Wendy Rosnau - The Spy With The Silver Lining

“Are we in a hurry, Cassie?”

“Do you want to stand in the heat, Mama?”

“I’ve never been able to tolerate it, you know that. Goodness, it’s warm. I had no idea. This reminds me of the jungle in—”

“Jungle? What jungle, Mama?”

“There, you see, the heat is getting to me already. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Casmir felt a little dizzy herself. The air was as thick as sand inside the cab, and twice as suffocating.

She kept watch out the window as the driver tossed their luggage into the trunk. She spotted the gypsy as he burst through the crowd just as the cabdriver climbed behind the wheel.

“We’re in a hurry,” she said. “Step on it.”

As the cabby sped away from the curb, Casmir watched the gypsy jog into the middle of the street, his feet lighter than she’d expected for a man his age. When he pulled a phone from his pocket, she knew she had guessed right. He was one of Yurii Petrov’s henchman—the hunt was on.

The first thing on the agenda was to lose the gypsy. Once they accomplished that, she would phone Polax and tell him that their ace bodyguard was a no-show, and that Yurii had somehow found them.

Then she would demand a sandy beach in Crete with a breeze, and that Fourtier be hung from a low tree over an alligator pond in his backyard.

Pierce answered his phone on the forth ring. He was straddling a bar stool at the Ginger Root, enjoying his fifth beer and Linet’s assets as she made eyes at him from across the bar.

“Lazie, you pick up my package?”

“We got a problem, boy. Da two of dem took off. I’m chasin’, but dat sonofabitch cabby’s got a lead foot and two glass eyes. He’s gonta end up turned over in the levee if he keeps dis up.”

“What the hell do you mean, they took off?”

“Like a jackrabbit with his tail on fire.”

“What made them run? Didn’t you tell her who you were?”

“Didn’t get close enough ta introduce myself, mon ami. Dey slipped away like a greased snake on a spit run.”

“Where are you now?”

“In da Eldorado playin’ Starsky and Hutch.”

“Don’t lose them. I’m heading back.” Pierce disconnected and jammed the phone in his pocket. “Sorry, honey, but we’re going to have to continue this reunion later. I got a rabbit to run down.”

Linet pouted. “Let’s hope it don take another four years for you ta get back here, cowboy. If you still look as good outa dem jeans as I remember, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be sharin’ the bounty. In the south, sharin’ is the neighborly thing ta do. Oui?”

Pierce grinned, then winked. “I’ll be back.”

“You know where I’ll be, cowboy.”

He left the Ginger Root and started back to New Orleans with his foot pushed to the floorboard, while he pulled his cell phone and called Lazie.

“You still got them in sight?”

“Not at the moment. Got a corner ta take.”

Pierce heard tires squealing. Lazie swore in colorful French. “What’s happening?”

“Got um back. Shit, lost um again. I’m gonta rattle that cabby’s cage when I catch him. Call yous later. Got another corner ta take.”

Pierce tossed the phone in the seat next to him. It would take him forty minutes to get back into town. He should never have sent Lazie to the airport. Merrick had said the plan would take time to set into motion—that the heat wouldn’t be on for at least two days.

He should have known that where Miss Bitch was concerned, the heat was never off.

Pierce stewed all the way back to the city until he was well cooked and starting to burn. He picked up the phone in the seat next to him as he crossed the river and punched in Lazie’s number again.

“Update me.”

“Caught the cab. He’s bleedin’. He says he let dem out on the corner of Bourbon and St. Anns. Dere in the Quarter somewhere. That’s a good sign.”

“You lost them.”

“I got dere luggage.”

“I don’t give a shit about their luggage. Meet me at the Bug.”

Casmir pulled her mother into a dingy bar on Bourbon Street, then wished she hadn’t. The seedy establishment was sporting a topless dancer on a spotlit stage and a clientele that was ninety-nine percent male. The only female in sight was the redhead grinding her hips on stage and sporting a red thong and a smile so wide you could count her teeth.

She spotted an empty table in a dark corner at the back of the bar. It wasn’t the most desirable spot for hungry eyes bent on viewing every dimple and mole on the redhead—the reason it had been left vacant, no doubt. But it was a perfect rest stop for two women on the run and out of breath.

“Over here.” Casmir took Ruza by the hand and led her mother along the wall to the secluded table. “Sit down, Mama.”

Her mother was still wearing her dark glasses and she stumbled into the table and almost knocked it over. The noise turned heads and suddenly two dozen smiles acknowledged the arrival of the female duo.

Casmir took a head count, then assessed the grins. Oh, goody. This was just what they needed. A room full of depraved lechers to add to their problems.

“This is just great,” she huffed.

“I agree.” Ruza sighed. “My shoes are killing my feet. It’s been years since I cruised the streets in heels.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I’m just glad to finally sit down. I think I’ve got a blister on my toe.”

Casmir took a seat beside her mother. She kept one eye on the entrance, and one eye on a man ten feet away who hadn’t stopped grinning since they’d found the empty table. She pulled her phone from her pocket, then just as quickly stuffed it back when the man and his friend stood and started sauntering toward them.

“Stay put, Mama, I’ll be right back.” Casmir met the men halfway. Before they got a chance to say anything, she said, “We’re meeting our fellas, boys, so don’t get excited. They’ll be here in a few minutes and my boyfriend is a real jealous badass. We just want to enjoy a drink in quiet while we wait.”

One of the men nodded—the big burly one. But there was an asshole in every crowd, and Big Burly’s long-haired companion was it.

“Come on, cher. I’ll show you a better time den your boyfriend. I got more experience den a dog’s got hairs on his ass.”

“I’m sure you do, but I’m into the tall, dark, silent type. And did I mention manners? A lady values manners and…good hygiene. Not hairy assholes.”

“Ain’t no ladies come in here, cher. None dat I knows can talk like dat.”

While they had been in the cab, Casmir had slipped her Makarov out of the secret compartment in her purse and into her jacket pocket. She came up with it and nudged the crude dog in the ribs.

“Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish the difference, but you’re going to have to take my word for it.” She gave him a solid poke with the barrel of her gun. “Or not. It’s your choice.”

He glanced down, saw the gun. His eyes doubled their original size. “Hold on, lady…”

“That’s right…lady. I thought you’d come around. Now go sit down and do your barking at the stage.”

When they walked off, Casmir returned to her seat, her gun neatly tucked back in her pocket. Keeping her eyes out for incoming trouble, she concentrated on cooling off.

“The air-conditioning in this place must be broken,” she said.

“What did you say to those men, Cassie?”

“I just told them we wanted to enjoy our drinks…alone.”

“Drinks? That sounds absolutely wonderful. I could use a Russian Rose.”

Her mother had removed her dark glasses. Casmir stared at Ruza’s black eye in the dim light. She was worried about her mother. She had to get her someplace safe.