'Just cool it, huh?' continued Fruit Juice. 'Come on, this thing's outta hand.'
'He was my responsibility. You made me look bad.'
'Weren't deliberate.'
'Neither's this.' Adam moved behind Fruit Juice and, with his arm now wrapped round the voodoo man and using him as a shield, dragged him backwards towards the bushes. Fruit Juice yelped and others started to shout from their hidden vantage points.
But it all happened too fast. Before anyone could react positively, Adam was in the protection of the bushes.
'Was it blood and piss, or was it tomato juice?' he asked Fruit Juice.
'You shit crazy, man,' screamed Fruit Juice.
A gunshot exploded from nearby.
Adam would never know. He closed his eyes to accustom himself to the darkness and then pushed Fruit Juice back towards Marie Laveau's tomb. He turned and ran, low to the ground, through the undergrowth.
He never saw Fruit Juice fall to the earth, never saw him writhe and twist on the ground as he frantically tried to pull out the grenade that was trapped in the tightly tailored cloth of his trousers. The more frantic his actions, the more difficult it was to dislodge the bomb. And then time ran out.
Adam only heard the explosion. Didn't know whether Fruit Juice had avoided death or not. It wasn't his problem.
The earth was soft under him, the rain now beginning to take its toll as it fell. His senses were fully alert and he heard shouting from behind, then a few gunshots followed by people crashing through the bushes. Someone yelled for quiet, but it had little effect and he heard the order being repeated.
He spun round, pulled the Browning from his waistband and fired three rounds towards whoever was giving the orders. He heard someone yelp in pain and yell he'd been hit. But he knew it wasn't serious, otherwise he wouldn't be complaining so vigorously.
Another voice now pleaded for calm. 'Shut yo' fucking mouth fo' I fucking do it fo' ya!' it screamed. This time the others listened and the shouting faded to nothing. From the noise Adam knew there were no more than seven or eight people, not a number that couldn't be dealt with.
Adam could still hear the recipient of his bullet moaning some forty yards away. As he moved towards another part of Old Number One, Adam knew he had to confuse them, scramble their knowledge of the cemetery until they didn't know where the next area of conflict was coming from. He knew he didn't have long. The grenade, as muffled as it was by Fruit Juice's body, would have been heard and someone would probably have told the police. Even in Sin City, grenades were not the norm.
He worked his way round to the west side of the cemetery and entered an old vault he had chosen when he had first circuited the cemetery. The door, steel, had been slightly open and he slipped in through the narrow gap.
It was cold, a dry chill that hung still. His eyes made out large stone shelves, four deep, that ran round three sides of the vault. There were coffins on each shelf, some resting directly on top of others, more than thirty ornate wooden boxes in the mausoleum.
Glad of the respite from the rain, he wiped the water from his hair where it had run into his long waves. Then he opened the brown bag and took out the Heckler and Koch MP5K sub-machine gun. He rammed a clip in, swung it over his shoulder, rammed two more clips and the remaining hand grenade in his pockets, then waited by the door for whatever came next.
It didn't take long.
Two of them, moving in the bushes on the opposite side of the park, both with hand-guns ready. They moved like amateurs, street bullies used to having their own way. They were sitting targets, too easy for Adam.
Killing was easy to Adam, something he did without considering the consequences. But that was when the odds excited him, when he felt there was real danger. It was his buzz, his church. These were funfair targets, something to hit and take home a prize Teddy Bear for. He let them pass, heard their whispers as loudly as if they were in conversation with him, and waited to see who followed.
No-one.
His pursuers had obviously spread out over the cemetery.
He came out of the vault and followed the two Teddy Bears. He caught them up quickly and stayed close behind. The heavy rain and its resultant sound on the bushes made his task easy. They split up to go around a large tree that was surrounded by big bushes under it. Adam decided to go after the man on the left.
As soon as he was out of sight of his companion, Adam was on him, the knife he always carried slashing down and across his throat.
By the time his partner had stumbled on the fallen corpse, Adam was nearly fifty yards away in the safety of the old vault. He heard the man scream, then stifle his fear. There were shots, four of them, as he either blasted at thin air in panic or signaled his cronies to him. Adam saw the torch lights shining in the dark.
'He fucking killed him. He fucking cut his throat.'
'Take it easy, for…'
'Sliced him right next to me. He was only next to me.'
'Lay off. We got…'
'Fuck you. They said he got the death wish. He a fucking spook, man'
'Don't talk shit.' It was Goat Face.
'He fucking invisible. Right under my fucking nose.'
Adam grinned as he stepped out from the vault entrance and sprayed the Heckler and Koch in their direction. It was a short burst, enough to send them diving for cover into the undergrowth. When he had finished there was an absolute quiet. Nobody was saying anything now.
As he turned to retrace his track, he heard the police sirens in the distance, growing closer as they approached. e headed for the entrance to Old Number One. Heard the shouting start up again behind him as they hastily prepared their exit, and walked through the gates and out onto Basin Street.
'You causing trouble again?' was Frankie's caustic greeting.
He was in his wheelchair on the pavement, an old 1950s Reising M50 sub-machine-gun across his legs. Adam walked past him, packed his weaponry back into the brown bag and tossed it into the trunk.
'Let's go,' he said.
The first police car, an unmarked Ford with a red flashing light strapped to it roof, was at the scene two minutes later.
By then, Frankie, having slid himself and his wheelchair back into the car with surprising ease, was turning towards Canal Street and back to the safety of the hotel.
Ch. 46
'This had better be good at this time of the morning.'
'The Russians know who the Lucy Ghosts are,' said the DDA into the phone receiver. He'd just received that message at home from Nowak. He'd stayed there, trying to coordinate the problem in New Orleans while his assistant, Carter had been sent on ahead in a private Agency jet to take over from Tucker.
'Who are they?' asked the Exec Director as he struggled out of bed.
'They're not prepared to give that information over the telephone. But they say it needs executive approval.'
The Exec Director knew that meant the President. Damn it. The last thing he wanted was this blowing up in the White House and on Capitol Hill. One always followed the other. 'Why?'
'Because that’s how they want it. It's sensational, according to Nowak.'
'Does he know?'
'He says not. Just what his contact tells him.'
'Okay. I'll take it from here.'
'They want urgent action.'
'I'm not waking the Pres…anybody…at this time of the morning. I'll put a call through at seven.'
'That's four in the afternoon over there.'
'I told you. First thing.'
'I've also had a call from Tucker…' The DDA'd saved the best for last.
'Tucker?'
'Our man in New Orleans.'
'And?'