Were they the ones who made things clearer?
“I don’t know if I do,” I answered honestly. “How can you tell if you’re hearing them or maybe your own thoughts?”
“You listen.” She closed her eyes and continued rocking.
The night sounds combined with the rocking of chairs filled the air.
Before I could reply, a shrill scream came from inside the house.
Jezebel and I both sprang from our chairs, leaving the blankets behind as we hurried inside.
Rett
Nighttime enveloped the neighborhood, settling over the darkened streets of Desire. My pulse thumped as it raced through my veins, not from nerves, but the unmet desire to bring Emma’s kidnappers to justice and my wife home. The tips of my fingers tapped an undetectable rhythm on the armrest in the back seat of the SUV as Leon and I stared through the windows from our place in the shadows.
Twenty years ago, it would have been easier to remain less conspicuous or hidden in Desire. There was more here at that time—more people, more buildings, and more places to fade into. The population of this neighborhood had dropped exponentially over recent years.
Katrina was partially to blame.
It was too easy to blame all of New Orleans’s woes on that one hurricane. As I’d told Emma, she—Katrina—had a bum rap.
While she’d been a category five out in the gulf, by the time she made it close to us, she’d weakened down to a category three. Forecasters said New Orleans had dodged the bullet when she’d hit landfall forty-five miles away, keeping her powerful winds farther away.
But she was a deceiving bitch.
Her power wasn’t in her winds.
New Orleans had handled 125-mph winds before and since.
No, her power came in the over ten inches of rain and over eleven feet of storm surge she brought.
A plan had been developed to rid the sea-level city of water, but the structures hadn’t been maintained. The levee system failed. And even now, nearly two decades later, people speak about the devastation of Katrina when what they should talk about was the abject failure of those sworn to protect the city, its structures, and its people.
My city.
My people.
Emma’s and my father both had tried, but evacuating a city that had never before received such an order was a feat in and of itself. Even I had to admit that using the Superdome was a good idea. Then again, it brought forces within the city to a level playing field—literally. That caused its own problems.
Now, as I peered out the windows, I saw lot after lot in Desire where houses once stood, now empty. While most of the damaged structures from 2005 had been removed, many hadn’t been replaced. Instead, they left grass and mud as well as cracked-asphalt remains to fill the spaces.
The church Johnny had mentioned was a block away.
In this area, overgrown brush and abandoned buildings were more abundant than homes with full-time residents. Leon had our SUV parked behind an old gas station, hidden in the shadows of what was at one time a carwash.
From where we sat, we could see the back of the church.
At a little after midnight, the men started to arrive. One or two at a time, all on foot, they’d made their way along the rutted dark streets and slipped behind the loose piece of plywood. It was now a quarter to two and the head count within was seven, including Johnny. And from our vantage point, there was no sign of life.
I had a car with my men watching the other side.
No one had left.
This abandoned old church made for a well-hidden hideout.
Initially, I’d wanted to wire Johnny for sound.
The reason he wasn’t fitted with a bug was because of the work that had been done to him—swollen eye, fat lips, and bruises on his body. I knew from good sources that Johnny’s presence would be questioned. He’d obviously been caught by my men. There was too great of a chance that he’d be searched and wires would be discovered.