CHAPTER 28

THIS TIME GRADY PARKED on Burthe, up the street away from Carrollton and on the opposite side from the duplex. He was able to park there because one of the errands he’d run earlier was to stop by and get a neighborhood parking sticker from Sally. Where he was told an unbelievable story.

“What!” He was dumbfounded as he listened to the tale Sally had to tell.

“Found out they were a couple of Fidel Castro’s men,” Sally continued. “How the hell you think Castro knows about you? And what would he want you dead for?”

Grady thought hard. Then, he remembered. The midnight blue Caprice that had come up behind him at Eddie’s. Maybe the guy’d made him after all. It was the only explanation he could come up with.

“Sally, can you run something for me? Find out if Kincaid has a Caprice registered to him?”

Five minutes later, they had the answer. He did, indeed. The address the cop on the phone gave him on the registration was the old Vallette Street address, bt it was a Caprice.

“That’s it,” Grady said. He ran down what he thought was going on, outlined everything he’d learned and what his idea of what Kincaid was up to was.

“Motherfuck!” was all Sally could say at first. He poured a beer and drank half of it, studying over what Grady had laid on him.

“What you gonna do?” he said, after digesting Grady’s theory.

After Grady sketched out what his plan was, all Sally could do was shake his head. “If you’re wrong, you’re fucked.”

“I know,” he agreed. “If I overestimated him, he gets away, scot-free.”

“You don’t think I oughta just have the locals pick him up?” Sally asked. “We got enough on him now, maybe. What about RICO?”

No, Grady said. “How many creeps you seen walk in your time, Sally? With more than this on them?”

“Yeah,” Sally said, knocking back the rest of the beer. “Yeah. Do it your way, pal. Whatever you need, just ask.”

“You’ve already done more than enough,” Grady said. “Tell Veronica...say, where is Veronica?”

She went to a movie, the bar owner said. “We had us a busy day.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “This was like old times.”

Grady thanked the man.

“I’m sorry you got into this,” he said. “You coulda been killed. I would never have forgiven myself.”

“Forget it,” Sally said, waving his hand as if to dismiss it. “This is the most fun we’ve had in years.”

It was half an hour since he’d left his friend at his bar. He remembered he had something else to thank Sally for. Getting them into the Times-Picayune morgue. If it hadn’t been for that and what he and Whitney had found, well...he’d be running down the same road as the rest of the players in this drama seemed to be. You’re a slick dog, Reader, he thought. You’ve got ‘em all running in circles. So you’re onto me, eh? Well, bring it on. Let’s see what you got.

It was a hell of a gamble he was taking, pursuing a theory that might be totally cockeyed. If he figured wrong, it was all over. He would’ve been outsmarted thoroughly. He was betting the farm on this and he wasn’t at all convinced he was right. If the guy wasn’t as smart as he thought he was, Grady was the one who was going to have egg on his face. Worse, the killer of his brother was likely to get away clean. He didn’t think he could live with that.

When he saw a man come from the downstairs apartment and get into the Lincoln parked in front, he knew it had to be the banker St. Ives. The man didn’t leave right away, though; just sat in his car and leaned his head up against the steering wheel. Then, Eddie walked out. He watched him trot up the street to Carrollton. St. Ives just sat there, not seeming to notice and then he raised his head and started up the Lincoln and wheeled out onto the street.

Grady waited until he was at the corner before pulling out himself and as he went by the duplex saw Reader come out of the apartment. He swore the man looked right at him and he thought he saw a look of astonishment pass over his features.

Not dead like you figured, eh, fucker? Grady thought and then turned the corner behind the banker. Good. I like that. Now I got you off-balance, just maybe. I like the fact you’re not so sure about everything.

They were two blocks down on St. Charles when Grady saw Eddie’s car coming up fast behind him. He slowed and watched the Cavalier whiz by him, coming up almost on St. Ives’ bumper.

What an asshole, Grady thought. It’s a good thing St. Ives has other things on his mind.

It’s going down, he thought. This is it, folks. For a minute, he had the sinking thought that he was following the wrong person. Until Eddie showed up. That would fit his theory. When in doubt, follow the money. If he’d guessed right, that was the only way he was going to win.

He knew generally where they were all headed, the little caravan St. Ives was unknowingly leading, so if he got separated he figured he could find the warehouse, especially since he knew what both St. Ives’ and Eddie’s cars looked like. If he’d opted to follow Reader and lost him he’d be screwed. He thought there was a chance Reader was heading to the boat he’d talked about, but that boat could be anywhere. If he was right, it didn’t matter anyway. He didn’t think Reader was going anywhere near any boat.

No, follow St. Ives. His idea was a long shot, but his gut feeling was that it was the right bet.

Grady had a good idea of where they were going from listening the day before. He’d looked up Chalmette on a map and the route they would most likely take to get there.

Following St. Ives and Eddie was a breeze. He could see
St. Ives’ white Lincoln from time to time ahead of Eddie’s car. Good thing neither of these clowns know they’ve got a rearview mirror!

Soon, they were on Parks Road and Grady closed the distance a bit. Dusk slowly overcame the city during the ride.

It was only by pure luck that Grady dropped a bit behind for a moment it took him to light a cigarette. He slowed for a second to search for a packet of matches dropped on the floor. He came up just in time to watch the Lincoln turn in to a drive leading to a huge warehouse. Eddie’s Cavalier braked immediately, pulling over to the side of the road about a hundred yards farther back. If Grady’s car had been closer, he might have struck the two men that ran out of the darkness up to Eddie’s car and jumped in, one in the front seat and the other in the back. He continued on past, hoping like hell that he looked like any other citizen with an eye patch on his way home from work. As he passed Eddie’s car, he thought he caught a glimpse of a gun in one of the men’s hands. It was held up to Eddie’s head. He kept on going, trying to keep the car on the road while keeping an eye on the rearview mirror.

What the fuck was this?

***

The boat was where Bobby’d said it would be. A quick check and he was out of there. He didn’t plan to be within miles of there when St. Ives arrived. Reader got the keys from where he’d said they’d be under the mat and went down below. He opened the locker with the key and smiled when he saw the scuba gear. He lifted it out, laid it on one of the bunks and dumped out the contents of the gym bag he’d brought with him from the car, beside the scuba gear. In one way it was a waste of money, since he’d arranged all this only for Eddie’s benefit. The dumb fuck sure thought he was one slick mother. If he only knew how slick. He had a feeling he’d never learn just how smart Reader really was. He picked up the cellular phone and tested it, dialing the weather number.

Good. No fucking rain, he said to himself, punching off the recording. He reached in his pocket, withdrew a folded sheet of paper with phone numbers and put the phone on top of the paper. He went to the small refrigerator, retrieved a can of beer and popped it open.

Topside, he sat in one of the deck chairs, drank the beer slowly and watched as the stars began to come out one by one. From time to time he glanced at his watch. When the hands showed nine-thir, he went below, got another beer, picked up the phone and dialed one of the numbers on the sheet.

He could hear music in the background and a voice that said, “Yeah? This is Frenchie.”

“Three hours, Frenchie. You all set? You’re not drinking, are you?”

“Beer. Don’t worry, I’m not fucked up. I’ll be there, like you said.”

“Go home. Right now. I know you can handle your shit, but I don’t want to take the chance you get in a fight in that joint--something stupid happens. I haven’t got time to be bailing you out of jail. Understand?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll get something to go. And don’t worry, I won’t get wasted. I’m drinking beer, my friend. I never get drunk on beer.”

“Just be there by eleven. You know what to do.”

“See you at midnight, Reader. Where we said. Your boat comes, like you said, I’ll be there, I’ll get it. I’ll be there early. Say, ten-thirty. That okay?”

“That’s perfect, Frenchie. It should be coming your way right about eleven. Gives you an hour to get it and get it where I want it. I’ll see you around midnight and we’ll take care of business. Remember, keep your hands off it.”

The perfect plan. It was almost over. Now the best part to come.

He was covered both ways. If something went wrong, he knew St. Ives would do what he told him. At the very worst, Frenchie would pick up the money, if there actually was any, and he would get it later. But if all went according to Hoyle, the money was heading someplace else.

He had the biggest smile on his face, wondering what would be going through St. Ives’ mind as the hours passed. Assuming that he went back to his apartment and waited for Reader to call as he’d promised.

Wonder how long he’ll wait before he tries to take it off, Reader thought. I give him a full day. He was curious about a couple of other things that he’d never know. Like if Castro would send any of his men to follow St. Ives. He bet he would. Like it mattered! He laughed aloud so hard he began to cough.

It was just too bad he wouldn’t be around to see all that.