Long Shadows: A Mystery Thriller (Winton Chevalier Book 1) Page 2

  Winton had never doubted a word his father told him. Ever. But this? Wasn’t it all a little intense? A little far-fetched? Surely Roland wasn’t in his normal state of mind, already on a cocktail of medications. Maybe the thought of his own mortality unnecessarily darkened a more mundane situation.

  “I mean…” Winton whispered to himself. “This is Lucas we’re talking about. Him screwing off for a couple days? Why is that so terrifying a thought?” Knowing a few factors about Lucas — his his care-free attitude, his flakiness, his wild side — Winton had to consider that maybe Lucas’s phone was lost or dead. Maybe he went on a lark with some hottie he met. Maybe he was taking a mental health break from the stress of work and their dad’s illness. Winton could surely see himself doing such a thing in his angst-ridden younger years. There were, after all, a few dive bartenders all along the Gulf who might still recognize Winton, and not just because of his size.

  All or some combination of those things could have explained Lucas’ absence. It wasn’t completely adding up, but what his father said just couldn’t be true. Lucas wasn’t a serious enough person to find himself in a serious situation.

  A voice in his head told him if it were any other occasion Lucas’ unreliability might serve as reason not to worry. But Lucas and Roland were close. In college, the kid had driven through the night a half dozen times whenever Roland scored Saints tickets at the last minute. So not showing up for their father’s surgery? At this critical juncture in his fight for life?

  Winton balled his fists around the princess comforter. “Where the hell is he, then?”

  Dinner filled the quaint house with a mouth-watering aroma as it cooked. Winton snuck down the hallway, avoiding being seen by the boys. Jo Beth caught his eye as he entered the kitchen. “Got a bit left to cook.” She picked up a pack of smokes and shook it.

  “No thanks,” Winton said. “Got any sin in a liquid form?”

  Jo Beth reached up into a high cupboard, pulling down a bottle of cheap whiskey, nothing Winton was afraid of drinking. “I keep this for when Corbin’s fruity home brews ain’t doing the trick.”

  “He still on a raspberry kick?” Winton asked.

  “Now it’s grapefruit.”

  “Mother of God.”

  Jo Beth poured him a drink and they stepped out back onto a rickety old patio. She lit up, and took a long pull, sucking smoke up greedily. “Check this out.” Jo Beth led him into a corner of the tiny yard beneath the shade of a palm growing over the neighbor’s fence. She sat gingerly on the netting of a hammock. “Now, I been practicing.” Her cigarette bounced between her lips as she spoke. “Ready? Now…” Jo Beth swung her legs onto the hammock while leaning her torso back. Something appeared off balance and she lurched to one side, clinging to the cords with both hands. She attempted to shift her buttocks and shoulders until she found an equilibrium.

  “There.” She strained to hold her position, legs spread, arms locked in the netting. “Look how relaxing that is.” She puffed at her cigarette with no hands, not daring to move.

  “Glad you’re taking time for yourself,” Winton said.

  “Rude of me to not offer you a seat, but—”

  “Yeah. Maybe next time.”

  She took another drag and managed to free a hand to pull her cigarette away and tap the long ash off. “Yeah,” she groaned. “Reckon Corbin’ll get a promotion soon.”

  “You don’t sound too happy.”

  “I’ll be thankful for the money, but it means more time away. The higher you go in the ranks, the less union protections you get.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Is what it is. Life is pain.”

  A few months ago, Winton would have agreed with such a statement out of hand, even if he’d only been joking along. But now, he felt too blessed to let the words pass his lips.

  There was a restful silence. Jo Beth puffed away, and Winton took bigger and bigger sips of his rot-gut as his taste buds allowed. “This is good stuff,” Winton said. “The plastic bottle it comes in gives it a real je ne sais quoi.”

  “Whatever, big time fancy boy.”

  “Fancy? You’re the one taking yoga.”

  Jo Beth glanced down at her tight-fitting, calf-length bottoms. “Oh, these? Nah, some genius just found a way to make sweatpants fashionable again. I was living here way before the trend caught up.” Jo Beth coughed, then jolted when it sent her off balance. “I ain’t doing no yoga. Don’t need to pay some skinny bitch to make me bend all funny.”

  “Yeah,” Winton said thoughtfully, and sipped the last of his drink. “Me neither.”

  They ate dinner, and Winton surreptitiously scraped the delicious fillings out of the enchiladas without eating the flour tortillas. The boys showed him their room and Suzette brushed his dark, tousled hair with her doll’s brush. Once the nephews and niece were appeased, Corbin took Winton to the garage and made him try some of his home brews, including the grapefruit lager, which, to Winton’s dumbfounded surprise, was good.

  “Corbin, don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t think you could ever make something with this level of sophistication and, I dunno, artisanship.”

  “Well, when we were kids I liked juice,” Corbin recounted. “Now I like beer. I figure melding the two is the closest I’ll ever come to having a passion.”

  Winton pushed up his lower lip, considering his big brother. “Rock on in the free world, man.” Winton felt buzzed enough to let his worries tumble out. “I’m a bit concerned about Lucas. He should be here.”

  “Yeah, he’s doing something stupid, I’d imagine,” Corbin said without an air of surprise. “Not right to leave Momma alone right now.”

  “What do you know about that Luther Remus guy?”

  “I know him some. Seen him around. He’s on some joint task force, now. DEA, FBI, Homeland, who the hell knows.”

  “What does the task force do?”

  “Ain’t my kettle of chips.”

  “Kettle of fish?” Winton asked. “You mean it ain’t your kettle of fish?”

  “Alls I know is it’s really hush hush. Things that go on over there just aren’t the concern of the rest of the NOPD.”

  “Lucas mention any particular girl recently?”

  “Lucas doesn’t tell me about that. He just does what he does.” Corbin set down his glass with a groan. “Well, I gotta get into the station early tomorrow to catch up on paperwork so I can be there for Momma during the surgery. You wanna come with me and see how the old place has changed? Free coffee.”

  “I’ll probably sleep all I can. Big day tomorrow.”

  Corbin gave his little brother a hug and trundled off into the night. Winton opened one more grapefruit lager and tossed the cap on a work bench before shutting the lights off and walking back into the house.

  He got undressed and pulled himself onto the bed and under the princess covers. He took sips of grapefruit beer in the dark, waiting for sleep to take him.

  An hour later, the beer was gone, but Winton was still turning under the covers, trying to let his mind wander into dreaming. Thoughts and questions kept circling. Round and around they spun, as if bound to his orbit. Finally, he threw the covers off with a curse and ordered cab service on his phone. He donned jeans and a hoodie and slipped out the back door, headed for answers in the dark.

  THREE

  Winton waited in the cool night air for ten minutes until a grey sedan pulled up to the curb. Winton passed through the glow of the headlights and got in the passenger side.

  The interior light turned on, illuminating a shaven-headed black man with a thin mustache and a smart zip-up turtleneck sweater. “You Winton?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Do I ride in the back like a cab? Or…”

  “Nah, baby, get in. Get in. Get in.”

  Winton hauled himself inside the sedan and buckled up. A pair of dog tags hung from the rearview mirror along with a plastic encased photo of an old woman, his grandmother, perhaps.

  “I’m Juli
us. Where we heading at this fine hour?”

  “625 Thibodaux. An apartment complex.”

  “Oh, okay,” Julius said, coyly. “I usually make the booty calls come to me, but that’s cool. Sometimes you gotta go to the booty.”

  “No booty,” Winton said. “Nah, I’m just checking on my brother.”

  It felt late to Winton, but the clock read only 11:45pm. “How late are you out driving?” Winton asked.

  “Depends on what’s going down. I stay out ’til three or four, usually. If the tourists are in town, I go down to Bourbon Street and work ’til dawn, ferrying their drunk asses.”

  Winton chuckled.

  They arrived at Lucas’ apartment building and Julius pulled into the lot. “You want me to keep the clock running?”

  “Sure.” Winton hopped down to the asphalt and closed the door.

  Winton had seen his brother’s place before, but wasn’t too sure of the layout or how he might find a way in. The door was set in a breezeway where stairs led up to higher floors. He checked under the mat for a key, knowing it was a long shot. Found nothing. Next, he edged around the bushes at the corner of the breezeway to the rear of the building and used the flashlight on his phone to locate a window, then another, both of which had to lead into Lucas’ apartment, one into the living room and one into the bedroom.

  Winton looked about for a makeshift stool. Near the tall wooden fence skirting the property, someone had left their barbecue grill out. Winton carried it over beneath the living room window and wiped the grease from his hands. He put a sneaker-clad foot on the grill, testing his weight, before standing on it. Clutching the window sill to keep steady, he shined his phone’s flashlight through the window and peered inside, fighting the glare on the glass. Couch cushions were out of place. DVDs and CDs lay on the ground around the entertainment center. A dining room chair lay in its side, and from what little he could see into the far kitchen, cabinet doors hung open.

  “What the hell?”

  Winton moved his little perch to the bedroom window, but that was obscured by a curtain. He searched for any way to break in, deciding he could saw through the screen on the living room window with his keys. Winton was able to wrench the whole screen free, giving him access to the vertical sliding window. Old paint flecked away at the bottom of the wood frame at the touch of his key. Winton hoped the wood wasn’t too swollen and placed both his palms against the glass, shimmying the window from side-to-side and all around until it shifted upward.

  Winton stuck his house key into the tiny bottom gap as a stopper, and continued pushing upward until the key dropped down and Winton got his fingers under the window pane. He reached over the sill, pawing for a hand hold, but nothing presented itself. It was optimistic, but he tried to pull himself over the ledge, feet kicking at the siding. It was no use. He gave up and went back to the sedan, around to the driver’s side. The window rolled down, and Winton said, “I need a hand.”

  “For what?”

  “For lack of a better term, I need a boost.”

  “A boost?”

  “Yeah, a boost.”

  “Like through a window?”

  “Yeah.” He splayed his hands. Having to ask was bad enough.

  “Man, I ain’t breaking into no house.”

  “It’s not breaking in. It’s my brother’s place and we haven’t heard from him in days. I looked inside. The place got robbed.”

  “Then call the cops, fool.”

  “You don’t understand. My brother is a cop. My dad was the chief.” Winton pointed a finger into his palm and screeched under his breath. “For all intents and purposes, I am the law.” That was a stretch of logic, Winton knew, but in his heart it felt right. “Twenty bucks,” he added. “One little boost. Let’s go.”

  “Ah, hell, all right.”

  They stealthily made their way around back, where Winton climbed up as far as he could. Julius grabbed his foot with one hand and hauled him up by the waist of his jeans with the other, sending Winton through the window quicker than he’d anticipated.

  “Whoa. Whoa.”

  Winton face-planted into the top case of a record player, flipped over his shoulder and crashed ass over tea kettle onto the floor with the player and the stand on top of him.

  “Dammit, Lucas, when did you get into vinyl?” he muttered, as he rolled over and got to his feet.

  “Shit. You okay?” Julius whispered.

  “Yeah,” Winton groaned. “Go ‘round front.”

  Winton took in more of Lucas’ messed up apartment as he made his way to the door and unlocked it. The driver entered and closed the door behind him.

  “I don’t think we woke nobody.”

  “Good.” Winton toured the bedroom and bathroom. The place was trashed. Every door, every drawer, every bottle, every box that could be opened had been, contents be damned. Pills, razors and other sundries were strewn about the bathroom floor, or lying in toilet water.

  The bedroom was awash with Lucas’ clothes, his watch collection, Saints memorabilia and old photos.

  “Jee-sus,” Julius said. “What happened here?”

  “A robbery?” Winton asked.

  “Well, if they robbed the place, they weren’t looking for valuables.”

  “No.” A pit formed in Winton’s stomach.

  His father was right. The truth of it surmounted all other trivial explanations. “Lucas is gone,” he said. Winton couldn’t believe the words. Whatever medication his father was on, the old man’s instincts were confirmed. Something in New Orleans stunk, and Lucas was in a hot mess of trouble.

  Winton feverishly searched the house for any clue of what had been taken or where Lucas had gone, muttering more curses under his breath the longer he went without finding anything helpful. Feeling nauseous and confused, he opened the refrigerator. Winton bent a lip at the mass of take-out containers crowding the fridge space. Lucas never learned how to cook much of anything, which DeeDee had probably encouraged on purpose to keep him coming around for suppers. Front and center, two untouched six-packs of strong, dark beer had been pushed into the messy fridge. Lucas’ favorite beer.

  “Here.” Winton pulled out a container of potato salad with a grocery deli tag on the lid.

  “What is it?”

  “My brother went to the grocery store. He bought this potato salad. See? The date was two days ago. Time stamped in the morning.”

  Julius didn’t have much of a reaction.

  “He went to the store that morning and bought two six packs of his own favorite beer.”

  “Don’t know much about potato salad,” Julius said. “But white boys don’t leave their fancy beer behind if they can help it. You saying he wasn’t planning to run away?”

  “Exactly.” Winton couldn’t bare to say it, but he looked around the wrecked apartment fearing it might even be worse.

  Winton closed the living room window and stashed the broken screen in the bushes, before wiping down everything he’d touched.

  They got back in the car, and Julius looked around as if unsure what he’d just seen or what to make of it. “What now?”

  Winton didn’t know the answer.

  “I’m gonna get outta here, at least,” Julius said.

  Julius drove them a few blocks away, where the neon glow of bar lights and the sound of revelries filtered through the cool night.

  “So hold up,” Julius said. “Your brother is NOPD, but he went missing?”

  “Looks like it. And it wasn’t anything planned. Not by him.”

  Julius leaned back in his seat and motioned with a hand. “Either he left just in time to avoid whoever trashed his place, or…”

  “Or he was taken.” Winton said the words, breathing sharply inward to stem any threatening tears. “Taken from his place or from somewhere else. His personal car was in the parking lot. But I wonder where his cruiser is.”

  “You’d have to ask the cops.”

  “That’s the thing, Julius. I don’t know who t
o trust. My dad seems to think something is fishy.”

  “Well, that is a son of a bitch.”

  Winton didn’t know who to go to. The police? This late at night? He briefly considered his father, but he’d have to sneak into the hospital and wake him. Besides, if Roland knew more, he would have told Winton. “Earlier, I went and saw my dad in the hospital,” Winton said. “A plainclothes cop came in and spoke with him. Captain Remus. After that, my dad told me to find my brother and that something was wrong.”

  “You think that cop told your daddy to be worried?”

  “I wonder… But no. My dad said he didn’t trust anyone. That meant that whatever Remus told him didn’t improve my dad’s faith in the force.” Winton bit down on a knuckle, but no clear path appeared. “I’m sorry, man. I won’t take up any more of your time. Just take me home, I guess.”

  Winton leaned his head on the cool glass and watched the city lights pass by. A weight bore down on him, making him feel sapped but restless. When they pulled up in front of Corbin’s, Julius handed him a card. “That’ll get you Julius, in case you need another ride.”

  “Thanks. Might be hearing from me.” Winton paid him, plus a healthy tip. He snuck back up to the guest bed in Corbin’s house and lay awake all night under the princess covers.

  FOUR

  When Corbin woke the next day, he shuffled first to the bathroom then to the kitchen, where Winton was waiting at the table to greet him. “Coffee’s made.”

  “Winton?” Corbin squinted in surprise. His voice was gravelly with sleep. “You said you were sleeping in.”

  “Changed my mind.” Winton brought his steaming cup to his mouth and sipped. “Figured I’d see how my big brother keeps the city safe.”

  “It’s not flashy, but my work helps keep everyone safe.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Why do you wanna come?” Corbin pulled a cereal box off the top of the fridge. “You’ll just get bored.” He stuck his hand in the box and shoveled dry sugary cereal into his mouth.