Fat Tuesday(63)

Burke ignored Gregory's whining as they tramped through the swampy terrain back to Dredd's pickup. He'd driven it to this remote spot, Gregory following in the van. During the drive, Burke had kept a watchful eye on the rearview mirror. Every time he went around a bend in the road, he slowed down until the van's headlights were once again in sight. He expected Gregory to crack at any moment. There was no way to predict what the young man might do when he did.

Docilely enough, he climbed into the pickup for the drive back.

Burke followed a winding road, flanked on both sides by swamp. The knees of cypress trees protruded above the surface of the water within a few feet of the road. Overhead was a canopy of low-hanging tree branches hosting Spanish moss. By day they resembled the lacedraped arms of a belle caught in a curtsy. At night they took on the eerie appearance of a zombie's skeletal arms trailing his torn shroud.

Occasionally his headlights picked up the glowing eyes of a nocturnal creature that scurried out of their path or slithered back into the swamp.

Burke drove safely but fast. He was worried about the patient.

Dredd had anesthetized her with one of his home-brewed potions concocted of God only knew what. But whatever the ingredients, it had worked. She'd slept through Dredd's careful removal of the shotgun pellets, which had sprayed her back and shoulder on the left side.

He'd also removed a few splinters of glass.

The small wounds had bled profusely, but Dredd had cleansed them thoroughly, then treated them with a salve that he claimed would heal them and help considerably with her pain. Burke had hovered close throughout the entire procedure, making Dredd even more irascible than usual.

He had practically pushed Burke from the room, reminding him that if he didn't ditch that van, all of southern Louisiana could be swarming Dredd's Mercantile in the morning."Nothing hurts a business worse than cop cars parked out front."

So Burke had left, grudgingly, but knowing that his friend was right about the timely disposal of the van. Now that it had been taken care of, he was eager to get back and check on Mrs. Duvall.

"You used me."

"What?" Gregory repeated his petulant statement. Burke replied, "You accepted the terms of the deal, Gregory."

"When you were making that deal, you didn't tell me that the terms involved guns and kidnapping."

"When we picked up Remy Duvall today, what did you think was going to happen?"

"I thought you would get her to contribute a lot of money to this phony charity. I thought that you would swindle Pinkie Duvall, pull a con, like in The Sting. I never counted on you doing something like kidnapping his wife."

"It's your fault that you're involved in a kidnapping. If you hadn't flirted with that redneck, you'd have been dumped at the Crossroads.

That was my plan, to shake you and Errol there. But no, you went and got romantic. So pout all you want, but don't expect any sympathy from me.

It's on account of your perversion that Mrs. Duvall got shot and that all of us barely escaped with our lives."

"I got hurt, too," he sobbed.

"Too bad. If I hadn't been otherwise occupied, for what you did, I would have throttled you myself. Now shut up, or I still might."

"You're mean, Basile. Mean."

Burke uttered a harsh laugh."Gregory, you haven't seen my mean side yet."

The younger man hiccupped another sob, and Burke felt a twinge of pity.

Gregory was in over his head. What at first had seemed like a movie script to him had quickly turned into a living nightmare. Burke planned to have him safely transported back into the city tomorrow. If he kept a low profile for a while, long enough for his face to heal, he would be fine. No one knew his true identity. He would never assume the Father Gregory role again. No one would suspect the third son of a prominent family of taking part in a daring kidnap. Besidess Duvall would be after him, not Gregory. Gregory would be fine.

He continued to sulk and mumble miserably until he fell asleep.

Burke shook him awake when they reached Dredd's place."Want Dredd to do something for your face?"

"Are you serious? I wouldn't let that troll touch me." He glanced toward the structure at the end of the pier and shuddered delicately "Suit yourself," Burke said, getting out."There's a recliner in the front room. I suggest you get some rest."

Gregory was slow getting down from the cab, Burke noticed. Despite his refusal of help, he would ask Dredd to give Gregory something to relieve his discomfort. He found their host still at Mrs. Duvall's bedside.

"How is she?"

"Sleeping like a baby."

Burke winced, the word reminding him of her confession and the baby she lost. Dredd had turned off the electric light, but a single candle flickered on the unpainted bureau. She was lying on her stomach, one cheek turned up, the other buried in the pillow. Her hair had been smoothed away from her face, positioned on the pillow just so. Dredd was good at what he did.

The wounds had stopped bleeding. For all the pain they'd given her, they were superficial. Burke wondered, though, if they would leave scars. That would be a pity, because her skin was unblemished and looked almost translucent. He thought back to the first night he'd seen her in the gazebo. She didn't look any more real to him now than she had then.

"C'est une belle femme."