Retribution (Secrets & Lies #3)(37)
If she's still half-drunk most of the time like she was at the DeLaCoeur home, then I can take her to another place I know to the south, a trailer park in Houma. It's nowhere near as nice, but that's the appeal. Margaret can drink her sorrows away, and most of her neighbors won't notice.
“So which do you think?” I ask Katrina, who's using the VOIP system to allow us to talk. Thankfully Carson's truck comes with a charging dock for my phone, I'd forgotten to put one in my bag. “North or south?”
“Don't forget option C,” Katrina says, remarkably awake for six in the morning. “Take her and dump her in a random spot.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “I mean, I get the idea, but I don't have the finances for that.”
Katrina laughs, and I realize I once again underestimated the adept computer whiz. “If push comes to shove, I can get you funds to set Margaret up for a while. You know the sorts of places you can get her into very quickly, let's face it.”
“Of course,” I reply, sipping the Jolt Cola I bought at the same truck stop I'd slept at, the same place I'd also gassed up the truck. “Give me a couple hours and I can get her into a place.”
In my head, I already know the type of location Katrina's talking about, they dot just about every city, although I've seen more of them in the South than other places. Low advertised rents, deposits and rent done via credit card or cashier's check only. Basically, the same type of places that Peter DeLaCoeur used to launder his money through.
“Don't even need to do that,” Katrina says. “Give me a city, and I can have everything short of the deposit done for you before you get within fifty miles of the place. At that point you could drop her anywhere east of the Mississippi and be back in time for dinner Friday night.”
“Sounds good. What's on the menu?” I ask, getting off the interstate. I'm feeling relaxed, and having Katrina to talk to helps knock away the last of the cobwebs. “Please tell me Andrea isn't cooking.”
“Hey, I heard that!” a voice in the background calls, and Katrina laughs.
“That's what you get for forgetting I'm on an open mic and speaker here,” Katrina reminds me, and I have to smile. “But to answer you, I'm doing the cooking. I talked Carson and Jackson to do a supply run today, they're going to go down to town and pick up a nice, thick one pound steak for you. How's that sound?”
“Sounds like you're spoiling me. What's the occasion?”
Katrina sounds like she's leaning into the microphone, and I wonder why before she speaks. “Because Friday night, you're having a romantic dinner date with Melissa, and if you say no, you and I are having another throwdown, but I'm bringing a stick this time.”
“Then I guess I'm having a dinner date with Melissa,” I say with a smile. I drain the rest of my Jolt and put the bottle in the plastic bag I have hanging from the little hook next to the glove compartment, keeping things neat. “Okay, business time, I'm a mile from the meet-up. I'm going to shut down the call for now, I’ll call back when I have an update. Go get some breakfast or something. I'll try and call in by nine.”
“Watch your six, Sergeant,” Katrina says, cutting off the call. Wise words, and as I pull into the motel parking lot, I do exactly that, checking all around me for signs of any danger. I chose this motel for a very specific reason, as up the street about two blocks is the New Orleans FBI building. Not that I think it would stop Isis, but I hope it helped Margaret feel a little less freaked out.
The Magnolia Inn and Suites doesn't really have any suites, unless your definition of a suite means a bed that doesn't vibrate when you drop fifty cents into the box on the side of the bed. But it is low profile, close to the cops, and in an area of the city that Peter doesn't have a lot of business. Still, my Colt is out and next to my thigh as I park down on the end of the line of units, going to Unit 18. I had her choose that room for another reason, it'd get the most foot traffic and hopefully keep visitors away.
When I reach the door, there's no answer when I knock, and warning bells go off in my head. Even if she's asleep, I knocked loud enough that Margaret should be able to hear me. I try the door and find it unlocked, my Colt coming up as I open the door.
The first thing I see is Margaret. She's been tied to the bed spread-eagled, but she's not going to be complaining about it. The slit in her throat makes sure of that.
“Fuck,” I mutter, trying to step back. “God dammit.”
Suddenly, I hear a puff of air, and something hits me in the thigh. It's fast acting, and before I drop to my knees, I see Isis step out from the bathroom, her dart pistol in her right hand. “Long time no see, stud,” she says as I fall to the ground, my Colt dropping from my numb fingers. “Let's have a little fun.”
I come to relatively quickly, finding myself stripped to the waist, my hands tied to the dresser of another room. From the décor, I'd say I'm still in the Magnolia. “Welcome back, lover.”
The voice stirs long-buried memories inside me, and I open my eyes, trying to focus. “You bitch, you shot me. That's twice.”
Isis is sitting on the bed, a seductive smile on her face and wearing tight dress slacks and a camisole that leave very little to the imagination. She's got her most seductive smile on, and her eyes twinkle as she studies me. “Oh come now Nathan, that first time was just a little flesh wound. Your eye isn't the most handsome I admit, but it does give you a certain... gravitas. As for your ass, I bet it barely even scarred. I was a good girl, I didn't check you for the mark.”