Bayou Pirates Page 6

  “Are you insinuating that your last case isn’t exactly closed, Ethan?” Diane asked, raising her eyebrows at me.

  “Well, no,” I stammered, caught between a rock and a hard place. “We know why and how Wallace was killed. And Solomon did confess…”

  My voice trailed off as I noticed that Diane was giving me a lopsided smile.

  “You just might have happened upon our way out, Marston,” she said with a chuckle. “If we can claim that we still have some investigating to do on Wallace’s death and that heading to his home city could help you do it… Well, I don’t see how these pencil pushers can argue, though I’m sure they’ll try to find a way.”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised. “It’s that simple?”

  “And that dumb,” Diane said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll check in with my resident bureaucrat now about it, though I won’t send you two anywhere until tomorrow, at least. Taking another day to rest up after the mission you’ve just had isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

  “Alright, alright,” I relented. “But first, make sure you call your friend in NOLA back, okay? Send him all the stuff that Bonnie and Clyde told us about and make sure he has all the information?”

  “Ah, yes,” Diane said, her expression suddenly serious as she pulled out her phone and checked her email. “I have a message from Clyde right here with all the materials. I’ll get on that right away.”

  “Do you think that he’ll be able to pull it off?” Holm asked. “Getting hospitals or even a government agency to mandate this kind of testing for people who come into the ER?”

  “I doubt it for a more widespread approach,” Diane said, shaking her head sadly. “If we can’t even get you guys over there with a literal zombie drug being spread around, what makes you think we could get every hospital in the city to start giving everyone some strange experimental test for a drug that may not even exist in the States? Forget about that. But George might be able to cook something up with his personal contacts. He’ll damn well try his hardest, at least.”

  “Getting something going under the table would be better than nothing at all,” I reasoned, giving Diane a thin smile. “Bonnie and Clyde said as much themselves.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” she agreed, turning to head back into her office. “I’ll let you know if anything else comes up. Take care of yourselves in the meantime, boys. Take the rest of the afternoon off, make a night of it. Get some extra sleep. Then come back fresh in the morning. Hopefully, I’ll have something for you by then.”

  “Will do, boss,” Holm said, saluting her in a comedic gesture before turning back to me. “Another day off. Things must be even worse than she’s letting on.”

  “No kidding,” I agreed.

  I was grateful for another easy day, considering that I was coming off a concussion. But I was also concerned. After going to such lengths to save MBLIS’s funding, I had hoped things would be back to normal by now.

  “So, where do we go?” Holm asked. “Fishing trip?”

  He gazed at me with hope on this last part.

  “Alright,” I chuckled. “Anything to get out of here for a spell.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Holm and I did indeed go fishing off his personal fishing boat. It was an enjoyable time, an activity we were only rarely able to partake in because of our busy schedules and my extracurricular activities with the Dragon’s Rogue. In fact, Holm made a show of complaining about this every chance he got.

  So we grabbed a few beers and kicked back out in the calm waves for an afternoon, enjoying the peace and quiet and the rare moment of tranquility during such a busy and hectic time in our lives and careers.

  It had been a busy series of months, with case after case rolling in, each one-upping the last in scope and adventure. It seemed like ever since Tessa Bleu found that body off the coast of Miami, there was another major threat knocking on MBLIS’s door every other day or so.

  As much as I loved this—I’d chosen to go into this line of work, after all—it was nice to take a breather out on the water. And it was even better to get to enjoy the ocean without being worried about drowning in it, as we had on the ghost ship and on several of our previous missions. I’d almost been eaten by a shark once, even.

  Holm and I caught several fish each, though we released all but two back into the ocean since we knew we might be headed out of town soon enough. We wouldn’t want them to go to waste, after all. Then we headed back to my houseboat for a simple meal of the bass we did keep, along with another beer.

  By the time we were finished, I was feeling better than I had in days. The rest had done me wonders, and my head didn’t hurt at all anymore.

  “Should we head over to Mike’s bar?” Holm asked as he wiped away the last remnants of his dinner with a napkin and pushed his plate back into the middle of my kitchen table.

  “Sure, why not?” I asked with a shrug, getting up and placing both of our dirty dishes in the sink to be dealt with at a later time. “I’d like to tell him about what we’ve been up to. I wonder if he’ll believe it.”

  For a long time, Holm and I had just thought of Mike as the old guy who ran our favorite bar, Mike’s Tropical Tango Hut. But we’d learned not so long ago that he had actually had a law enforcement career of his own back in the day, and Mike had since imparted more than a few kernels of wisdom to help us with our cases. He’d become an invaluable resource, as well as a friend, over the years of serving us drinks.

  So Holm and I headed down that way. Mike’s Tropical Tango Hut wasn’t exactly a hit with the tourists who flocked to Miami every season to get some sun and rest. But that’s what made it such a great place for locals like us to hang out. It wouldn’t get overrun with tourists or spring breakers. Locals could just head over there and get a drink together without worrying about parking, partying college kids, or any other nonsense.

  The scenery wasn’t exactly to my taste, however. It was full of big tacky Hawaiian tiki decor, but Mike loved it, and I couldn’t fault him for that. When Holm and I had caught a case in Hawaii, he’d even lectured me about the specifics of tiki culture and what made it authentic or not. Apparently, his version was, and I couldn’t argue.

  It was still fairly early in the evening, so there were only a couple of other customers in the bar when Holm and I got there. Mike was leaning against the bar from behind it in his usual getup of a Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

  His face lit up when we walked inside, but this quickly turned to concern when he saw the bandage on my head.

  “Marston, Holm,” he said, crossing around the bar and waving us over to him. “Where have you been? You look like you’ve been through hell.”

  I found this surprising, considering that I felt better than I had in days after our afternoon at sea. But I figured it was all relative.

  “Man, Mike, have we got a story for you,” Holm grinned, following the bar owner over to a small table in the corner adorned with a familiar tiki getup and sitting down. I followed close behind him.

  “Just a warning, you might not even believe it,” I forewarned.

  This piqued Mike’s interest.

  “Oh?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “This had better be good, then. Let me get you boys some drinks.”

  We didn’t have to tell him what we wanted. By then, Mike already knew our usual orders, and I accepted my bourbon gratefully. What a way to wash down the perfect afternoon on the ocean and the matching dinner of fish and beer.

  “Thanks,” I said, nodding to Mike as I took a sip of the neat drink.

  “How’d you get that?” he asked as he sat down across from me, his eyes drifting back up to my forehead.

  My hand instinctively went to my bandage, which I’d changed right after Holm and I got back from our fishing trip. I’d almost forgotten that it was there, what with everything else I’d been up to all day. It helped that my head barely hurt anymore.

  “That’s a long story,” I said wryly. “We’ll get there.”


  And with that, Holm and I launched into yet another retelling of the mission of a lifetime we’d been on down in Haiti. Mike seemed equal parts skeptical and in awe as we told it to him.

  More than once, he interjected.

  “Hold up,” he said, holding out a hand to stop me just as I was describing the long interview that Holm, a couple of Dominican law enforcement officers, and I had conducted with Samuel, the old witch-doctor who had developed the drug, and his grandson, Junior. “You aren’t trying to tell me that all those other guys were serious, and this is actually some witch doctor magic concoction mumbo jumbo.”

  Holm and I looked at each other, and then both burst out laughing.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I assured him. “And it gets better. Just wait.”

  So I continued the tale. It wasn’t until I began describing what happened to James, a low-ranking member of the cartel who had been forced to ingest the drug, as he transformed into a shell of his former self with little to no control over his own body, that Mike interjected again. He did keep me updated on his state of mind with his facial expressions, however, which were equal parts skeptical and shocked.

  “You’re not telling me you ran into an actual zombie, are you?” he asked, his eyebrows arched and his tone deadpan. “Because that’s just insane.”

  “I don’t know about an actual zombie,” I chuckled. “But something in that wheelhouse, yes.”

  “You’re pulling my leg,” Mike decided, leaning back and crossing his arms as he stared at Holm and me. “You’re just messing with me. You gave a good go of it, though. I’ll give you that much.”

  “We’re not messing with you, Mike,” Holm laughed. “We’ve got the injuries to prove it, too. Well, Ethan does, anyway. I got pretty lucky on this trip.”

  “You did, didn’t you?” I remarked, turning to him. “How did that work out? Usually, you’re the one always getting beat up on these things.”

  It was true. Holm had a knack of getting himself mixed up in unpleasant situations that left him with physical scars, whereas I tended to get off easy in comparison. There was an exception to every rule, I supposed.

  “We can get our boss and lab techs down here to prove it to you if you want,” I offered, returning my attention to the bartender. “They’re working on the forensics of the case as we speak.”

  “No way,” Mike said, shaking his head as he appeared unmoved. “I’m not buying it.”

  “That’s up to you,” I shrugged, taking another drink from my glass. I was on my second one by then.

  Mike gazed at me, and I saw a flicker of annoyance that I’d stopped telling the story at such a crucial interval.

  “Okay, okay,” he told me, leaning forward and motioning for me to continue. “Don’t stop now! Things were just getting good.”

  Based on how attentively he’d been listening, I was pretty sure that our story had been good the entire time, not just near the end. But Holm and I continued anyway, telling Mike about how Solomon had abandoned us on the ghost ship, detonated it, and sent us careening out into the ocean with a zombie-like James in tow.

  Finally, we finished our story. Mike just sat there for a few moments, watching our facial expressions carefully.

  “You’re not messing with me?” he asked finally, narrowing his eyes at us.

  “We’re not messing with you,” I assured him with a chuckle.

  He looked to Holm for confirmation, and my partner nodded. Then Mike leaned back in his chair until its two front legs were in the air, and he crossed his arms.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, shaking his head. “There are more things in heaven and earth… or whatever it is they say, I guess.”

  “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” I laughed.

  “Horrifying is how I look at it,” Holm added.

  “I’m with you,” Mike said, pointing at him.

  By then, Holm and I were both done with our second drinks, and Mike motioned for one of the bar girls to come over and refill them. He got one of his own, as well.

  “I don’t know, kids,” he said when she left, shaking his head again. “I’ve seen a lot in my day, but this is a new one. I’m not sure what to make of it, really.”

  “You and me both,” I agreed with a nod, waving to the bar girl in thanks. She flashed me a smile.

  “So, are you headed to New Orleans?” Mike asked. “What’s going on there?”

  “Not quite,” Holm said, his expression suddenly dark. Then he launched into the explanation of everything that had happened since he and I got back from the Dominican Republic.

  “Bureaucrats,” Mike spat as if it were a curse word when Holm had finished, shaking his head. “We’d all be better off without them. But you’re still going, right? You can’t leave those poor police officers down there to deal with this alone.”

  “You’re right, we can’t,” I agreed. “And Diane thinks she’s figured out a loophole we can use. We’re on thin ice after that business in New York, though, and just taking off to work a case without permission wouldn’t exactly go over well.”

  Mike knew all about the New York situation. He’d helped us all meet under the radar in his bar to work out a plan to combat the mafia working to take away our funding, after all. No one was more trustworthy than Mike in my estimation, except for maybe my own partner. Or Tessa Bleu.

  “I can understand that,” Mike said, running a weary hand through his hair. “You need to be able to help more people, work more cases in the future. But after all that you guys went through down there, I’d hate to see you unable to finish the case. Hell, after all you went through with your funding, I hate to see you still having trouble with the whole thing.”

  “We appreciate your sympathies, Mike,” Holm said, holding up his glass. “And the commiseration.”

  “At the same time, we’re wondering if you have any advice,” I told the former law enforcement officer. “We could use all the help we can get, and you always have interesting insight.”

  “Hmm,” Mike hummed, pulling on his ample mustache as he mulled this over. “Well, if I were you, I’d just head down there to work the case, bureaucrats be damned. But I recognize that’s probably not very good advice if you ever want to work again.”

  “We would like to keep our jobs,” I chuckled. “I don’t know about Holm, but I’m not looking to retire any time soon.”

  “Oh?” Mike asked, raising his eyebrows at me. “Not coming to take my job any time soon, are you?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I’d miss the game too much to just sit behind a bar all day. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  I said this last part quickly so as not to offend him, but Mike smiled at me, his eyes twinkling.

  “Don’t worry, Marston, I know exactly what you mean,” he assured me, giving me a knowing smile. “I felt the same way for a long time…”

  His voice trailed off as he stared out the window at the street as if lost in another, more exciting time in his life.

  “Anyway,” he said after a few moments, shaking his head to clear it and sitting up straighter. “I’d say do everything you can to work this case without actually appearing to work it. Talk to this contact you have over in New Orleans, keep in touch with the Dominicans. Call every agency you know and tell them about this thing. Make it known that a potentially fatal, mind-altering new drug is on the market and spreading here in the States. Let the rest work itself out.”

  Holm and I exchanged a look. I was fairly certain that Diane was already taking advantage of all the options at her disposal, but contacting other agencies hadn’t been on my radar, other than to try to get those tests the lab techs wanted done in hospitals. Bringing in another agency was kind of taboo in our line of work.

  None of us wanted someone else sweeping in and taking our case, or worse, taking credit for all our hard work. Diane had suggested we call the FBI when things wer
e getting particularly bad down in Haiti, but even with everything that was going on, Holm and I had shot that down fast. MBLIS was shafted enough without losing out on the case of a lifetime so close to the finish line.

  “I know, I know,” Mike said, holding up his hands when he saw the expressions on our faces. “That’s not a popular thing to do. Trust me. I’m right there with you. But we’re talking about a major, major case here with lots of lives potentially on the line. And like it or not, MBLIS is a small and relatively unknown agency. Not that you don’t do good work, I know firsthand that you’re the best in the business. But I’m just saying, it’s easy to see how things could get lost in the shuffle during this transitionary period. And you don’t want that with something as serious as this case.”

  “You’re right,” I relented, leaning forward and cupping my hands around my glass, watching the liquor swirl inside it. “Of course, you’re right. We’ll talk to Diane about it first thing in the morning. If it comes from us, she’ll know it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you anything that she’s already thought about it and hasn’t brought it up because she’s afraid of how we’ll react,” Holm added. “And I don’t blame her. When she suggested it the last time, we didn’t exactly take kindly to the idea. You’re right, though. It’s the right thing to do. The last thing we want is for an American kid to end up dead like all those Dominican and Haitian ones.”

  It was telling that Holm was on board with this, as well. He was usually even more rabid about MBLIS than I was. It signified how serious the situation actually was.

  “As always, your advice is needed and appreciated,” I told Mike. “Even if we don’t quite like what we have to hear.”

  Mike chuckled at this.

  “Sure thing, guys,” he said, reaching across the table and clapping me on the shoulder. “Just come back in and tell me when you have news, okay? I’ll be waiting on the edge of my seat about this one. And watching the news to make sure you don’t pop up in prime-time.”