Gator Aide (Rachel Porter Mysteries) by Speart Jessica

Author:Speart, Jessica [Speart, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Wildlife, mystery, endangered species, Jessica Speart, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, special agent, alligators, drug smuggling, wildlife smuggling, New Orleans, bayou, Cajun, poachers, French Quarter, swamp, female sleuth, environmental thriller
Published: 2012-04-27T04:00:00+00:00

Ten

The waiting room had pretty much cleared out by the time Santou returned to get me. I’d spent the last half hour watching frightened people being shunted in and out, with injuries ranging from broken bones to bodies that looked as though they’d been put through a meat grinder—mostly victims of the riot. I was caught between two conflicting emotions. Though I wanted to thank Santou for his help, I also had the overwhelming urge to punch him out for being on a police force that didn’t seem to care.

I slid into Santou’s LeSabre, wanting nothing more than to sleep for a solid eight hours without any dreams of Valerie, Hickok, or the maniac who’d plowed a sign into my head.

“So, Porter, you want to tell me all about your day before, during, or after dinner?”

It hurt for me even to think. Having to deal with carrying on a conversation over dinner was another dimension altogether. “Listen, Santou, I appreciate the trouble you’ve gone to, taxiing me back and forth. But look at me. I feel like shit, and all I want to do is go home.” What I really wanted more than anything was another Percocet.

“Home is exactly where I’m taking you, Porter.”

This time we drove down Bourbon Street. Santou flashed his badge, and we were waved on through an area that had been blocked off to all other traffic. I had expected to find a scene out of war-torn Beirut. While torn clothing and splintered signs abounded here as well, what surprised me was the fact that most of the buildings and porno theatres remained relatively untouched, except for those that were explicitly gay. Terri’s club, Boy Toy, was one that had incurred skinhead wrath. The front window was shattered, and part of the building had been torched, but Terri’s publicity shot as Madonna in a lacy white bustierre, bikini panties, garter belt, stockings, and high heels still hung outside. “Kill All Fags” had been spray painted over it in large black letters.

As we drove down block after block, it became obvious that the riot on Bourbon had been carefully planned. It was as if someone had laid out which businesses were to be hit. Considering the amount of money generated on the strip, it wasn’t hard to imagine why. But it did make me curious. A few of the clubs had even had the foresight to board up their windows. I made a mental note as to which buildings they were, and decided to try and find out who the investors might be.

Santou parked in front of my apartment, placing his N.O.P.D. sign clearly on display. Opening the passenger door, he helped me out.

“You’ll have to make it upstairs on your own steam, chère. I’ve got packages to carry.”

I concentrated on the long flight of steps ahead, not bothering to ask Santou exactly what he was bringing in. All my energy was directed on keeping as much weight off my left leg as possible. The second-floor landing still reeked with the odor of urine, and my straw doormat was stained with Terri’s blood.

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