25

 

Saturday afternoon

Jess sat in front, Tony in the back. Jess looked smart in flats, jeans, and a loose-fitting, white blouse. She’d left her hair down. The dark tresses framed her face and flowed around her neck to her shoulders. Tony sported the usual odd mix of colors with black on top, red tennis shoes, and yellow pants.

Wes had been to Bubba’s years ago. If he remembered correctly, he should turn right onto the first lane just past a small bridge. He hoped he recognized the bridge.

To the unsuspecting eye, the forest on both sides of the two-lane blacktop northeast of Abita Springs looked uninhabitable. The roadway cut through pines, hardwoods, and undergrowth thick enough to hide a herd of elephants. A stranger would never guess hundreds of small family acreages lay just out of sight, on both sides of the road, and for just that reason. These people liked their privacy.

The bridge was as he remembered. Bubba had hidden his place well back off the highway. The gravel drive wound through thick growth and timber for a good four hundred yards before opening up to what looked like at least five spacious acres of impressively manicured grass scattered with just enough oaks and pines to shade the entire area. A beautiful ranch-style home constructed of dark, natural wood accented by a towering roof covered with galvanized metal stood as the centerpiece.

He remembered a smaller house.

Both garage doors were closed. Three red four-wheelers sat willy-nilly next to a swing set.

He parked on the edge of the circle drive, and they got out. A lazy breeze whispered through the treetops. Just enough wind to cool an afternoon get together.

“Tony,” Wes said as they walked around the front of the car. “When Bubba shakes your hand, grab ahold and squeeze back hard. The man’s a beast. Don’t take any lip about your britches and shoes.” Wes winked at Jess when Tony looked down at his own feet.

Tony gave Jess a look that said, “Great.”

The front door burst open, and a stocky barefoot boy jumped out onto the concrete porch for a gawk at the arriving guests. “Mom, they’re here!” he screamed without looking back into the house to focus the effort on its intended target.

All six foot four, two hundred and fifty pounds of Bubba’s frame filled the doorway. His wife, Rae, peeked around his waist like a bashful kid. She stood a foot shorter and weighed a third as much, but when she pushed, he moved. She gave him a playful whack with the white hand-towel she held. “Big ox, get out the doorway. Hey y’all.” She waved with the towel and led Bubba off the porch.

“Big ox is right.” Wes said. He kissed Rae on the forehead, gave her a hug, and then turned to face Bubba. Wes would like to think they stood eye-to-eye, but Bubba had him by two inches. No obvious changes in the big man, other than a smattering of gray in his curly black hair. Wes’s gaze slowly moved down the large frame to his feet. “White shirt, blue shorts, and orange boat shoes?”

“Brother, I’m jus’ trying to stay fashionable.”

They shook hands. Wes hugged his friend’s neck and Bubba hugged back. ‘Nuff said.

“Well.” Bubba turned toward Tony and Jess. “My name’s Frank. You can call me Bubba. This here is Rae, and the overgrown young’n there, that’s Little Frankie. He’s ten. His sister, Rae Lee, and brother, Jake, are around here somewhere. Probably out back playing in the mud.”

Rae swatted the towel at her husband again. “Why no, they ain’t either. Quit your fooling. Rae Lee’s in the house primping, and Jake’s in the shower. They’ll be out.”

Jess stepped forward and held out her hand to Bubba then Rae. “I’m Jessica Wahl. So nice to meet you.” The girls touched cheeks.

Tony held back, but Bubba stepped toward him. “What’s your handle?”

“Sorry, I’m Tony Moran.” They shook. Tony’s jaw clenched with the effort he gave his grip.

Rae grabbed Jess’s hand. “You are so cute. Just look at your eyes. Come in here with me. I’m getting a few things together. You can keep me company.” She tugged Jess toward the front door.

Jess smiled back over her shoulder at Wes.

Little Frankie padded off the porch straight to Tony. “Wanna see my four-wheeler? Come on. We can ride ’em if you want.” He took off across the yard at a run.

Tony looked like he faded four shades then followed him.

Bubba clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Bro, let’s go around back.”

They followed Frankie and Tony. As they passed the ATVs, Frankie looked like he was in full form, giving Tony the rundown on the ins and outs of four-wheeling.

The roofline shading the patio extended off the back of the house. Bubba opened the screen door and held it for Wes. “Welcome to my man cave, my man.”

Wes looked around. Open ceiling, twenty-by-thirty-foot concrete floor, and two big ceiling fans above a twelve-place patio furniture set. “It’s huge and screened-in to boot. I’m impressed.”

Bubba let the door close and walked across the room. “You forget. If it wasn’t for their beak, you’d confuse the skeeters with the chickens around here.”

“No, I didn’t forget.” Wes followed him to a cooking area that would make most women jealous. Pellet-fed smoker, three big gas burners, sink, and a preparation block made from laminated oak, all set in a base of stonework.

Bubba pointed back toward the house at a huge flat-screen television mounted above the sliding door. “That’s what this old man likes. I can sit out here and watch the Saints and LSU play.”

“What a place. When did you build this house? This is not quite what I remember.”

“As you’ll recall, my ma passed when we were overseas, so Dad had the old place where I was raised up, and he left it to me. Rae and I grew tired of the bayou living in Cutoff. Lost two houses to hurricanes in twelve years. Got to where it takes a millionaire to afford the insurance. That’s why we moved up here to start with. I sold what Dad left me in his will. Built a new house and cleared a bit more land to make it airy. A humid summer day in these woods will smother a man.”

“Beautiful place. You’ve done well. Sorry to hear about your dad.”

“Yep, well, we’ve all got it to do. Die I mean. It’s a good thing Dad didn’t have to bury me after all that stuff we went through over in that desert. Your mom and dad too.”

They turned toward the sound as a four-wheeler zoomed by. Little Frankie had his ears pinned back, shifting through gears like a pro. Tony trailed him at a more leisurely pace, yellow pants, red shoes and all. “You know,” Wes said. “If you don’t quit watering that boy there, you’re going to have to change his name.”

Bubba grinned and nodded. “I believe you’re right. Little isn’t the right adjective, is it? How about a drink? What can I get you?” He raised the lid on a cold-water cooler built into the end of the bar.

Wes looked into the swirling water—three brands of beer, two flavors of wine coolers, an assortment of sodas and the pure non-alcohol type. “I’m going for the clear stuff today.” Wes grabbed a plastic bottle of water and twisted off the top. He wasn’t against drinking a beer now and then, but alcohol made him sleepy, and the day was early.

Bubba grabbed a bottle of beer, popped the top, and held it out. “Here’s to ya. Good to see you again. It’s been too long.” They tapped drinks.

Rae Lee opened the slider. “Dad, Emma’s up.” A little girl about four years old held her hand.

“Come out here, girl.”

Rae Lee had grown into the mirror of her mom. Petite, sharp features and raven black hair. She wore red shorts, heel-slapping flip-flops, and a bright purple and gold LSU T-shirt. “Emma wants you, Dad.”

The little barefoot girl pulled away from Rae Lee and ran for Bubba. He scooped her up and held her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck. A skinny, blond-headed kid didn’t fit the darker Cajun mold.

“Hi, Mr. Hansen.”

“Hi, Rae Lee. You’ve grown up. What grade are you in now?” He gave her a hug.

“Going to be in the tenth.” She looked at her dad like maybe he needed to hear how old she was as well. She sounded like her mom.

Bubba carried Emma and sat down in a cushioned metal chair. “What’s your ma up to?”

Rae Lee turned and walked to the slider. “Doing what she does best.”

“Mind your manners, girl,” Bubba said. “Is she ready for me to put on the shrimp?”

“Yes, sir. The shrimp, no, sir, not yet.” She rolled her eyes.

“You come tell me when she is, you hear? So you can take Emma, and I can cook.”

She nodded, said, “Yes, sir,” then disappeared into the house.

Wes watched the exchange with amusement. Nothing like family. He missed it. “What’s Rae doing best?”

Bubba situated Emma with her legs across his lap and her head resting on his chest. “Talking. The Lord knows she can talk. Rae Lee was being sassy.” He brushed the hair out of Emma’s face and whispered to her. Too low to hear what. He glanced up then gave the girl a gentle squeeze. “My new addition. Not mine, but will be as soon as the adoption goes through.”

The drone of revving four-wheeler engines reached the patio. Bubba cocked his head. “Sounds like Frankie rubbed off on your man. Tony, is it?”

Wes nodded. “He’s my techie. Smart guy, real smart.”

Emma reached up with her right hand and stroked Bubba’s cheek. He didn’t seem to notice. “And Jessica? She’s striking. Alluring eyes. Bet it’s hard to sit still when she locks onto you with those things. I noticed she was prone to do that too. Lock onto you, I mean.”

Wes smiled. Bubba had hit the cord with that note.

Bubba took a sip of beer. “My niece, my sister’s kid, she’s a meth head. She had this young’n and then dragged her around in hell for three years. The whole bunch is about sorry as worm dirt. Hate to say, and I still love her, but my sister too. The woman knew Emma was at the mercy of the Lord-only-knows-what and never said a word. She’s in denial about my niece.”

He looked down at the girl on his lap. “She’s not right, this little one. Don’t talk, just points. Got the same look in her eyes as those little kids we seen in Iraq. Like they seen the devil himself, and it scared the sanity out of them. I don’t know if she got poisoned living in the same house where them crazies cooked drugs, or she’s just seen too much. We’ve been praying that she’ll grow out of it. It’s going to be a long road.”

The four-wheeler noise grew louder, moving toward the house. Bubba smiled and squeezed Emma again. “She’s my darling. I represent the law of the land. I’m its voice, or one of them, but I’ll tell you this here and now, I’ll become a felon before I let this girl go back to hell. All who are responsible know it too.”

The little hand still wandered Bubba’s dark face. As the fingers passed over his mouth, he kissed them. She turned her head and looked at Wes. Just a quick glance, but long enough for him to see the light was missing from her pale blue eyes.

Wes made up his mind. A man with Bubba’s heart would not be involved with Meshach. No way. “Brother, we need to talk.”

 

~*~

 

Wes started the account at his conversation with his daughter about the possible names for his grandson. When he got to the chance meeting with the waitress in the restaurant on Bourbon Street and obtaining their first description of Meshach, Rae Lee edged through the slider to take Emma into the house and to tell her dad to put on the shrimp to boil.

Bubba listened without comment and added seasoning to a stainless pot full of water. He sipped at one beer, then a second, between occasional glances in Wes’s direction.

Wes thought about omitting the warning Lamech sent Meshach from his rendition, but nixed the idea. After all, that detail pointed the accusing finger of doubt in Bubba’s direction in the first place. He continued, revealing every twist and turn, right down to this morning and Jess’s discovery of the kid with the binoculars around his neck and the one-open-lens-cap/one-eye scenario.

Bubba sat in his chair. He focused on Wes then searched the ceiling before coming back to Wes. The wheels were churning.

Wes took a big drink of water from the bottle. He felt like he told the story with one breath. It dawned on him that both Tony and Jess had been unusually scarce since their arrival. More than likely it was a joint-effort to give him time with Bubba.

His friend stood, checked the shrimp, and then turned back to Wes. “You put a name to this cat yet?”

“No, we haven’t, but we’re hoping someone scribbled the boys’ names on the back of the original picture. It’s in a shoebox in Las Vegas. We tried to call the victim’s mother this morning to ask her to check the pic for us. She’s grieving and has company. May take time. We’ll keep trying."

Bubba took a deep breath. “OK, first, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a longer list of coincidences strung together on one case in all my life. Either you or Cole or both of you must be living right. Second, you need to bring the authorities in on this. I’m going to finish these shrimp, which won’t take another five minutes. The water is boiling. Then, I’m going to make a phone call. I’ve got an FBI agent in mind.”

“What are we looking at, Monday?”

“Oh, no, tomorrow, a meeting bright and early in the morning in New Orleans. The sooner the better because if Risa or I didn’t warn Meshach, and we didn’t, I can promise you that whoever did has access to some high level databases.” Bubba turned his attention back to the steaming pot on the stove.

Wes had made the right decision being open with Bubba. His friend was in the clear, but he felt a sense of foreboding instead of relief.

Who could monitor private web exchanges, phone calls and e-mails, find out who looked for whom, and pinpoint their location right down to the hotel they stayed in? He answered the question as quickly as it formed. Only four agencies he could think of had the ability: the Department of Homeland Security, the NSA, the CIA, and the people Bubba wanted Wes to meet with in the morning.