Too Far Gone

13

Alexa took a taxi from the Marriott. The radio was tuned to a local station so the driver could keep up with the hurricane. The driver wore a bowling shirt, a herringbone wedge cap, and a patch over one eye. A short, thick cigar jutted out of the side of his mouth like a rotten oak limb.

“…joining the governor of Louisiana, Kathleen Blanco,” the announcer said.

“Governess a’ Loosana, Katie Blanko,” the driver corrected. “She good somewhat, and perty decent-lookin’, but she ain’t no Edwin Edwards. He was a man knew what this state needed-specially N’awlins. Rest of the state hate N’awlins, always has, even though this where the money flows out to the rest of the state.”

“I understand he was more concerned with what he needed,” Alexa offered, since the moon-faced flamboyant white-haired Cajun Edwin Edwards was spending his golden years in a federal stir for taking bribes as fast as people wanting state favors could offer them up. His corruption seemed to have been a secret the entire state was in on.

“He was a great man, that man. Lived large like a king.”

“He had sticky fingers,” Alexa pointed out.

“Now, of course he took a little taste here and there, but if he don’t take the money the rich companies and all them that’s payin’ for something they need, somebody else will. Man be crazy not to get his own piece ’fore the rest of the dogs run in.”

“The old finite-amount-of-graft argument,” Alexa said, reaching into her purse for cash. “I’ve heard that one before. It rarely works.”

The governor went on with her message, “…so, since it is certain that Hurricane Katrina will make landfall on the Louisiana Coast late tomorrow night, and based on predictions of her strengthening into a category five, I am declaring that a state of emergency now exists and, as governor, I am ordering the National Guard to mobilize in Baton Rouge. People living in low-lying areas should evacuate to safer ground far inland immediately. I…”

“That storm gone turn toward Texas, she gone turn west an’ leave us alone. You gone see it fo’ yo’ self.”

“You aren’t evacuating?”

“Where I’m go’n go? I got a wife likes it right here. I got four cats that’s all old and crotchety. We go’n be safe enough in Chalmette. Even if the wind comes, by the time it gets up here, we blow back at it from the front porch.” He laughed.

“I’ll need a receipt,” she told the driver.

He handed her a printed receipt and winked at her. “This police headquarters. You in trouble with the law, little girl?”

“Perpetually,” she replied, laughing as she slid out on the sidewalk side.

Alexa looked up at the New Orleans Police Department and took a deep breath. She passed the eternal flame monument dedicated to officers killed in the line of duty and walked into the glass-fronted reception area. After she showed the disinterested policewoman behind the counter her FBI credentials, the woman made a call, handed Alexa a visitor’s pass, and told her,” Someone will be right down for you.”

Fifty seconds later, a woman in a business suit exited the elevator, strode over the composite-stone flooring to Alexa, and ordered her to follow her upstairs.

They rode up in silence with an assortment of police detectives and office workers. The escort stepped out and, walking fast down the wide corridor, led Alexa through a waiting room, an outer office, and to a door marked SUPERINTENDENT OF POLICE. The woman tapped twice and swung open the door, stepping aside to let Alexa pass into an expansive room where framed photographs, awards, and newspaper and magazine articles pertaining-and flattering-to Jackson Evans covered the walls like scales on a carp.

Jackson Evans sat regally behind his desk in his uniform. Michael Manseur was slumped in the chair opposite. Both men stood when she entered.

“Come in, Alexa,” Evans boomed in his finest microphone-ready voice. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Detective Manseur,” Alexa said, nodding, “Superintendent Evans.”

“Please, in this room, it’s Michael and Jackson,” Evans corrected. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, Alexa?”

“No, thank you…Jackson,” she said, cordially, trying not to smile at how the men’s names fit together into what some would see as a comical arrangement. She took the chair beside Manseur. “Nice to see you again, Detective.”

“My pleasure, Agent Keen,” Manseur said, suddenly yawning into his hand. “Excuse me.”

“So I guess we all know why we’re here, Alexa.” Evans sat down and rocked back in his chair, crossing his legs. “I had a brief conversation a little while ago with your director. He asked me if it might be advantageous if the FBI were to maintain a presence in the form of one Special Agent Alexa Keen. He also offered expedited lab service and whatever additional manpower support we should require, which Agent Keen would coordinate. I must say that having the Bureau’s resources at our disposal is a plus. Let’s hope that Mr. West comes home with a hangover and his tail tucked between his legs and that we won’t need the FBI’s gracious assistance.”

Alexa nodded. Manseur sat in silence.

“If he’s going to return under his own steam, he’ll likely do it by noon,” Evans said. “Can we all agree on that? Hell, maybe he evacuated ahead of his wife and daughter.”

“I suspect that’s correct,” Manseur said. “Not that he evacuated. That he’ll come in by noon if he can do so.”

“Let’s hope so,” Alexa said.

Evans went on, smiling, “Alexa, I’ve been talking to Michael and this is how we both think this should work. Michael will be handling this as his case along with Kennedy of Missing Persons. I know this is a missing persons case and should be Kennedy’s baby until such time as the situation changes, but I believe that, due to Detective Kennedy’s lack of experience with high-profile, high-pressure cases, Michael should head the team. I hope you can work alongside them, Alexa, to monitor the situation as things develop and not seize the case.”

“If there even is a case,” Alexa replied. “Might just be premature evacuation.”

Evans nodded, his smile drying up.

“Michael has agreed to work on this case exclusively until it’s successfully resolved.”

Alexa nodded slowly. Evans wanted only to come out of this with applause from the right people, and hopefully a nice award for his wall. She heard herself say, “Of course.” As long as you don’t put up any walls I have to knock down.

“I hope it won’t take too long,” Manseur said, sadly.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Jackson Evans said. His words contained equal parts of optimism and threat.

If Gary West didn’t come back, Alexa wondered, how long would it be before she’d have to shove everybody to one side so she could do what needed to be done?