Whatever drug that giant had been full of, it was even stronger than laudanum, thought Longarm.
Under a litter of old lottery tickets in the last drawer he checked, he found a small notebook. Flipping it open, he saw that someone, no doubt Millard, had used it to keep track of shipping activities. The names of ships, departure dates, and destinations had all been written down in a scrawling, looping hand. Longarm turned to the last page where entries had been made. Four ships were listed there, and the date of their departure had been one day before Longarm arrived in New Orleans.
Their destination was listed as Saint Laurent.
Longarm frowned. Saint Laurent was the West Indian island where Annie and Paul Clement lived most of the year, where they had their ancestral sugar plantation. Though Longarm hadn't run across any evidence linking them with Millard's smuggling operation, he could conceive of Millard and Paul Clement joining forces to bring in shiploads of contraband sugar. From what he had seen and heard so far, however, Clement paid the import fees and sold his sugar on the exchange, all open and aboveboard.
Maybe Millard and Clement were smuggling in something else, although for the life of him, Longarm couldn't figure out what it might be. Or maybe Millard was smuggling something into Saint Laurent for the Clements, but again, Longarm had no idea what. And it was always possible that the ships bound for the West Indies had nothing to do with Annie and her brother at all.
Longarm knew he would have to ponder those questions later, maybe do a little poking around down on the docks. For now, he closed the notebook and replaced it under the lottery tickets where he had found it.
Just in time too, because he heard footsteps in the hall and Millard's voice. By the time the club owner opened the door and stepped into the room, Longarm was lounging in the chair in front of the desk, right foot cocked on left knee, one of the Cuban cigars smoldering in his fingers. He looked up and around at Millard, who had stopped short just inside the door, and put a slightly sheepish grin on his face. "Aw, hell," said Longarm, "you caught me."
"What are you doing in here, Parker?" Millard asked sharply.
Longarm gestured with the cigar. "I got a hankering for another of these fancy see-gars of yours, Boss. Didn't think you'd mind if I helped myself to one."
"Well, you thought wrong," snapped Millard. "I don't like people poking around my office."
Well then, old son, you ought to keep it locked, thought Longarm, but he said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Millard. I didn't mean no harm."
Millard came around behind the desk and sat down. "Don't let it happen again," he grunted as his gaze quickly darted around the top of the desk. Longarm knew he was checking to see if anything had been disturbed. Millard wouldn't be able to tell by looking that the desk had been searched. Longarm was too good at his job for that; everything had been put back exactly the way he'd found it.
"Any sign of trouble from Royale today?" asked Longarm, partly out of curiosity, partly to distract Millard from finding him in here.
Millard shook his bald head. "It's been quiet. Maybe too quiet."
That was a suspicious nature working on Millard, thought Longarm. After everything that had happened, he would spook pretty easily. Longarm told himself to remember that; it might come in handy later on. In the meantime, he was wondering about something else. In a tone calculated to seem only idly curious, he said, "That fella Luther who was your doorman, the one who was killed by Royale's men that first night... did he have a brother?"
Millard looked at him with a confused frown. "Not that I know of," he said. "Why do you ask?"
"Well... you might think this is a little strange but I would have sworn I saw Luther on the street last night when I was going home." Longarm didn't say anything about being followed, or the fight with the massive black man, or the fact that for a few harrowing moments, it had seemed like even bullets weren't enough to take down the man.
Millard stared at him for a second, then clenched a fist and brought it down hard on the desk. "Shit!" he exploded. "I knew better... I knew we shouldn't-"
Longarm sensed that he was on the verge of something important here, and it was all he could do not to lean forward eagerly. All he could do was allow himself to appear mildly surprised by Millard's reaction. "What's the matter, Boss?" he asked. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No, damn it, it's just... Are you sure you saw Luther?"
Longarm looked perplexed. "Why, how could I do that? He's dead. I just figured I saw somebody who looked a whole lot like him. That's why I asked you if he had a brother."
"I don't know," Millard said with a shake of his head. "Could be, could be. I suppose that has to be the explanation." He didn't sound completely convinced of that, however.
Longarm forced a chuckle. "The only other thing I could think of was that maybe Luther had been turned into one of those, what you call 'em, zombies or something. After all, this is New Orleans."
The comment provoked a reaction from Millard, just as Longarm had thought it might. Once again the man thumped his fist on the desk and said tautly, "Forget it. That's all just a bunch of made-up mumbo jumbo, and I don't want to hear another damn word about it, understand?" His voice rose as he spoke.
"Sure, Boss, sure," murmured Longarm. He was convinced now that Millard was scared to death of the very idea of voodoo and zombies and such. That meant he was unlikely to have been the one who'd planted the mutilated doll representing Douglas Ramsey on the chief marshal's doorstep.
But that still left Royale.
Longarm went on. "I've been thinking that if we could get a line on Royale, maybe find out who he is-"
"I've tried," Millard broke in. "Lord knows, I've tried. Nobody seems to be able to touch him."
Before Longarm could continue the discussion, there was a soft knock on the office door. At a gesture from Millard, Longarm got up and moved to the side of the door. With all the trouble that had been going on lately, it paid to be cautious. He drew his gun and called, "Yeah?"
The voice of the bartender Longarm had spoken to earlier said, "That you, Mr. Parker? You're the one I need to see, and I thought you might be in there with the boss."
Longarm opened the door a crack and saw the man standing in the corridor alone. No one was forcing him to say anything at gunpoint. Longarm hadn't really expected that to be the case, but it didn't hurt to be sure.
"What is it?" asked Longarm.
"There's somebody out here looking for you, Mr. Parker," replied the bartender. "She says you know her."
"Miss Clement?"
The bartender shook his head. "No, sir, she's, ah, definitely not Miss Clement."
Longarm glanced back at Millard, who shook his head. "I don't know anything about it, Parker. You'll have to go see for yourself."
"I'll do that," Longarm said. He holstered his gun and opened the door wide enough so that he could step out into the corridor. He followed the bartender back to the main room, and as they walked along the hallway, the man said, "I hated to bother you while you were talking to Mr. Millard, but the lady was very insistent that she see you."
"Well, I'm glad you fetched me then," said Longarm, deliberately keeping his tone light. "A fella never likes to keep a lady waiting for too long."
They stepped out into the main room of the club, and Longarm's companion pointed toward the bar. "There she is, over there."
Longarm looked where he was pointing and stopped short in surprise.
Standing nervously near the end of the bar, darting occasional glances at the door as if she thought this was a bad idea and wanted to flee, was Claudette.
CHAPTER 10
Longarm managed to overcome his surprise enough to put a smile of welcome on his face as he got his muscles working again and walked toward Claudette. He held out his hands and took hold of both of hers. "It's good to see you," he said honestly. "What are you doing here?"