“This is the police. Open up.”
The same voice repeated itself. “This is Jake Pisano of the New Orleans Police Department. Open up.”
Wade breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Mike open the outer door.
Pisano and two detectives with guns drawn greeted Mike, showing him their badges. The three detectives fanned out in the warehouse, and another two began searching the street and sidewalk outside the building.
Mike showed Pisano where he’d let Wade into the offices and opened the door for him. Jake called out loudly into the darkened room, hoping his voice wouldn’t be met with gunfire.
Immediately recognizing Jake’s voice, Wade responded with a yell of his own as he left the storeroom to meet Jake in the hallway next to the darkened offices.
“There was no sign of your tail when we got here. Tell me what happened.”
“Let me get the lights on first.”
They walked across the room behind Wade’s flashlight. Pisano watched as Wade switched the overhead lighting back on. Jake and Wade sat down at the first cubicle across the desk from each other.
Wade provided a detailed account from the time he’d left for school that morning. While telling his story, Wade wrote on the desk pad the four digits of the license plate number and handed it to Jake.
“They were probably waiting for you at school and followed you to your friend’s house,” Pisano remarked.
“Do you think they were Lugassi’s men?”
“I’m not certain, but they could be. So much for your being out at sea.”
“What should I do now?”
“It’s time for you to get out of Dodge. We’ll follow up on the license plate and pay a visit to whoever owns this vehicle. Call me in a few days. I’ll make sure the Lugassi boys know we're watching them closely. That may hold them off for a while.”
Wade followed Jake’s advice and headed out of town. For Wade the trip meant returning to his beloved swamp and his family’s camp sixty miles west of New Orleans. Before leaving town he placed several calls to Jenkins at the Intelligence Agency, finally getting through to him.
“This is Agent Jenkins. How may I help you?”
“Hello Mr. Jenkins. My name is Wade Hanna. We met two weeks ago, and I just wanted to know when I might be hearing back from you on my proposal?”
“Your proposal is in the right hands now. I’m expecting a call back any time. It shouldn’t be much longer.”
“I’m thinking about going out of town for a few days and didn’t want to miss your call. I can cancel my trip if you think you’re going to hear something soon.”
“You don’t need to cancel your trip. Why don’t you call me at the end of next week? I should know more by then.”
Wade couldn’t wait to get back to the swamp. He not only needed to be away from prying eyes in the city, but the swamp was the only place in this world where he could really clear his mind. The primitive surroundings were still the place he’d called home since childhood.
He called a few friends to join him, but they were too busy with other things. The more Wade thought about being alone, though, the better he liked the idea. The two-hour drive to the swamp included frequent checks of the rear view mirror for any unwelcome company. He thought to himself: Anyone crazy enough to follow me into my darkened domain does so at his own peril.
Every new mile away from the city further improved his outlook. His thoughts jumped from one topic to another. He kept in mind his promise to his father to keep the camp in good repair, and wondered what damage might have occurred since his last visit a couple of months ago.
He’d already agreed to take care of some minor repairs during this trip, but wasn’t sure if his father was thinking about selling the camp because it was getting so little use. Wade was against the sale, wanting the camp for himself, but he understood his father’s reasoning, especially in light of his own uncertain future.
If his father did sell the camp, Wade knew that one day he would have one of his own.
Since Wade couldn’t control when — or if — the government would respond to his proposal, all he could do was spend time thinking about his other options. No place better than the swamp to consider my alternatives.
Wade motored down the long drive under the overhang of branches and Spanish moss. He pulled up to the camp and started unpacking his provisions. The few areas that needed repair were obvious, and easily repairable if he used the ladder in the garage.
Pausing from his unloading, Wade reflected on the crossroads where he stood in his life. Melancholy washed over him as he realized he had few choices regarding his future. It hit him that the vast majority of the rest of his life would be determined by others, and that caused his stomach to tense when he saw the truth. No matter which path he chose, or had chosen for him, this was the last time he would see his beloved camp for a long time — perhaps forever.
The quiet of the swamp struck him as never before. His senses weren’t coping with the absence of city noise; his ears actually rang from the silence.
He took a deep breath and inhaled familiar earthy scents from the surrounding swamp. He gazed out over the pond. The soft afternoon light reflected white cumulus clouds in front of a blue sky over the still water. The weather report had said a cool breeze was coming in from the north that evening.
His surroundings were all-consuming now. He caught himself staring into space as if taking part in some long-forgotten spiritual ritual. In the trance, he seemed like an observer too young to be allowed by the spirit to fully participate in the ceremony. Perhaps it was penance for his long absence from the swamp?
When it came to unpleasant childhood memories, Wade’s mind was normally like a crawfish net trying to hold water. They passed through holes, were buried deep, or no longer existed. But something strange was going on here. Unwanted childhood visions played before him like a projector spinning a celluloid reel, and he couldn’t walk out of the theater. Images were coming fast at him with no particular order or purpose. He reached out, bracing himself against the bark of a nearby oak tree, hoping to slow the memories down. Good idea, but it didn’t work.
The images contained harsh childhood images of beatings and being left alone in locked rooms whose details he didn’t want to recall or couldn’t remember. Past and present times were all the same. Wade knew his mind wasn’t playing these tricks on him. There was definitely a swamp spirit behind all this.
Perhaps it was reminding him of who was in charge and not to stray too far from the swamp again. The experience took his breath away and he abruptly gasped for air, wanting all this realism to stop. Moments passed before a light flashed in his brain.
As fast as the images had come, they slowed and disappeared. Wade took another deep breath, not knowing what he was supposed to do with the trapped memories. His mother had been dead now for several years, yet she stood out among the images next to him speaking in a loud voice about his upcoming journey; then it became a whisper and disappeared with the other images.
He acknowledged the spirit from childhood that had just paid him a visit. Though he tried to shake off his experience, he remained staggered by the spiritual power of whatever had just happened. There was no message about how his upcoming journey would end — just that he would have company along the way.
Chapter 5
A few days after returning from the swamp, Wade made a call to Jenkins. In a cordial but unrevealing response, Jenkins said he wanted to schedule their next meeting at the Wave Restaurant because of the probability of inclement weather. The bureaucrat was hurried and short with Wade, clearly unwilling to chat.