“Yippee-ki-yay mother ducker,” Rosemarie said.
“Mother ducker?” Scarlet asked. “What’s a mother ducker?”
“I just didn’t want to expose the baby to bad language in the womb,” she said. “What if she’s a reprobate? What if she robs a 7-Eleven? What if she’s like Harley Quinn?”
I let them argue it out and called Savage.
“What’s up, Double Tap?” Savage asked.
“Very funny,” I said. “I’m so glad Kate likes to share our adventures. The blabbermouth.”
“It’s better than television,” he said. “I got that information you wanted on Carmen’s visitor. I’m not sure it’s who you’re expecting.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “It’s Vince.”
“I’m so glad I’m needed,” Savage said dryly.
“I found Vince and he told me,” I said. “But I need some help. How’s that gunshot wound? Are you up for an outing?”
“I’m still doing good to make trips to the bathroom,” he said. “But tell me what you need and I’ll see what I can do.”
I filled him in on everything—from what I’d learned from Angelica to what Vince had told me and everything in between.
“And now we’re all headed to Whiskey Bayou to the storage building,” I said. “Vince is in the trunk. Angelica and Vince both said that the guy who took over for the agent in charge who was killed was someone who couldn’t be trusted. Honestly, I don’t know who to trust. Angelica—or Valentina de Salva, whatever you want to call her—manipulated everyone she met. All I know is she got what she wanted. But anyone else who was involved is of no use to her anymore, and she’d have no reason to protect them. But that wouldn’t stop her from stirring up trouble. If she knew my dad had been working the case all these years, anyone corrupt would’ve been fair game. My dad dies and Vince picks up the case a few years later, and then he pokes a sleeping bear by going to visit Carmen.”
“If your dad got proof that any of the FBI agents were corrupt then I can make this an FBI matter,” Savage said. “I can’t be there, but I know a guy who can. I keep meaning to introduce the two of you. He’s taking my place in the Savannah office, and he doesn’t live far from Whiskey Bayou. He’s in Wilmington Island.”
“That would be great,” I said. “The sooner the better. And tell him not to shoot any of us. Just the bad guys. Rosemarie and Scarlet are dressed in camo, so it’s kind of…startling.”
“Again,” Rosemarie said from next to me. “Look at yourself in the mirror.”
“Good luck,” Savage said and hung up.
“Why doesn’t anyone ever say goodbye anymore?” I asked, handing Rosemarie her phone back.
I felt under the front seat and was relieved to find Vince had put an extra weapon under the seat, so at least we wouldn’t be completely unarmed. Then I looked back at Scarlet and remembered the Uzi and brass knuckles.
“Scarlet,” I said. “Are you armed?”
“That depends on whether or not you make me leave my weapons behind again,” she said.
I nodded. “Good,” I said. “Just checking.”
Chapter Seventeen
Whiskey Bayou Storage wasn’t in the most convenient place, which seemed unfortunate considering our current assignment.
I bypassed the main road into town and followed the two-lane S curve that would eventually lead to Tybee Island if I kept driving. It was a desolate stretch of land, marshy in most areas with big trees overtaken by kudzu. There wasn’t another house or business for miles.
I pressed hard on the brakes as another curve snuck up on me, and we all jerked against our seat belts.
“Take it easy,” Scarlet said. “I gotta go to the bathroom. I’m an old lady. I can’t hold it like I used to.”
“Look around and see if there’s a jar or an empty bottle,” Rosemarie said. “Men are always carrying stuff like that in their cars. They can pee anywhere. Lucky ducks.”
“I once saw a man pee while he was skiing down a black diamond,” Scarlet said. “It was very impressive. Doesn’t work the same for women. Don’t ask me how I know that.”
I curled my lip in disgust and tried not to think about it, but all the potty talk made me have to go too, though I didn’t think Vince would appreciate us taking a pit stop while he was being held hostage.
“This road is creepy,” Rosemarie said. “This is some Deliverance shit right here.”
Rosemarie unbuckled her seat belt, and she ducked down in her seat. It looked like I was driving around with a brown thorny shrub in the passenger seat.
“What are you doing?” I asked Rosemarie.
“This is just like the movies,” she said. “We’re driving into sniper territory. You think you’re just driving along, peaceful as can be, and then BOOM! You get a bullet in your forehead and your brains are all over the back seat. I’m just taking precautions.”
“I’m going to move behind you then,” Scarlet said, scooting across the seat. “Seems like it’d be less of a mess.”
I slowed down, not because I was afraid of snipers, but because I didn’t want to accidentally drive right up on them.
The storage facility was very nice by Whiskey Bayou standards. There was an office unit and parking area in front, but since it was past closing time the lot was empty. The storage units were protected by a massive wrought-iron fence with stone pillars between the panels, and there was an intimidating arched gate at the front that said Whiskey Bayou Storage. I knew the gate was locked, but I hung back a couple of minutes, trying to decide the best course of action.
“Maybe they’ll think we’re customers coming to get something out of our unit,” Rosemarie said. “What kind of stuff do people keep in storage units?”
“Cash, weapons, fake IDs…” Scarlet said. “I had a very nice facility in France once that was temperature controlled. I lived there a whole month while a group of nefarious criminals searched
