Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 08 - Death in the French Quarter by Kent Conwell

Author:Kent Conwell [Conwell, Kent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery: Thriller - P.I. - New Orleans
ISBN: 0803498780
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2007-12-01T22:12:00+00:00

Easing deeper into my tunnel, I slipped onto a shelf, my back to a wooden coffin. I crossed my fingers they wouldn’t bother to search the ledges. I held my breath as a beam of light flashed down the tunnel, then disappeared.

Later, after the voices had faded away, I slipped out and headed down the corridor. The gang was ahead of me. If I heard them coming back, I could dart into any of the numerous tunnels branching off the main one.

Around the next corner, I came to three forks. Now what? I studied the floor to see if I could figure out which way they went. I couldn’t so I took the left fork, which led to an apartment complex across the street. The middle fork ended at a brick wall.

The third fork ascended a flight of stairs. As I started up, I heard voices above. Dropping into a crouch, I peered over the top of the stairs into a low-ceiling mausoleum about twenty-feet wide and thirty long.

The lights were dim but I spotted wooden crates stacked in front of the tombs along three walls. Three rows of crates were stacked four high in the middle of the room. I couldn’t make out the words stenciled on them, and I wasn’t about to try to slip any closer.

Backing away, I found me a secure little niche behind a casket on a shelf in one of the many tunnels and waited.

Sometime later, lights flashed down the tunnel. I held my breath as a beam of light played over the coffin behind which I lay hidden.

The light disappeared, and I released a sigh of relief.

After the last voice died away and complete darkness enveloped me, I waited for what I guessed was another hour. Sliding from my hiding place, I crept through the darkness to the main tunnel, which was lit dimly by light from the top of the stairs.

I eased up, peering over the top tread, wondering if someone had remained behind.

Patiently, I scanned the room, seeing no one, hearing no one. A single bulb burned dimly near the front door. Rising to a crouch, I darted to the first row of crates and pressed up against them, looking first one way and then the other. My heart thudded against my chest.

Turning my head, I peered at the black stenciling on the end of a crate. The words were of a language completely alien to me, but the numbers were familiar: 47. I caught my breath. AK-47s were assault rifles. Could that be what I was staring at? I looked up and down the row. There must have been twenty or thirty crates. A chill ran up my spine. Easing over to the next row, I discovered crates of 7.62mm and 7.62 x 39 light weapon rounds. I wasn’t sure, but to the best of my recollection, those were Kalashnikov cartridges and PK machine gun cartridges.

Before I could snoop any further, I heard a noise on the other side of the room.

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