The black Escalade rolled out of the Carnival’s badly paved lot, sending up a small hailstorm of dust and gravel. Abellard fumed in the driver’s seat, safety belt securely tightened at Rusty’s insistence. Rusty occupied the passenger seat, leaving the belt off so his left hand could hold the knife within an inch of Abellard’s neck.
Neither man said much as they passed over the Mississippi and turned eastbound on the I-10. Abellard merged into the fast lane and floored it. Rusty cautioned him to watch his speed, getting stoney silence in response.
“I hope you’re not planning to do something stupid,” Rusty said, “like driving in such a way that gets us pulled over. Maybe Antoine’s already put the call out to some cop on your payroll and there’s a patrol car looking for us right now. Word to the wise: anyone tries to flag us down, it’s not gonna go well for you.”
Abellard did not reply, just goosed the accelerator.
“Or maybe you’re thinking about getting us in a wreck,” Rusty continued. “You can forget that too. Even if the airbag keeps you safe, nothing will stop this blade from doing its work.”
“You gonna talk the whole fuckin’ way? You’re getting what you want, so why not shut up?”
“Just making sure our position is clear. You’re worth something to me as long as I think you’ll take me to where she is. The minute I stop believing that, your life loses any value.”
Rusty used his free hand to peel off his salt & pepper wig, then the beard. He hadn’t disguised himself since performing in Vegas, and he hadn’t missed it much. The beard’s rough, ticklish fibers had been driving him nuts since Prosper applied it in his kitchen at the house on Camp Street, pulling out a closet’s worth of professional makeup and stagecraft devices. Monday had watched with rapt fascination, offering some helpful comments.
Itchy as the beard was, the liver-spotted latex nose bugged Rusty a hell of a lot more. He detached it from his face with a moist pop, enjoying his first unrestricted inhalation in hours. Then the latex applications covering his hands came off, one finger at a time like form-fitting gloves.
“Jesus Christ,” Abellard sighed with a disgusted shake of the head. “Nothing but a dime store Halloween mask.”
“Not even close, but nice try.”
“Fatass lets you walk right in the door…”
“Don’t be so hard on him. These are expert prosthetics, applied by a master. You wouldn’t have made me either.”
Abellard didn’t reply. He flipped on the headlights as the sky descended into something deeper than twilight.
They’d driven another twenty miles on the interstate, retracing the route Rusty had taken from New Orleans, when the Escalade turned left onto State Highway 22.
“We’re heading north?” Rusty asked.
“Livingston Parish, outside Maurepas.”
“Are you sure you’re taking me to Guillory?”
Abellard nodded.
“Her house or somewhere else?”
“House. I know the place.”
“And that’s where Marceline is?”
“If she ain’t, she’s somewhere close by. I’m getting her back tonight,” the big man continued, voice steadily rising. “Already laid the groundwork to make that happen, it’s all set.”
“Guess I’m ruining your plans, huh?”
“Smirk all you want, motherfucker. I was doing this my way, and you’re fucking it up!”
“You’ve had plenty of time to do it your way, Joseph. I’d say you’ve done a shit job so far. We’ll do it my way from now on.”
Rusty could practically see the gears of Abellard’s mind at work, seeking a way to alter the circumstances.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and devoid of the usual thuggish edge.
“I’m telling you, man. I care about that girl more than your dumb ass will ever understand. She don’t want to be with me, that’s her call. I’ll still provide for her and the child, and she’s free to do as she wants.”
Rusty watched the play of approaching headlights across his face. Abellard’s expression had softened with the same elasticity he’d noticed before. In place of rage and frustration was a hint of something like real remorse.
“She’s not free now, is she? And that’s your fault, Joseph.”
Abellard opened his mouth to refute that statement, but the words didn’t make it.
“At first I thought you’d snatched her, or worse. Jealous man, can’t stand the idea of her walking out, especially with a kid on the way. But when I met you, I got a different impression. Didn’t really want to believe it. I wanted to think you knew where she was. But that’s not what my eyes told me. You were genuinely worried about her.”
“Shit,” Abellard muttered. “I told you as much.”
“Thing is,” Rusty continued, “I saw more than worry in your face. I saw guilt, and I knew you had something to do with it.”
“You don’t know jackshit.”
“I can take a stab at it, since we’ve got some time on our hands. Claude Sherman tried to steal a goddamn umbilical cord from Bon Coeur. You got him that job, or pressured Dr. Roque to provide a reference. The same Dr. Roque who got diced up with one of his own surgical knives. My guess is you and this wacko professor are running some kind of medical scam. Selling biological material that’s too scarce to come by or flat-out illegal. Roque was in on the scam but someone decided to ice him.”
Abellard mumbled under his breath, but didn’t say anything to contradict what he was hearing.
“I don’t give a shit about that part,” Rusty continued. “When Sherman got caught, Marcie connected him to you and threatened to talk, since the hospital brass was too chickenshit to report it. So you show up at the ward like the fucking hothead you are, and it gets ugly. The damage is done, and the risk is there as long as she’s free to talk. Three days later, she vanishes. Only it wasn’t you that grabbed her.”
Abellard’s hands tightened on the wheel like it was his passenger’s trachea.
“I’m guessing it was Sherman who pulled the abduction. I walked in on him at her place a few nights ago. Maybe he was there to collect some evidence he’d left behind, I don’t know. Anyway, I don’t think he was acting on your orders. Guillory sent him there.”
“Pieced that together yourself, huh?”
“I’m not saying I have it all right. All I know is Marceline got caught in the crosshairs of whatever’s going down between you and Guillory. I’m bringing her home, and then I’m getting an assurance you’ll never bother her again.”
“Is that right?” Abellard said. Despite speaking calmly, Rusty could see the casino boss was inwardly going nuclear. “Just how you plan on getting an assurance like that?”
“Think about it, Joseph. I got to you once, I can do it again. And next time I’ll have more than a goddamned wooden knife in my hand.”
• • •
Night had fallen by the time the Escalade approached the end of Guillory’s driveway. Rusty kept track of their course as far as Route 17 outside Maurepas but couldn’t identify the two-lane road they’d been on for the past several minutes. As Abellard slowed to turn left, Rusty noted an elaborate mailbox with a mounted brass fleur-de-lis.
“We here?”
“Home of Professor Bitch,” Abellard grunted. “Let me do the talking or we won’t get so far as the door.”
They traveled down the winding, wooded driveway and pulled to a stop in front of the iron gate. Abellard reached out to press the button on the callbox.
A crackle of static was followed by Pierre’s voice.
“Is that you, Mr. Abellard? We’ve been expecting you for some time.”
“It’s me. Open the damn gate.”
The gate swung inward with a clang. Abellard gassed through until the house’s dark peaks came into view against a starry nightscape. The Escalade pulled all the way around the circular drive and came to a stop.
“I’ll follow your lead until I don’t,” Rusty said quietly. “When I make my move, don’t try to stop me.”
Abellard looked Rusty in the eye for the first time since they’d left the casino.
“Put that fucking blade down and listen to how this is gonna go.”
Rusty retracted the knife a few inches, still close enough for a quick slash.
“You got the drop on me, fine. You wanted to come out to where they been keeping her, you’re here. But pay attention to what I say now. If you want this to go the right way, sit here and let me deal with it.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Goddamnit, what do you think’s gonna happen when I walk in there with some dude they never seen before?”
“Tell me. You know these people, I don’t.”
“It’s a delicate situation, motherfucker. Not the kind of play where you want to throw a curve ball at the last minute. Understand what I’m saying?”
Rusty nudged the blade closer to Abellard’s neck, drawing his eyes down for a fraction of a second. He used that tiny misdirection to pull a pair of plastic “Cobra” handcuffs from his jacket and snap one end on Abellard’s right wrist. Less than another second was required to close the other cuff around the Escalade’s steering wheel.
In the blink of an eye, the big man had been shackled to his vehicle.
“What the fuck?! Did you listen to a goddamn thing I said?”
Abellard bucked in the driver’s seat and wrenched his arm back, trying to free himself.
“Don’t waste your energy. Cobra Cuffs aren’t metal—I couldn’t get them into the casino if they were—but that plastic’s got a tensile strength of three hundred pounds. They used to stop a huge cinderblock from crushing me onstage, so I figure they’ll keep you snug. Just calm yourself.”
Abellard thrashed wildly in the seat, jerking his arm like a piston. If he couldn’t snap the cuff he’d settle for ripping the wheel from its housing.
“Can’t leave you like this, Joseph. Too much of an unknown variable.”
Rusty took aim and jammed the Marrow Seeker’s flat teak handle into the base of Abellard’s neck. The big man bellowed and his body shook with a surprised spasm, but the blow appeared to have little effect. Rusty swung again, digging the handle’s hard edge directly into the patch of skin covering the medulla oblongata.
Pretty much a guaranteed knockout spot, if properly struck. Rusty knew as much from painful personal experience. It took a third and fourth blow to yield the reaction he was looking for. Abellard’s eyelids fluttered and his head drooped forward. Rusty gave him another for good measure. Then he pulled the keys from the ignition and got out.
He approached the house, passing a row of columns on the front portico. Monday answered his call on the first ring.
“Where are you? I’ve been going crazy.”
“Inside the property line, at Guillory’s. Got a handle on my coordinates?”
“Yup. This GPS app is the shit. Says you’re about twenty miles northeast of a town called Maurepas, in Livingston Parish.”
“Sounds right. We passed through Maurepas a while ago.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re on a marked road,” Monday said. Rusty pictured her biting her lower lip the way she did when intently focused. “Closest I can see is Route 17, a bit to the south.”
“Yeah, we turned left off 17 onto an unmarked road. About five miles after the turn there’s a private driveway leading to Guillory’s place.”
“That’s where I’ll be.”
“You can’t miss the entrance, there’s a mailbox with a fancy brass flower on top. Pull around and park a little past it. The driveway’s gated, you won’t be able to get through. Which is fine. The property might be surveilled so let’s lean toward caution.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll text you as soon as I know she’s here. Keep the engine warm, we may be coming out in a hurry.”
“Copy that,” Monday said, ending the call.
Rusty pocketed his phone and took a last buttressing breath. The front door opened just as he was about to raise the knocker.
“Where’s Mr. Abellard?” Pierre said, his wide frame filling the doorway.
“Sleeping it off. I’ll take it from here.”
Pierre’s eyes darted toward the Escalade. The door started to close. Rusty stopped it with his right foot, confident in the manufacture of his steel-toed boots.
“I’m the one you want to talk to. The deal’s changed.”
The pressure on his foot increased as Pierre pushed harder on the door.
Rusty held up his phone. A 504 area code number was visible on the dial pad, his thumb hovering over the Send button.
“See that? Direct dial to Detective Dan Hubbard with the New Orleans Police Department, Sixth District. He’s waiting to hear from me. He’ll reach the Livingston Parish cops with one call, if I tell him to. They take a fairly serious view on kidnapping, I’m told.”
“What do you want?” Pierre demanded.
“I want to meet the vanishing entomologist.”