out, she stood and put her finger to my lips. Then she took my hand and led me through the blue door. She didn’t stop in the kitchen, but walked me down the hall to the door of my bedroom. There she stood on tiptoe and gave me a long, gentle kiss. The resentment that kept me from making love with her two nights ago still simmered somewhere within me, but I’d been through too much in the intervening time to worry about who was right or wrong about anything. Desire rose in me with primal intensity, and Caitlin responded with passion bordering on violence. As our clothes fell around us, she turned and splayed both hands against the wall, then thrust her hips back against me. I stood back for a moment, enthralled by the black mane of hair falling over her shoulder blades.
”
Chapter 35
I’m sitting in the Center City Grill, a microcosm of New Orleans located at the geographical center of downtown Natchez. Center City has a brick courtyard, wrought-iron tables, lush ferns, a fountain, a good bar, and well-traveled owners of some cultivation, as the local euphemism goes. Seated across the table from me is Jaderious Huntley. The snitch is wearing black sweatpants and a dirty T-shirt, and he looks about as twitchy as a junkie waiting for his next fix.
This morning, Jaderious called me to say that Stoney Washington was willing to talk to me about Cyrus, but only face-to-face. That smelled like a trap to me, so I said the meeting would have to happen at a public place of my choosing. Jaderious put this to Stoney, who reluctantly agreed. I chose Center City Grill because it’s always busy at lunch, and also because Jaderious and Stoney are unlikely to run into anyone who would recognize them here.
”Why didn’t Stoney come with you?“ I ask.
Jaderious looks anxiously at the nearby tables. They’re filled, but nobody’s paying attention to us. ”Stoney don’t want to be seen with me. Bad for his health. Don’t worry, he’ll be here.“
My cell phone vibrates. It’s Caitlin, calling from the newspaper office. I’ll call her back after the meeting. I can’t relax my vigilance with Jaderious for even a moment. He looks like he’d bolt if a waitress dropped a tray.
”What you gonna do if you find Cyrus?“ he asks.
”Talk to him.“
Jaderious shakes his head. ”You crazy. You want to stay
”Forget it. After this, you might be free of me, but you’re staying for this meeting. You have to make sure I’m talking to the right guy.“
Jaderious freezes, his eyes fixed on something behind me.
I turn and glance at the main entrance of the restaurant. To get in or out of Center City, patrons walk through a long courtyard lined with wrought-iron tables, then pass through a door with windows set in it. Right now, a black man of about twenty with a red rag tied on his head is standing outside that door, surveying the tables inside.
”Is that Stoney?“ I ask.
Jaderious’s chair screeches on the floor.
I whirl and grab his arm before he can run. Jaderious is half out of his seat with terror. I grab his arm and hold him tight. ”Who is that?“
”One of Cyrus’s guys! I gotta get out of here!“
”Okay. Just stay calm. He won’t do anything while we’re sitting with all these people. I can have cops here in two minutes.“
Jaderious looks at me like I’m insane. ”Man, he’ll shoot
I look toward the kitchen. There’s probably an exit there, but I’ve never seen it. There is, however, a small door in the back wall of the main dining room that leads to an alley. On busy days, I’ve sometimes parked in that alley and entered the restaurant that way.
”What’s he doing now?“ I ask.
”Looking straight at me,“ Jaderious whispers. ”I’m dead, man. Aw,
”There’s a back way out. A door in the wall almost directly behind you, about thirty feet away.“
”He’s coming in, man!“
I rise and pull Jaderious to his feet. As I lead him between the tables toward the door, I reach into my jacket pocket for my cell phone.
”You got a gun?“ Jaderious asks.
”Yes. Tell me if he pulls his.“ I pull out my cell phone and dial 911.
A female voice says, ”911 emergency.“
”This is Penn Cage,“ I say quietly. ”There’s about to be a shooting at the Center City Grill. Get some squad cars here as fast as possible. Call Chief Logan and tell him what I said.“
We’re almost at the door. I pocket the phone and grip the butt of Dad’s Browning. ”You open it,“ I tell Jaderious.
He does.
It’s one of my mother’s friends. I smile at her, then slip through the door and pull it shut after me.
Jaderious is already sprinting toward Main Street.
”Wait!“ I yell.
”Fuck that shit!“
I charge after him. He’s younger than I am, but I’m betting a junkie’s wind won’t last long. Jaderious slows down to slip around a work van blocking the alley. I speed up, hoping to finesse the gap between the van and the wall at high speed. As I twist my body, someone leans out of the van’s side door and slams a fist into my chest.
The breath explodes from my lungs. As I tumble forward, the man who hit me catches me under the arms and drags me inside the van. He throws me onto the metal floor, steps on my chest, and jerks my gun from my jacket. While he slides the side door shut, the engine roars to life, and the van races up the alley-away from Jaderious.
When the foot leaves my chest, I see that I’m lying in an open space with power tools all around me. My assailant, an enormous black man wearing a purple Alcorn Braves football jersey, is sitting on a homemade bench that runs the length of the van’s cargo area. The van lurches to the right, onto Franklin Street, then left again.
”Hello, Mr. Cage,“ says a deep voice from behind my head.
I tilt my head back.
A heavily muscled black man is sitting against the bulkhead of the van. He has a bald head and dark, penetrating eyes. A solitary gold chain adorns his neck.
”Cyrus?“ I ask.
The bald man grins. ”Oh, yeah.“ He looks back at his compatriot. ”Hold him down, Blue.“
The mountain of a man who hit me rises into a crouch and plants what must be a size-16 Nike running shoe in the center of my chest again.
”I stomp on your heart,“ he says, ”you’ll be dead. So don’t do nothing.“
”I won’t.“
A strange and powerful hissing sound comes from behind my head. Filled with unreasoning panic, I jerk my head back again. Cyrus is holding a small blowtorch in his hand.
Cyrus belly-laughs at my terror. The man called Blue just shakes his head. I’m trying to think of a way to bribe Cyrus when he picks up a stainless-steel spoon from the bench and holds the flame of the blowtorch to its bottom. He smiles as he watches the spoon, then kills the flame and sets the spoon on the bench. A white blister pack like those in my father’s medical bag appears in his hand. Cyrus rips it open and removes a syringe. Then he draws
