“I ran into Royal’s son-in-law, that Randall Regan, buying a muzzle-loader over at the Bass Pro Shops. He mentioned the Turner woman dying. So Brody’s obviously been thinking about her. I been thinking that her and Morehouse dying on the same day seems a little funny. Don’t it?”
Forrest glanced at the flickering television as Baltimore put another nail in Green Bay’s coffin. He was waiting for his instinct to tell him something, as it always did during times of danger. Maybe Favre himself was the message. Gifted quarterbacks sometimes stayed in the game too long, and it was looking more and more like Brett should have left the league a couple of years back. Forrest was older than Favre, yet he was only now coming into the prime of his earning potential. His playing field was the state of Louisiana, and he had it wired from Shreveport to New Orleans. About all he really had in common with Favre, other than geography of birth, was being his own worst enemy. Keeping his primal impulses in check chafed Forrest’s spirit. Men with outsized appetites and abilities ought to get some sort of exemption from the rules of common men. In a way, of course, Forrest had exactly that—the badge he wore every day, the mantle of authority that kept most potential troublemakers at arm’s length.
“Call Snake, Al,” he said. “Get it straight from him. All that blood-oath bullshit Daddy started is one big pain in the ass.”
“Any personal message?”
“Tell Snake to stay away from Henry Sexton. I see Henry’s stories within an hour of him drafting them, so Snake should just calm the fuck down. I know Billy’s told him already, but that’s not the same as it coming from me.”
Ozan laughed. “Not by a damn sight, boss. I just hope it’s not too late. Snake’s been wanting to kill that reporter ever since I’ve known him.”
“That is absolutely the last thing we need. I sure wish Billy could control his daddy.”
Alphonse laughed again. “You think if your old man was alive, you could control him?”
Forrest’s mind filled with the forbidding image of his father roused to anger, something no man had ever faced without fear. “You got a point there, Al. How’s that other thing coming? The Mexican run?”
“Unloading in Barataria Bay right now.”
“And the cash?”
“Our runner’s bringing it up to Fort Knox tonight.”
Forrest glanced at his Breitling and calculated how long a stop at Cherie’s might take him. The Valhalla Exotic Hunting Reserve lay fifty miles north of Baton Rouge. “I’m gonna make a cooter stop before we go.”
“Shit. Where?”
“Where do you think?”
Ozan groaned. “Where’s that husband of hers?”
“On patrol over near Lafayette. I had the dispatcher check his twenty.”
“What if he doubles back without reporting in? You been hitting that a little too often for comfort. Not to mention longer than usual.”
“Why you think I’m taking you with me?”
Ozan chuckled. “All right. Just remember, Ricky ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you don’t need that kind of trouble—not with Colonel Mackiever crawling up your backside.”
The mention of the superintendent of the state police sent a flood of acid into Forrest’s stomach. Ozan himself had originally been assigned to Forrest’s division as a plant by Colonel Mackiever, after Internal Affairs had failed to get any dirt on Forrest. Mackiever had figured a Redbone like Ozan would never allow himself to be corrupted by a man with the Ku Klux Klan in his lineage. But Forrest had learned long ago that blacks and Indians craved money and power every bit as much as white men, and within four months, the only reports Ozan sent back to the colonel were being scripted by Forrest himself.
“I can’t help it, Alphonse,” Forrest said, as the Adderall hit his system like a blast of pure oxygen. “I crave that girl’s kink. But you’re right: she’s starting to get ideas above herself.”
“Don’t they all, eventually?”
Forrest grabbed a coat, locked the house, then walked out to his supercharged cruiser. “I guess. Men grab the low-hanging fruit, but women always want to trade up to the next branch. This better be my last trip.” As he climbed behind the wheel, a perverse idea struck him. “Hey, maybe you ought to take her over. You’re moving up in the world.”
“I doubt she’d be into me, boss. I’m an acquired taste.”
That’s the damn truth. Forrest laughed, thinking of the big Redbone. Ozan was like a modern version of Injun Joe from Tom Sawyer. “Maybe you can educate her palate. Expand her horizons.”
“Not with her husband in the troop. After she spent one night with me, he’d know she was different. Ruint. I’ve seen it too many times.”
Forrest suppressed laughter as he backed out the driveway. “We’ll see. You just let me hit it one more time before you ruin her.”
“Consider it a Christmas gift. Unmarked ride for the pit stop?”
“Always. Pick me up outside headquarters.”
Forrest felt his face flush from the Viagra, and his cock stiffened as he thought of his immediate destination. “I’m serious about Snake. Tell him if he kills Henry Sexton, I’ll lock him and Sonny in Angola myself. They’ll be wearing Depends twenty-four hours a day after that. Maybe Snake’ll pass that message to Brody Royal.”
Ozan’s laughter carried a cruel edge of pleasure. “Happy to pass that on, boss.”
CHAPTER 25