eight

City Park, New Orleans

The moon hung brightly in the evening sky and found David Wayne sitting in the shadowy darkness under the spreading branches of a great oak tree bordering City Park. The evening was cool and the tourists were walking the streets of the old city in anticipation of the upcoming carnival parades. The still air was just cool enough to keep the hungry mosquitoes at bay, but not so bad, that he had to wear warm clothes.

From where he sat he had a clear view of the old two-story shotgun double, a favorite in this neighborhood it seemed, judging by the traffic at that address, on the corner of Orleans and City Park Boulevards. He had witnessed two Ford Expeditions arriving and the house was slowly beginning to fill up. Just one more vehicle to go and it would be “show time” again in The Big Easy.

This was just the opportunity he needed to show Maxwell he was leadership material, he felt.

          He keyed his mike on the radio to make clicking sounds as a signal to the other crew members awaiting his command; after this, he picked up his mobile phone and dialed Maxwell’s number.

          On the second ring, he heard him, “Yeah, Maxwell here.”  He had been awaiting this call, Dave knew.

          “Doug,” he said casually, not wanting to attract attention. “This is David.” He informed him with a sly smile that made the spreading darkness even chillier. “The last car has just arrived and we’re ready to move.”

Inside himself, he could feel the anticipation mount as it always did.  But this time it was different – much different.

          “Are you clear on the plan, David?” Maxwell inquired, bringing Dave back down to earth.

          “Yeah, we’re on the money,” Dave assured him, wanting to do this by the book. “Everybody’s ready and looking good – we move in two minutes.”

          “Remember, no loose ends this time.” Unlike the last time, was the message received. “I had to send Al and Doyle to Florida to clean up the last mistake. Let’s make this one a little tighter.” Maxwell said, a touch of pity in his voice. “You should know that Steed and his girl friend have hired that ****, Peter Robeaux, and with him his buddy Alex Oliver, to clear his name.

“Doyle and Al will take care of Oliver - if he makes it to Florida.” Maxwell informed him, “Doyle stills owes him for screwing up that bust on the NOPD cops last winter.” He told him as his mind went back to another place and time. “I’ll want you to take care of Steed when he gets released.” Maxwell said, sounding annoyed.

          “You got it, boss!” David informed him as a smile grew across his face - he would take care of the girl too; a little lagniappe, he thought, after the girl first took care of him, of course. And Oliver! What a treat! He had hoped one day to cross paths with him again! Maybe Doyle and Al, two ****-ups from the get-go, would screw it up again.

          Steed and Oliver!  Speaking of lagniappe!

          “Right, and watch out for cruisers as you go in.” Maxwell continued, “NOPD should have their hands full with carnival so you shouldn’t have any problems.”

          “Will do… later.” David said as he hung up the phone.

Doug Maxwell was not particularly fond of David Wayne; he was a racist and a hotdog.

Either trait spelled trouble, together they spelled disaster.