Damascus Road (22 page)

“Hey…” I said, a little louder. He looked up at me. “How’s
Louis?”

“Louis?”

“Yeah, Louis,” I said, pressing my luck. “Is he still
boosting cars? Running a crew?”

I expected a quick answer, a flat denial, but it didn’t
come. The mechanic looked at me and then over my shoulder at Grace.

“There’s nobody here by that name,” he said, finally.

“What name is he using now then?” I asked, smiling a bit.

“I don’t know who you mean, sir,” he finally said.

I nodded. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t about to
crack.

“If you see him, you know, if Louis happens to come by, you
tell him Jimmy Marlowe was here,” I said. “You tell him that I was here and
looking for work. Can you do that? I mean if he comes by?”

The man was struggling to play it cool, but he managed a
shrug.

“I don’t know anyone named Louis,” he said lamely.

“You probably don’t, but he knows me,” I said.

I slapped my hand on the counter and walked out.

Grace was watching, waiting for me. She was expectant.

“So? Anything?” she asked.

“Be cool, act calm and walk with me like everything’s fine,”
I said.

I smiled wide and put my arm around her. She did the same,
and we walked together. She threw back her head and laughed, long and loud.

“What was that?” I whispered.

“I was being cool,” she whispered back. “Women like it when
a guy makes her laugh.”

“Do I make you laugh?” I asked.

“Not intentionally,” she said.

It was my turn, so I laughed boisterously. I managed a look
back behind us and saw a man walking in our direction. He was medium height and
dressed plainly. Caucasian and trim, he could have worked for anyone.

“Keep walking,” I said. “I think we finally got some
attention.”

Grace wanted to look, but stopped herself.

“Where? Back there?” she asked.

“Walk, walk, walk,” I said.

At the next street I saw another man walking toward us from
the right. It had taken me off guard when I saw the man behind us, but when I
saw the second one, it suddenly made sense. Both men had the unmistakable gait
of military men.

“Left, go left,” I said.

We did and Grace kept good pace with me.

“What’s going on, Jim?” she asked. “Is it Bobby? Is it Tom?”

There was a hint of panic when she said the latter.

At the next intersection, I saw the third man closing from
the left. He was walking right for us, moving fast and purposeful.

“Hey!”

The shout snapped the tranquility of the night air. Grace
spun and saw the men converging. I was ready to take them on, but Grace knew
the better part of valor.

“Jim, we’ve got to go,” she said.

“Grace, no…”

“Jim, please…”

Something about the “please”. It reminded me of my place in
her life, where I belonged in the grand scheme of things.

“Where?” I asked.

“There,” she said and I turned to see.

She was pointing at a cemetery on the other side of Rampart
St. It was above ground and might give us the cover we needed.

“You tell me when you’re ready,” I said.

“Now.”

The word barely reached my ears, and she was off running. I
turned on my heel and went after her. There was a simultaneous forward assault
from all three men. They were coming for us, fast. Grace and I reached the
gates of the cemetery and quickly moved inside, engulfing ourselves in the
night and the tombstones and trying to find cover as fast as possible.

“Vaya a la izquierda!” I whispered harshly in Spanish. Grace
heard me and cut left down the line of tombstones.

Behind us, the footfalls of the men came into the cemetery,
pausing as they searched for us.

“¡Dé vuelta a la derecha allí!” I said, trying to keep my
voice down.

Grace planted her foot and turned right.

“¡Cabeza para la parte posterior del cementerio!”

“Si…” Grace breathed. She headed for the back of the
cemetery.

I sidestepped behind a headstone and waited, trying to
control my breathing. I could hear Grace’s footsteps receding. A new sound was
approaching fast, heavier boots coming my way. I waited until it was closer,
closer still. Almost too late, when I finally made my move.

I clotheslined the passing man, and his feet came off the
ground as he collided with my arm. He made a choking sound just before he fell
flat on his back. I fell on him with my knee, and the air rushed out of his
lungs just before I punched him. He was out cold.

I came up ready to fight, but the other two men were gone. I
looked north, south. They were nowhere to be seen. They were fanning out in a
search pattern. I took off running, angling up and over, trying to get a line
on one of them. I saw one of them thirty yards ahead of me. He was creeping,
stalking Grace.

Without missing a beat, I closed the distance on him. Just
as I was about to jump on him, he must have heard me and spun around. I
couldn’t see a gun or a weapon, so I came in low and hit him in the gut with a
tackle. I jammed him backwards into one of the mausoleums. We hit hard, but he
brought his fists down on my back, driving me to my knees. He was about to
crush my skull, and I had to do something fast.

I punched him hard in his left knee, then his right. I felt
the joints give, and he let out a howl. I came up with an uppercut under his
chin, and he went down hard. I stood over him struggling to breathe, trying to
catch my breath. The man’s jacket hung open, and I saw the phone on his belt.
Not just some cheap phone, but a smartphone. I reached for it and pulled it
loose.

Behind his phone was a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum
stainless steel revolver. If I were a different man, I might have taken it.
Maybe if I were a different man, I may have used it. Truth was, I didn’t know
where this man had used this gun before, and I wasn’t about to put my
fingerprints on a weapon that could be linked to robbery or murder. I pulled a
handkerchief from my pocket and used it to cover the grip of the pistol. I
pulled it out of the holster and tossed it onto a mausoleum roof. I kicked the
man before I moved on.

Silence at this point was a gamble. Last I had seen, there
were only three of them. Two were down.

“Grace!” I shouted. “There’s only one left. I killed the
other two.”

I was lying, and chances were she would know that, but our
friend would not.

“If you see this other asshole in here, go ahead and shoot
him,” I was still lying, but I kept moving as I talked, trying to locate the
third man.

“Looking forward to it,” she called back, closer than I had
suspected.

Footsteps broke from cover and beat a rapid retreat to the
east. I stepped into the open aisle of cemetery markers and watched the man
running away. He was too far away to catch and not worth the effort.

“He’s gone, Grace,” I said.

She stepped out from behind the marker and pointed her
finger at me, thumb cocked.

“I was looking forward to using this thing,” she said.

There was a tremble in her voice, but she put on a brave
front.

“Be careful where you point that,” I said.

Grace smiled at me.

“You didn’t really kill two people, did you?” she asked into
my shoulder.

“Doubtful.”

We walked out of the cemetery and found no one. I didn’t see
the men where they had fallen, so I presumed they had made the same retreat as
their partner. We were on the streets after dark in the French Quarter, and I
knew that I had made a grave mistake. It was stupid to be out late. It served
no purpose and had only made us a target.

A taxi emerged from the darkness and was coming down the
street. I decided to take it even if it was just blind luck. I pulled a twenty
from my pocket and flagged him down with it. He stopped and let us in. Grace
directed him back to our hotel.

Once the taxi started moving, I blew out a long sigh and let
my head fall back. “That was stupid,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“We have to find him, Jim,” she said. “We have to find him.”

I understood then what this search would do to her. What it
might even do to me. Tom could dangle clues and hints and hope everywhere and
keep us guessing and hoping and hunting only to be disappointed in the end when
Bobby wasn’t there to be found.

We rode back to the hotel. Once there, I paid the man and we
returned to our room.

“I need to shower,” I said. “Do you want to go first,
though?”

“No, go ahead. It’s alright.”

I nodded and went in. I peeled off my shirt and turned on
the hot water. I scrubbed my hands to get the dirt and blood off of them. I
turned to start the shower when Grace opened the door. I heard her gasp and
turned back to her.

“I forgot about your tattoo,” she said. “On your back.”

“Oh,” I said.

She lowered her eyes and closed the door. We were over. I
didn’t doubt it. Somehow, I always knew. Sometimes there were U-turns in life.
And sometimes you just have to let it ride.

The next morning we found ourselves up and awake and ready
to put the previous day behind us. We found a café that served lattes and
beignets. Café Du Monde.

“Can I get the local paper, please?” I asked.

“Certainly, sir,” the waitress responded.

We watched the traffic and people on the street from the
dining area outside. It was a languid time, not as busy as I thought. The place
was moderately full, but everyone seemed carefree and taking their time.

“Who were those guys last night?” Grace asked.

She had been hesitant to ask me the night before, and I
didn’t have a better assimilated answer for her now than I did then. The paper
arrived while I was sipping my latte. I took a bite of my beignet to buy myself
more time to craft an answer.

“You know,” I said. “I asked a guy last night about Louis.
You know, the guy who taught us about boosting cars. I hate to say it… hate to
even think it… but I think those were his guys. Tying off loose ends.”

“I don’t think it was Louis,” Grace said behind the paper.

“Come on, Grace,” I said. “How do you know that?”

She folded the paper back and handed it to me.

“What?” I asked.

“There.” She pointed.

I saw it then, the photo in the paper. It was a booking
photo of Louis. At least the man I remembered by that name. The article said
his name was Phillipe Laurant, but he’d used a number aliases of the years. He
was found dead in his own garage with a car dropped on him after his floor lift
failed.

“Sounds like something Tom would do,” I said,
absentmindedly. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Grace said.

“He was…never a friend. He was a way to Bobby, that’s all.”

The news changed everything. Rather than feeling like we
were getting closer, I felt the lead slipping away. I took the phone out of my
pocket and set it on the table.

“Is that from…?” Grace let the question hang in the air.

“Yep, last night,” I said. “Don’t know why some thug would
be carrying a $500 smartphone.”

Grace opened her mouth to comment when the phone rang. We
looked at one another. What were the chances. I pushed the speaker button. The
phone connected.

“Yeah,” I said in my best non-committal voice.

“That’s really a terrible phone voice, Jimmy.” It was Tom.

“Doubting Thomas,” I accused.

“James, brother of Christ,” he said. “You did well finding
the phone. I was a little disappointed that you didn’t take the revolver. That
was a shame. You could have used that.”

“Can I get a do-over?” I asked. “I didn’t realize he
belonged to you.”

Grace slapped my shoulder.

“Where’s my son, Tom?” Grace said into the phone. Her voice
was edgy with tension.

“Would you like to talk with him?” Tom asked.

Grace covered her mouth to muffle a sob.

“Sure, is he around?” I asked. “If he’s busy, we could call
back.”

“Jimmy, always overdoing the bravado,” Tom said. “You make
me laugh. He’s right here.”

I could hear him cover the phone with his hand.

“Here, it’s your dad…” he said.

“Hello?” It was Bobby. His voice sounded lower, even over
the phone. My stomach was in my throat.

“Hi Bobby,” I said, unable to keep the excitement out of my
voice.

“Hey kiddo,” Grace said, wiping tears.

“Dad, I have to ask you something…” Bobby said.

“Okay, go ahead,” I replied.

“Why did you kill grandpa?” Bobby asked. “Uncle Tom told me
that you killed him.”

“That’s a lie, Bobby,” my voice caught, and I swallowed
hard. “Tom’s lying to you. You know I’d never do that. Tom, what are you
doing…”

Again, the sound of the phone receiver being covered.

“I know, I know…” Tom was saying. “I told you he’d deny it.”

“Tom! What is your problem?” Grace yelled.

“Tsk, tsk…such a shame you did that to Ellis, Jimmy,” Tom
said. “But listen, let’s get down to business. You want to see Bobby, yes?”

“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Listen to me then. You will do exactly what I tell you to
do or I’ll pin that little unfortunate accident that Louis had on your little
boy. Do you understand me?” Tom said.

“You wouldn’t…” Grace began. I knew all too well that he
would.

“I told you, Jimmy. You ruined my future, and now I can ruin
yours. You want to play ball or not?”

“Fine,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Jimmy, go to the end of the block, and you’ll find a map
inside the newspaper box,” Tom said. “Follow the map and you get the prize. Oz
at the end of your yellow brick road.”

I looked at Grace, and she shrugged in frustration,
gesturing down the street to the newspaper box. Just do it, she seemed to say,
whatever it takes to get our son.

“Fine, Tom,” I said. “Whatever you want. I’m walking toward
the paper box right now.”