Soldiers of Fortune (24 page)

“So it was easier to remain single and have the occasional fling.”

She nodded. “I know other women look at Ida Belle and me and feel sorry for us. But that’s because they don’t know the real story. If people knew the lives we’ve led, they might change their mind.”

“Why not tell them? The war was over a long time ago.”

“We made promises to keep that information secret, and we take those promises seriously. It’s about being a patriot. The only reason we shared our past with you is because you’re a comrade. You understand the importance of secrecy more than anyone else we know.”

I felt a swell of pride. These were extraordinary women who did a remarkable thing, and the fact that they considered my contribution equal was the biggest compliment I’d ever received.
 

“I think you and Ida Belle are incredible people,” I said. “Everything you did was at a time when women weren’t supposed to do anything even remotely like that. I could never feel sorry for you. You’ve lived more than anyone I know.”

“Damn straight,” Gertie said and lifted her glass of scotch to clink against my beer. “Now, let’s go see if we can catch a criminal and live some more.”

I hopped off the stool. “Let’s go back outside. We can lurk off to the side and that way, we see everyone as they arrive. And then we’ll know when the food is ready. It smells great.”

“My mouth is watering for a mess of crawfish. I hope nobody gets stupid before I get at least a plate down. But don’t tell Ida Belle we were eating.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“They probably won’t be after you stick one of those crawfish in your mouth. I don’t suppose you have lip balm on you?”

“No. I am armed only with a gun and a push-up bra.”

“I managed to stuff Mace and my .45 in this outfit, but there wasn’t room for much else.”

I looked over at her as we walked out of the bar. Where the hell did she have the .45? I was afraid to ask. “What about over there?” I pointed to a section of unoccupied weeds under one of the only scraggly shade trees surrounding the bar.
 

“Works for me,” Gertie said. “We should have thought to bring lawn chairs.”

“We can lean against the tree. I’m hoping we’re not here forever. Carter’s MRI appointment was this morning. I figure he’ll be back sometime after noon.”

“Do you have a cover story?”

I turned to face the crowd and leaned against the tree. “I texted him back that we were going out for a boat ride.”

“At least that’s the truth.”

“Except for the part where we stop off at the Swamp Bar to look for a meth runner.”

“Well, yeah, that part. Anyway, if you’re not home when he gets back, he knows the reason.”

“Yeah, but I have to get into the shower and get these tattoos off of me before he sees them. I don’t have a legit way to link boating to tattoos.”

“Crap. I forgot about that part.”

I heard a boat motor behind us and turned to look out over the bayou. I’ve heard the expression “rolling total” for a car that needed to be sent to the junkyard, but in this case, it was a “floating total.” The shrimp boat had definitely seen better days. Red paint was peeling from every square inch of wood, making it look like the boat had a killer case of measles. The bench across the back was missing more vinyl than it had covering it, and foam was blowing out of it as the boat pulled up to the bank.
 

The driver climbed out and I felt my back tense. “That’s Benedict.”

Midthirties. Six feet two. A hundred ninety finely tuned pounds. Heavy drinker, but that might make him more dangerous, not less. Threat level medium without a weapon. High if he was packing a firearm, and I would bet anything he was.

Gertie causally turned enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. “Yep. Looks rougher and older than I remember, but that nasty scowl is still the same.”

“Maybe he’ll go talk to someone and things will get interesting.” I pulled out my cell phone, preparing to snap some shots of anyone Benedict spent time chatting with. He headed straight toward the bar.

“I’ll follow him,” Gertie said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Stay here and hold our spots. I need to get a soda anyway. This cheap scotch tastes like Windex.”
 

“You drink Windex often?”

“I did once, accidentally. It’s not something I care to repeat.”

She headed after Benedict and I studied the rest of the crowd gathering near the folding tables and steaming pots of heavenly smells. Some of the people looked familiar, but only in a vague way. When it was relevant, I never forgot a face, but these faces were those that had passed in front of me at the Swamp Bar on previous visits or maybe drove by my backyard in a bass boat…some sort of casual sighting. So they registered as people I’d seen in Sinful, but not as anything else.
 

About ten minutes later, I started to worry that Gertie had gotten into trouble. I was just about to make my way to the bar when Benedict stepped outside and headed for the pots of food. Gertie trailed behind him a couple seconds later.

“What took so long?” I asked as she handed me a plastic cup of soda.
 

“Benedict went straight for the men’s room. I guess he can hang it over for the one thing, but the boat isn’t the best place for the other.”

I cringed. “That was way more information than I needed.”

“It was way more information than any of us needed, but you asked and that’s the explanation I have.”

“Did he talk to anyone inside?”
 

“The bartender asked about work. Said he’d been working with some people out of New Orleans on a deal but if it didn’t take off soon, he’d be heading back offshore.”

“Interesting.”

Gertie nodded. “And he asked about the best place to buy lumber. Claimed he was going to do some work on his boat, but you saw the thing. He hasn’t put five cents into that floating shipwreck since he’s owned it.”

“You think he’s shopping for lumber for a new lab. If he’s in on it, that would make sense.”

We sipped on our sodas and watched as Benedict lifted one of the pots of steaming food and dumped it on the table. People flocked over to the table and started piling red things onto plastic plates.
 

“Don’t just stand there,” Gertie said. “Get a move on.”
 

We headed over for the tables as two more men dumped steaming containers of crawfish, corn on the cob, and potatoes onto the tables.
 

“Make sure you try the potatoes,” Gertie said. “They are awesome.”

I grabbed a plate and piled it up with potatoes and crawfish and a corn on the cob, and followed Gertie to one of the folding tables set up for people to eat around. We took a position at the far end where we had a clear view of everyone loading up on lunch. I picked up the crawfish and pulled off the head, then started peeling the shell away from the meat. It took some wrangling but I finally coaxed the red-tinted meat out of the shell and popped it in my mouth.
 

“Jeez Louise, that’s hot,” I said, and reached for my soda. “But it’s good,” I managed once I’d put out the fire in my mouth.

“Told you.”

“Looks like our friend isn’t exactly Mr. Social,” I said as Benedict fixed himself a plate, then moved off from the crowd and sat on a stump about fifteen feet away.
 

I nodded my head toward the parking area. “More people on their way.”

“Good. I can’t eat much more of this or I’ll be on fire the rest of the day.”

I watched as a group of people made their way in a cluster toward the tables, then they started to branch out and I got a look at the last two.

“Holy crap!” I grabbed Gertie’s arm and she yelped. “It’s Nelson and the hooker.”

Chapter Fourteen

Gertie whipped around and then promptly dropped her plate on the table. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“Based on your description, wouldn’t this be right up his alley?”

“Well, yes, but not if he’s supposed to be upholding the law.”

“No one really thinks he’s upholding the law. If he recognizes us, the gig is up.”

“What do we do?”

I watched as he grabbed a plate of crawfish and shoved it at the hooker. “I don’t know. Just hold tight for a minute. Maybe they’ll go inside.”

Nelson started to walk toward the bar and I felt my anxiety tick down a notch, then he turned around and whistled. The hooker looked over at him, like a well-trained dog. “Hey, Lynne,” he yelled. “You want a beer?”

She nodded and he continued to the bar. I frowned. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something besides the obvious.
 

A couple minutes later, Nelson came out with two beers and handed one to the hooker. Then he grabbed his plate and looked around. He must have spotted someone he knew because he turned and headed in the opposite direction of where Gertie and I were standing. I was just about to let out a sigh of relief when he squatted down next to Benedict and took a seat.
 

“Lynne!” I said. “One of the known associates of Dewey was a Lynne.”

“Oh,” Gertie said, then her eyes widened. “Oh!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

“It’s a coincidence that Nelson shows up in town as sheriff with a hooker named Lynne right when a meth lab explodes and he refuses to investigate it?”

“Okay, maybe it’s not as big of a stretch as I originally thought.”

“What do we do?” Gertie asked.

I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a picture of the three of them. “Watch and see if they do anything.”

“Should we try to get closer?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean, the costumes are great, but Nelson has us in his sights. Do you really think he won’t recognize us?”

Gertie blew out a breath. “You may be right, especially in your case. He always was a letch. He’s probably already memorized every curve on you.”

“Gross.”

“Definitely, and because he doesn’t know you, he wouldn’t necessarily expect to not see you here. Does that make sense?”

I nodded.

“But he won’t be expecting to see me.”

“Oh no. You’re not going any closer. That has disaster spelled out in neon.”

“Look, they could be talking about the size of her breasts or running drugs, but either way, we need to know.” Before I could say another word, she took off around the table, sauntering to the other side of the clearing.

I looked around the crowd, tapping my foot on the ground. If I ran after her, it would attract attention. But if I let her go, chances are she was going to attract attention. It was one of those things you could just bet on.

Give her a chance. Maybe she’ll find out everything you need to know.

And maybe the Swamp Bar would become a five-star restaurant by tomorrow.

She walked around the tables the long way, sidling up near Nelson and the hooker, a table with an ice cooler between them. I had to admit, it was a good spot. They couldn’t see her and if she was within listening distance, she could actually get something. She looked back at me and gave me a thumbs-up. I smiled. This might work.

I munched on my crawfish and potatoes, keeping a close watch on Gertie. She held position near the cooler as Nelson chatted with Benedict. The conversation did not appear to be a pleasant one as they were both frowning. The hooker looked bored, but as I often wore the same look when men were talking, I couldn’t attribute anything specific to it.
 

After about five minutes of conversation, Nelson rose from the ground and motioned to Lynne, who rose as well. The scowl on Benedict’s face was a clear indication of how things had ended. Either that or he had heartburn.
 

As they turned to walk away, that’s when it all fell apart.

Two women standing at a table near Gertie got into a yelling match. Apparently one thought the other was paying too much attention to her husband. The husband in question was a negative four on a scale of one to one billion, so I didn’t quite understand the level of anger, but I suspected alcohol had something to do with it. And IQ.
 

The yelling escalated when one of the women threw her entire cup of beer in the other woman’s face. The beer-drenched woman shoved the other woman so hard she flipped clean over the table and crashed into Gertie’s knees. Gertie flew sideways onto the folding table and tackled the ice chest, pitching it off the table and into the lap of two men sitting behind it. The men jumped up and one of their lawn chairs flipped over backward, right in front of a man walking with a full plate of crawfish. The man tried to put on the brakes but couldn’t manage it in time. He stepped right in between the legs of the chair and fell to the side, right on top of a Harley-Davidson, and they both crashed to the ground.

The two men drenched by the cooler looked back at the motorcycle, then turned around and glared at Gertie. “That’s my bike!” one of the men yelled. “You’re going to pay!”