24

 

Saturday morning, Mandeville, Louisiana

Wes selected the Broken Egg Restaurant, an old house-turned-eatery, located one block off the northern shore of Lake Pontchartrain. The residential neighborhood dated back to the turn of the twentieth century. Now, some of the more unique houses had been transformed into a mix of Cajun bistros, small eateries, and formal restaurants. Residents preserved their southern heritage with fine cuisine served in refurbished, well-aged but unique architecture. The result drew a fair tourist following.

Paved trails led bikers and hikers along the lakeshore under some of the largest oak trees he’d ever seen. The lake provided a wide array of watersports ranging from the Yacht Club to Bubba’s Jet-skis. Fishing charters and bicycle rentals ranked somewhere in between.

He parked the car Tony had rented when the techie left New Orleans, and got out. He pointed the fob at it, pressed the lock button, and shook his head. He’d never driven a Chrysler 300, much less one painted canary yellow. The thing looked like the pants Tony wore to pick him and Jess up at the airport last night.

The morning sun laid out a perfect setting for a table on the veranda. He sat down with his pad and cell phone and requested a cup of coffee from his waitress. When she brought his coffee, she quizzed him about breakfast. His stomach ordered for him. He didn’t need the calories in a side of pancakes along with eggs, hash browns and sausage, but he was hungry.

Wes hoped the air travel ceased for the near future. The past few days reminded him of his frequent trips during his stint in the Corps. Except for the speed and comfort of his current mode of transportation. To find a similarity between a wooden bench in a lumbering C-130 and luxury seats in a swift corporate jet took imagination. Either way, it seemed like the older he got the harder it was for him to adjust to time changes and jet lag.

They didn’t arrive at the hotel until a little after one, but this morning, somehow, he was wide-eyed and ready to go by six.

He unlocked his phone and sent a text to Tony—going to be out awhile this morning. if jess sleeps in, let her. look over pix. see what you can find. any news???

Evidence of the late evening thunderstorms covered the city. Broken tree branches littered yards and high water from substantial rainfall left its mark in a line of leaves, pine straw and manmade debris. The cool, humid morning generated a layer of low fog over the lake.

He grabbed his pad and pencil. Jotting down his thoughts was something he’d done since high school. Looking at his written ideas evoked more ideas and sometimes, game changing revelations.

Tony replied to his text as the waitress placed his meal in front of him. Wes thanked her and checked the message. no problem. no news. found connection n posts—2 spaces before code words (names) or so it appears. jess & i in a small meeting room on the 2nd floor. call when u get back 4 direction.

Spaces, that was different. Meshach thought he was smart. Jess and Tony had unraveled his childish code in no time. Though the conversation with his daughter had set the ball rolling in their direction. Speaking of. He needed to touch base with her again. Maybe the first of the week.

A sudden thought about Levi gave him a good fatherly feeling. If Jess knew the Bible well enough to recite the story about the namesake, then maybe Lisa did too. He prayed his daughter had made some soul-changing decisions.

His phone buzzed again. Tony. spaces might b fat fingers texting 2. do it all the time. we’ll c. Wes put his phone aside. He hoped they’d see sooner than later.

Over the next hour, he managed to drink four cups of coffee, eat his breakfast, and scribble three pages of notes on the legal pad. Then, he sat back in the chair, with the warm sun on his face, and studied each item again. Meshach’s cryptic messages, Lane and his mom, pictures, Marlin, Cole and his daughter, Bubba and lastly, Jess. Though, he didn’t have notes written about her.

Only thoughts…lots of them.

She was definitely her own person. A self-starter. On the flight back, she’d poured over the pictures they’d taken at Liz’s house. She kept her own notes. She took the job seriously, and all personal feelings he was beginning to develop aside, she earned every dime he paid her.

Somewhere over Texas, he’d looked up, and she’d nodded off to sleep, her head back against the chair. A lock of dark hair had fallen across one eye and cheek. She was, she was…

He flipped the page on the pad. Concentrate.

Bubba weighed heavy on his mind and his heart. He’d about decided to tell his friend what happened. Wes could let his imagination run wild and assume the worst. Look into a dark alley for the boogieman, or shine a light and see who or what lies in wait. Communication was the best tool. His gut told him Bubba had nothing to do with the leak. His gut had never lied to him. At least not yet.

He’d know soon enough, he hoped. Last night he’d sent Bubba a query about getting together for dinner. So far, no reply.

His phone chirped. Tony. He answered. “Hey, what you got?

“Dude, where are you?” He sounded excited.

“Near the lake. Sitting. Thinking. What’s up?”

“Come to the hotel. Jess might have found our man.”

 

~*~

 

Wes entered the small conference room, more the size of a large office. Something the hotel would use for intra-company meetings. One long, black Formica-topped table with a dozen rolling chairs took all the available space.

Tony stood behind Jess, hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, looking over her shoulder at her computer. Two broad smiles greeted him. “All right,” he said, sitting next to Jess and pulling himself up to the table. “Let’s see what you’ve found.”

She turned her computer toward him. “See what you think about this picture.”

The image was one from out of the shoebox of old photos of the Scout Troop he’d taken at Liz’s. “What am I looking at?”

Jess reached up and touched the computer screen with a glossed nail. “The kid in the back, in the middle. With his head canted to one side.”

The kid looked like the other eleven squint-eyed boys in the picture—blue short-sleeve shirt, blue cap, tan shorts, tan arms and face and knobby knees. The picture was in color, but pixilated and of poor quality. The desert around them was bare. Obviously hot with all the canteens visible. The kid in question was a little taller than the rest of the boys. He wore a pair of binoculars around his neck and wore mirrored, aviator sunglasses, but then three other kids had on sunglasses too.

Wes looked at Jess. “OK, if this is a stump-the-boss conspiracy between you two, it’s working. What am I missing?”

“Look at the kid’s binoculars,” Jess said.

Wes did, again. They were black and looked like they weighed ten pounds. Then he saw what she meant. “Un…believable. There’s only one lens cap open, the right one.”

Jess nodded. “Came to me the same way. Like wow, so obvious, but, but, it just hit me. The other cap is either broken off, he hasn’t opened it yet, or this kid can only see out of one eye and flipping down the cap just doesn’t make sense.”

Wes sat back and took a deep breath. Then he turned to Jess. “Great job. What a catch.” He held up his fist for her and Tony to tap. “Now, before we get too confident, we have to put a name to him and confirm whether or not he’s blind in one eye. So far, we’ve assumed he has vision problems. We have to put the two together.”

Tony sat down at his computer and nodded. “We’re fixing to catch this dude.”

Wes had the warm and fuzzy again, but then he cautioned himself. “We need a name. Liz has already said she didn’t know anyone who fits the description, and Marlin won’t talk to us.”

“I think I’ll call Liz anyway,” Jess said. “I want to see how she’s doing. I’ll ask her to check the picture. Maybe someone wrote all the names on the back. You know, front row, middle row, that type of thing.”

Wes tried to think. He didn’t remember looking at the backs of the pictures. Good idea. He really hoped he didn’t have to fly back to Las Vegas.

His phone chirped, an unknown number. “This is Wes.”

“Hey, brother. This is Bubba.” The Cajun accent ran thick.

The second Wes heard Bubba’s voice he remembered Cole’s warning. Don’t let a friendship cloud your judgment. “Good morning. How are you?”

“All well, all well. You up for a shrimp boil today?”

“I am. What time? Can I bring a couple of friends?” Wes eyed Tony and Jess.

“About three. We’ll get an early start on the evening. Bring your friends. You remember how to get here?”

“I do. We’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Wait. How’s your manhunt coming? Did Risa provide what you needed? I expected to hear from you the last couple days.”

“She did and it’s a saga. We had to run out to Vegas, and I know you’re busy. I’ll fill you in when we get there.”

“Sounds good. See ya then.”

Wes disconnected and looked at the time on his phone. He had five hours to either work out a scheme with Tony and Jess or go with his gut and be straight up.

“Bubba?” Jess said, eyebrows raised.

He nodded. “It was. I hope you two like shrimp.”

“I like shrimps, plural.” Tony grinned and rubbed his hands together.

Jess held her facial expression, brows arched in question, and Wes knew why.