Chapter 13
At eight o’clock that night, I was dressed for what I prayed would be my first uneventful excursion to the Swamp Bar.
I didn’t have high hopes, mind you, but wishful thinking had gotten me through the evening.
That and watching Gertie wave cookies at the water for a solid three hours.
Despite her attempts to bring Godzilla out to play, the gator was still in hiding.
That bit of fortune had encouraged me to believe I might get lucky twice in one night.
I exited my room and knocked on Gertie’s door. “You ready?”
“I’m in the kitchen,” she called back.
I headed downstairs, praying that Gertie had taken my casual dress comment seriously, but part of me was still afraid she was standing in my kitchen dressed like Queen Elizabeth or a sexy nurse.
I let out a sigh of relief when I saw her.
I wasn’t a fan of skinny jeans, but they were so much better than the alternatives that I wasn’t about to complain.
Aside from the jeans, she wore a New Orleans Saints T-shirt and tennis shoes.
Her hair had been teased into a big poof on top of her head and she’d painted in a big magenta streak, giving her a trendy sort of skunk look.
To complete the picture, she had purple eye shadow complemented by way too much blush and lipstick that matched the stripe in her hair. She looked me up and down and nodded.
“The wig is a nice touch. It’s boring, but you’ll fit right in,” she said. “You’d look better with a tattoo.”
“No way.” The last time Gertie put a temporary tattoo on me, it turned out to be not so temporary.
“Just a little one? I have a cute rose that would look great on your biceps.”
“No roses, cute or otherwise. I thought I was going to need a skin graft before I got the last one off.”
I heard the front door open and yelled out, “We’re back here.”
Several seconds later, Ida Belle walked into the kitchen and I nodded in approval. She had old jeans that looked like they’d been rolling around under a car for a while, a Sons of Anarchy T-shirt, and a ball cap that said “I’d rather be fishing.”
“Nice,” Gertie said. “Maybe a tattoo—”
“No tattoos,” Ida Belle interrupted.
“You guys are no fun,” Gertie complained. “I buy the wrong package one time and you never want to try it again. Well, you can be boring all you like, but I’m sporting my tattoo.”
We both looked at her. No tattoo was visible, so if she planned on sporting one it either wasn’t on her yet, or was in a place she wasn’t currently sporting. Which led to a whole other series of worries.
“Where is your tattoo?” Ida Belle asked, apparently drawing the same conclusion I had.
“That’s for me to know and hot guys at the Swamp Bar to find out,” Gertie said.
“Guess we’re safe then,” I said. The only hot guy I’d seen anywhere near the Swamp Bar was Carter, and he’d been there on a professional basis, not as a customer.
“Everyone got their phone charged?” Ida Belle asked.
Gertie and I nodded.
“Let’s go over the plan one more time,” Ida Belle said.
“We split up when we get to the bar and circulate some, listening for any conversation about the poaching or any mentions of Petey and Quincy. If we get an opportunity, we introduce the topic and look for reactions. We get a picture of anyone we think might be the poacher, making sure they don’t notice. ”
Ida Belle gave Gertie a hard look as she delivered the last sentence.
“I got it,” Gertie said. “Pictures, boring, discreet.”
“Then I head out of the bar to check out boats,” Ida Belle said, “while you two keep watch to warn me if anyone leaves the bar.”
“And if someone sees you on the dock?” Gertie asked.
Ida Belle pulled a package of cigarettes from her back pocket. “I say I stepped out to have a smoke.”
I nodded. “Good thinking. Tomorrow morning, we collect all the pictures, isolate faces, and get them in front of Petey.”
“How are we going to do that?” Gertie asked. “Walter can’t keep carting you into the sheriff’s department in a crate. Carter might get suspicious if Walter never delivers some actual product.”
“I’ve got this one,” Ida Belle said. “Gertie will attempt to visit Quincy, as she’s family. If Carter still can’t risk letting her in, then Myrtle will slip Quincy a prepaid cell phone loaded with the pictures.”
“Nice,” I said, and gave her an approving nod. “Simple and doesn’t require anyone to run from dogs.”
“Whoot!” Gertie said, and pressed her hands in the air. “Ida Belle will make notes on boats that fit the description Hot Rod gave and we’ll figure out who owns them.”
“It sounds so organized,” I said. “It almost scares me. Is there anything we haven’t thought of?”
“Where’s Carter tonight?” Gertie asked.
“He’s staying at the office until midnight, then Sheriff Lee is going to spell him.”
Ida Belle stared. “That old coot Lee hasn’t been up past eight o’clock since Eisenhower was in office.”
“There’s nothing they can do about it,” I said.
“Deputy Breaux was up all last night sitting with the drunks, and still worked until noon. Carter probably hasn’t slept but a handful of hours in the last couple days, and Celia’s insisting that there be a law enforcement office present as long as someone is being held in the jail, so Myrtle can’t manage it alone. ”
“The drunks all got out this afternoon,” Gertie said. “Petey and Quincy are the only ones there, and they’re hardly going to stage a breakout.”
“It’s Celia being Celia,” Ida Belle said. “If Lee’s asleep at the wheel, then so be it. At least Celia can’t blame Carter. Lee is the sheriff.”
“She’d find a way to blame him anyway,” Ida Belle said, “but all that’s neither here nor there. The thing I was most worried about is covered—Carter won’t be dropping by Fortune’s house to check in.”
“Unless he shows up for a midnight booty call,” Gertie said, far too gleefully.
“There will not be any midnight booty calls,” I said. “Me and my booty would like to be in bed and asleep before midnight.”
Gertie sighed. “You really need to step up your game.”
“I’m hardly going to have a booty call with you sleeping across the hall,” I said.
“It would be the closest she’s come to sex in a century,” Ida Belle said.
“How would you know?” Gertie said. “I’ll have you know, I’ve got plenty of men interested in me.”
Ida Belle waved a hand in dismissal. “There aren’t enough men in Sinful with hearts good enough to be interested in you. They’d be dropping like flies.”
“Maybe you’ll find a young one at the Swamp Bar using your tattoo,” I said.
Gertie perked up. “Ooooohhhh.”
Ida Belle looked pained. “I’ll remind you, before you encourage her to seek out strange men for one-night stands, that she’s currently living in your house.”
I cringed. “Good point. Okay, let’s get this circus on the road.”
I was a little surprised at the amount of restraint Ida Belle showed driving to the bar.
Not once did I see the speedometer hit over ninety.
Granted, since we were on a one-lane dirt road that wound like a snake and had no shoulder except marsh and bayou, it was still a little much.
But we managed to arrive in one piece and my pulse hadn’t hit training rate yet.
Gertie, with her bad day vision and even worse night vision, probably hadn’t even realized how fast we were going.
“Oh,” Gertie said as we parked across the parking lot from the dilapidated shack that fronted as a bar. “It’s karaoke night.” She pointed to a sign on the door.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said. “We’re supposed to maintain a low profile and besides, you and I can’t sing worth crap.”
“I can sing,” Gertie said.
“They won’t even let you in the church choir,” Ida Belle said, “and that’s with taking into account the joyful noise and all.”
“I could rap,” Gertie said.
“How in the world is a two-thousand-year-old rapping woman wearing leggings and makeup like a party clown supposed to blend?” Ida Belle asked.
“These aren’t leggings,” Gertie said. “They’re skinny jeans.”
“The hell they are,” Ida Belle said. “They don’t make you look one bit skinnier.”
“The jeans are skinny,” I explained. “Not necessarily the person wearing them.”
“Well, it ought not be allowed,” Ida Belle said.
“I’ll have you know,” Gertie said, “I’m three pounds lighter.”
“That’s because Fortune removed a pipe wrench from your purse before we left the house,” Ida Belle said. “That doesn’t count.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, heading them off before they got too distracted and forgot the objective. “Even if we were all runway models, none of us would sing. Everyone in a bar looking directly at you is the exact opposite of flying under radar.”
“Fine,” Gertie said. “But next time we have a couple days available, we’re going to New Orleans to a karaoke bar.”
“Whatever,” I said, figuring it was a safe enough bet. Given the way things had gone since I’d been in Sinful, the likelihood of having a couple days available was slim, especially since I’d just had a couple of blissful peace. I figured I’d used up all my karmic peaceful markers.
And even if we ended up with time to take the trip, at least no one would be depending on our performance to get them out of jail. Ida Belle and I could sit in a corner and drink until we were deaf.
“Leave your purse,” Ida Belle said to Gertie.
Gertie shook her head. “No way. I have important stuff in here.”
“You have stuff that will get you into trouble in there,” I said. “And as much as I hate to admit it, we usually don’t get to walk out of here and that thing weighs at least fifteen pounds. Leave it. It will either get you caught or identified.”
“Fine,” Gertie said and put her purse on the floorboard.
We climbed out of the SUV and headed to the bar. At the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch, Ida Belle motioned to me. “You go in first. I figure you should sit at the counter. That’s where all the young, single, hot women always are in the movies.”
“Then I should sit at the bar as well,” Gertie said.