Now, in the café, Staub had allowed his voice to raise because he didn't believe, even if any of the people in the kitchen spoke Spanish, they would have any idea what he was talking about.
Staub stopped and faced Pelly. "I told you this son of a bitch, Duarte, was sharp, didn't I?"
Pelly nodded, trying to look bored.
"I also told you to hire good men. You knew someone here in New Orleans."
"I do."
"Those idiots? They couldn't handle a child. Duarte escaped like it was a classroom exercise."
"You're right, boss. He was tough. The boys said he was fast, too. They said he knew karate and surprised them."
"That's what we pay men like that for-surprises."
"I know, boss."
"You know, you know…You don't know anything." Saliva started to spray as he got angrier and angrier.
Although he wanted to smile at his boss's unraveling, Pelly remained still and silent. He occasionally saw the colonel get mad like this. Usually someone died when he got this crazy. Pelly knew he wouldn't do anything to him, but he also knew this guy Duarte wouldn't last until the weekend.
Staub said, "Now you have to make it look like an accident. After a robbery attempt, a second violent crime will arouse too much suspicion."
"How do I arrange it?"
"I'll call you when we're going out. Use a stolen car. Make certain you hit him dead on. I don't care if you have to back over him to be sure."
Pelly nodded, then said, "And how do I get back to Panama after I'm through?"
"What do you mean?"
"The Flame of Panama left this morning. I have no papers with me."
"We'll work it out when it's time. I may need you on the main job, too. This man William Floyd has not impressed me."
"I thought you needed an American to complete the assignment."
"I need an American to take the blame. Anyone can complete the mission."
Pelly realized he'd be in the U.S. for a while. He'd try and improve his English during the visit. He finally said, "I'll take care of Duarte if you need me to, but I'm not sure what he could do to hurt us."
"That's why you're not in charge. He is determined and smart, and that worries me when we have such big plans. You need to ask fewer questions and take more action."
Pelly glared at his boss. He had no idea what kind of action he might take if he got the chance. This whole mission was crazy and, more important, didn't earn them any money. He did not share his boss's sense of vengeance. He did, however, share his view of how helpful the right killing could be.
Ike looked over his shoulder into the noonday sun and saw how the light hit Craig's brown hair. Ike knew he should keep his mouth and the truck shut, but he had been bursting to tell someone what he was up to and what he had been entrusted to transport.
As the door slid up, Craig said, "You got this whole truck for that one crate?"
"I wasn't sure how big it was gonna be. It had to be covered, too. It might not have fit in a pickup with a cover."
Craig hopped up into the truck.
Ike took a second to look at the muscular young man's backside as he made the jump, then followed him inside. There were six pine two-by-four pieces of lumber he had thrown in the truck in case he needed them to stabilize the crate. He hadn't known it would be so heavy, and once they had it on the truck's wooden floor the crate had bit in and he could tell it wasn't going to budge. The lumber, all between four and six feet, lay in a small stack next to the wall of the truck bed.
Ike watched as Craig kneeled next to the crate and poked a finger between the boards. He was pleased to see the interest in the young man. Maybe he'd even have a companion for the trip to Houston.
Craig turned and said, "Okay, I give up. What is it?"
Ike smiled. "You sure you want to know? Once you hear it, you won't be able to forget it." He smiled, still sucking in the little gut he had developed just after turning thirty.
"I wouldn't have come in here if I wasn't ready for a surprise. Maybe if I hear a surprise, I'll give one, too." His smile and green eyes made Ike's knees go weak.
Ike squatted next to him and pulled on the one board that was loose. He figured he'd tease him a little more by showing him the metal casing and some of the wires he'd be able to see through the crate. "See if this gives you any idea." He worked on the board as Craig scooted to the side to give Ike room to work.
Ike pulled the board loose easily, his heart pounding and sending blood through his ears like a bass drum. Once he was done, he said, "Lookie here. What'd ya think?"
As Ike turned to see Craig's reaction, he felt a stinging pain in his shoulder and heard a loud slapping sound. He reached up and grabbed at his left shoulder and turned to see what had happened. He froze, seeing Craig with one of the shorter two-by-fours in his hands, his arms cocked like Barry Bonds at the plate.
All Ike got out was "Wait…" when he saw the pine board rush toward his face and Craig's young, muscular body twist on his swing.
His vision went blurry, then dark. He felt like he was in an empty, dark hallway.
23
ALEX DUARTE DROVE PAST THE HOUSE IN A WORKING-CLASS neighborhood of Gretna, just outside New Orleans. The rental Nissan didn't look like a cop's or anyone else's who shouldn't be in the area. The sun had just disappeared behind a tall oak tree, and the light was fading fast.
He checked the piece of paper with the information Alice had found for him on Cal Linley. The longshoreman had lived at this address for eleven years and drove a Ford F-250 pickup truck registered to him and Ella Linley, whom Duarte assumed was his wife.
Duarte scanned the house and yard to see if there was anything that might cause him trouble. He knew to do a recon first. He had learned that lesson in Bosnia, where everyone had a gun-maybe not as many guns as Louisiana, but close. There was a chain-link fence and a gate for the backyard, and that probably meant there was a dog back there.
The F-250 was in the attached carport. Duarte could just make out a bumper sticker that said WHITE PEOPLE ROCK! He smiled. This guy was a cop-beating, racist thief. Duarte wouldn't have a problem questioning him.
He parked the Nissan in front of a dark house five up from Linley's, and casually strolled down the sidewalk without seeing anyone or feeling like someone was looking out at him from a window. He had a good sense of when someone was watching him, but you never really knew until they took action.
He walked just past the house that interested him, noticing the lights in the side window, probably the kitchen and in the rear room. He thought he saw the gray-blue flicker of a TV set as well. He turned on the property line and quick-stepped to the corner of the fence, then crouched.
Now he could clearly see the backyard, the side and rear of the house.
He stayed low and still for three full minutes, letting his eyes adjust to the growing darkness and ensuring no dog was going to bound out of the shadows at him. He'd still approach the guy like a cop, ID out and professionally, but he wanted to know all he could before he asked the first question. He crept toward the carport. As he passed the big Ford truck, he felt the hood. The slight heat meant the man had been driving in the past hour or so.
As he stood looking at the door that probably went to the kitchen, he saw the knob turn and a shadow behind the glass jalousies.
Duarte purposely stepped out into the light and reached for his wallet.