Cajun Fried Felony Page 20

  “Uh-huh. And just how many times were you at the Swamp Bar before that you have to compare?”

  Crap. I’d forgotten that most of our forays into investigation that led to the Swamp Bar were supposed to be a secret. “Oh, you know,” I said vaguely.

  “I’m afraid I do.”

  “Any word on the motorcycle gang angle?” I asked, changing the subject. I expected him to tell me he couldn’t talk about an ongoing investigation, but he surprised me.

  “Yes. The front desk clerk at the motel remembered Starlight being there back in May, so I called a buddy with the New Orleans police to see if he knew anything about Catfish and his club. Boy, were we both surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my buddy is in charge of a task force that’s trying to take the club down for drug trafficking. Venus had been busted for dealing in the French Quarter and agreed to flip for them in return for having her charges dropped. She was supposed to give them information on suppliers and dates and times of deliveries.”

  “I take it she didn’t.”

  “No. She disappeared from New Orleans after another informant was killed. That’s when she appeared in Sinful.”

  “So why didn’t the cops look for her here?”

  “He called Percy. Said a woman answered claiming she was a cousin living with him and that they hadn’t seen Venus since she left the first time, nor had they heard from her.”

  “Venus. She’s a quick thinker. But why didn’t he think to check it out in person?”

  “He figured if Venus was alive, she’d be contacting them to get her somewhere safe. I get the impression they were concentrating more on finding a dead body than a live one.”

  “Well, they’ve got one now. And I guess now we know what Catfish had Starlight looking for—evidence that Venus had collected on them. But if they packed up all her stuff, I’m assuming they went through it then. Why risk showing up now?”

  Carter blew out a breath. “Yeah, the luggage in the trunk of the car is where things get weird.”

  “I agree. If Catfish was looking for notes or a USB or something, he would have taken the luggage with him and gone over it with a fine-tooth comb. And if we assume they didn’t break into Percy’s house that night to pack things up, that means they had to keep the car until the next day to put the luggage in it. Which meant sending the car over that overhang during the day. That’s so many levels of risky.”

  “Risky or just plain stupid. My buddy says the gang has a steady, high-income business, and they think they’ve been at it a while. That doesn’t say sloppy or stupid to me.”

  “I don’t get this. I don’t get it at all.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  We disconnected and I headed back into the bar. Despite the late hour, spirits were still lively and the drink orders were flowing in. Unfortunately, that meant the crowd was getting drunker and louder and I was beginning to worry that we might have an incident before the night was over.

  That incident happened at 1:00 a.m.

  Chapter Nineteen

  For once, Gertie didn’t start it. Ida Belle and I agreed that we might never get to make that statement again, but in this case it was true. However, that does not mean she didn’t end up in the fat middle of it. It started innocently enough, with two of the regulars fighting over which one should get to spend the night with the token blonde at their table—the guy who was married to her or the guy she was cheating with.

  I really wanted time to process that situation, especially given that the two men had been drinking together with the blonde all night and the cheating thing was a known fact, but I didn’t have time to ask any pertinent questions because the fight started.

  The blonde was the first casualty, but I had to admit I didn’t really feel sorry for her. She kind of had it coming. Her boyfriend jumped up and flipped the table over, sending beer flying onto at least a dozen people. That prompted the husband and the patrons now doused in beer to also stand. I figured I would give the husband time to get in at least one good punch, because really, he needed to do something about the situation, but he didn’t do as well as I’d hoped. First off, he’d been drinking for hours and was so wobbly that when he finally drew his arm back, he stretched it back to Mexico. If the boyfriend didn’t see it coming, he was so drunk he was blind.

  Oddly enough, he didn’t see it coming.

  But since the husband was sloppy drunk, it didn’t connect with the boyfriend’s face, which is what I assumed he was going for. As he swung his arm forward, he lost his balance and fell, striking the boyfriend right in the crotch. The boyfriend, who’d been mourning the loss of the table of beer, doubled over, banging his forehead right against the blonde, who flipped over backward in her chair and right into a table occupied by a group of women who looked like cage fighters and had just received a fresh round of shots.

  The women all stood and stared down at the blonde as if she had personally started all the drama, and in a way, she had. In the meantime, the boyfriend stood back up, but the husband cocked another slugger and managed to get a shot right to his jaw. The boyfriend staggered backward and I had to give him points for not falling. Then I realized that the rest of the bar was about two seconds from erupting into a mass fight and I had to get back to the bar-running business instead of acting like an observer.

  I yelled over at Ida Belle, who was at the other end of the bar. “Toss a bottled water above those idiots.”

  Ida Belle grinned, grabbed a bottled water, and flung it directly over the head of the warring husband and boyfriend. I pulled out my nine and shot it, sending a blast of sound through the bar and a shower of water over the people under the bottle. It had the desired effect. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Even the DJ turned off the music.

  “I’m sure most of you know by now that I was a CIA agent,” I said. “Anyone want to guess at my job with the agency? If you continue fighting in this bar, the next thing she flings for me to shoot will be made of glass.”

  I must have sounded impressive because everyone was still and quiet for several seconds, as if weighing their options. Then the husband waved one arm in the air.

  “Then we’ll take it outside,” he said, and the other patrons started to clap. Half the bar stood up and headed outside.

  Ida Belle looked over at me. “I don’t know whether to care or not.”

  “Your SUV is parked outside,” I said.

  She frowned and pulled her keys out of her pocket. “Maybe I’ll just move it to the far side of the building.”

  I looked over at Misty, who was putting some dirty shot glasses into the sink and didn’t seem remotely concerned. “How would Whiskey handle this?”

  She shrugged. “As long as they weren’t tearing up the bar or his boat, or shooting, he’d let them sort it out. Nice shot with the water bottle, by the way. Never seen Whiskey do that.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have done it either, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Got their attention,” Misty said. “Anyway, I need another round of shots for the table that Blondie fell into. Told them it would be on the house.”

  “I’ll bill the boyfriend for it,” I said. “Since I’m assuming Blondie never pays.”

  Misty rolled her eyes. “Why do you think she got the boyfriend? Her husband only works when he runs out of beer or cable money.”

  I poured up the shots and sent Misty off with her tray, then Ida Belle hurried back in, a worried look on her face. I stiffened a little. If she’d been angry, I would have assumed someone had touched her baby. But worried wasn’t a look Ida Belle wore often and never without reason.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Apparently, the boyfriend came here by boat and the husband is threatening to leave with it in exchange for his cheating wife. The boyfriend said the boat’s worth ten of her and he’d better throw in money for the deal. The husband is headed for the dock.”

  “Crap. The last thing I
need is drunks stealing boats. We’re supposed to be keeping this under control.”

  I motioned to Misty to watch the bar, then headed outside. Gertie was already standing in the parking lot, watching the mob move toward the dock. She was wiping a layer of dust off her face.

  “What happened to you?” I asked.

  “I tried to stop them, but I don’t have my purse,” she said. “I figured I’d throw some gravel from the parking lot. The pebbles didn’t faze them and all the dust blew back in my face. I can’t see crap now.”

  “You couldn’t see crap before,” Ida Belle said. “If the dust came back in your face, then based on wind direction, you threw the gravel directly behind where the action was.”

  “Let’s get this handled,” I said as I started toward the dock. “I don’t want Whiskey’s place shut down because we couldn’t keep some drunks under control.”

  “You don’t think Carter would do that, do you?” Gertie asked, bumping into me as she hurried to catch up.

  “If it becomes a crime scene, he wouldn’t have a choice,” Ida Belle said. “And those two are stupid enough to get someone killed.”

  “I should have stopped serving them earlier,” I said.

  “If you were serving based on the ability to avoid doing stupid stuff, you wouldn’t have served ninety percent of the customers when they first walked in,” Ida Belle said.

  “She’s right,” Gertie said. “One of my customers drove his lawn mower here because he had his license suspended. Guess he knew that George Jones story.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Country singer,” Ida Belle said. “I’ll explain later.”

  We reached the dock and spotted the husband and boyfriend arguing in a bass boat. They were only at the yelling point right now, but I had no doubt the blows were coming. And given that both were so drunk they couldn’t even shout without losing their balance, I had no doubt a punch would send either into the bayou. No way was I fishing a drunk out of an alligator-infested bayou. There were limits to what bartenders should be required to do.

  The wife was standing on the dock, yelling at the two men in the boat that she wasn’t going home with either of them. Then as we walked up, she laid the real bit of news on them. She was leaving town with her husband’s twenty-year-old nephew. She whirled around to walk away and the husband lunged for her at the same time, knocking the boyfriend into the bayou.

  Unfortunately, his grab missed the mark. And got Gertie instead.

  The husband was so drunk he didn’t even realize he’d grabbed the wrong woman. He hauled Gertie into the boat, started it up and took off, one arm wrapped around her waist. Gertie was at a serious disadvantage. Her glasses, which were mostly useless anyway, had flown off when she was yanked into the boat. Her eyes were probably still full of dirt and there was only moonlight to see by, which must have made the dash in the boat all that more frightening. Without her purse in tow, and since screaming wasn’t doing any good, Gertie resorted to the only weapon she had.

  She bit him.

  The husband yelled and yanked the steering wheel on the boat hard to the left, which sent him careening straight for the dock. I pulled out my pistol and the crowd started to cheer.

  “Shoot him. I never liked him!”

  “Save me the trouble of a divorce!”

  “Don’t hit the old lady! She’s cool!”

  As the boat rushed toward the dock, I leveled my pistol, hoping to get a shot at the engine and stop the boat’s progress. The husband, finally realizing he was headed straight for a solid object, turned the wheel but didn’t let off the gas. Drunk people are not good at multitasking. The turn put the dock out of the boat’s path, but now it was headed directly for the boat ramp, and the engine was completely out of my line of sight. I shoved through the crowd, trying to get my sight line back, but couldn’t manage it in time.

  The boat struck the ramp and continued up it as if it were performing at one of those extreme shows where people on mopeds jump tractors and stuff. It was carrying so much speed that when it reached the top of the ramp, it got airborne. I heard Ida Belle gasp as the boat left the ground, and we both took off running.

  The boat flew off the ramp at an alarming rate of speed and height, but at least managed to stay right side up. Finally, it crashed into the back of a pickup truck, the bow running clean through the cab. Ida Belle and I dashed up to the crash site and climbed onto the truck, praying that Gertie had hit the deck. We spotted her in a heap in the bottom of the boat and my heart caught in my throat as I jumped inside.

  “Gertie!” I yelled as I reached to check for a pulse. “Are you all right?”

  “Good God, stop hollering,” Gertie said as she rolled over. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure?” I asked. “Can you move everything? Nothing broken?”

  She sat up and moved her limbs around. “Everything seems to be good but boy, I bet I’m going to be limping around tomorrow.”

  “What about your head? Is it okay?”

  “Loaded question,” Ida Belle said.

  Gertie gave her the finger and Ida Belle grinned.

  “She’s okay,” Ida Belle said and helped me get Gertie to her feet.

  Unfortunately, her outfit had not fared as well. Sexy chief had become X-rated chief.

  Ida Belle’s eyes widened. “Good Lord, woman. You’re flashing the entire bar!”

  “Just part of the bar,” one of the patrons said. “She’s not bad for an old broad.”

  I grabbed a life jacket that had fallen out of a storage box and pulled it over her head, covering her misdemeanors. Some of the crowd started to boo and I made a note to check and see exactly what was in the shots we’d been serving.

  The husband crawled out of the cab and stood up, not a scratch on him and all his clothes intact. He surveyed the damaged, then his expression went from somewhat impressed to dismayed.

  “This is my truck!” he yelled.

  “Serves you right,” I said as Ida Belle and I helped Gertie down from the truck.

  “He totaled my boat,” the boyfriend said. “You gonna do something about that?”

  “Darn right I am,” I said. “I’m calling the cops on both of you.”

  “Go ahead,” the boyfriend said. “The cops don’t bother much with things out here.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Didn’t I mention that I’m dating Deputy LeBlanc?”

  Both the husband and boyfriend looked as if I’d shot them, and I almost wished I had.

  “Get her inside,” I said to Ida Belle. “And find her something to wear—even a tablecloth will do. As for the rest of you, the bar’s closed. I’ve had quite enough fun for the night. And if you want this place to remain open, you might consider keeping things more civil because I’m not Whiskey. Understand?”

  There was a lot of grumbling and shuffling of feet, but everyone started to walk away. There was even more grumbling by the patrons inside when they found out the idiots outside had shut down their evening a bit early.

  “It’s only an hour,” I said. They grumbled some more but no one made an active protest.

  “They’re scared you’re going to pull out your pistol again,” Misty said.

  “They should be,” Ida Belle said.

  “I’m sorry to cut your night short,” I said to Misty and Chloe.

  They both smiled and Chloe shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said. “I’ve made a ton tonight and I’m dog-tired anyway. They really kept us running.”

  Misty nodded. “You did a really good job. If that gunslinging thing doesn’t work out, you should look into opening a bar.”

  The thought dismayed me so much I couldn’t even respond. Just waved my hand and headed for the cash register to collect the take for the night. I’d already told Whiskey I’d take the money home with me and get it to the bank the next morning.

  “I present Toga Turkey,” Ida Belle said and waved her hands at Gertie, who was now sporting a tablecloth wrapped around her.
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  Gertie sighed. “Looks like I ended up being a pilgrim anyway.”

  “You’re lucky you weren’t the Headless Horseman,” I said. “And your right elbow looks swollen. Are you sure it’s all right?”

  She moved her arm up, extended it, then bent it back in. It didn’t go all the way easily. “I guess it’s a little stiff. But nothing’s broken.”

  “Then let’s get this place closed up and get out of here so you can ice that thing. And I’m afraid you can’t hit the sheets yet. Emergency meeting at my house about my phone call earlier with Carter.”

  They both perked up and along with Misty and Chloe, we set about putting the bar straight, then we all headed out. At my house, I popped leftover lasagna in the oven to reheat, served up some beers, and got Gertie an ice pack and some aspirin.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving,” I said. “And I ate two turkey sandwiches before I left tonight.”

  They both nodded.

  “I had no idea you worked off that much energy tending bar,” Gertie said.

  “You probably don’t at regular bars,” Ida Belle said. “But waiting tables at the Swamp Bar means serving, negotiating guys trying to slap your butt, and playing bouncer. It’s a lot to cover.”

  “Guys tried to slap your butt?” Gertie asked, looking somewhat confused and a little dismayed. I assumed the dismayed part was because she hadn’t been pursued by the butt-slapping crowd herself.

  “A couple did,” Ida Belle said. “But a quick twist to the wrist had them both keeping their hands to themselves the rest of the night.”

  “No one tried to slap my butt,” Gertie grumbled.

  “How would you know?” Ida Belle asked. “That outfit is so tight your butt probably went to sleep on the ride over there. You probably won’t feel anything in it until Christmas.”

  “Possibly true,” Gertie said. “Hey, you don’t have another ice pack that I could sit on, do you? Just in case it was injured in my boat ride and I can’t feel it?”

  I grabbed a pack of frozen peas from the fridge and tossed them to her. “Use these. I’m not going to eat them.”