Fat Tuesday (21 page)

"Maybe I was a little melodramatic, but when you screw with Pinkie Duvall, you'd " "Who said I was screwing with Duvall?"

"A lot of people have been asking about you lately. Where are you living? What are your plans? That kind of thing. Most are just curious or genuinely interested. But one of the guys who felt me out is associated with Wayne Bardo. Connect the dots and you've got Duvall. I'm worried that they're planning to move on you, now that you're no longer protected by the department."

"Duvall had plans for me, all right, but it wasn't disposal. He found me and offered me a job."

"A job?"

Burke told Mac about the interview.

"A job," Mac repeated thoughtfully."Well, at least they aren't plotting to kill you. All the same, I don't like it. If I.A. heard that you had dealings of any kind with either Bardo or Duvall, it would look bad for you."

Burke ground out his cigar."No cause for you to worry, Mac. I've gone on record with my opinion of Duvall." He stood up."It's getting late.

I'd better shove off."

Mac also came to his feet."Where are you living now?"

"Why?"

"In case I hear something, I need to know how to reach you."

"I haven't found a permanent place yet."

"Let me know when you do."

"Sure."

"What are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"About what we've been talking about," Mac replied impatiently.

"Do you have any money? Gossip is that Barbara is cleaning you out."

"I'll manage. In fact, I was thinking about going away for a while."

"When?"

"Soon."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. Long enough to sort things out, make some decisions."

"Where are you going?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Out of the country?"

"I haven't decided yet," he repeated testily.

If he'd told Mac that he had buried Kev's memory and was going to leave it alone, Mac would have known he was lying. So he had vowed vengeance, which had appealed to Mac's idealism and enhanced his image of Burke Basile the Legend. But this barrage of questions put Burke on guard again. Was Mac's interest as sincere and innocent as he wanted him to believe?

He glanced toward the house, where he could see Mac's young, pretty wife through the windows, moving around in the kitchen. A Playmate of the Month who could cook and clean and obviously liked the role of wife and homemaker. The kid had it all.

Which left Burke to wonder why Mac appeared so hungry all the time. He was like an alley cat, anxious and on the prowl, not like a satisfied cat who had a bowl of cream that never ran empty.

As though sensing Burke's suspicion, Mac smiled his infectious grin and slapped him on the shoulder."Whatever you decide to do, the odds are definitely in your favor. You'll come out on top. Bet you a hundred to one."

In all seriousness, Burke replied, "That's one gamble you might lose, Mac."

The temperature began to drop significantly, but Mac sat out on the patio long after Burke had thanked Toni for the dinner and departed.

Burke Basile already had an established reputation when Mac joined the police force. Basile didn't win any popularity contests because he didn't accept graft, but he was respected. He used his brain in preference to his pistol, although anybody who called him a coward was a fool. Basile liked to outsmart the drug dealers, not outshoot them.

He considered the most successful operation to be one in which nobody got hurt.

Nevertheless, Mac believed him when he'd said that if he ever uncovered the traitor in their division, he would kill him.

"Mac?" Toni approached on bare feet."Aren't you cold out here?"

He took her hand and kissed it."Basile was impressed. Great meal."

"Thank you. Coming in?"

"In a minute."

"Don't forget to lock up." She withdrew, but on the threshold of the patio door, she hesitated."Is everything okay?"

"Sure, honey. Everything is fine."

"I like Basile."

"So do I."

"He's nicer than I thought he'd be. By the way you described him, I expected him to be sort of scary."

Burke Basile was scary. To his enemies he was real scary. Right now, his future was scary.

But no scarier than Mac's.

"We were so fortunate to find this building unoccupied. It's away from the city's corrupting influences, which we consider a real plus."

That was Father Gregory's response to Mrs. Duvall's comment that she hadn't realized Jenny's House was located so far from metro central.

Burke was driving. Gregory, in the captain's seat beside him droned on about the advantages of the nonexistent facility. The two passengers were seated in back. A portrait of boredom, Errol stared vacantly out the window. Remy Duvall listened with interest and occasionally asked a question.

Burke was more than glad to let Gregory do the talking. While he wasn't much good at small talk, it seemed to be Gregory's special gift.

Burke hadn't even got out of the van when they picked up Mrs. Duvall and her bodyguard."I assume Duvall is at his office," he had said when he parked the van at the curb in front of the mansion."But on the outside chance he's at home, Father Kevin needs to stay out of sight."

Gregory, looking at peace with God and man, strolled up the front walkway. Errol answered the door and motioned him inside. Burke mentally listed all the reasons he should drive away now. There were pressing arguments in favor of ending this thing before he committed a serious crime.

But he dismissed them and focused instead on why he must do it: Peter and David Stuart. They were validation enough. Those two boys would grow up deprived of their dad, and Pinkie Duvall was the one ultimately responsible.

The front door opened, and the three came out. Burke looked beyond Errol to the woman, who was smiling over something Gregory had said.

The phrase "like a lamb to slaughter" flitted through his mind. But by the time they reached the van, Burke had capped his conscience. When she'd signed on as Mrs. Pinkie Duvall, she'd accepted the risks of being married to a criminal.

Gregory's glib chatter continued mile after mile. He was playing his role well and seemed perfectly at ease. Of course he wouldn't be this composed if he knew how the afternoon was going to end. Not wanting to make him nervous, Burke hadn't discussed the details with him. He assured him only that he wouldn't be harmed and that he wouldn't get into trouble. If all went according to Burke's plan, that promise would be kept.

"Excuse me, Father Gregory," Remy Duvall said, interrupting his ceaseless discourse."Father Kevin, is that smoke coming from beneath the hood?"

Burke had wondered when someone else was going to notice what he'd been seeing for the last couple of miles. Father Gregory, who'd been facing the backseat, came around."Smoke?" "Steam," Burke said tersely."I checked everything out before I bought the van, but I must have overlooked a leaky radiator hose."

'"What are we going to do?" Father Gregory was rattled. A busted radiator hose wasn't in the script.

Burke smiled at his cohort in as priestly a fashion as he could muster under the circumstances."We'll make it to our destination." "How much farther is it?" Mrs. Duvall asked.

"Only a couple more miles."

"I don't think it's gonna make it." This from Errol, who hadn't spoken since leaving the Garden District. Burke could feel his breath on his neck as he leaned forward and peered over his shoulder to assess the situation."If you keep driving it like this, you're gonna burn up your engine."

Gregory's composure slipped another notch."Uh, Father Kevin, maybe we should postpone this excursion, try again another day, after the van's been repaired. We don't want to inconvenience Mrs. Duvall."

"Don't worry about inconveniencing me," she said."I don't want irreparable damage done to your new van."

"Bless you for being so selfless and understanding," Gregory said to her. Then to Burke, "Let's just turn around and go back into town."

"It'll never make it back," Errol said."Pull into that service station up ahead. You can get this heap fixed, and I'll call Roman to come pick up Mrs. Duvall and me." Gregory said, "Father Kevin, it seems we have no choice."

The Crossroads was situated in a weed-choked delta of real estate formed by the convergence of two state roads. The filling station had six gas pumps and two garage bays. The attached cafe advertised cold beer, boudin sausage, and a variety of crawfish dishes. Flying above the buildings were the American flag, the Louisiana state flag and the bars and stars of the Confederacy.

Burke pulled the van to a stop and cut the engine. Steam was now billowing from beneath the hood. Hissing water and antifreeze from beneath the chassis splattered onto the pavement."I'll see if a mechanic is on duty," he said as he got out."Father Gregory, why don't you take Mrs. Duvall into the cafe and get her something to drink?"

"That's a very good idea." Gregory looked relieved to have another workable plan already in place.

"I'll call Roman from the cafe," Errol said."She doesn't go anywhere without me."

They headed for the entrance to the cafe, Burke went in search of the auto mechanic. He found him inside the garage. Long, unwashed hair trailed from beneath a grimy dozer cap and lay on his bony shoulders like dirty hemp. He was wearing love beads and sandals with his greasy coveralls.

When he saw Burke, his gaunt face registered astonishment."When you was here yesterday, I didn't know you was a priest."

"Wonders never cease." Burke pressed a fifty-dollar bill into his hand.

"How quickly can you tape up that leak?"

The mechanic gestured to a roll of duct tape."Soon's it cools down, I'll hop to. Sure you don't want me to replace the hose? Ain't nothing to it. Tape won't hold her for long."

"Taping's fine. How long? Ten minutes?"

He sucked on his stubby, yellow teeth."Iffy. It's mighty hot."

Burke passed him a twenty."Wear gloves. The keys are in the van.

When you're done, pull it up out front and leave the motor running."

"Will do. Only, I don't get it. How come you rigged your own radiator hose to bust?"

"The Lord moves in mysterious ways."

Burke went into the crowded cafe and wove his way through the tables to join the party of three already seated."We ordered you coffee." \.

"Thank you, Father Gregory."

"Did you speak with a mechanic?" asked Mrs. Duvall.

Sending smiles around the table, he told them confidently that the van would be repaired shortly. A waitress served their coffees. While sipping his, Burke surveyed the room with affected casualness, but mounting concern.

He had checked out the cafe yesterday afternoon, when he made arrangements with the mechanic, who had told him that puncturing the radiator hose before they set out would guarantee that they wouldn't get far before it started boiling dry. This place had been perfect for his plan. It was in a rural area, at least four miles from the nearest local police force or sheriff's office. He'd been here just after lunch. With the exception of two tired waitresses, a chain-smoking cashier watching a soap opera on a portable TV, and a handful of desultory diners, the place had been empty.

Burke had figured that business might increase around dinnertime when a few locals would come in. Otherwise, it was a quiet, slow, sleepy place that catered to the occasional motorist who grabbed a bite to eat while getting the car filled up.

Unfortunately he'd miscalculated. It was now apparent that the Crossroads was a happy-hour watering hole for blue-collar workers who knocked off early and stopped here for a brew or two on their way home.

The cafe was far more crowded than he had planned on it being.

Cajun music blared from the jukebox that hadn't even been playing when he was here yesterday. Every table and booth was occupied, as well as every stool at the counter. Another problem was the demographics of the clientele. With the exception of the two priests, the babe, and the bodyguard, they were testosterone-powered, redneck regulars.

The center of their attention was Pinkie Duvall's wife.

Every man in the place was licking his chops, some literally, some figuratively, but all seemed to be pondering what a crotch-throb like her was doing in the company of two men of God and a meathead.

However, Errol wasn't as stupid as he looked."Mr. Duvall isn't gonna like this," he said, glaring back at one of the gawking rednecks "I called the house. Roman was out on an errand, but he's expected back in about ..." he checked his wristwatch "twenty more minutes."

"We'll be able to drive the van by then."

Burke's reassurance did nothing to assuage Errol's apprehension or to calm Gregory's jitters. Beneath the table his leg was bouncing up and down as rapidly as the motorized needle on a Singer. The nervous motion was driving Burke to distraction, and he was on the verge of telling him to cut it out when Gregory scooted his chair back and stood up.

"Excuse me." He left the table and headed for the men's room.

"Maybe I ought to call Mr. Duvall?" Errol ventured, putting it to Mrs. Duvall in the form of a question."He could send Bardo or somebody after us."

"I'd rather not bother him," she said.

"You're worrying for nothing, Errol." Burke's facial muscles strained to smile like a benevolent cleric."The mechanic promised it wouldn't take more than ten minutes to patch the hose. As soon as Mrs. Duvall finishes that second cup of coffee, we can be on our way. All right?"

"I guess," Errol grumbled."All I know is, Mr. Duvall isn't going to "Goddamn faggot!"

The shout was underscored by shattering glass. Like everyone else in the cafe, Remy Duvall and Errol turned to see what had caused such an outburst. Burke shot to his feet."Shit!"

Gregory lay whimpering on the floor, doused in spilled beer, and cowering from the man who reached down and grabbed him by the nape of his neck and his belt and jerked him to his feet.

In a rough, uncultured, and unmerciful voice, he told the room at large, "There I am, taking a piss, and I look over, and this twisted fuck is waving it at me." He planted his boot on Gregory's backside and sent him crashing into another table."I'm gonna make the little fucker wish he was dead."