Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 15 - The Mona Lisa Murders (4 page)

No sooner had we eased to a halt deep in the swaying stalks than the two powerboats shot past, both heading to our left, their spotlights illumining the watery trail before them.

‘What do you think—’

‘Quiet,’ I snapped under my breath, straining to follow the fading roar of the engines as they made a curve back behind us. I couldn’t resist a grin. Whoever those bozos were, they’d shown us our way out—maybe.

When they returned several minutes later, I was almost certain my hunch was right. Now all we had to do was wait until they wandered off in the swamp searching for us.

‘Now what?’

The starlight reflected off Antone’s angular face, filling the crevices between his wrinkles with dark shadows. ‘We wait. Give them time to get as far away as they can. Then we go.’

‘Where?’

‘The way they came from.’ He frowned. ‘I could be wrong on this, but when they saw we were gone, the first place they looked was on the trail out of here. That’s how they brought us in. They figured we’d gone out that way.’

His frown deepened. ‘But I was blindfolded.’

I grinned at him. ‘These kind of goons aren’t the most discerning of the human race.’ I tapped a finger to my temple. ‘They’re a little slow up here.’

His eyes cut toward the swamp. ‘What if you’re wrong?’

‘If I’m wrong, then we just keep heading north. Louisiana is up there somewhere.’ I shook my head. ‘I still can’t figure out how I got involved in this mess. I told Latasha I didn’t want to have a thing to do with this flaky scheme of hers. Now, I’m out here in the middle of nowhere with some nutcases trying to kill me.’

I glared down at Antone. ‘The worst day of my life was when you two popped in.’

In a whiny voice, he said. ‘It was her. I’m just with her.’

Half-joking, half-serious, I snorted. ‘Yeah. Well, if I thought dumping you overboard would get them off my neck, I’d be tempted.’

He caught his breath.

‘But it wouldn’t. Wherever I go, I’ve got to take you with me.’

The smaller man sighed with relief.

We grew silent.

From the darkness surrounding us came tiny splashes of feeding fish, the chorusing of frogs, the grunting coughs of alligators, and the insidious hum of mosquitoes.

‘How long are we going to sit here?’

Far to the east came the purring of outboards. I decided to wait a few more minutes. ‘As long as I say. While we’re sitting, how about telling me what you know about the package and all those questions you were asking.’

‘Questions? What questions,’ he asked innocently.

‘Don’t hand me that. About the Mona Lisa and that guy named Bianchi. Art dealer or something.’

‘Oh. That?’

‘Yeah. That.’

‘It might take some time.’

‘You got five minutes. If I’m not satisfied, I’m leaving you on the first stump we find.’

My threat proved to be an instant motivator.

He cleared his throat. ‘The package contains the cremated remains of the model for the Mona Lisa.’

Chapter Six

I stared at him. ‘What?’

‘That’s the truth. You see, Lisa Gherardini was married to Francesco del Giocondo, a wealthy silk merchant. She posed for da Vinci. Her remains were discovered at the St. Ursula Convent in Florence. They were dug up and plans were to reconstruct the facial features of Gherardini and compare them to the Mona Lisa. Somehow, Bianchi—’

A dark object dropped on the deck at his feet and instantly unwound.

Antone jabbed a finger at the snake and gagged. ‘Snake, snake, snake,’ he managed to scream from where he had leaped in a single bound to the console seat.

‘Shut up,’ I snapped, slamming the blade of the oar on the three-foot long water snake. It curled around the blade in a reflexive strike. Before it could unwind, I lobbed the oar and snake overboard.

‘Get down,’ I said. ‘You made enough noise to wake the dead. We’ve got to get out of here.’

We eased from the cane and headed back to our left. ‘Keep an eye behind us for lights.’

‘All right.’

At the end of the canebrake, a broad channel cut back north. A light clicked on in my head. Now I knew where we were. The channel twisted for a couple miles before splitting, one fork going to the lodge, the other – well, who knew?

We ran without lights, using starlight to keep a safe distance from the dark underbrush lining the channel.

‘Look,’ Antone whispered urgently, pointing at the beam of a spotlight coming from a bend in the river ahead of us. The light struck the far shore. Someone was coming downriver. The way my luck had been running it was probably the goon named Bumper.

‘Quiet,’ I muttered, cutting the power and easing into the shadows enveloping the east shoreline. ‘Now listen to me. We’ve got to hide under some bushes. If a snake falls in the boat, stomp it, strangle it, do anything, but don’t shout, or I’ll throw you overboard. You understand?’

I barely heard his whispered reply, ‘Yes.’

The spotlight beam swung to the left, slashing a bright light across the lush vegetation on the distant shore. The powerboat swept around the bend, heading south on the far side of the channel from us. In the lights from the boat’s console, we made out three men, one standing, two sitting.

One of the sitting operated the spotlight, sweeping it along the shore then across the river. I caught my breath and muttered a hasty prayer.

When the powerboat was about a hundred yards behind us, the beam swept across the river and back up the shore. ‘Duck,’ I said, pulling Antone to the deck. The beam swept past.

I jumped to my feet. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Even as I slammed the engine into gear, the beam swept back, pinpointing us.

Caution jumped out the proverbial window. I flipped on the spotlight and jammed the throttle all the way forward. The wind whipped our hair as I shot around the bend. I glanced over my shoulder.

Behind us, the powerboat slid around the bend. Tiny pops cut through the roar of the hundred and fifty horsepower Mercury. ‘Keep your head down,’ I shouted. ‘They’re shooting at us.’

To the east, the first traces of false dawn grayed the sky. Antone shouted. ‘Where are we going, back to the lodge?’

I spun the wheel, taking us around another sharp bend in the sluggish river. Just before we disappeared behind the thick understory vegetation, a slug slammed into the engine. It began sputtering.

In the midst of a line of curses a sailor would admire, I cut back to the right and shot through a tangle of underbrush into a shallow slough. Within thirty yards, we ran aground.

Antone looked around at me in alarm. I held my finger to my lips, indicating the pursuing powerboat. We remained silent as it swept past, heading upriver.

I opened a trapdoor in the deck and retrieved a backpack emergency kit, then grabbed an oar and climbed over the side. ‘Let’s go.’

The small man’s eyes grew wide. ‘Out there? But—what about the alligators and snakes.’

‘Just watch where you step. They’ll run if they get enough warning.’

He stared at me uncertainly. ‘You sure?’

‘I grew up in swamps. Now get out or stay here. Me, I’m heading for the road.’

His face brightened. ‘Road? Where?’

‘Back east of us a piece,’ I replied, taking out through the ankle-deep water.’

He hesitated. ‘How do you know that? You ever been out here?’

I pointed to a tall steel electrical tower in the distance. ‘Over there. See them. Power lines. Usually where you have lines, you have roads.’

‘What if this isn’t one of those times?’

‘Then we’ll follow the power lines. We’ll find a road sooner or later.’ I turned to face him.

Reluctantly, he swung a leg over the gunwale and stepped down into the water. ‘It’s shallow.’

‘Yeah, it’s shallow. Now come on. Stay in my tracks. You won’t have any trouble.’

Despite the wind and low clouds tumbling westward, the early morning sun baked our shoulders as we sloshed though the gumbo mud and murky water stained almost black by the tannic acid from the water oak leaves. At least, that was the explanation my
Grandpere
Moise gave me, and as far as I was concerned, words from that old gentleman were gospel.

The only way Antone could have gotten any closer to me when we stirred up the first two or three snakes and alligators was if he’d climbed on my shoulders. But then, he saw what I had meant. ‘You were right. They’re running from us,’ he remarked, a gush of amazement in his voice.

Thirty minutes later, we reached the power lines. And a very welcome party that proved to be most unwelcome.

Chapter Seven

When we stepped from the underbrush into the power line right-of-way, I muttered a curse.

At my shoulder, Antone exclaimed. ‘There’s no road.’ He looked up at me. ‘Where’s the road? You said there was one here.’

I was frustrated enough without having to listen to him whine. ‘So I lied. Sue me.’

As far as the eye could see in either direction, a line of four-legged steel towers stretched to the horizon. I headed north. ‘We’ll find something ahead.’

Exhausted, the small man eyed the concrete piers supporting the tower legs. ‘Couldn’t we just sit and rest.’

I glanced at the sun. ‘You won’t like the company.’

He frowned, his angular face drawn in weariness. ‘Company?’

‘Soon as the sun heats that concrete, you’ll have more snakes in your lap than you can count. That’s where they like to sleep.’

Antone jerked around. ‘I don’t see any.’

‘They’ll be there. Don’t worry.’ At the moment, it failed to dawn on me that with the first rays of sunlight, water snakes begin seeking out sources of warmth.

He swallowed hard. ‘I’m not tired. Let’s keep going.’

I hesitated, staring into the ankle-deep water surrounding the electrical tower. There, just below the surface, was the road. For a brief moment, I tried to figure out just what had happened, and then I knew.

The storm Leroi had mentioned, the same one of which the two goons had spoken the night before, was pushing water ashore. I glanced back to the gulf, seeing nothing but patchy clouds and hearing nothing but the wind.

That explained no snakes basking in the sun. They were moving higher into the trees. In fact, even the alligators and bullfrogs had grown silent. I motioned to Antone. ‘Let’s go.’

Before we could take a step, a voice called out. ‘Hey there!’

I glanced around and spotted a fisherman standing in a jonboat back in the underbrush. ‘Hello,’ I shouted.

Using a long pole, he pushed his aluminum boat through the shallow water. ‘Trouble?’ Well built, he appeared to be in his mid-thirties.

Warily, I replied. ‘Yeah. Back west a piece. Hit a cypress knee and boat went down.’

By now, he had drawn near. The small fourteen-foot craft contained fishing gear and supplies for a single person. I relaxed slightly.

Antone gushed. ‘I am most happy to see you, sir. I thought we were to die out here with the snakes and alligators.’

The fisherman laughed. ‘Well, you won’t have to worry about that any more. My name’s Elliott. I fish out here all the time.’ He gestured over his shoulder. ‘Water’s deeper over there. Too shallow here for you to climb in. We’d bottom out. Throw your gear in the boat and follow me.’

I tossed the backpack in the bow of the jonboat just as Elliott set the pole in the muck at the bow. I froze when I spotted the black octopus tattooed on his forearm.  Quickly, I cut my eyes away. ‘Sure glad we ran into you,’ I said, sloshing through the mud toward deeper water before climbing in. ‘We’re out of the Wetlands Hunting and Fishing Lodge.’

‘Just ahead,’ he said. ‘I’ll run you up there.’

After several yards, he paused. ‘Here we are. Climb in.’

Antone sat in the bow. I took the middle seat, and Elliott sat in the stern by the motor.

‘Ready?’ He started the engine, and we sped through the swamp. I glanced into the trees surrounding us, spotting balls of snakes clustered on the branches.

The tattoo on Elliott’s forearm told me in no uncertain terms that he was no more a fisherman than Antone was the model for the Mona Lisa.

The slight man and I had jumped from the proverbial fire into the frying pan. Not deliberately of course, but if a crab accidentally falls into a pot and boils himself, he’s still boiled regardless of intent.

Unless we did something fast, our proverbial gooses were cooked.

Gusts of wind smashed through the treetops, swaying great crowns of ancient oak and cypress.

I was still pondering what to do when one of those gusts did it for me. One moment, we were speeding through the swamp, the next, a ball of snakes slammed to the deck between me and Elliott.

Startled, he leaped to his feet, releasing the throttle. The torque of the prop jerked the stern of the small craft sharply to starboard, sending Elliott tumbling into the dark water. Moments later, the engine died.

I jumped back toward Antone. ‘Be still,’ I shouted, using a paddle to send the scattering serpents over the side. Within seconds though it seemed like hours, all our unwelcome guests except one had departed, and he decided to make himself at home in the small space between the back seat and the transom.

In the meantime, Elliott had splashed away from the jonboat when the snakes began piling out. Frantically, I fumbled in the emergency kit for anything to get rid of the snake. I didn’t know if it were poisonous or not. And I wasn’t about to find out.

I found a pressurized can of insect repellent.

It worked. Three shots, and our unwelcome visitor slithered over the side. Before our other unwelcome visitor, Elliott, could slither back in, I started the engine and raced away, leaving him standing in chest-deep water and shouting curses at us.

Antone leaned forward. ‘Elliott! You’re leaving him behind!’

I nodded emphatically. ‘As fast as I can. He’s one of them.’

The small man’s jaw hit the deck.

I began noticing familiar landmarks. Five minutes later, we rounded the bend at the lodge.

Antone muttered. ‘What happened?’