Free Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 15 - The Mona Lisa Murders by Kent Conwell

split Edmund’s swarthy face. ‘Them peeshwanks , they don’t scare me none. Ah yeeeee! We go.’
    I laughed at his bravado, but none of the goons I’d so far met were what I would call peeshwanks or runts .
    He gestured upriver. ‘Ahead, we turn back north. That be the Ninth Ward.’
    Latasha cast a worried look upriver. ‘What happens if we meet someone?’
    ‘Don’t you worry, little cher . Edmund, he sell fish and crabs all over this part of the city. I know everyone. No one bother us.’
     
    We eased into the current and headed upriver as the city came to life. I checked the cell phone. The battery was low, so I put it on the charger and secured it under the console of the Marlin.
    Overhead, occasional helicopters flew by. What few small boats we encountered simply waved and continued on their missions.
    After a mile or so, we turned up the Harbor Canal and then eased into neighborhoods surrounded by muddy water up to the bottom of the windows.
    Edmund grimaced. ‘This be worse than Katrina, I tell you.’
    Latasha looked around at him. ‘You know where we are?’
    He nodded to a broad expanse of water a hundred yards wide stretching from east to west. ‘ Oui . That be St. Claud, the boulevard. East about a mile is Jefferson Parkway. That where your bus station be.’
    Before Latasha or I could reply, shouts from behind jerked us around. Fifty yards back, three men were pushing through the waist deep water toward us. One carried a bottle of wine by the neck. Another waved a revolver over his head. 
    ‘Stop or I’ll shoot,’ he shouted.
    Latasha screamed.
    Edmund gunned the engine and cut sharply to the left then back to the right.
    I don’t know if the bozo took a shot or not for the roar of the engines was all I could hear. A hundred yards up St. Claud, Edmund slowed, shaking his head. ‘Looters. Me, I hear on the radio that they be taking everything they can find.’
    I cursed under my breath. On both sides, I caught glimpses of faces staring from dark windows at us. Some waved, some started toward us, then turned back when we continued.
    By now, other rescue boats had appeared, methodically loading people into their small craft and transporting them to Refugee Centers.
    None of the rescue workers paid us any attention other than cursory waves of greeting.
     
    Thirty minutes later, we pulled up in front of the flooded Americanways Bus Terminal.
    The looters had already worked the bus station over. Windows were shattered; vending machines torn open; half the locker doors hung open; and every TV screen on the walls had been smashed. The stench of mold and mildew assailed our nostrils.
    I eyed the expanse of water from the door to the stairs. About thirty feet, I guessed, not anxious to wade through it. ‘Second floor you say?’
    ‘Yeah.’ She studied the water with the same apprehension I felt.
    ‘Here. You two, you need this.’
    Edmund handed us plastic bottle with spray heads. ‘Gasoline,’ he said. He made a wiggling motion with his hand. ‘The snakes, they don’t care none for gasoline.’
    ‘Good idea. Darn good idea.’ I looked at Latasha. ‘Give me the key. I’ll go. No sense in both of us.’
    ‘No. I’m going too.’
    ‘You sure?’
    She swallowed hard, none too eager to slide into the muddy swirling water. ‘I suppose so.’
    ‘Move slow,’ I cautioned. ‘From the looks of things, there’s broken glass everywhere.’
    ‘You’re the one to be careful,’ she said, nodding to my running shoes. ‘I found some boots at the fish house.’
    I studied the brown water surrounding the boat, imagining e-coli germs the size of Moby Dick swimming around just waiting for some idiot to jump in the water. ‘O.K.,’ I muttered. ‘Here we go.’
    Armed with our gasoline, we slipped into the water. It was warm and greasy. A slick film of slime covered the floor, and through the soles of my Nikes, I felt shards of glass with every step. I scanned the lobby, searching for floating