David Robbins - New Orleans Run

“Maylene knows I do what I must for the security of my family.”

“Ahhh. So that’s it. You became a member of the Society for the benefit of your loved ones. Men will often compromise their ideals if it means the ones they care for will be happier,” Blade stated.

Jacques features became rigid for a bit. “I think I see what you are trying to do, giant one, and I’m not amused. You will be so kind as to keep your mouth shut for the rest of the trip unless you’re spoken to. Is this understood?”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No, but you are trying to put dangerous thoughts in my head. You are very clever, mon ami . You manipulate the minds of others to your advantage, and unless they are very smart they have no idea what has been done to them.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Jacques insisted testily. “Now keep your mouth shut or we will shut it for you.”

Blade shrugged and resigned himself to spending the rest of the journey in silence. Actually, it didn’t matter. The nylon cord was now loose enough to be shed with a sharp motion, so all he had to do was bide his time. He used the trip to rest and gird himself for the coming battle. After all he had learned about the Black Snake Society, he rated them as one of the worst postwar despotic groups. The tyranny must be brought to an end and he was just the man to do it.

Slowly the time passed. The sun sank to just above the western horizon and the air became cool due to a brisk breeze blowing from the northwest.

The drone of the outboard motors kept most of the wildlife away from the boats, although once an alligator 18 feet in length approached to within ten yards of the lead craft before sharply turning aside.

A large island appeared approximately a half mile ahead.

Blade noted an expansive compound situated at the center of the southern shoreline, almost at the water’s edge, a compound surrounded by stone walls 20 feet high. The Baron’s estate, he conjectured, and noticed the three boats were angling toward a pier jutting into the bayou from near an iron gate positioned in the middle of the south wall.

A dozen other boats were already docked at the pier. Many guards, tonton macoutes armed with automatic weapons, were posted on the pier or walked on the rampart at the top of the wall.

The sight of so many enemies sparked Blade into action. He couldn’t let them get him inside. His eyes strayed to his Bowies, still tucked under Jacques’s belt, and he opted to make his move. With a surge of his powerful shoulders he tore his wrists from the cord and lunged, wrapping his arms around Jacques before the stunned magician could employ a weapon. Together they toppled into the snake- and gator-infested swamp.

Cottonmouth!

Lynx knew enough about snakes to recognize one of the deadliest species on the North American continent. He froze, his breath catching in his throat, fearing that the slightest move could provoke a strike. And once those venomous fangs sank into his flesh, once the poison began to circulate in his bloodstream, he might as well start digging his own grave.

The snake did not seem to be in any great hurry. Its head rose several inches, its tongue flicking constantly.

Lynx had to consciously suppress a shudder. He was tempted to try and kick the reptile as far as he could, but he stood perfectly still and waited for the viper to move on.

The conversation among the tonton macoutes continued.

“Suit yourselves,” the man named Jacques said. “You are probably right to stay. The Baron would be extremely displeased if we abandoned one of our own without probable cause. Get in, Dieneces.”

Lynx listened inattentively, his eyes on the cottonmouth. Come on, move! he almost roared. He couldn’t understand why the stupid snake was just resting there on his feet. The odor should be sufficient to drive the reptile into the weeds! His warm, sweaty feet! Lynx stared at the conspicuous pits on both sides of the wicked-looking head, knowing they were the heat-sensitive means by which the viper located warm-blooded prey. The snake must be aware of his presence. Why hadn’t it bitten him?

He concluded the reptile had been moving through the weeds and slithered onto the trail and his feet before it quite realized what was happening. Now the blasted serpent was just lying there, trying to make up its pea-sized mind whether to keep going or attack.

Which figured.

Why did these things always happen to him?

He liked a little excitement as much as the next guy— no, he liked excitement a hell of a lot more than the next guy; he craved excitement, thrived on it— but this was ridiculous.

From up ahead came the voice of Jacques. “Didn’t you hear me? Get in the damn boat, man.”

Lynx almost hissed in frustration. Great! The tonton macoutes were preparing to leave and he was stuck where he stood, unable to move because of a tootsie-lovin’ snake.

“Sit in the middle.”

What should he do? To be thwarted by a measly serpent galled Lynx intensely, and his anger fought with his innate dread of all snakes for supremacy. If he didn’t do something soon, he’d be up a creek without a paddle. Or was that up a bayou without a boat? Unless the pair who were staying had one.

“Not you two! Only one of you to a boat. There is less chance of you giving us trouble.”

Lynx deduced the man must be referring to Ferret and Gremlin. He recalled the name mentioned a minute ago and his brow furrowed in perplexity. Who the heck was Dieneces?

Suddenly the cottonmouth moved.

Lynx grinned when he felt the reptile’s scales sliding across his toes, and he glanced down, craning his neck to see over Eleanore’s unconscious form, expecting to see the snake on its way to parts unknown.

Instead, the cottonmouth was wrapping itself around his right ankle.

Just when he thought his predicament couldn’t possibly; get any worse!

Lynx scowled and watched the serpent make itself right at home, coiling around his leg until its entire length, except for the head resting on the top of his foot and the tip of tail dangling from the rear, was looped about his ankle. Mentally he vented a dozen oaths.

“You don’t took very happy, mon ami .”

“It’s all this air pollution.”

“Beg pardon?”

“When was the last time you took a bath?” Lynx smiled at the giant’s quip, but the smile died on his lips a moment later when the snake began rubbing its snout against his foot. Now what?

Fascinated, Lynx stared at the reptile until it stopped and lifted its head four or five inches to gaze around. An idea occurred to him and he slowly eased his chest lower. Since he was already bent over at the waist, his hands were within half a foot of the serpent’s noodle. If he could just ease down—

The roar of outboard motors being started shattered the stillness of the swamp, and the noise rose in volume as the motors were revved.

Lynx glanced toward the water. The weeds screened the shore, hiding the boats from view. He listened in mounting chagrin to the motors as the craft headed eastward. If he didn’t get his butt in gear, he’d lose them.

Uncharacteristically anxious, he resumed lowering his hands toward the cottonmouth. In another minute, if the snake didn’t move, he’d teach the reptile to mess with his tootsies.

At the raucous sound of the outboards the serpent had elevated its head another inch.

Smirking at his impending victory, Lynx had to crane his head farther to keep his eyes on the unwanted hitchhiker.

The cottonmouth, oblivious to the danger, stared eastward, tongue flicking.

Got you now, you suck-egg slimebucket! Lynx thought and paused with his right hand within three inches of the reptile’s head. He tensed to make the final lunge.