Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 13 - The Diamonds of Ghost Bayou by Kent Conwell

dozen hardworking Louisiana shrimpers made in a year. “Well, from what I saw, business is good.”
    He smiled in reply.
    A knock at the door interrupted us. O’Donnell called out,
“Come in, Carl.”
    The door opened, and the bald man in the striped polo shirt
stepped inside. In a deferential voice, he said, “You wanted to see
me, Mr. O’Donnell?”
    “How long have we been together, Carl?”
    The soldier shrugged his shoulders. “A long time, Mr.
O’Donnell. Close to fifteen years.” He cut his eyes nervously at
me, then slid his gaze back to O’Donnell.
    Expansively, O’Donnell replied, “Fifteen good years, and I’ve
always been able to trust you. Isn’t that right, Carl?”
    “Yes, sir, Mr. O’Donnell.”

    “So I want you to tell me the truth, Carl.”
    A sheen of perspiration glinted on his bald pate. “Anything,
Mr. O’Donnell.”
    O’Donnell explained, “This gentleman says yesterday, he
saw two men running away from his friends’ house down on
the bayou. They got away in a yellow boat, which happens to
be the Stratos in the boathouse.” He paused. “What do you
know about it?”
    His wide eyes bouncing between O’Donnell and me like a
Ping-Pong ball, Carl dragged the tip of his tongue over his lips.
Taking a deep breath, he dropped his gaze to the floor. “That
was me, Mr. O’Donnell.”
    With a merry twinkle in his eyes, O’Donnell winked at me.
“Who was with you, Carl?”
    His eyes still glued to the floor, he replied, “Patsy.”
    “Where is he?”
    Carl lifted his head. “Down at the marina nursing the headache this guy gave him.”
    “Any others? Mule? Bobo?”
    “No, sir. Just Patsy and me.”
    “I see. Why did you and Patsy go there?”
    Carl chewed on his lips as if he were embarrassed to reply.
    “I’m waiting, Carl, and you know I don’t like to wait.”
    “The jewels, Mr. O’Donnell. Patsy and me had been hearing
the rumors of loot from some diamond heist was hidden down
there. We figured to prowl around. There ain’t been nobody
living down there.”
    The twinkle faded from O’Donnell’s eyes. “This gentleman
also said the owner of the house was worked over the night before. You know anything about it?”
— - - — - - - - - - - - - -
    The middle-aged button man shook his head emphatically.
“No, sir.”
    “Was
yesterday
your
only
time
there?”
    Carl swallowed hard. “No, sir. Two more times. That’s all.
We never seen anybody there.” He looked up at his boss. “That’s
the truth. I wouldn’t lie to you. We didn’t work nobody over down
there.”

    Three times. That matched what Valsin had said.
    O’Donnell snorted. “I hope not, Carl.” His face grew hard.
“That’s a big swamp out there. You understand?”
    Carl croaked, “Yes, sir.”
    “Good” O’Donnell waved his hand, dismissing the man. “Tell
Patsy what I said.”
    “Yes, sir, I will,” Carl replied, backing away to the door. “Thank
you, Mr. O’Donnell. Thank you.”
    After the door closed behind O’Donnell’s soldier, the dapper
casino owner gave a half laugh. “They won’t bother you again,
Mr. Boudreaux.” He paused. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you find
those who assaulted your friend, but I have no doubt Carl told
us the truth.”
    Well aware of the unwavering loyalty mob soldiers had for
their boss, I knew O’Donnell was right. I scooted forward in my
chair. “Naturally, I’d like to get my hands on those who worked
over my friend, but to be honest, you and I both know I’ll probably never find them.”
    While his face remained impassive, a glint of triumph filled
his eyes. “You’re probably right.” He rocked back and forth in
his chair a couple of times. “I’d heard the same rumors-about
the jewels, I mean. That was years ago, and from what I heard,
all those who took part are dead.”
    I played dumb, thinking I might pick up some more information. “I hadn’t heard anything about that”
    “My uncle,