Operation Bayou Angel Read online

  “Go ahead and take off,” Lambchop told Sherman. “Jackson has been assigned to this mission to cover for you. Angel will have your boarding pass sent through to your phone before you reach O’Hare and Shepherd will have the ATF notified of the armed agent clearance they’ll need to pass through to the TSA.”

  “Thanks, man,” Sherman said to Lambchop, giving him a hug.

  “Prayers for your brother’s healing. Maybe this time the rehab will stick.”

  Sherman shook his head. “I sure hope so. The dumbass just can’t stay away from the shit.”

  “Good luck, man,” Sloan said, embracing him.

  Then Mother, Delta Team’s fourth and final teammate, embraced Sherman as well. “You need to tell him that he needs to get his shit together. Pretty soon it’s going to be time for some tough love.”

  “Oh, believe me, we are way past the time for tough love. He’s going to get my size twelve up his ass if he doesn’t straighten up and fly right. Good luck with the mission. Be safe.” Sherman grabbed his backpack and headed to his car.

  All the way to O’Hare, Sherman couldn’t help but feel bad for letting the team down. He owed Jackson, having to go on this mission last minute in his place, which meant he owed Angel, Jackson’s wife. His thoughts drifted to Sloan, his best friend, who now also had a woman in his life. Not that he wanted what they both had, but, hell, he didn’t know where his thoughts were going. He was just pissed at his brother, that’s all this was, he decided.

  He parked his car, a red pearl coat Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat Redeye, his baby, in the garage, not his first choice to leave it at O’Hare International Airport. Then he proceeded to the terminal. He stepped up to the TSA Agent at the entry to the Security Checkpoint and identified himself as an armed law enforcement officer requiring the special security screening process. He was escorted to a side room where he declared his weapon, presented his credentials and the backup notification from DC permitting him to fly armed on this flight.

  Angel had gotten him a direct flight into New Orleans, which left in less than an hour. He parked himself on a barstool at a bar near his gate and had a beer. He placed a call to Angel.

  “Hi Brian,” she answered on the second ring.

  “Hi Angel, thanks for taking care of my ticket and everything.”

  “No problem. I’m sorry your brother is in a bind.”

  Sherman could tell Angel’s attention was diverted. He heard clicking on the keyboard. “Hey, I really need a favor. I just parked my car in the short-term parking garage. Do you think someone from the office can come get it and park it at HQ? I don’t want to leave my baby here. I’m sure it won’t be here when I get back.”

  Angel chuckled. “I can send Requisition Ryan up right away. You probably should have taken an Uber to the airport and left your baby here.”

  Yeah, Sherman knew that. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he got the call from Bobby, that was for sure. “Thanks, Angel, and thank Ryan too. Tell him I’ll bring him some pralines or something from New Orleans.” He gave her the location of the car. The office kept spare keys for everyone’s vehicles. They’d have no problem getting his car for him, he was sure.

  That was one load off his mind. He finished his beer and boarded his flight, seated in the center seat and wedged uncomfortably between two large men. Just his luck. Why couldn’t it have been between two hot women? Because his day wasn’t going that way, that was why. No, he wouldn’t enjoy female conversation on the flight to New Orleans, he’d endure silence and cramped conditions. Everything about this trip sucked. He was really going to lay into Bobby when he saw him.

  It was late afternoon when he touched down at Louis Armstrong International Airport, New Orleans. He got his rental car, a red Mustang GT convertible, thank you Angel! She knew him well.

  He drove south through acreage he hadn’t seen in at least a year, maybe longer. The heat up north had subsided with the coming of fall, but down here, it was still hot and sticky. Even so, he left the top down, enjoying the hot breeze blowing his dark brown locks around his head. He felt the wind blow through his beard and over his unshaven neck. He felt free and at peace. The unforgettable smells from the bayou to his left invaded his senses. He was home.

  He pulled up in front of the Lafourche Parish Sheriff’s office in the city of Thibodaux, what was considered a big city in these parts, and put the car in park. He had been able to sweet talk old Sheriff Claude Broussard every other time Bobby had been arrested, but old Claude was no longer Sheriff. He’d been beaten out a year earlier, losing the election to a northerner who had only lived in the Parish for a year, a businessman who promised to partner with the community and the small town mayors in the Parish to turn the economy around with new business and development. He doubted this new Sheriff would be as easy to sway as old Claude.

  He passed through the front doors of the Sheriff’s office and saw only a few familiar faces. Delroy Hebert, an old friend of his from elementary school and high school, sat at the duty desk. That meant he had some rank. “Del,” Sherman greeted him with a smile as he headed in his direction. “How the hell are you, you old coonass?”

  Delroy Hebert presented his hand as he leaned over his desk. “I told Bobby he’s one lucky son-of-a-bitch that you’d come down here to bail him out, again.”

  “I understand it may not be as easy this time,” Sherman said quietly, glancing around at the mostly new faces in the Sheriff’s office.

  “He had crack on him, not a huge amount, but enough. And he’s facing criminal trespass. There was damage done to property, though not as much money as the owner is claiming. I suspect it’s inflated.”

  “Thanks,” Sherman said, knowing that Delroy didn’t have to tell him anything.

  “Do yourself a favor and don’t identify yourself, as of yet,” Delroy said in a whisper. “Save the federal creds for court tomorrow.”

  “The new Sheriff’s not around?” Sherman asked, his curiosity more than piqued.

  “Nah,” Delroy Hebert replied. “I’ll get you back to see Bobby. It’s probably best you’re in and out before Sheriff Henderson comes back.”

  Sherman had to think about what that could mean. First off, the fact that Del thought it important spoke volumes to him. Why though? That was the question. It was protocol and courtesy that any armed law enforcement officer coming into another jurisdiction identify themselves to the local law enforcement. This new Sheriff Henderson didn’t know him from Adam. He owed the man an introduction and declaration.

  “Sure, whatever you think best,” Sherman replied.

  He followed Del back through a new locked door that sectioned off the office. He found himself sitting in an interview room waiting for Bobby to be brought in. It occurred to him that he shouldn’t be in an interview room with an undeclared weapon, but Del must have known he’d be carrying. Unlike in days past, Bobby wore orange prison pajamas when he was escorted into the room by a deputy, another face Sherman didn’t know.

  “Oh, man, thank you for coming,” Bobby said, reaching to embrace his brother.

  “No physical contact,” the deputy said, halting Bobby and making him sit in the chair across from where Sherman now stood.

  Sherman was put off by Bobby’s appearance. He looked haggard. His hair was unbrushed, practically matted. His face had a bruise on it. His eyes went to the deputy. “How’d he get the bruise?”

  The deputy’s eyes went to Del and then back to Sherman. “He fell.”

  Sherman shook his head. He doubted that.

  “Have you been out to your boat yet?” Bobby asked.

  “No, I came right here as soon as I landed.” Sherman watched his brother carefully. Bobby was trying to tell him something without telling him in front of the deputy. “But I’m headed there next to cut that AC.”

  “You haven’t taken her out in a long time,” Bobby remarked a bit too casually.

  “I’m sure you have,” Sherman threw back. “Is there something wrong with my
boat? Did you damage her?”

  “No,” Bobby said quickly, his hands in a surrendering gesture. “I may have left the keys in the ignition. I’m sure it wasn’t running though.”

  Sherman moaned and ran his hand over his beard. Great, so there was a chance the boat might not even be there. Might as well put a neon sign over the boat inviting any swinging dick or his brother to come take his boat out.

  “So, you’ll be in court tomorrow and help me get rehab?”

  “I’ll do my damnedest,” Sherman said.

  “That’ll be more up to the execs at BioDynamix,” the other deputy said.

  Sherman’s eyes swept over his name on the chest of his uniform. “Deputy Downey, is it?”

  The man nodded. He was also a northerner.

  Sherman couldn’t figure that one out. How had so many Yankees gotten positions within the Sheriff’s office? “What’s BioDynamix?”

  “The property he trespassed on and did damage to one of their fences is at the BioDynamix facility out off old Snake Road just south of Galliano.”

  Sherman’s eyes went to Del.

  “The old fish cannery,” Delroy said. “It opened up earlier this year, some kind of biotech company, not sure exactly what they do out there except keep mostly to themselves.”

  “And they’re the ones charging Bobby with criminal trespass?”

  Del nodded again.

  “Good to know,” Sherman said. Then his eyes settled back on his brother. “Just try to relax and go with the flow till tomorrow.” His eyes flashed to Deputy Downey. “And try not to take any more falls, that would look mighty suspicious.”

  The deputy wasn’t fazed. But Sherman knew he got his message across. If anymore marks appeared on his brother in the next twenty-four hours, he’d be asking questions and this deputy had no idea who those questions would be coming through.

  “Thanks for coming, Brian. I know you were busy.”

  “Just make sure your PD knows you won’t cop a plea. If I can’t get you out, demand a jury trial. You have to agree to a plea in front of a judge. Don’t do that. You got it?” Sherman ordered.

  “I understand,” Bobby said. “I’ll get my shit together this time. I promise.”

  Sherman had heard it all before. “Sure, you will, Bobby.”

  Bravo

  From the Sheriff’s office, Sherman drove southeast down Highway One towards Galliano. Normally an hour drive, Sherman made it in forty minutes, got to love the speed of a Mustang. As he drove, he found himself becoming more anxious, not relaxed as should have been the case. A visit to the BioDynamix building was in order, but first, his boat. He was sure there was something wrong with it, due to the focus Bobby gave it. If Bobby damaged it severely, he would be really pissed!

  He pulled up to the little marina on the one hundred ninety-six-thousand-acre Catfish Lake, where he’d always kept his boat. True, he hadn’t stepped foot on the Mighty Vulture in over a year, but it was still his boat. It was tied up in its slip, floating. That was a good indication that there couldn’t be too much damage. He heard the AC running as he approached. Bobby hadn’t been wrong about that. He had left it on, damn it.

  He stepped on, a new feeling of bliss coming over him from the tipping of the boat in response to his presence. He climbed the ladder to first check over the controls on the flybridge. Everything looked fine. The key wasn’t in the ignition. He wondered where the keys were. If they had been with Bobby’s personal effects, he was sure Del would have spoken up.

  Then he descended the ladder and tried the door to the interior. It was locked and all the curtains were drawn. He hoped to God he didn’t find a mess. He’d have to kill Bobby if he’d trashed the inside of his boat. He pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked and opened the door. A blast of cool air hit him. It felt refreshing as he’d already broken a sweat, just climbing the ladder. It had to be in the upper eighties and at least eighty percent humidity. His blue jeans clung to his legs. For a few seconds he contemplated changing into a pair of shorts and taking her out.

  He entered the cabin and reclosed the door to keep the AC inside. Looking around, he was surprised to find that the interior of the cabin was neat and orderly. The only thing sitting out was a half-eaten sandwich and a can of soda on the table. Bobby must have wandered away during his meal. He picked the can of soda up to place it in the sink and heard the fizzing of the carbonated beverage as he moved it.

  It hadn’t been sitting open as long as it should have. Bobby was arrested early that morning. He set the can down and drew his Sig P320, 9 mm, from the small of his back where it was nestled. His gaze took in the interior of the cabin with a new focus. Both the doors to the master sleeping cabin and the head were closed. Behind him, he noticed the three-foot by three-foot access panel to the aft storage area was open. Fuck, someone was on his boat! They were either in the storage compartment or behind one of the two closed doors.

  He crept up to the open panel. He knew a closet-like space that could easily conceal a person or two lay within the bulkhead. He kept spare life vests and some fishing tackle equipment in the storage area, but it was not filled, by any means.

  “I know you’re in there. Come out with your hands up,” he said loudly, his gaze on the two closed doors, his ears straining to hear any indication of movement anywhere on the boat. He waited a few beats. Nothing. “I’m armed and I won’t hesitate to shoot.” He again waited.

  An apple was on the counter. He grabbed it and came up to the open panel. In one movement, he reached in and threw it as hard as he could into the opening. He heard it hit something and heard a startled gasp, followed by a string of curses from a raspy female voice. “Shit, that hurt! What the fuck asshole?”

  “Come out of there,” he ordered.

  “If you want me out, you’re going to have to come in and get me, but you may not be the only one armed on this boat, just saying. You might want to leave now. You are trespassing on private property,” she called out.

  The corners of Sherman’s lips tipped up. Whoever this was, she was mistaken. “No, I’m the owner of this boat. You’re the one trespassing, momma, a situation you’re going to want to rectify. Now come out of there.” She still didn’t move. Sherman had just about enough of this. He grabbed the flashlight from inside the cabinet and dropped himself to the floor beside the opened panel. He rolled in, flashlight and gun in hand, aimed in at the space.

  Within was a young lady, seated on a few orange life-vests, pressed against the far wall of the closet. She had long dark hair, and she gasped out when she was captured in the beam of light. He knew she couldn’t see the gun pointed at her with the light blinding her. “I have a nine-millimeter pointed at your head. Now come out of there.” His voice was calm. No reason to add more drama to this situation. He could see she had no weapon, at least not in her hand.

  “You want me out, you’re going to have to pull me out,” she said defiantly.

  Sherman considered it for a second. From her accent, she was a local girl, probably a friend of Bobby’s. “Bobby’s still in the lockup.”

  “He is? I thought they’d let him go once he was sober,” she said with her raspy, sultry voice.

  Sherman couldn’t help but smile. “Nope, not this time. Now come out of there so we can talk.”

  He pulled himself out of the access panel when she moved, inching her way towards the opening. When she crawled out, he was on his feet beside the opening. He’d already re-holstered his weapon. He pulled her to her feet, all one hundred sixty-five pounds of her and then, while holding her wrists, pulled her over to the booth-like seating of the table. He pushed her firmly into the seat and then fastened her left wrist to the towel bar with a zip tie.

  She pulled at it, her face showing outrage. “Cut this off, you asshole!”

  “Stop fussing. You’re going to cut your wrist up doing that.” He stood back; arms crossed over his broad chest. She was cute, long black hair, big brown eyes, a medium complexion, looked to hav
e some Indian and African in her, Creole, for sure. She was a few years younger than him, probably near Bobby’s age. Bobby had good taste. He couldn’t contain the smile that spread over his lips.

  “Asshole! I’m talking to you,” she said, still pulling her wrist, trying to free her hand. “Get this off me.”

  “Cool your jets, momma,” he said.

  “And what are you smiling about?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “You, all pulling at the zip tie, like you can break it. I know that towel bar is on tight, installed it myself. You’re not breaking it either. Now talk. What are you doing on my boat?”

  “It’s my friend’s boat,” she argued.