“You’re shitting me.” Maureen gripped the dash again with both hands, her eyes wide because Detillier had them pointed into oncoming traffic. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, the street turns one-way up here, one-way right at us.”
Detillier jogged the sedan to the right, shifting off Tchoupitoulas onto Annunciation, sliding back into traffic headed in the right direction. They sped past the World War II museum, ducked under the highway. When they came out the other side of the highway overpass, Maureen could see helicopters in the sky up ahead, none of them over the Walmart.
“Trust me,” Detillier said, “They’re at the Walmart.”
“That is ridiculous,” Maureen said, shaking her head. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”
Detillier turned the car again and again, darting from side street to side street. Maureen clutched at the dashboard and the door handle, trying to prevent getting more damaged than she already had and trying to hatch an idea of how cop killers had ended up at Walmart.
“Preacher was shot in Mid-City,” Detillier said. “The other shooting was right around here, on Poydras in the business district.”
The overpass that they had just crossed under marked the unofficial border between Uptown and Downtown, Maureen thought. If you wanted to go toward the lake or across the river, or toward Baton Rouge or the southernmost parishes from the business district, you caught the highway here. Several arteries, almost every artery, out of town, Maureen realized, linked in this one place. But, she thought, the city streets underneath the highway tangled into a spaghetti pile of dead ends, one-ways, cobblestone alleys, on-ramps, exit ramps, and construction detours. She knew people born and raised in New Orleans who got turned around enough down there to end up across the river. If you passed straight through and missed the highway, though, Tchoupitoulas shot you out of the spaghetti pile right at Religious Street, which led to the riverside Walmart. She guessed the shooters had panicked and had given up on trying to find the on-ramp that would let them get away.
“They were running for the Ten and got lost, so they went to ground at the most familiar territory they could find. Incredible.” She paused, stunned by her own horrifying thoughts. “Holy shit. Well, either they’re panicked and stupid and got lost or they’re smart and strategizing, and when they were done killing cops they made a planned beeline for the biggest box of guns and hostages they could find.”
They raced parallel to the river, the railroad tracks and the shipping wharves hidden behind a high concrete wall. They were back on Tchoupitoulas. Detillier kept making risky passes into the oncoming traffic. Near the river, large trucks made up a fair amount of that traffic. Their bleating steamship horns spiked Maureen’s already frantic heart rate. Please don’t let us kill someone, she thought. Please don’t let us die. I never dreamed I’d want to find a fucking Walmart this bad.
The store materialized ahead of them on their right, the low, boxy building set deep inside its vast, mostly empty parking lot. The lot was massive, Maureen thought. Weird how few cars were there. Whoever had built the place had anticipated a lot of business they weren’t getting. No, she thought, it’s not the lack of cars that’s weird. It’s the lack of police cars. Of anything with a siren on it.
“Why are we the only ones here?” Maureen asked. She realized she hadn’t seen him reach for the radio. If Detillier was so convinced the shooters had fled to the Walmart, why hadn’t he called anyone else? FBI? NOPD?
He eased up on the accelerator.
“Why are we slowing down?” Actually, she thought, Detillier hadn’t picked up the radio since they’d gotten into the car. He kept claiming not to know anything. Well then, why wasn’t he calling someone and asking questions?
“This Walmart does terribly,” Detillier said. “It’s barely hanging on, and they stopped selling guns after they got looted in the storm.” He threw Maureen a nervous glance. “But I’m guessing the people we’re after didn’t know that. Doesn’t mean they’re not armed to the teeth already. We should count on it.”
“Point made,” Maureen said. Her throat was so dry she could barely get the words out.
Detillier pulled the sedan into the very back of the parking lot, and threw the car into park. He stared straight ahead through the dirty windshield at the Walmart a hundred yards ahead.
“We gonna let anyone know where we are?” Maureen asked.
Detillier didn’t answer. He watched the Walmart, listening to the radio.
Maureen’s eyes dropped to the radio, as if she could read there whatever mysterious signal Detillier was hoping to discern from the chaotic chatter of orders, police codes, and panicked questions filling the car. She ground her teeth. What the fuck were they just sitting there for, doing nothing? Her breath got short, tears of rage again welling in her eyes. She palmed tears from her cheeks. She inhaled her snot and swallowed. She took a deep, deep breath, then exhaled long and slow.