Brute Force

Chapter 39

Thibodaux braced himself in the doorway as Camille snapped out of her stupor and scrambled off the bed to launch herself into his arms.

“You’re home!” She burst into tears, burying her head against his neck. “I can explain all this, you know.”

Thibodaux patted her on the back and winked across her shoulder at an embarrassed Kim, who still stood at the foot of the bed with the leather belt hanging limply in her hand.

“Don’t you worry about it, ma chère,” he said. “I’d like to think we have the sort of relationship that if you came home and found me straddlin’ a hairy, fat man, you’d trust I had my reasons.” His grin turned sour when he focused on the man in his bed. “I’d say Joey B’s the one who has some ’splainin’ to do.”

Camille pulled away. “So you do know him?”

“Joey, Joey, Joey… Zeerahb saleau!” Jacques nodded, giving Benavides a long, burning glare: “Disgusting, sloppy thing. What have you gone and let these gals do to you? I mean this is some kinky shit.”

Joey’s face twisted as if in agony and he began to bawl like a baby.

Camille put a hand on Thibodaux’s chest. “Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“I do,” Jacques said. “But not in front of the sob-slobberer. Hang on a sec.” He towered over the bed and yanked the gag out of Joey B’s mouth. “Okay, shitbird, you have bled all over my sheets. You know what that means?”

Benavides shook his head, tears pressing between his lashes as a pitiful squeak escaped his lips.

Thibodaux leaned in close so he was only inches from the man’s face. “It means I gotta buy me a new mattress — and this mattress means a lot to me. There ain’t much to keep me from shooting you in the eye if you make another peep without permission. Understand?”

Joey nodded emphatically but kept his mouth shut.

“Boop! Right there,” Thibodaux said, putting the tip of his index finger to Joey’s clenched eye. “Keep that in mind.”

Camille all but collapsed into her husband’s arms as they left the bedroom with Kim leading the way.

Jacques chuckled softly. “What are you ladies planning, armed up like that with gun belts and such?”

“Hon,” Camille said, taking her husband’s hand. “They have Ronnie Garcia.”

Jacques stood while both women collapsed back on the couch. Camille explained everything with a gush of emotion.

“Oo ye yi,” Jacques said under his breath when she was finished. “You girls did good.” He shook his head and shot a glance toward the TV room. “The little boogs are gonna need some therapy, but I’m so proud of you.” He looked at his watch. “Y’all can go ahead and stand down.”

“What are you going to do about Ronnie?” Kim asked.

“Well,” he said, “I’m working on a plan and it involves our little cupcake in there.”

“I’m not going to like it, am I?” Camille said.

“Probably not, Boo,” Thibodaux said, tipping his head toward Benavides, “but he’s not gonna think too much of it either.”

Fifteen minutes later, Thibodaux stood in the living room holding the handle to a large black rolling duffel that contained all his scuba gear. He kept everything in the bedroom except for the tank, to keep his boys from boogering up the sensitive gauges and regulators.

Joey B slouched beside him, head down, dressed in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. The women had cut away his clothing looking for weapons, and they were the only things Jacques had that would fit him.

Camille looked up with terrified eyes when she saw that Benavides was no longer restrained.

Jacques held up his big hand to calm her. “Don’t worry, Cornmeal. He knows I’m lookin’ for a reason to put a boot in his ass.” He smacked Joey on the back of the head. “Go ahead,” he said. “Say what we talked about.”

“I’m sorry,” Benavides whispered. “I apologize for making you stab me in the hand.”

Thibodaux raised the brow over his good eye. “And?”

“And for making you knock me out with a jar of pole beans.”

Jacques kissed his wife good-bye and gave Kim a hug because that’s the way he did business. He told her Jericho was fine the last he saw him — though that wasn’t really true since he’d just been stabbed with a poison pellet and was being held prisoner in a Chinese hospital. He figured Kim was too fragile to hear the piddly details.

“That feels better,” Benavides sniffed as he walked through the garage and opened the passenger door to get into his Audi sedan. “Apologizing — making amends — that’s the first step, right?”

Jacques froze in his tracks, a half step behind the greasy IDTF agent. “I wanna ask you something,” the big Cajun said. “What was it you intended to do to my bride after you drugged her?”

Benavides hung his head. “Look,” he said. “I’m really, really sorry. I swear. I’ll resign from the Task Force.”

Thibodaux shook his head. “Not ’til you help me get my friend back.”

“I just can’t.” Benavides began to blubber again. “I can’t go out to the boat. Mr. Walter gets back tonight.”

“Look at me, cupcake.” Thibodaux snapped his fingers. “You come to my house thinking to drug and do Lord knows what to my wife. Helping me get Garcia back is your only chance to save your worthless ass — and it’s a slim one even then.”

Thibodaux’s cell phone buzzed in his vest pocket. He held up his hand to silence the blubbering IDTF agent. He spoke for a moment before hanging up and returning the phone to his pocket.

“That was my badass Japanese friend.” He smiled. “She’s meeting us in Salisbury. I think you’re gonna really like her. She’s a buck-twenty soaking wet but seventy-five pounds of that is balls…”

The phone rang again almost as soon as he put it away. A wave of relief flooded over Thibodaux as he heard Quinn’s voice on the other end of the line. Quinn filled him in quickly on the trip out of China, a weapon called the Black Dragon, and the need to get to Seattle.

“We won’t be able to get there for another nineteen-plus hours,” Quinn said on the other end of the line. “I could use some eyes and ears ahead of us — and I need the blue go-bag I keep stashed in the hotel.”

“I hear you, l’ami,” Jacques said, “but we’ve kinda got us a little situation here.” He motioned for Joey B to start the car and begin driving. The “I’ll-shoot-you-in-the-ass-if-you-try-anything,” was implied with the glare from his good eye.

“Your signal’s cutting in and out,” Quinn said, his voice crackling with static. “I can barely hear you. Can you get someone to ship me the duffel by Gold Streak if you’re not able to bring it out? I’ve tried to call the others, but I’m not getting through to anyone.”

“I said we’ve got a situation,” Thibodaux said again, louder this time. He filled Quinn in, doing his best to assure him they’d get Ronnie back — though both of them had seen enough friends die to know some rescues went well and others devolved into catastrophic shitstorms of death. He smacked Joey B on the back of the head when he hung up, for no reason but to keep him on his toes.