable.
As they approached the hotel she wondered if she had time for another shower. Surely three times in one evening wasn’t overkill in this cloying humidity. But that was as far as the thought went. Po grunted something, bringing up her head.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked.
‘Beats me.’
A man was hunched beside their Honda, one hand cupped against the driver’s window to see inside the dim interior. Next he checked the door handle, but it was locked.
‘Wait here,’ Po said.
‘Like hell!’
They hurried towards the lot, and some sense made the man glimpse back. He straightened. He was almost as tall as Po, but broader across the chest and shoulders. His face was hidden in shadows from the peak of a ball cap.
‘Help you, podnuh?’ Po called as they strode towards him.
The man turned briskly and headed in the opposite direction.
‘Hey! I’m talking to you,’ Po snapped.
The man kept going. He hopped over a low wall at the edge of the parking lot and lurched inside a car waiting for him at the kerb. A driver already had the engine running. Tess began jogging as the car pulled away along Aztec. Po tried to halt her. ‘They’re gone.’
‘I’m trying to get their licence number,’ Tess said without slowing.
‘Knock yourself out. But you’ll be wasting your time.’
Tess stalled. He was right. What was she going to do, even if by some miracle she could zoom in her vision enough to catch the licence-plate number? Report the men to the police for being nosy? The one in the lot hadn’t done anything but look, after all. But what exactly had been his interest in their rental?
‘Probably looking to steal something,’ Po suggested.
Luckily they’d taken all their belongings inside the hotel earlier. There was nothing, excluding the satnav and CD player, that the sneak thief could have stolen had he gained entry to the Honda. Po was right. The men in the car were probably opportunistic thieves preying on inattentive tourists. They would regularly prowl around vehicles in hotel parking lots checking what they could snatch. They should report the incident to the local police, before someone else’s car was broken into, but Tess knew how much attention the complaint would receive, little or nothing. She shrugged, and walked back to Po. She chewed at her bottom lip.
‘Let it go. We’ve more important things to be getting on with.’ Po took out the keys and hit the fob to unlock the doors.
EIGHT
If ever there was a human equivalent of a slug, then Pinky was it. He was hugely obese, so much so that his little pointed head sank into the flesh of his shoulders, his chest and middle one long thick tube that seamlessly became equally tubular legs. His arms were inordinately thin by comparison, and it was only after checking her first impressions that Tess felt mildly embarrassed. Earlier she’d cautioned Po for his outmoded attitudes, and there was she casting ugly aspersions on a man obviously troubled by some horrible medical disorder.
Despite his nickname, Pinky Leclerc was black. He was lounging in a booth, a small table before him on which sat three empty beer glasses, and one on its way. Po had obviously spoken with him on the phone earlier, but the man’s small currant eyes sparkled when Po led the way across the bar towards him. He held out his arms, his fingers writhing with excitement. As hard as she tried, Tess thought again about slugs, and now squirming maggots as his digits wiggled. And Po was certain she’d like him?
‘As I live and breathe! Nicolas Villere back home where he belongs!’ Pinky’s voice was high-pitched with unrestrained emotion. He was genuinely delighted to see Po sauntering towards him. Tess noticed Po’s shoulders tighten at the loud announcement, but he didn’t comment. Pinky struggled to free himself from behind the table.
‘Don’t get up, Pinky,’ Po said.
‘Don’t get up? I haven’t seen my old friend in a dozen years and I’m not allowed to give him a hug, me?’ Pinky waved off the instruction and pushed aside the table. He made it up to one foot, but by then Po had reached him. Po leaned in and gave his friend a manly hug around one shoulder. Pinky beamed, his tiny eyes sparkling in the dim light as he patted Po’s back.
They exchanged welcomes while Tess stood with her hands clasped at her middle. Other patrons of the bar were watching the show of affection in bemused silence. Po finally turned from Pinky and waved her forward. ‘Pinky, this is my friend Tess.’
‘Charmed,’ Pinky said, reaching out a hand for hers.
His touch was warm and dry, not icky, as she’d feared.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Tess said, and found she meant it.
‘What’s a lovely young woman like you doing with an old wrinkly like him?’ Pinky beamed his love at Po despite the taunt.
‘We’re not that kind of friends,’ Tess said coolly, and caught a tug at the corners of Po’s mouth.
‘Come, come, sit down, please. You can sit here, lovely Tess.’ Pinky patted the bench to his right. Po slipped into the booth to his left. Pinky waved grandiosely at the barman. ‘Some beers over here?’
‘Please, just iced water for me,’ Tess said.
‘I’ll still take a beer,’ Po added for clarity and the barman nodded.
Pinky shifted his bulk around. He looked directly at Tess, slipped his hand into hers and said, ‘I have to admit, I was surprised to hear from Nicolas when he called me today. I thought that your powers of persuasion must be very high to get him back home, but now that I see you I can understand why he’d follow you anywhere.’
‘Ignore him, Tess. He’s a shameless flirt.’
‘Flirt? Moi?’ Pinky’s right hand went to his chest, then fluttered in the air. ‘Nicolas Villere, if you’ve got it, share it around I say, me.’
The man’s speech patterns were unusual, and Tess wondered how much of it was affected for show. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected that Pinky was a homosexual, or was sexually androgynous, whatever, she didn’t find his flirting threatening in any way. In fact, his campness was oddly endearing. He was the flipside to Po’s irascible machismo. The old adage that opposites attract was often true, but she had to wonder what had brought these two completely different types together in friendship. Actually, she suspected that she knew exactly.
The barman delivered their drinks to the table. Once he’d left, Po said, ‘Did you source the things I asked for?’
‘Directly to the point as ever, eh, Nicolas? You aren’t going to ask about my health, my work, my love life first?’
Po picked up his beer. ‘You haven’t held down an honest job in twenty years, and we don’t have time in one evening for you to relate your sexual exploits. How you feeling, Pinky?’
