An Evil Shadow (21 page)

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. But I would have
preferred the priest to be with us.”

“We both agreed to his proposal. It made a lot of
sense.”

“What guns do you have in the house?”

“What would you prefer?”

“Something small. Better make it a revolver. I’m only
going to get one crack at this and I don’t want an automatic jamming on me.”

Moncoeur opened the bottom drawer of his desk and
lifted out a snub-nose .45 special. He placed it on top of the briefcase.

“Have you another one?”

“Isn’t one enough?” Moncoeur asked disparagingly.

MacLean blew a thick stream of blue smoke down his
nostrils. “He’ll have us frisked. If one gun is found, he might overlook a second.”

Moncoeur produced an identical weapon. “Are you sure
about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure. And when I’ve done with
Danny, I’m going to deal with that Bosanquet bastard. Who the fuck gave him the
right to poke his nose into our business? He’s a fucking lousy campus cop for
chrissakes?”

Moncoeur nodded. MacLean had been Kellerman’s choice
from his Soloman Brothers former associates as the man most capable of turning
their dream into reality, but Moncoeur would be relieved to have the flotation
successfully concluded and his association with MacLean ended. He had always
found his brashness and his vulgarity unacceptable. It was a deficiency of
character, a suspect trait. Now, under pressure, MacLean was becoming unstable,
displaying signs of cracking. The breeding just wasn’t there.

MacLean stubbed his cigarette out in the earth of a
potted plant. “What the hell is Jackson playing at; dragging us all the way out
to a phone booth in La Freniere Perk?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What if he spots the men I have watching the
entrances and exits to the park?”

“My opinion hasn’t changed. It is pointless having men
there, I doubt very much if Jackson will be within a mile of the park. He
probably intends to give us the runaround first. From telephone booth to
telephone booth. He’d get a kick from ordering us about.”

“Well I hope he enjoys it. It’s the last laugh he’s
ever going to have. I’m going to blow his fucking brains all over Orleans
parish.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The electrically operated gates of Moncoeur’s mansion
rolled open at twelve-twenty and the silver Bentley swept out onto Lake Shore
Drive. Moncoeur was driving, with MacLean sitting in the passenger seat. The
gates closed immediately behind them. The car flashed past the opening of the
dead-end street down which Lausaux and Val were parked.

Val put the Jeep in drive, pressed down on the
accelerator and started after them.

“Let them get well ahead,” Lausaux warned him. “We
don’t want them to see us just yet.”

“We’ll lose them.”

“No we won’t. I know exactly where they’re headed.”

Val eased off. The traffic was light and the Bentley
easily identifiable from a distance. The car headed south along Wisner
Boulevard, parallel to City Park.

Lausaux was keeping a careful watch on other vehicles
behind. He spent a lot of time twisted around in his seat, peering out the
tailgate window. Val waited for the right moment and adjusted the rear view
mirror so he could have a good reflection of Lausaux. Sodium street lights
illuminated his features with a yellow brilliance each time they passed under a
sodium street light, then rapidly plunged back into shadow.

After the Bentley had taken the slip road for Highway
610 heading west across City Park, Lausaux finally appeared satisfied that they
weren’t being tailed. He turned to face the front and took a slip of paper from
his hip pocket.

“Time to give our friends a call,” he said. “Catch up
on them. I want us right behind.”

Lausaux pressed the barrel of the gun into the back of
Val’s seat as he leaned over the front seats and unhooked the cell phone. He
tapped out the number of the Bentley’s cell phone on the keypad, but waited
until the Wagoneer had closed to a hundred yards before pressing the send
button. A few seconds later Val saw Moncoeur’s head dip as he leaned forward to
answer.

“Jean, it’s Philip Lausaux here. My apologies for calling
at this hour.”

Val couldn’t catch the response. The drum of the tires
on the asphalt and the noise of the engine drowned it out.

“Yes, it is important, very important. Take a look
behind you.”

Up ahead the heads of both the Bentley’s occupants
twisted round. Lausaux put a hand over the mouthpiece of the cell phone. “Flash
the headlights.”

He again pressed the barrel of the gun into the back
of the seat. Val didn’t need reminding who was in control.

Lausaux took his hand away from the mouthpiece. “I
want you both to listen very carefully. The seats of your Bentley have enough
C4 explosive packed inside them to blow both you straight to hell.”

The Bentley weaved and started to decelerate. It moved
over to the inside lane. Val kept one eye on the mirror.

Lausaux took a small, black plastic object from his
jacket pocket. The size and shape of a pocket radio, it was fitted with a
matt-black aerial which Lausaux extended.

“All I need do is press a button on the
radio-detonator I have in my hand and your own proctologist wouldn’t be able to
identify you. Drop your speed below fifty-five, try to outrun us, or cut me
off, and you’re history. Have I got your undivided attention?”

The Bentley increased its speed to a steady
fifty-five. Val could see MacLean’s head bobbing about, turning around to stare
back at them every once in a while, but he could only imagine the frenzied
dialogue in the other vehicle.

Know your enemy, Val thought. Lausaux had read
Moncoeur like a book. Right down the line. He’d correctly anticipated that
Moncoeur would bid for the Bentley. Pay whatever it took to possess it and to
have his face splashed all over the New Orleans newspapers. And would be arrogant
enough to drive it when the time came to make the payoff.

“Donny?” Lausaux was addressing the cell phone. “He
was never part of this. Though he served a valuable purpose. To make it this
far without sparking your suspicions, I needed a decoy to focus your attention
in the wrong direction. As long as Jackson was AWOL, you dumb bastards didn’t
think to look any further for your extortionist.”

Val cursed his own obtuseness. He’d been that focused
on Jackson, he’d fallen for Lausaux’s ruse as well. Which meant Gilett had to
be Lausaux’s partner. Presumably, their plan had been to kill Jackson and
dispose of the body. Somehow he had managed to frustrate them and had vanished,
believing himself targeted by FRAPH, the victim of a double-cross by Moncoeur,
MacLean and Kellerman. Angie would love the irony of it. Jackson’s elective
disappearance had resulted in Moncoeur and company drawing the exact conclusion
Lausaux had intended all along.

Lausaux sat back in his seat, the cell phone pressed
tightly to his ear. Val studied his face in the mirror. The man was exulting in
his triumph, savoring every moment, and in no rush to finish it.

“Moncoeur, you should have treated Gilett with a bit
more respect. His skin may be darker than yours, but that doesn’t mean he’s
stupid.”

Suddenly, the wail of an ambulance drowned out
Lausaux. It was coming up fast from behind. Val stared through the windshield
at the road ahead. An accident was blocking the highway. He could see flashing
blue strobes in the distance. Already the traffic in front was slowing.

A line of hazard flares was burning on the blacktop of
the two outside lanes, channeling the traffic into a single lane. If it had
been earlier in the evening there would have been en immediate back up. At this
time of night, although the traffic was forced to reduce speed, it was at least
still moving.

Lausaux sat forward and peered out the windshield. Two
highway patrol vehicles blocked the outside lanes. It was their strobes that
Val had seen from further back.

“Don’t try anything,” Lausaux snarled into the phone.
“I’m right behind you and I have my finger on the detonator. If I see a window
or a door open, then it’s boom!”

The ambulance, still using the closed lanes, came
alongside the Wagoneer. The police cars blocked its path and the driver
signaled his intention to insert his vehicle between the Bentley and the
Wagoneer.

“Close up. Don’t let it in,” Lausaux screamed.

Val fed the jeep some more gas and came close to
clipping the ambulance’s fender. The paramedic in the front seat gave him the
finger.

A heavily laden flatbed truck had been tail-ended by a
car, spilling some of its load of soda can cases onto the blacktop. A few cases
had burst and vehicles were driving over the crumpled cans. Two police officers
were tending to the injured car driver while their colleagues kept the traffic
moving.

They cruised past the scene of the accident traveling
at thirty-five miles an hour. The ambulance peeled off and stopped in front of
the truck.

“That was close,” Lausaux whispered to Val, then to
the cell phone, “Move into the center lane and stay there. A steady
fifty-five.”

The Bentley surged ahead as its turbo kicked in. It
took Val a few seconds to achieve the same speed.

“This is how it’s going to happen.” The accident had
shaken Lausaux. He had lost his desire to gloat, and was now anxious to get
down to business. “You will remain in the center lane and we’ll draw up
alongside you in the outside lane. Open the window and pass me the briefcase,
or whatever it is you have the treasury bills in. Once we complete the
transfer, I will fall back and tuck in behind you. We will leave the highway at
the next slip road. You will stay on it until the one after that. Have you got
that? Anything doesn’t look right, you’re dead men.”

Val could see that Moncoeur and MacLean were in heated
discussion. Their heads were bouncing about and there was a lot of animated
gesturing going on.

“Fuck!”

“What’s up?” Val demanded.

“They’ve cut me off,” Lausaux said, punching the
redial button on the cell phone.

Nothing. Lausaux tried again. He was mumbling curses
to himself.

“What the hell are you playing at?” he screeched when
they were reconnected. “I should press the detonator right now.”

It must have been a fault in the cell grid, Val
concluded. They were disconnected for too short a time for it to have been
anything else.

Lausaux listened intently for a few moments.

“You’ll be perfectly okay as long as you don’t try
anything. All I went is the money. I want to enjoy it, not to spend the rest of
my life on the run.”

They’re terrified he intends killing them anyway, Val
figured. They had every right to be worried. A good prosecutor could tie
Lausaux into Gilett’s killing of Trochan. The Haitian must have been keeping up
surveillance on Jackson’s apartment house in case he returned.

“You’re just going to have to take my word for it,”
Lausaux assured the two in the Bentley.

......

“I don’t give a damn if you don’t think that’s good
enough. It’s all you’re going to get.”

There was another bout of frenetic activity in the car
in front. Judging by his body language, MacLean appeared to be going ape-shit.
Val thought of how he had reacted at the Superdome.

Lausaux cut in. “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You reach
me the briefcase, and I’ll pass you the detonator at the same time.”

......

“I’m not about to do that. The explosion would kill us
all.”

......

“We’ve talked long enough. Let’s do it.”

Lausaux wound open the window and instructed Val to
draw alongside the Bentley. As close as possible. The hot air of the slipstream
started to raise the temperature inside the vehicle.

Moving into position, Val glanced across the empty
passenger seat to a grim-faced Moncoeur staring straight at the road in front
of him, concentrating on his driving. Despite the elevation of Lausaux’s Wagoneer,
it wouldn’t be much of a reach for Moncoeur. The Bentley was no low-slung
sports coupe.

Val allowed the Wagoneer to nose a few feet ahead of
the Bentley. He moved the steering wheel a fraction to bring the two vehicles
closer. Avoiding a collision would be principally his responsibility since
Moncoeur would have only one hand on the wheel when he passed the briefcase
over. None, if he was to grab hold the detonator at the same time.

MacLean must have been thinking along the same lines.
He maneuvered himself through the gap between the Bentley’s front seats into
the rear. He hauled an ox-blood leather briefcase behind him, then straightened
himself up and opened the window.

Val made a slight adjustment to the rear view mirror
so he could watch the hand-over. With luck, he would seize an opportunity to
take the gun from
Lausaux. But what
purpose would that serve? Until he knew where Angie was, shooting Lausaux would
have to remain wistful thinking.

The two vehicles almost touched. A red Renault sounded
its horn as it overtook them on the inside lane.

“Watch your driving,” Lausaux snapped.

Val caught his first good look at MacLean’s face. Even
in this light, it was evident how incensed he was. Almost to the point where he
would prefer to die in an explosion than make the payoff.

Almost.

The briefcase was barely small enough to make it
through the window. Val realized instinctively that there was something wrong,
but alarm bells didn’t ring until he saw how Lausaux switched the detonator
from his right to his left hand before taking a firm grip on the case’s handle.

MacLean made no attempt to reach for the detonator.
His right hand pulled a small snub-nosed revolver from inside his jacket. He
brought it up towards Lausaux.

Val hauled on the steering wheel, almost side-swiping
the central crash barrier, a hundredth of a second before he heard the shot. He
regained control and floored the accelerator, risking a glance backward at
Lausaux.

Damn! He was hit. The briefcase was nestled safely in
his lap, but the front of his polo shirt was already turning crimson.

“Don’t you die on me,”
Val shouted.

“Don’t worry. I’m not the one about to die.”

A hundred and fifty yards in their wake the Bentley
was slewing to a halt, directly under a highway light. The driver’s door opened
and a black-trousered leg touched the asphalt.

The fireball from the explosion rose thirty feet into
the night sky. Almost simultaneously the force of the blast scooped up the
Wagoneer and pushed it forward. For an instant all four wheels lost contact
with the surface of the road. The tailgate window disintegrated and Val could
hear the ping of debris striking the vehicles metal skin.

“That’s one for the hogs,” Lausaux whispered softly.
Then to Val, “Now let’s get off this fucking road.”

“I’m taking you straight to hospital,”
Val fired over his shoulder. The
nearest would he Tulane.