The Neon Rain (Dave Robicheaux 1)

"Annie," I said quietly.

"We're going to leave now and they're not going to hurt us," she said.

"Annie, don't talk," I said. "These men have business with me, then they're going to leave. You mustn't do anything now."

"Listen to the voice of experience," the man in the raincoat said.

"No," she said. "They're not going to do this. I'm walking outside now. These are weak people or they wouldn't have guns."

"You dumb cunt," the man with the tattoo said, and swung his fist into the back of Annie's head. Her hat pitched into the air, and she fell forward on her knees, her face white with shock. She remained bent over and started to cry. It was the kind of crying that came from genuine, deep-seated pain.

"You sonofabitch," I said.

"Put her in back," the man in the raincoat said. The other two men pulled Annie's arms behind her and taped her wrists, then her mouth. Her curly hair hung in her eyes, and there were tears on her cheeks. The two men started to walk her to the bedroom.

"Bobby Joe, nothing except what we have to do here," the man in the raincoat said.

"You wanted her to walk out on the front porch?" said Bobby Joe, the man with the tattoo.

"That's not what I mean. Nothing except what we have to do. Do you understand?"

"There's better broads for two bucks in Guatemala City," Bobby Joe said.

"Shut your mouth, tape her ankles, and get back out here," the man with the raincoat said.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"You're in way over your head, Lieutenant. I'm just not quite sure of your own degree of awareness. That's the problem we have to resolve tonight."

"I'll give you something else to resolve. I'm going to square everything that happens in here."

"You're presuming a lot."

"Yeah? We can make New Orleans an uncomfortable place for crackers that beat up on women. Or for over-the-hill spooks."

He looked amused.

"You think you've made me?" he said.

"You have a strong federal smell."

"Who knows, these days, employment being what it is? But at least you're a professional and you recognize characteristics in people. So you know that Bobby Joe and Erik in there are hired help, not professional at all. They get carried away sometimes. Do you know what I mean? Bobby Joe, in particular. Bad army life, doesn't like authority, certainly doesn't like women. A bad combination for your situation. Tell me where Fitzpatrick is and we'll walk out of here."

"Who?"

"I was afraid we'd hear that from you."

The other two men, Bobby Joe and Erik, came out of the bedroom, crossed my wrists behind me, and wound the adhesive tape deep into my flesh. I could feel the blood swelling in my veins. Then the man in the raincoat nodded to Bobby Joe, who jerked my head down with both hands and brought his knee up into my face. I crashed against the coffee table, my nose ringing with pain, my eyes watering uncontrollably. Bobby Joe and Erik picked me up by each arm. Their hands were like Vise-Grips on me. Then Bobby Joe hit me twice in the stomach, and I doubled over and gagged a long string of saliva on the rug.

"Now you're a cooperative biscuit-eater," Bobby Joe said, and they led me into the bathroom.

The tub was running over now. Erik turned off the taps, and the man in the raincoat lowered the toilet-seat cover, sat on it, and lighted a Camel cigarette.

"In 'Nam we wrapped a towel around Charlie's face and soaked it in water," he said. "It was kind of like a portable river to drown in. But it always worked. Even better than calling him up on the telephone crank. Let's have it, Lieutenant, so we don't have to go through this bullshit."

They had me on my knees, bent over the tub now. My nose was dripping blood into the water. They waited a moment in the silence, then shoved my head under.

I fought to get up, but it didn't do any good. My knees felt like they were greased with Vaseline; my stomach was pressed hard over the tub's rim, and Bobby Joe was leaning all his weight on the back of my neck. My breath bubbled out my nose and mouth, I shook my head violently from side to side with my eyes open, my teeth gritted, then the closure apparatus in my throat broke and I sucked water inside my head and lungs like a series of doors slamming forever.