The Spy With The Silver Lining

Chapter 4

“He was supposed to meet us,” Casmir said as she eyed the throngs of people coming and going at New Orleans International Airport. “That would be just like him to be late picking us up.”

“Who, Cassie?”

Casmir caught herself before she said, the asshole. “Pierce Fourtier, Mama. A coworker. He’s taking us to Le Mystère.”

“A coworker? I don’t recognize the name. Have I ever met him?”

No, but once you do you’ll never forget him, Casmir thought.

She spied a gypsy vagrant watching them and immediately she went on red alert. No one was supposed to know their destination but Polax…and Fourtier, of course. No one should be singling them out of the crowd unless…

She couldn’t dismiss Yurii’s last words as she’d skipped away from him at the Kelt four days ago—so the hunt begins. I look forward to it.

She pulled her mother toward the door.

“Where are we going, Cassie?”

“Out, Mama.”

They had already gone to the baggage claim and picked up their luggage. Since then, they had been waiting for Fourtier a long thirty minutes.

Bastard.

Casmir looked over her shoulder and saw the gypsy was still eyeing them. No, he wasn’t only staring, he was moving through the crowd toward them with a confident swagger, his long gray hair defying his age, as well as the fit of his jeans.

He wore a sleazy red satin vest over a black shirt, and he was also sporting a tacky long earring dangling clean to his jaw.

Someone should clue him in on how to dress when you’re over fifty, she thought. Playing Bojangles wasn’t working for him—not at all.

Where the hell was Fourtier?

He probably had stopped off somewhere for a beer.

Casmir ushered her mother out the door and into the busy crowd that waited for taxis. She slipped past the mass of bodies, pulling her luggage behind her. Her mother followed, dragging her Paris tote, her dark glasses still in place hiding her black eye.

Casmir spotted an unmarked taxi parked across the street. The driver was leaning against a silver SUV and smoking a cigarette. None of the tourists had spotted him yet.

She bolted into the street, waving her hand to get the rebel cabby’s attention. He jumped to attention the minute he saw her and hurried to meet them. She thrust her bag at him, and yanked the Paris tote from her mother and heaved that at him as well. Shoving her mother into the backseat, she followed after her and slammed the door shut.

“Are we in a hurry, Cassie?”

“Do you want to stand in the heat, Mama?”

“I’ve never been able to tolerate it, you know that. Goodness, it’s warm. I had no idea. This reminds me of the jungle in—”

“Jungle? What jungle, Mama?”

“There, you see, the heat is getting to me already. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Casmir felt a little dizzy herself. The air was as thick as sand inside the cab, and twice as suffocating.

She kept watch out the window as the driver tossed their luggage into the trunk. She spotted the gypsy as he burst through the crowd just as the cabdriver climbed behind the wheel.

“We’re in a hurry,” she said. “Step on it.”

As the cabby sped away from the curb, Casmir watched the gypsy jog into the middle of the street, his feet lighter than she’d expected for a man his age. When he pulled a phone from his pocket, she knew she had guessed right. He was one of Yurii Petrov’s henchman—the hunt was on.

The first thing on the agenda was to lose the gypsy. Once they accomplished that, she would phone Polax and tell him that their ace bodyguard was a no-show, and that Yurii had somehow found them.

Then she would demand a sandy beach in Crete with a breeze, and that Fourtier be hung from a low tree over an alligator pond in his backyard.

Pierce answered his phone on the forth ring. He was straddling a bar stool at the Ginger Root, enjoying his fifth beer and Linet’s assets as she made eyes at him from across the bar.

“Lazie, you pick up my package?”

“We got a problem, boy. Da two of dem took off. I’m chasin’, but dat sonofabitch cabby’s got a lead foot and two glass eyes. He’s gonta end up turned over in the levee if he keeps dis up.”

“What the hell do you mean, they took off?”

“Like a jackrabbit with his tail on fire.”

“What made them run? Didn’t you tell her who you were?”

“Didn’t get close enough ta introduce myself, mon ami. Dey slipped away like a greased snake on a spit run.”

“Where are you now?”

“In da Eldorado playin’ Starsky and Hutch.”

“Don’t lose them. I’m heading back.” Pierce disconnected and jammed the phone in his pocket. “Sorry, honey, but we’re going to have to continue this reunion later. I got a rabbit to run down.”

Linet pouted. “Let’s hope it don take another four years for you ta get back here, cowboy. If you still look as good outa dem jeans as I remember, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be sharin’ the bounty. In the south, sharin’ is the neighborly thing ta do. Oui?”

Pierce grinned, then winked. “I’ll be back.”

“You know where I’ll be, cowboy.”

He left the Ginger Root and started back to New Orleans with his foot pushed to the floorboard, while he pulled his cell phone and called Lazie.

“You still got them in sight?”

“Not at the moment. Got a corner ta take.”

Pierce heard tires squealing. Lazie swore in colorful French. “What’s happening?”

“Got um back. Shit, lost um again. I’m gonta rattle that cabby’s cage when I catch him. Call yous later. Got another corner ta take.”

Pierce tossed the phone in the seat next to him. It would take him forty minutes to get back into town. He should never have sent Lazie to the airport. Merrick had said the plan would take time to set into motion—that the heat wouldn’t be on for at least two days.

He should have known that where Miss Bitch was concerned, the heat was never off.

Pierce stewed all the way back to the city until he was well cooked and starting to burn. He picked up the phone in the seat next to him as he crossed the river and punched in Lazie’s number again.

“Update me.”

“Caught the cab. He’s bleedin’. He says he let dem out on the corner of Bourbon and St. Anns. Dere in the Quarter somewhere. That’s a good sign.”

“You lost them.”

“I got dere luggage.”

“I don’t give a shit about their luggage. Meet me at the Bug.”

Casmir pulled her mother into a dingy bar on Bourbon Street, then wished she hadn’t. The seedy establishment was sporting a topless dancer on a spotlit stage and a clientele that was ninety-nine percent male. The only female in sight was the redhead grinding her hips on stage and sporting a red thong and a smile so wide you could count her teeth.

She spotted an empty table in a dark corner at the back of the bar. It wasn’t the most desirable spot for hungry eyes bent on viewing every dimple and mole on the redhead—the reason it had been left vacant, no doubt. But it was a perfect rest stop for two women on the run and out of breath.

“Over here.” Casmir took Ruza by the hand and led her mother along the wall to the secluded table. “Sit down, Mama.”

Her mother was still wearing her dark glasses and she stumbled into the table and almost knocked it over. The noise turned heads and suddenly two dozen smiles acknowledged the arrival of the female duo.

Casmir took a head count, then assessed the grins. Oh, goody. This was just what they needed. A room full of depraved lechers to add to their problems.

“This is just great,” she huffed.

“I agree.” Ruza sighed. “My shoes are killing my feet. It’s been years since I cruised the streets in heels.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I’m just glad to finally sit down. I think I’ve got a blister on my toe.”

Casmir took a seat beside her mother. She kept one eye on the entrance, and one eye on a man ten feet away who hadn’t stopped grinning since they’d found the empty table. She pulled her phone from her pocket, then just as quickly stuffed it back when the man and his friend stood and started sauntering toward them.

“Stay put, Mama, I’ll be right back.” Casmir met the men halfway. Before they got a chance to say anything, she said, “We’re meeting our fellas, boys, so don’t get excited. They’ll be here in a few minutes and my boyfriend is a real jealous badass. We just want to enjoy a drink in quiet while we wait.”

One of the men nodded—the big burly one. But there was an asshole in every crowd, and Big Burly’s long-haired companion was it.

“Come on, cher. I’ll show you a better time den your boyfriend. I got more experience den a dog’s got hairs on his ass.”

“I’m sure you do, but I’m into the tall, dark, silent type. And did I mention manners? A lady values manners and…good hygiene. Not hairy assholes.”

“Ain’t no ladies come in here, cher. None dat I knows can talk like dat.”

While they had been in the cab, Casmir had slipped her Makarov out of the secret compartment in her purse and into her jacket pocket. She came up with it and nudged the crude dog in the ribs.

“Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish the difference, but you’re going to have to take my word for it.” She gave him a solid poke with the barrel of her gun. “Or not. It’s your choice.”

He glanced down, saw the gun. His eyes doubled their original size. “Hold on, lady…”

“That’s right…lady. I thought you’d come around. Now go sit down and do your barking at the stage.”

When they walked off, Casmir returned to her seat, her gun neatly tucked back in her pocket. Keeping her eyes out for incoming trouble, she concentrated on cooling off.

“The air-conditioning in this place must be broken,” she said.

“What did you say to those men, Cassie?”

“I just told them we wanted to enjoy our drinks…alone.”

“Drinks? That sounds absolutely wonderful. I could use a Russian Rose.”

Her mother had removed her dark glasses. Casmir stared at Ruza’s black eye in the dim light. She was worried about her mother. She had to get her someplace safe.

She pulled out her phone. “I don’t think a martini is a good idea right now, Mama. At the moment we need to keep our wits about us.”

“My wits are always sharpened after a martini. Even better after two. When I get to number three—”

“I know what happens after number three, Mama. If you need to lie down in here, you could start a riot. No martinis.”

“But I’ve acquired quite a thirst, Cassie. We’ve seen half of the city from the backseat of a taxicab, and we haven’t been here an hour. That cabdriver must have been on speed. Did you see how many red lights he ran? And what about our luggage?”

“I need to make a phone call.”

“To Mr. Fourtier?”

Never, Casmir thought. Not even if she was stranded in a snake pit with an alligator gnawing on her ankle. “I’m calling…my boss. Are you going to be all right sitting here for a few minutes?”

“Of course. About our luggage…”

“Later, Mama.” Casmir got up and rounded the table. There was a hall with a flashing sign above it indicating the restrooms. “Don’t move from this table. Do you hear, Mama? I want you sitting right here when I get back.”

“I don’t think I could move if I wanted to. Don’t worry. My butt is glue.”

Pierce walked through the front door of the Glitterbug at the same time as Lazie came through the back door. His jaw was set, but Saber—who was used to the shit hitting the fan on the hour—was wearing a wide grin. His old friend was in his element when he was knee-deep in sewage digging for treasure at the bottom.

They met at the bar. “Good to see you, mon ami. It’s been a while. You’re lookin’ fit for a man in bed with the government. At the moment it looks like your mood could be better—” he shrugged “—but women can have that affect on a man, oui. We’ll find dem, no worries.”

“We better or Merrick is going to send me to Greenland naked to count snowflakes. You said they took off when they saw you?”

“Dat’s right. Say, who’s da hot cookie dat’s with your lady? I ain’t seen nothin’ dat shiny and sweet in years.”

“That’s the mother.” Pierce ignored Lazie’s goofy grin. It was rare to see Saber in a bad mood, even when a bucket of shit was raining down on his parade. Only this time it was his parade, and Merrick wasn’t going to be happy if he learned he’d lost the bait out of the starting gate.

He said, “You take this side of the street, and I’ll take the—”

“Cookie!”

“What?”

Lazie had turned around to lean against the bar. He was looking out past the crowd of men who had come to enjoy the afternoon strip show. Pierce turned his head, and there in the far corner of the room sat an attractive woman in her early fifties.

“Is that Balasi’s mother?”

“It is, mon ami.” Lazie’s grin widened. “What did you say her name was?”

“I didn’t. You sure that’s her?”

“Dat’s da maman. And look, she’s a spirited ange, too.”

Pierce watched as a waitress set a martini down in front of the woman.

Lazie put his hand over his heart. “I’m in love, mon ami. Tell me mon coeur’s name?”

“Snap out of it, Lazie. Ruza Balasi isn’t your type.”

“Ruza-a…” Lazie let the name hang on his silver, Southern tongue. “Ma douce amie.”

“She’s not your love.” Pierce scanned the room looking for Casmir. “She wouldn’t leave her mother,” he muttered, thinking out loud. “No luggage. On foot. Strange city. What would she do? Oui, I know. She’d make a call to Polax.”

The music was loud and the catcalls the stripper was getting added to the noise. Pierce glanced at the hall leading to the restrooms, thought a moment.

He grabbed Lazie by the front of his shirt. “Get your eyes back in your head and your mind off your dick. And put your hand down. It looks like your having a heart attack.”

“Mais, yeah. It’s true. My heart has been attacked by Ruza-a…”

“One of these days I’ll enlighten you about sweet Ruza Balasi, but right now this is what you’re going to do.”

Pierce leaned close and whispered his plan into Lazie’s pierced ear.

Ruza sensed a pair of eyes watching her. She shoved her dark glasses to the end of her nose and scanned the room. There, at the bar. It was the shady-looking character who needed a haircut.

As he began to swagger over to the table, she wondered what was taking Cassie so long. She wasn’t up for conversation with a stranger. She was simply too exhausted.

She took a gulp of her martini to fortify the upcoming confrontation.

“Oui, a fine-lookin’ woman, Cookie. A classy maman, who looks like she’s lived a life of experience, no?”

“It’s true,” she answered. “I wasn’t born yesterday, so before this gets awkward, I’ll say no, thank you. Now run along.”

“Oui, a spirited maman. I enjoy a woman who can teach an old dog a new trick on all four.”

Ruza lifted her glass to her lips again. “Well, Mr. Dog, you must have a hearing problem. I said, run along.”

Instead of moving off, he chuckled. “So you like my place, do you, mon coeur?”

Ruza removed her glasses, momentarily forgetting about her black eye. “I have no—”

“Ma douce amie, you’ve been injured. Who has hurt you, my sweet? I’ll kill the bastard.”

She arched her shapely gray eyebrows above her damaged eye. “You said you’re the owner of—” she looked toward the stage “—this cheap acting den?”

“Oui. The very one. Saber Lazie at your service, mon coeur.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “I haven’t seen you here before. Have you come to my city on business or seeking pleasure?”

“That would be my business.”

Another chuckle. “Oui, a spirited woman, with a snake’s bite. The man who hurt you, does he still have his legs?”

She studied him a moment, got a whiff of his cologne, but couldn’t recognize it. It smelled familiar. That was odd.

“All you need to know—Lazie—is that I’m not ripe for plucking. I’m waiting for my daughter. You’re sitting in her chair. As you can see, I’ve bought a drink from your lacking establishment, so I’m not loitering.”

“Ruza-a…do you dance?”

“How do you know my name?”

He stood. “It’s a fittin’ name, for one so lovely. I like slender women, and memorable names. You’re a feast for a man’s eyes and his imagination.”

His sharp eyes drifted to her chest.

Ruza considering going for the mace in her handbag, which lay on the table. Not yet, she thought. He still hadn’t explained how he knew her name.

She emptied her martini glass, then asked again, “Who told you my name?”

He shrugged, checked his watch. “It’s time to go.”

She saw him step around the table. Then his hand was on the back of her chair. With a sudden jerk he pulled it away from the table, and then lifted Ruza off her chair and tossed her over his shoulder. It happened so quickly she had no time to react or reach for her mace.

The bar crowd was too busy watching the stage to notice Ruza being carried out the back door. She began to pound her fists into his kidneys as he stepped out into the back alley.

Screaming, she fought harder, but the man was stronger than he looked. He ignored her blows as he rolled her inside the trunk of the car parked next to the building.

“Don worry, Cookie. I’ll let you out soon.”

Then he slammed down the trunk and the car’s engine roared to life.

Ruza started to scream again. Maybe someone would hear her. That hope turned to dust as the radio speaker inside the car began to vibrate and drowned out her cries.

The car sped away as Aaron Neville began to sing “Use Me.”

Oh, God. Lazie—if that was his real name—was going to assault her, then kill her.

Worse, at her funeral she would be sporting a black eye.

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