The Whispering Room

Fifteen

Hours after Nathan Mallet left Mount Olive, he drove to a bar a few blocks from the cemetery and parked on the street so that anyone tailing him would be sure to spot his car.

Taking his time, he locked the door, pocketed the key, then went inside and found a table at the back where he could watch the whole room, including the front door.

When the bored waitress came over to take his order, he discreetly showed her his badge—after all, she wouldn’t know that he’d walked off the job months ago—and asked if there was a back way out of the place.

She pointed to the restroom area. “Go through that door, past the men’s room and it’s at the end of the hall.” Nervously, she glanced around the empty bar. “Is there going to be trouble?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he told her. “I just need to get someone off my tail.”

She didn’t look at all reassured. Mallet saw her talking to the bartender a few minutes later, and they both kept glancing in his direction. He just hoped they didn’t decide to call the cops, at least not before he could get out of there.

When the waitress returned with his drink, Mallet downed the whiskey, slid the empty glass to the edge of the table and motioned for another. He discreetly dropped some bills on the table, then got up and headed toward the restrooms, bypassing the men’s room for the rear exit at the end of the hall.

He opened the door and slipped outside. Pressing himself into the shadows, he peered down the alley toward the street. When the coast seemed clear, he hurried to the back where he climbed a chain-link fence and jumped down on the other side.

A few minutes later, he was back at the cemetery.

The gates were closed and locked by this time, but he scaled the brick wall easy enough and soon he was making his way through the crypts and mausoleums to his first wife’s vault, where he’d been earlier.

Dropping to the ground, he leaned back against the still-warm concrete as he removed his gun from his pocket and tucked it beneath his leg. Then he pulled a fifth of whiskey from his other pocket, uncapped the bottle and took a long swig before letting his head fall back against the vault.

After a while, it started to mist and he turned his face skyward, letting the moisture cool his overheated skin. He was nervous and punchy, but being back here with Teri helped calm him. It always did.

Man, he still missed that girl.

She’d only been eighteen when they married, fresh from her high school graduation when they ran off to Biloxi. He’d just celebrated his twenty-first birthday. Young, stupid, crazy in love.

Back then he’d wanted nothing more than to be with her day and night. Even now, he could remember feeling that he would never be able to get enough of her.

A year later, she was dead. Killed by a drunk driver when his car hit hers head-on.

Nathan had quit drinking after the accident. He felt he owed her that much. For years, he never so much as touched a drop, but then his life had taken one bad turn after another. His mistakes had started to catch up with him, and he’d sometimes have a drink or two just to get through the day. Before he knew it, he couldn’t crawl out of bed without the sauce. He went to sleep loaded and he woke up reaching for his next drink.

His second wife, Kathy, was a good woman and God knows she deserved a lot better than what he’d put her through over the years. But after all this time—well over a decade—he’d never been able to forget about Teri. He’d never been able to stop thinking about what might have been. If only he’d been with her that day. If only she’d taken another route home.

Nathan’s visits to the cemetery had become both easier and harder over the years. Easier because it was the only place where he ever felt any real peace. Harder because it always hit him anew how much he’d lost when Teri died.

“Hello, Nathan.”

With an effort, he opened his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d drifted off, but when he saw the man standing over him, he came fully awake and a warning shivered down his spine.

He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he knew that voice.

“Long time no see,” Nathan said as he dropped his hand to the ground beside his leg. “I was about to give up. Thought no one was coming. I’d have been mighty pissed, too, after driving all the way up here to see you.”

“Have you ever known Sonny to go back on his word?”

Nathan shrugged. “Like I said, it’s been a long time. People change.”

“You sure have.” The man kicked Nathan’s foot with the toe of his boot. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks a lot.” He lifted the bottle and took a long swig.

“You need to take better care of yourself. Maybe try a steady diet of something besides Jim Beam.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You live your life, I’ll live mine.”

The man laughed softly and turned to glance around. “I didn’t see your car on the street. How’d you get over here?”

“Walked.”

“From where?”

“From where I left my car,” Nathan said, evading the question.

The man turned back to him. “The feds are bound to know you’re back in town by now. You sure you weren’t followed?”

Nathan snorted. “None of those fuckers know New Orleans like I do.”

“Don’t get too confident.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Matter of fact, I ran into a little unexpected trouble when I was here earlier.”

“Yeah, we know about that.”

Nathan looked up in surprise. “You know? What, you guys spying on me?”

“Just keeping an eye on things,” the man said. “Big difference.”

Right.

“What did Evangeline Theroux want?” he asked.

Nathan scowled. “What do you think she wanted?”

The man hesitated. “Let me rephrase that. What did you tell her?”

“Nothing, man.”

“She sure seemed upset when she left. So I repeat…what did you tell her?”

Nathan wiped a shaky hand across his mouth. “She kept asking about that night. I had to tell her something to get her off my back.”

“And?”

“I told her about the woman.”

Another long pause. “I see.”

“At least now she’ll stop asking questions,” Nathan said hopefully.

“You think?”

“Yeah, man, we’re chill.” He handed up the bottle to his companion. “Have a drink and relax.”

“No, thanks, but you go ahead and knock yourself out.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Nathan took another swallow and recapped the bottle.

“What else are you on?” the man asked conversationally.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m talking about drugs, Nathan. Narcotics. Chemicals. What gets you baked these days?”

“Hey, I’m clean.”

“Sure you are. That’s why you look like a walking corpse. Hooch didn’t do that kind of damage. If I was a betting man, I’d put my money on meth. The nirvana of the Southern redneck.”

Nathan’s hand was still beside him on the ground. Just a fingertip away from his gun. “Something tells me you didn’t come here just to insult me. Why’d you want to see me anyway?”

“We’ve got some loose ends that need tying up.”

“Such as?”

“You’ve got an addiction, Nathan. That makes you dangerous to Sonny. Especially with the feds breathing down his neck.”

“Nah, man. What are you talking about?” Nathan’s fingers inched closer to his weapon. He didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

“When you run out of money, you might be tempted to start selling secrets. We can’t have that, now can we?”

Nathan reached for his gun, but he was too late. He barely caught a glimpse of the silenced weapon before a bullet caught him square between the eyes. His head flew back, spraying blood and membrane all over his dead wife’s tomb.

He was dead instantly, but the killer pumped two more rounds into his chest for good measure. Then he squatted beside Nathan’s body and rummaged through his jacket until he found a wallet and car keys.

Standing, he pocketed the booty, then turned and made his way to the back of the cemetery, where he slowly walked down the row of vaults, reading the plaques.

Johnny Theroux. Rest in peace, asshole. Scaling the brick wall, he dropped like a cat to the other side.

A moment later, he disappeared into the night.