James Born - Burn Zone

He had matured in the past two days. He was no longer interested in cheap sex with unknown men. He had a purpose, an important role to play. He was going to deliver the package to Houston and then see if it worked.

He pulled on a pair of jeans, realizing he was sore in other places besides his head.

He peeked out the curtain to check the truck, parked right outside. He leaned in close and looked as far down the hallway as possible and saw an older maid talking to someone. He could just see the man's head as it bobbed slightly as he spoke to the woman.

Then he felt a chill as he realized it was Pelly.

Back in the old Bronco, Duarte kept his voice flat. "Anything you want to talk about, Félix?"

"No. Why, bro?"

"You were a little rough on the manager in there."

"That douche bag? He deserved it. Talkin' to us like a couple of wetbacks working in his garage. Besides, aren't you the one who thinks this truck is a lead in Gastlin's murder?"

"Maybe or maybe more."

"Besides we scared that asshole so much, thinking we were dopers, he'll never mention our visit to no one."

"Wish he woulda told us more."

"Hey, a hairy caveman rented the truck without ID for an extra five hundred bucks. That sounds like our man."

Duarte said, "We'll see if we can put it out for all cops to look for."

"For what reason? We need a little more info."

Duarte considered this and realized he couldn't answer why he was looking for the Ryder van other than he had a feeling. He looked at Félix and said, "We may have another lead."

"Where's that?"

"The head of this National Army of White Americans."

Félix looked at him. "The NAWA?"

"I know it sounds stupid."

"How do you know the leader?"

He held up the address book he had taken from William Floyd's apartment. "Floyd has his name and address in here. We can verify it with one of the analysts."

"What's this redneck's name and where does he live?"

"His name is Forrest Jessup, and he lives in Biloxi. That's less than an hour from New Orleans. What if we pay him a visit?"

"Sounds good, bro."

Duarte said, "But first let's just check that van at the Cajun Inn to be on the safe side."

Pelly checked the outside of the parked rental truck, then stepped up onto the truck's running board and peeked into the cab. There was nothing that identified it as the one they had rented for Ike, but it sure looked like the same one and was only two miles from where they had rented the step van. He hoped Ike had more sense than to stay in Lafayette, but he wouldn't be surprised if the moron had just driven here and stayed.

He looked down the row of doors facing the highway. The parking lot was empty except for the truck and two rented Dodges parked next to each other in front of rooms five and six. An elderly black woman pushed a cart in front of room four and stopped, then used a passkey to go inside, wedging the door open.

Pelly touched the Beretta tucked into his belt under his loose shirt and started to the open room. As he got there, the maid stepped out into the breezeway.

She gave a visible jump when she saw him. He didn't know if it was just his quiet approach that startled her or his appearance.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a friend."

The woman eyed him carefully.

He held out a twenty-dollar bill.

She snatched it and said, "Who dat?"

"Excuse?"

"Who you lookin' for?" She kept her eyes on his face like he fascinated her.

"He drive the van?" Pelly pointed.

"Room one. Big white man."

Pelly smiled and nodded.

Then she surprised him by slowly raising her hand and touching the hair on the side of his face. He had not shaved since the night before, and it was grown in almost to his eyeballs.

The maid smiled and slipped back into the room, this time closing the door because she apparently had been through this drill before.

Pelly started down the breezeway to the room.

William "Ike" Floyd had no idea what to do or what Pelly would do when he found him. He had seven rounds of the light.380 ammo in the single clip he had reloaded after he had killed Craig and the girl. He didn't think he'd stand a chance against Pelly.

On the other hand, he had seen the furry assistant to Mr. Ortíz be very reasonable on some issues.

He quickly gathered his few belongings and pulled on his T-shirt. He decided to tell the truth and see what happened.

He pulled open the door like he didn't know Pelly was even in the area.

Before he could step out the door, the scary-looking young man was in front of him.

Ike kept cool. "Hey, Pelly, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you that, too."

"Too tired to drive. I was just leaving right now."

Pelly looked over Ike's wide shoulder into the room, then back at his face. He seemed to be weighing his options, his hand resting at his belt buckle. Ike knew why.

Finally, Pelly said, "You know the boss would kill you if he found you still here."

"Why? I got three days till they need me in Houston."

Pelly nodded. "I know, I know." He seemed to relax. "You must leave ahora. Uh, now. The boss won't find out."

Ike let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Thanks, man. I owe you one."

He hurried up into the cab and let Pelly help direct him from the tight spot. He intended to get right on the road and be in Houston in a few hours. Then he'd worry about food and anything else he needed.

Pelly saw the big Ryder step van drive away and start in the wrong direction until Ike had to pull a U-turn and head up toward I-10. Pelly wasn't sure he'd used the best judgment as far as Colonel Staub's plans went, but he had made a good business decision. There were already too many bodies in this little town, and they had not even delivered the package yet.

His concern now was that the ATF man would return. He knew from the guy's past behavior that he would be back to check the van and probably the registration to the room. Pelly considered his options.

He could wait and shoot it out with him. He had seen Duarte in action and didn't necessarily want to risk that confrontation. He could forget it and head back to New Orleans, but that just put one problem off until later. Then he remembered the old army surplus grenades they had taken from the fat mechanic. He knew he'd find a purpose for the old ordnance. But this would have to work out perfectly.

The door to Ike's room was still open. He looked into the small room with its messy bed and noticed a back door. He walked through and saw that the old, creaky door opened onto a dilapidated tiny patio with thousands of cigarette butts in the grass surrounding the concrete. Pelly looked down the wall and saw that each patio was in the same shape. This was how they considered the room "nonsmoking."

He hustled back to his car and popped the trunk, grabbing two of the old grenades. Inside the apartment, he shut the front door and cut the strings to the curtains. He took another look outside and saw a communal gas grill in the rear of the middle room. He checked the area and then walked quickly to the grill. The tank felt like it was about half full. With a little effort, he had the tank loose and was back in the room. He set the tank a few feet behind the door and tied the grenades to the leg of the bed right behind the tank. He straightened the pins so they would slip out easily and then tied his last length of curtain cord through the grenade rings and to the door handle. When someone opened the door, there would be one hell of a blast.

He knew he couldn't just leave with this trap set. He left through the back door and visited his friend the maid again.