“Why is it I don’t believe anything you say? What you don’t understand, Mr. Robicheaux, is that we don’t have anything to lose at this point. Do you think we plan to spend years in litigation while every cent we have is taken away from us? Do you think we plan to sell this beautiful historical home to pay years of legal fees because of you and your friend?”
“There’s no way you can get away with this, Dupree,” Clete said. “You think Helen Soileau won’t figure out where we are?”
“Would you like to talk to her?” Pierre said.
“Can you stop talking, Pierre?” Varina said. “Just for once, please stop talking. I would take a vow of celibacy if you would take a vow of silence.”
“My, my, daddy’s little angel. If you’re an angel, you’re Lucifer in female form,” Pierre said. “Think back, Varina. Who led these men into our lives again and again? You put your lovers on video while you were screwing. That’s like robbing a bank and leaving your driver’s license inside the vault. Oh, I forgot. You didn’t have to compromise our security situation. Your idiot of a father did that when he told his minions our operation was run by his petit ange.”
“Don’t speak of my father like that,” Varina said.
“You asked if I wanted to talk to Helen Soileau,” I said to Pierre.
“I insist that you do,” he said. “Maybe you’ll finally understand how self-deluded you are and how minuscule your importance is. However, I don’t know if you’ll be up to the shock. What do you think?”
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“You’re uneducable, Mr. Robicheaux,” he said.
“This isn’t necessary, Pierre,” Varina said.
“Stop hectoring the man and let him have a little fun,” Alexis said.
“Excuse me for saying this, Alexis, but I hate both of you,” she said. “When this is over, I’m going to-”
“What?” Alexis asked.
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “Look at it this way. How much longer do you have to live? Think of me having a glass of champagne at your graveside. Think of me living in this house. Your grandson is incompetent and can’t run a business by himself or paint his way out of a paper bag. How long do you think it will be before I own everything in your possession?”
“The only woman I’ve ever known like you was Ilse Koch,” Alexis said.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“The Bitch of Buchenwald, you silly girl,” he replied.
“What did you mean about Helen?” I said to Pierre.
He removed a remote control from his coat pocket and clicked a button several times. There was a bank of television monitors at the top of the wall by the entrance, most of them showing the grounds and the bayou and the two-lane highway in front of the plantation. The image on one of them changed to a scene inside a kitchen.
“That place you’re looking at, Mr. Robicheaux, is just beyond Tee Jolie’s bedroom,” Pierre said. “The figure on the floor is Helen Soileau. She’s quite unconscious right now, and I don’t think she can feel very much pain. I also doubt that she’s aware of her surroundings, so don’t be too alarmed by what you’re about to watch.”
“What did you do to her?” I asked.
“She was chloroformed, that’s all,” he replied. He took a small walkie-talkie from his pocket and pushed a button and spoke into it. “Put her inside, fellows.” Then he turned to me. “Watch now. You should enjoy this, since I suspect she’s a pain in the ass to work for. It’s oopsy-daisy time for the lady from Lesbos.”
Helen was bound hand and foot and lying on her side, and I couldn’t see her face. Two men walked in front of the camera and lifted her into the air and opened the top of a deep-freeze chest and set her inside. One of them looked back at the camera, then shut the lid.
“I give her about fifteen minutes,” Pierre said. “How much did you tell her about us, Mr. Robicheaux?”
“She never believed what I said about you,” I replied. “No one will. You’re killing people for no reason.”
“It’s getting late,” Alexis said. “Start with the girls, Mickey. Be fast about it, too. I’m tired.”
“I want to do the one called Gretchen,” the fleshy man said.
“Oh, that’s right, Harold, she broke out your front teeth, didn’t she?” Alexis said. “By all means.”
“Look, you guys, it’s obvious you make use of people inside the system,” Clete said. “That’s me and Dave. Maybe we can work something out. Look at our record. I don’t know how many guys we’ve cowboyed. You don’t believe me, check my jacket.”
“You’re not in a seller’s market, Mr. Purcel,” Alexis said.
“Dave already said it,” Clete replied. “What’s the percentage in snuffing people nobody believes?”
“And Sheriff Soileau?” Alexis said, an amused gleam in his eye.
“That’s the breaks, I guess,” Clete said.
“I knew others like you,” Alexis said. “When we locked them inside the showers, we told them we were creating a special dispensation for those who could prove their mettle. They beat and strangled one another while we watched through a peephole, and after a few minutes we dropped the gas containers through the air vents in the roof.”
“Shut up and get this over with,” Varina said.
“Maybe you’ll be part of the entertainment. That would be quite a surprise, wouldn’t it?” Alexis said to her. “Did you know that Caligula did that to his dinner guests?”
“What?” she said angrily.
“I wanted to see if you were paying attention,” Alexis said.
The fat man and the man with greased hair were putting on rubber boots and long rubber gloves. The fat man was looking with anticipation at the cell where Alafair and Gretchen lay bound in the corner.
“Pierre?” said the man with the greased hair.
“What is it?”
“I got a problem. I ate some garlic shrimp for supper. I’m about to download in my pants.”
“Then go to the bathroom. We’ll wait.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The man with the greased hair lumbered toward a bathroom in the rear of the building, duck-footed, clutching his stomach.
“Make sure you close the door and turn on the ventilator,” said the man with the Bugs Bunny tattoo.
“That isn’t funny, Mickey,” Pierre said.
“Sorry, sir.”
It was Clete Purcel who seemed to reveal a side that no one had ever seen in him. “I can’t take this, Dave. I’d thought I’d be up to it, but I’m not. I got to sit down.”
“Act with some dignity, Mr. Purcel,” Pierre said.
“It’s my chest. I’ve got some lead in there. I think it’s next to my heart. I need a chair. I can’t stand up.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Varina said.
Clete gagged and spat blood on his hand. “I’m going to hit the deck if I don’t sit down.”
“Get him a chair,” Alexis said.
“Don’t get near him! Don’t trust this man!” Varina said.
Clete swayed from side to side, then fell against the wall. Mickey held him up and slapped his cheek. “Hang on, big man,” he said. “You were in the Crotch, right? Time to man up.”
Clete bent over, his hands on his thighs, as though about to be sick. “I’m going down, Dave. You’ll be on your own. I’m sorry,” he said.
He crumpled to one knee, his shirt splitting down his spine, his love-handles hanging over his belt, his giant buttocks spreading like an elephant’s.
“This man is pitiful,” Alexis said.
“I didn’t sign on for this,” Clete replied, shaking his head.
“This is the legendary New Orleans badass who capped our guys in the shootout on the bayou?” Mickey said. “What a joke.”
With his left hand, Clete pulled his trouser leg up and unsnapped the KA-BAR strapped on his calf. He pulled the blade from its scabbard. “Chug on this, bubba,” he said.
