CHAPTER 30

A BLOCK FROM THE Pontchartrain bridge, the worst possible thing happened. Grady’s car got sideswiped by a drunk leaving a bar on Causeway Boulevard.

The damage to the car itself wasn’t much, a scrape along the front passengere. Grady would have liked to chase down the asshole who’d hit him, some middle-aged slob who gave one sobering glance at what he’d done and put the hammer down, leaving the scene like he had nitro in the gas tank. Only he couldn’t. All he could do was shake his fist at the fleeing miscreant and deliver a few choice cuss words. The right front tire was punctured and settling to the pavement, flatter than a soufflé after a California earthquake. People walking by, mostly drunks stumbling out of the bars that lined the streets on both sides, kept on going, after staring briefly.

“Fucking drunk!” Grady screamed after the departing hit-and-runner. “Fucking New Orleans drivers!” That, plus a kick at the useless tire got some of the mad out of his system and he tried to figure out what to do. Briefly, he considered calling Sally again and more briefly, the NOPD, but he dismissed both ideas as soon as they occurred. Sally wouldn’t get there in time, not from clear out on Jefferson and the cops?...well, there’d be too much explaining to do and by the time he’d convinced someone what was going down, it’d be too late to do anything. Besides, the idea he was considering wouldn’t work with the cops or anyone else involved.

He changed the flat as fast as he could, cursing the heat and the mosquitoes that descended on him in droves. Finished in under ten minutes, he headed for the bridge and drove over it as fast as he thought he dared without getting a ticket.

“Whitney,” he said, as soon as she answered. “Something’s happened.”

He explained the situation to her.

“I’m already in Covington,” she said.

“Watch for the limo,” he said. “It should be coming by any time.”

“Should I follow it?”

“No!” He almost yelled. He lowered his voice. “No, sweetheart. It’s too dangerous. These are bad folks here. No. I know where they’re going. I just hope I don’t get there too late. Wait for me and be ready to roll. I don’t know this area at all and in the dark it’s going to be hard to find the place, I think.”

“I know this area pretty well,” she said.

“That’s what I’m counting on. When I get to you, we’ll leave my car and take yours.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said.

He was quiet for a second or two. “I hope so, Whitney. I hope I haven’t blown it. Timing’s everything on this.”

“Grady!” Her voice whistled in the phone. “They’re here! They just went by.”

“Hang on,” he said grimly, pressing down harder on the gas pedal. “I’m coming.”

“Damn it,” he bellowed and hit the steering wheel with the open palm of his hand. “Dammit all to hell anyway!”

He might have lost.

***

Out in the middle of the Mississippi, a coolish breeze that had blown up didn’t prevent C.J. from sweating like a whore in church. In the seat behind him, sat Felipe and Orlando. After Reader had phoned with directions and he’d driven to the river and found the boat, the two had jumped him.

He’d tried the breaking the cable bluff again but it hadn’t worked. They’d jumped in the boat with him.

After an argument.

“The boss said to shoot him,” Orlando said.

“The boss didn’t know he was going in a boat,” Felipe said, sneering. “How you think we’re going to shoot him if he’s across the river? We’ll go with him, do it when Reader shows up. Just before we get there,’ll jump out. It’ll be all right.”

C.J. didn’t know what to do. He was fucked whatever he did. The best he could do was go along, try and figure out something along the way.

Hope for a miracle.

***

“You’re not Reader!”

“Me? No, I’m Frenchie. You got something for me?”

Felipe did. Frenchie saw the tiny burst of fire from Felipe’s gun just before the bullet smote his brain.

“Nice shot!” Orlando said, wading in with his boss. “Now what?” he said, looking at the banker who was standing up in the boat a few feet away.

“Now, we show Mr. St. Ives what’s in his suitcases.” He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Open one up, senòr,” he said to the man in the boat. “Surprise!”

C.J. looked at the two men and down at the suitcases and then he bent over and unlatched one of the suitcases. When it fell open, he stared at the contents.

He looked back up at the men, knowing in that instant there was only one possibility left. For a brief second, he thought of Amanda. I’ll see you soon, sweetheart, he whispered, and then he began to rip the cable off.

“No!” screamed Felipe, trying to scramble back.