Chapter Sixty-Four
THE CAROUSEL BAR creaked beneath him, gradually revolving.
Every fifteen minutes, the circular bar made a full rotation, its polished brass rail and painted horses gliding past velvet drapes and mirrored walls.
The ceiling above was a swirl of gold leaf and carnival blue, and the bar itself was an antique merry-go-round, lit like a stage.
Cornelius Bates sat alone, bourbon in hand, watching the world orbit around him.
The Hotel Monteleone was his haunt, classy with craft cocktails and eccentric enough to make him look like a solid rock of masculinity.
It was a few minutes past eight. He had walked over from the office, needing a drink and a distraction after the news that Fulgencio Vargas’s refinery had gone up in smoke.
It had to be Chris Walker. He was destroying everything they had worked so hard to build.
His phone buzzed. He frowned and pulled it from his coat pocket.
“Bates,” he answered curtly.
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” came Sergeant Strickland’s voice on the other end.
“What is it?”
“Traffic cam in Metairie picked up an AMC Eagle following Walt Kimbel’s Mercedes just before the murder. Male driver. Ball cap. Alone.”
“What the fuck is an AMC Eagle?”
“I had to look it up. It looks like an old station wagon with wood paneling except with a lift and bigger tires. Some piece of shit from the eighties.”
“You get a plate?”
“Yeah. Registered to a woman near the Quarter. Gloria Travois. Old lady. A widow, lives alone.”
“An old woman is helping him?”
“Maybe.”
“Or he stole her car.”
“Also, more good news,” Strickland continued. “State Police just responded to the Metairie PD’s alert. Vehicle with that plate passed over the Huey Long Bridge about twenty minutes ago. Headed northwest.”
Bates felt the bourbon sour in his gut.
He did not want other departments involved. This was his mess to clean up, his case. He stepped off the slowly rotating platform and into the hotel lobby.
“He’s leaving town.”
“Appears that way, sir.”
“Call my contact at LSP,” Bates said. “Captain Hagerty. Tell him this is an undercover op and part of an ongoing interagency investigation. Location alerts go to me only.”
We need to eliminate this problem before he gets picked up by another department.
“Understood,” Strickland said. “You want to talk to this Mrs. Travois tonight?”
“I am going to do a little background first. Let LSP know we want all locational data on that Eagle.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Strickland.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep it tight.”
Bates disconnected his call and looked around. No one seemed to be paying extra attention to him.
He slid his phone into his pocket and extracted his burner. It was time to call the Afghan.
He dialed a memorized number. On the fifth ring a man answered.
“Salaam.” Hello.
“It’s me.”
“I know who it is.” The Pashto accent was heavy and guttural.
“That job I mentioned earlier, are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“I’m getting a location. It might be a ways outside of town. Stay by the phone.”
“Khoda Hafez.” God protect you.
Bates disconnected the phone and stared at the burner.
Zarak Fazli. Bates had questioned him in the aftermath of the 2025 New Orleans terrorist attack.
He and a group of Afghans who were resettled in New Orleans and Baton Rouge after the withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2021 were approached by law enforcement in the wake of the Bourbon Street event.
Fazli was different. Bates had recognized a weakness and seen an opportunity.
Fazli was having trouble with his special immigrant visa, even all these years later, due to the sensitive nature of his work for the U.S.
government. Finding new work in this country was difficult.
Bates had pressed and promised to help. Eventually Fazli had confided to the lieutenant that he had been part of a Zero Unit.
When Bates pressed further, he discovered that the Zero Units worked for the CIA.
Fazli had skills, skills useful to a man like Bates.
He dropped the burner phone back into his pocket and debated returning to the bar to work his magic on the two women he had spotted earlier, but his mind was not in that game, it was in another.
He briefly wondered if Fazli and Walker may have known each other, and if so, would that make it easier or harder for Fazli to kill him?