David Robbins - New Orleans Run

“I’ll never understand you.”

“There’s not a whole lot to understand. I was created in a laboratory by a madman who brought me into existence for one reason and one reason only.”

“Which was?”

“To kill.”

“Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence descended for all of ten seconds.

“Well, we’d best get our butts in gear,” Lynx proposed, and stood.

“Are you certain you’re up to it? You took quite a beating,” Eleanore said.

“I’m no wimp, lady. A little tussle like that hardly fazes me.”

“Then why are you gritting your teeth and holding your side?”

“Constipation,” Lynx declared.

“I vote we rest until you’ve recovered.”

“This ain’t no democracy.”

“Okay. Then how’s this for a reason, smart guy,” Eleanore snapped.

“Wild boars don’t usually travel alone.”

“They don’t?”

“No, genius. Even the males will band together in small groups for mutual protection.”

Lynx scanned the finest, probing the shadows. “Then there could be more around.”

“Your wife must have married you for your intellect,” Eleanore cracked.

“Okay. Don’t get personal. We’ll rest for a while,” Lynx stated. “Fifteen minutes, maximum.”

“Whatever you say.”

Lynx sat back down, relieved at the opportunity to rest. Truth to tell, he felt like crap. A few minutes of recuperation would do him a world of good. He glanced up at Eleanore and saw her gazing in fearful astonishment over his head at something to the north. Another wild boar!

Lynx deduced, and twisted.

Only it wasn’t another boar.

Thirty feet away, a rifle pressed to his right shoulder, stood one of the men in black.

“If you so much as twitch, monsieur , you are dead,” the burly man stated.

Blade froze. Even his lightning reflexes wouldn’t enable him to evade a bullet at point-blank range. He defiantly returned the hostile stare of the tonton macoute , his right leg suspended in midair. Ferret and Gremlin apparently tried to bring their weapons into play, because the burly man in black barked a warning.

“Try anything and your big friend is fish bait! Comprenez-vous ? Do you understand?”

A few tense moments went by.

“Yeah, we understand, scumsucker,” Ferret snapped.

“Then you will lower your assault rifles to the ground and raise your hands.”

Blade heard the dull clatter as the pair of AR-15’s fell to the turf.

“You are sensible… things,” the man said, smirking. He puckered his thick lips and vented a piercing whistle.

“Calling the other dogs?” Blade baited him.

“Your insults are wasted on me, monsieur . Save your breath,” the man stated, and repeated the whistle.

Footsteps sounded, coming around both sides of the cabin.

Out of the corners of his eyes Blade glimpsed more members of the voodoo sect coming to their companion’s aid. He chided himself for being the champion idiot of the Western Hemisphere. How could he have blundered into their trap so easily? He must be slipping.

“I’ll be damned!” a newcomer declared. “Now I owe that strutting peacock Francois an apology. His plan worked.”

Blade tensed when hands and arms came into view and disarmed him, taking the Thompson and both Bowies. His backpack was also removed.

Once all the giant’s weapons were taken, the man in the doorway grinned. “You can set your leg down now and step back.”

Frowning at his stupidity, Blade moved rearward a few feet and turned.

Six tonton macoutes had their guns trained on the hybrids. One of the men in black had the Thompson over a shoulder. Another man, the one nearest to Blade, the one with the Bowies tucked under his belt, the same one who had made the comment about the peacock, grinned at the Warrior.

“Hey, man. Do you have any idea how embarrassed I will be?”

Blade said nothing. He noticed the cult member spoke with an unusual accent. The word “man” came out as “mon.”

“That Francois will never let me hear the end of it,” the guy said.

Still Blade kept silent.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, man?” The talkative fellow studied the giant for a bit, then smiled. “Oh, Maybe I should introduce myself. My friends all call me Jacques.”

“Do you mind if I refer to you as Airhead?” Blade finally spoke up.

“Whoa! A hardass. I like that,” Jacques said, and laughed. “You should be fun at the ceremony.”

“What ceremony?”

Jacques leaned toward the Warrior and smirked. “That’s for me to know, man, and for you to find out about the hard way.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“Let’s quit playing around with this bastard and take off,” the burly man in the doorway suggested? “If we hurry we can catch Francois.”

“Can’t wait to get your nose brown, eh?” Jacques said.

The burly man emerged from the cabin. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Why not? Everybody knows Francois and you are best buddies,” Jacques stated, stressing the last two words sarcastically.

“I warn you—” the burly man began.

Jacques swung the Uzi he held in a short arc and pointed the barrel at the other man. “Don’t threaten me, Pierre. Don’t ever threaten me. I’m the sergeant here, not you. And I say we will catch the good captain when we catch him. Comprenez-vous ?”

Pierre’s lips twitched but he made no move to employ his weapon. “ Je comprends .”

“Good,” Jacques growled, and slowly lowered the Uzi. “Now you will be so kind as to tie our prisoners so we can get going.”

Blade had observed the confrontation with interest. Friction in an enemy camp could sometimes be turned to an advantage. He frowned as Pierre stepped up to him. “What if I give my word to be a good little boy?”

“Please, man,” Jacques said. “Don’t be insulting my intelligence. You’ll try to escape the first chance you get.”

The Warrior shrugged. “It never hurts to try.”

Pierre pulled a black nylon cord from his right front pocket. “Hold out your hands,” he snapped.

Reluctantly, well aware of the guns leveled in his direction, Blade complied. In a minute his wrists were securely bound.

“There,” Pierre said, and stepped back. “That should hold you.” He moved over to Ferret.

Blade looked at the man called Jacques. “Did I hear correctly? Are you a sergeant?”

“I sure am.”

“Then the tonton macoutes is a military organization? I was told that you considered yourselves magicians.”

“And where did you hear that bit of news, man?”

“From someone you probably know. Henri Pétion.”

The mention of the dead man’s name caused all of the men in black to glance at the giant.

“Henri is missing,” Jacques stated. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”

“As a matter of fact I do. He should be halfway digested by now,” Blade disclosed.

Jacques’s bafflement showed. “Pardon?”

“Henri is history. He was swallowed by a huge snake,” Blade told them, and was immediately surprised by their reactions. Every man appeared stunned and they exchanged startled glances.

“What do you mean, man?” Jacques asked harshly.

“Just what I said. Pétion was eaten by an enormous black snake about forty feet long. He let the thing come right up to him. Even talked to it. Talk about nut cases.”

Jacques swallowed and moved closer to the Warrior. “Did he call this snake by name?”

“Yeah. He kept calling it Damballah.”

“Liar!” Pierre suddenly exploded. He aimed his submachine gun at the giant’s chest. “You rotten liar! You’ll die for your blasphemy!”