David Robbins - New Orleans Run

“Why do you keep carping about Lynx, no?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me, yes?”

“I don’t—” Ferret began, then stopped when he heard the drumming of hard soles in the corridor. He spun toward the door. “We have company.”

Gremlin moved over beside his companion. “Do we fight or not, no?”

“We’ll go along with them for the time being. Maybe, if we play our cards right, we can lull these dimwits into lowering their guard long enough for us to make a break for it.”

“Where would we go, yes? We’re in the middle of a swamp, no?”

“Don’t bother me with technicalities. Do I have to do all the thinking for us?”

Before the humanoid could answer, the metallic grating of the bolt being thrown sounded from the far side of the steel door. An instant later a tall tonton macoute stood framed in the doorway. He carried an Uzi, and his sunglasses were hooked into the top pocket on the left side of his shirt.

“Hello,” he greeted them coldly. “I am Captain Francois.”

“Is it time for our supper?” Ferret asked. “We’re starved. Bring on the food.”

“Cute,” Captain Francois said. “Very cute.” He backed into the corridor.

“Now you will be so kind as to step out here with your arms over your head. No tricks or we will slay you where you stand, Comprenez-vous ?”

“What?” Ferret responded.

“Do you understand?”

“What’s not to understand? If we so much as fart, your goons will blow us away,” Ferret stated, and elevated his hands. He stepped into the corridor and discovered eight tonton macoutes standing to his left, their weapons trained on his chest. None of them were wearing their mirrored glasses. “Hi there, guys have you missed us?”

“Enjoy your humor while you can,” Captain Francois said. “Soon you will not have much to laugh at.”

“Promises; promises.”

Gremlin came out of the cell and stopped next to Ferret. “Where are you taking us, yes?”

“The Baron and Majesta want to see you,” Captain Francois divulged.

“They’re very curious about you freaks.”

“Why would they be interested in us when they already have you around?” Ferret cracked.

The officer’s eyes narrowed and he scrutinized Ferret from, head to toe.

“You’ve got a big mouth for such a little turd.”

“The better to rip your throat out with, Grandma, when I get the chance.”

“Which you never will,” Captain Francois assured him mockingly. He motioned at one of the men behind him. “Bind them.”

Under the steady barrels of their captors’ guns, the hybrids were compelled to submit to having their wrists bound with nylon cord once again.

“And now,” Captain Francois said when the chore had been completed, “you will come with us. Be forewarned that if you try to escape, you will be shot. And even if we should, by some fluke, miss you, there is no way you could cross the inner grounds without being nailed by one of the guards on the walls. So I trust you will behave.”

“We don’t intend to commit suicide,” Ferret remarked.

“How nice. It would be a shame to deprive us of such magnificent entertainment.” Captain Francois pivoted and started along the corridor.

Ferret kept silent as the tonton macoutes hemmed Gremlin and him in, with four men in black in front and another quartet bringing up the rear.

He fumed, though. Fumed at letting Lynx talk him into going on the run, fumed at being captured, and fumed at life in general. He paid particular attention to his surroundings, hoping to detect a weakness in the fortifications that he could exploit to make good his escape.

The corridor led to a winding metal stairway, which in turn brought them from the seventh floor to ground level. As they descended, passing the lower hallways en route, moans, cries, and a few screams attended their passage.

“What was that?” Ferret inquired after a high-pitched screech emanated from the third floor.

“One of our other prisoners,” the officers replied.

“How many are you holding?”

“I don’t really know,” Captain Francois admitted with transparent disinterest. “The number varies all the time. Today I believe there are fifty-seven.”

“That many,” Ferret blurted.

“Our prison tower can accommodate seventy-five at full capacity,” Francois boasted.

“Your men must be slacking off.”

“As a matter of fact, they have been. But the Baron intends to whip them into shape with his speech tonight.”

“A regular humanitarian, huh?”

“The Baron is the latest in a long line of illustrious leaders of the Black Snake Society. Your petty mind can’t begin to comprehend the magnitude of his greatness.”

“I just hope I don’t step in any of it on the way to wherever we’re going.”

From the prison tower they walked due north toward the stately mansion occupying the very middle of the estate, a four-story white affair replete with an ostentatious portico. The glare from a score of floodlights illuminated their party with a brilliance equivalent of daylight.

“Where do you get your power, yes?” Gremlin queried.

“Generators,” Captain Francois said. “We have scoured the countryside for a hundred miles around and appropriated every generator in the region.”

“Appropriated? You mean you stole them,” Ferret said.

“No. Some of them weren’t in use when we found them. As for those that were,” the officer said, smirking, “let us say the owners were quite happy to part with their generators instead of their lives. Quite an even trade in my estimation.”

Ferret spied an enormous pit several dozen yards to the east. “What’s with the big hole?”

“The Baron is quite a collector! In that pit are seventeen of the largest alligators in the entire bayou.”

“Are they his pets?”

“He uses them for disciplinary purposes.”

“I’ll bet he doesn’t have many discipline problems.”

Captain Francois glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “You are very astute.”

“If I were astute I wouldn’t be here.”

They followed a winding cement walk across the huge lawn fronting the mansion. Grand old cypress and oak trees dotted the meticulously tended carpet of green grass, and artistically arranged flower gardens lent a touch of elegance to the den of iniquity.

Ferret stared at the mansion. Earlier, when the tonton macoutes had escorted them from the pier to the prison tower, they had hiked along the base of the south wall directly to their cell without much opportunity to study the estate. Now he noticed a row of cages on each side of the portico and heard growls and hissing noises. “What are those?” he asked.

“The Baron’s prized collection of relatives of yours,” Captain Francois said, and snickered. “Beastly mutations.”

Ferret and Gremlin looked at one another.

“The Baron has been collecting for over a decade,” Frangois related.

“Every hunter and trapper in the bayou knows they will receive a hefty reward if they bring in the kind of creatures the Baron likes.”

The animal sounds grew in volume as their party neared the mansion.

Various scents were borne to Ferret’s sensitive nose by the cool night breeze: bear, bobcat, raccoon, deer, and others. Overriding them all was the tangy odor of primal fear. Ferret felt a strong sympathy for the creatures being confined.

Six tonton macoutes were posted as guards outside the front door, three on each side, and all six promptly snapped to attention when that door unexpectedly opened and out strolled a man and a woman.

Ferret sensed a change in the officer and the men in black serving as the escort, a subtle tensing of their bodies, a barely concealed air of sheer dread. Such a reaction convinced him the pair on the portico must be the Baron and Majesta, and he studied them with interest.