“You’re kidding!” Aaron said, aghast.
“Of course I’m kidding,” Aunt Mel said, giving him a playful punch on the arm.
Oh, Lord!
Between Aunt Mel and Tante Lulu—who was dressed today all in black, commando-style, including a black kerchief wrapped around her head and tied in the back and a kitchen knife strapped to her belt—he might very well have a heart attack . . . or attack the supply of bourbon hidden in the library closet. When he’d questioned her attire, she’d given him one of her dirty looks, aka “the stink eye,” and said, “Someone’s gotta protect the home front while the rest of you are gallavantin’ off ta fight the tangos.” She must have picked up that term from Brother Jake.
Oh, Lord!
Back in the dining room of the mansion, the two Brothers and Sister Mary Michael were busy tying up last-minute details for the mission. More maps on the wall!
Oh, Lord!
As for Fleur, last he saw her, she was in the kitchen whipping up masses of food with Tante Lulu. Unlike Tante Lulu, Fleur was dressed for the weather, another steamy late August day coming up. Demure Daisy Dukes—demure as in short, cut-off denim shorts, but not so short that her butt cheeks showed. Shucks! A stretchy-necked peasant blouse that begged a snap from a male finger. Mine, in particular. And a ponytail that bared her neck. Wonder what she’d do if I snuck up and blew in her ear?
She blushed whenever he looked at her. Which was often. He was about to go to the kitchen to see if he could make her blush some more when he saw Dan driving up. He met him in the front hall. “I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”
“Just came by to drop off laundry and pick up some clean clothes.” He motioned for Aaron to follow him upstairs.
Just then, Emily came out of the bathroom (Don’t ask!) and Dan brightened. “Hey, Em! How’s my girl?”
The miniature pig, who was not so mini anymore, barely gave Dan a look as she passed them by. Aaron could tell that his brother was a little miffed, especially when he called out, “I can always give Miss Piggy a call, you know.”
Emily just raised her snout and continued trotting down the hall toward her new BFF, the Irish priest.
“Is it my breath?” Dan asked with a laugh.
“Could be. Did you have bacon for breakfast?”
They headed upstairs to the master bedroom where Dan opened an empty suitcase on the king-size bed and started to pile underwear and socks (always dark blue or dark brown depending on his pants), folded shirts still in their laundry cardboards, two pairs of khakis with perfect creases (no doubt due to Aunt Mel’s ironing), and a half-dozen ties from the closet rack that held another dozen. Aaron wasn’t sure if he even owned six ties, probably two, maybe three max.
“How’s Samantha?” Aaron asked as he arranged himself on the bed, propped on two pillows, with his hands folded at his nape.
“I’m worried.”
Uh-oh! Aaron sat up. “What?”
“It doesn’t look like she’ll be able to carry to term.”
“Oh, my God! What happened?”
“Nothing happened. It’s just that one of the babies is in the wrong position for a vaginal delivery. That on top of her age for a first baby. And some other minor complications.” He shrugged. “They’ll probably have to do a C-section.”
Aaron didn’t know much about childbirth, but he seemed to recall that a C-section was considered major surgery and a last resort. “When?”
“I don’t know. We’re playing it by ear.”
“Soon?”
“Possibly.”
“Oh, man! Please don’t let it be tonight.”
“Tell me about it!” Dan said, clicking the suitcase shut and sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m coming back here tonight to help with the rescued girls.”
“You don’t have to do that. There will be a doctor here, coming from Alabama, I think.”
“Yeah, but I have local hospital privileges. If something critical comes up with one of the girls, I could get her admitted with the least amount of trouble.”
“Well, then, you just better tell Sonny and Cher to hold on, at least until tomorrow. Better yet, next week. I have plans for tomorrow.”
“Oh? Do I sense a certain glow about you today? Dare I hope you got lucky, finally?”
First, grinning. Now, glowing. I give up. “Super lucky!”
“I actually knew that. I got a tingly feeling last night.”
“You did not.” Twins did get the odd sharing of emotions, even pain, across wide distances at times, but he wasn’t so sure about communal sex.
“Yeah, I did. Right here.” Dan pointed at his crotch. “And believe me, I haven’t been getting any tingles of my own for the past two months. So, bring ’em on.”
“You are so full of it.”
“Seriously, though, Aaron, I hope it all works out the way you want it to.” But then he grinned. “Do I need to have Aunt Mel pull out my tux?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I don’t want to jinx anything.”
“Okay. Just one thing.” He paused. “I better be the best man.”
“You already are.”
Mission Impossible . . . or Mission Possible? . . .
Finally, it was eight p.m., time to head out for the mission, and Fleur was more than ready for it all to be over. Brother Jake and Brother Brian wore uniforms with logos for a cable company and a plumbing contractor, while Aaron wore farmer bib coveralls. Fleur and Sisters Mary Michael and Carlotta were dressed in full-length, black nun habits, complete with wimples. Luckily, Mother Jacinta had left behind outfits in several different sizes just in case they might be needed. It wasn’t the first time they’d used religious costumes as disguises, both the men and women.
The five of them were all packed into Mel’s rental car and Aaron’s truck with its newly installed side door logo and fake license plate.
Aaron kept glancing her way with dismay. He was probably worried that she would grow to like this nunly attire way too much. Not a chance. It was hot and itchy and very uncomfortable.
Fleur and Sister Carlotta would be coming back here in the bus, hopefully carrying a dozen girls from Mexico, and Sister Mary Michael would follow in the rental car. The two commercial vehicles driven by Aaron and Brother Brian would take six girls each to the airport. While the pilots were gone, Brother Jake, with some help from Street Apostles on hand, would clear the site. Then, Brother Jake would drive Aaron’s truck to the airport and wait for the pilots to come back from their flights to Dallas and Mexico. The three of them would return to Bayou Rose together in Aaron’s truck, by then minus the farm decals and produce and fake license plate.
John LeDeux and Tank Woodrow, a fellow police officer, would take the new girls from New Orleans directly to their Lafayette police station, claiming they learned of the kidnapped girls at the last minute. They would not be transporting into custody any of the bad guys they could catch. Police would be called to the scene after they were all gone to make the necessary arrests. Luc was on standby back in Houma with Remy, who could fly him there on a moment’s notice, in case they needed legal help with their superiors.
Originally, they had planned to have more of the Street Apostles at the depot to help, but it was decided that fewer was better. And, besides, they were all experienced professionals in one form or another. Fleur herself had been on at least forty missions for the Magdas over the years.
So, that was the plan. Fleur only hoped that everything went as prearranged. It never did.
Before they left, the priests gathered everyone into a circle and they prayed for safety and success, God willing. Then, Aaron pulled her aside and gave her disguise an exaggerated survey.
Despite his obvious panic over seeing her as a nun, Aaron commented, “Don’t you look hot, sugar!”
“You consider this hot?”
“Oh, yeah. It will be added to my bucket list of sexual fantasies.”
She laughed. “That’s okay. I have a
sudden attraction to farm boys.”
“I aim to please, darlin’.” He put his thumbs under the straps of his bib overalls and waggled his eyebrows at her. Then he kissed her, in front of everyone. “Don’t take any chances. Be careful. I love you.”
Fleur didn’t have time to say anything in return. She wasn’t sure what she would say, if she did. She was still confused. She did call after him, though, “You be careful, too.”
“Always,” he replied. “Especially now.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant.
“Remember, lads and lassies, caution is the key. Don’t show all your teeth until you have the bone in your mouth,” Brother Brian advised.
“Roger that,” Brother Jake concurred. “Time to engage the enemy! Is everyone good to go?”
Frankly, Fleur thought they were both full of it, and Aaron must have shared her sentiment because he glanced her way and winked.
“Yes,” they all said.
Aaron drove the truck with Brother Brian and Sister Mary Michael as passengers. Fleur went into the rental car with Brother Jake and Sister Carlotta.
On the way, Brother Jake communicated with his spotters on the highways from New Orleans and from the Mexican border crossing. All appeared to be running as expected. Adrenaline was running high for all of them.
They got to the truck depot at ten on the dot and drove to the far, darker end. There was an office with a light on inside and probably a night watchman. A small clapboard building held a restaurant that catered to truckers who brought their big rigs here for long-term parking when not on cross-country runs. It had just closed for the night a half hour ago, and people were leaving the building, calling out good-nights to each other, getting in cars and driving away.
Aaron squeezed Fleur’s hand just before she went over to the school bus. She used her key to open the door and then made sure it remained open. Although she didn’t turn on the engine, which might attract attention, she did put the key in the ignition, just in case she might drop it if all hell broke loose, as it sometimes did.
The two priests approached the commercial vehicles parked and ready for the trip to the airport—a red Dick’s Plumbing cargo van, and a yellow Bayou Cable Company box truck. Sister Mary Michael and Sister Carlotta remained in the rental car, for now. Hopefully, John and Tank were here somewhere, waiting to come out at just the right moment. First off, the cops needed to take care of the guard. Which they must have done right now, because the light went out, then back on, and out again. A signal that all was well.
After twenty minutes, which seemed like twenty hours of waiting, a long, white, shuttle-type van, the type used by hotels and airports, pulled into the parking lot. This would be the one carrying the one dozen newly kidnapped girls from New Orleans. They’d learned last night that it would be only girls, no boys. The van drove to the far end of the lot, where they were, and just sat, its engine idling.
She saw John and Tank run at a low crouch up behind the van. While Tank remained unseen near the rear, John moved forward and rapped on the driver’s window. Speaking rapidly, he claimed to be one of the advance men from Mexico for this exchange. The driver—a black man wearing a backward baseball cap, put down his electric window, but he didn’t get out. The two of them exchanged angry strings of words and expletives. Something about idiots arranging a job for Friday night when they’d rather be with their women. The girls in the van could be heard crying and screaming until the man in the passenger seat yelled, telling them to shut up or he’d give them something to cry about.
Time for step two of the plan.
Sister Mary Michael and Sister Carlotta wheeled supermarket carts, which had been conveniently left in the lot for them, over to Farmer Bob’s truck where the farmer, aka Aaron, and two black-clad men she recognized from the Apostles, began unloading potatoes and melons. Loudly, they discussed the donations for the convent and day camp, in case anyone was listening.
Immediately, the nuns headed toward the shuttle van, Sister Carlotta crossing in front of the headlights, Sister Mary Michael toward the passenger door.
“Hey, hey, hey!” John hollered. “Watch where yer goin’, Sister.”
The driver was also shouting. “What’re nuns doin’ in a truck parking lot late at night?”
“Yeah, what you doin’ here, Sister?” John demanded of Sister Carlotta, who was about a head shorter than John and looked very frail and helpless, in comparison.
Sister Mary Michael was being berated at the same time by the guy in the passenger seat because she’d managed to ram her cart into his door, which he was unable to open.
“We’re just picking up some donations from a farmer,” Sister Carlotta said, her voice quivering as she pointed to her and Sister Mary Michael’s overflowing carts and the farm truck parked some distance away, then pointed to the Sisters of Mercy bus, where Fleur waved at them.
“Three nuns!” the driver complained. “This lot was supposed to be empty this time of night. You ladies better get the hell outta Dodge or someone’s gonna get hurt.” He was waving a gun in the air, inside the van.
“That’s no way to talk to a holy woman,” John told the driver. Then he turned to Sister Carlotta. “But he’s right. You shouldn’t be here, Sister. Why are you here so late, anyhow?”
“We got lost, and arrived three hours late. The farmer must have left, and so we are unloading the truck ourselves,” Sister Carlotta said, and went wide-eyed at the weapon she’d just noticed holstered at John’s hip. She began to back up, tripped, and overturned the cart, as planned. There were potatoes and melons rolling everywhere, some of the melons cracking open and making a slippery mess.
“Sonofabitch!” John cursed and began to help Sister Carlotta raise the cart and pick up the produce that wasn’t damaged. Also cursing was the driver who yelled, “Holy fucking hell!” and got out of the van to help John clear the space in front of his vehicle.
All the time this was going on, the girls in the vehicle were screaming and crying for help. Fleur would have liked to go in and assure them that they were the good guys, but no time for that yet.
The passenger guy finally managed to shove his door open, causing Sister Mary Michael to go chasing after the cart which was rolling away in the other direction. And Tank came up behind him, knocking him over the head with a melon, which caused the man’s legs to fold. He dropped to his knees, and his rifle slipped from his fingers.
“What the fuck!” the driver said, looking toward his fallen buddy and Tank, who was using police plastic cuffs to immobilize the guy, finishing with a potato stuffed in his mouth as a gag.
John used that opportunity to grab for the driver’s gun and put him in a stranglehold.
It had all happened so fast, it had been hard to follow who did what. But then, Aaron and Brother Jake and Brother Brian rushed forward with ropes and gags. They quickly tied up and gagged the driver, then dragged both men off to the bushes. Meanwhile, John got into the driver’s seat and Tank in the passenger seat. They would be pretending to be members of the Dixie Mafia making the exchange.
The girls in the back seats continued to scream and pound on the windows. Perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad thing. It would be expected. If they were quiet and unafraid, the bad guys would be suspicious.
The rest of them worked quickly to clean up the scene until there were no carts or fallen produce about. Aaron gave her arm a quick squeeze to assure himself that she was all right, but no words were spoken. She and the two nuns went to the bus to wait, while the others returned to their assigned vehicles. She noticed the two black-clad Street Apostles leap over the tailgate of Aaron’s truck and burrow under the remaining potatoes and melons.
It seemed like forever that Fleur and the two nuns were in the bus together, remaining silent. Praying. Fleur’s heart was beating so hard she could scarcely breathe. The waiting was almost painful. But then, with a swoosh of air brakes, a tractor trailer turned into the lot, followed by a dark-windowed SUV. Which me
ant there would probably be at least four men to deal with. Maybe more.
The driver got out of the truck and stretched, looking around. His cohort got out of the other side and went back to talk to the driver of the SUV. Two other men got out of the SUV. Okay, that meant six men had been sent to handle this mission—the two from New Orleans who had been driving the shuttle van, and the four from Mexico. Not a lot, considering the numbers on this side, but they were armed. A decided advantage.
Wait. Wait. Wait. As Brother Brian had warned, timing was everything. One of the men began walking toward the white van, and John yelled out something in Spanish. It must have sounded all right because the man continued to approach at a leisurely pace. Meanwhile, one of the men from the SUV proceeded to pee, right out in the open, and the other walked over to the semi, unlocking the back door.
The exchange had been planned so that the girls would remain in the vehicles they arrived in. Except the drivers would change, and they would be heading toward opposite destinations.
It appeared as if some final arrangements were being discussed by John and the other guy, perhaps some money changing hands. When some of the men moved to join their compadre at the shuttle van, Fleur turned on the ignition of the bus, which prompted all the men out in the open to become immediately alert, and turn her way. She drove the vehicle slowly forward, as planned, until she was right beside them. When the passenger door whooshed open, Sister Carlotta stepped down and said, “Could you gentlemen please help us? We’re lost.”
She was clearly visible in the headlights of the shuttle van, the SUV, and the eighteen-wheeler.
Fleur put the bus in Park and got out, too, pretending to weep. “Mother Superior is going to be so angry. We were supposed to pick up some parcels for her at the Truck 88 Shipping Depot two hours ago, but we must have made a wrong turn.”
One of the men said, “Piss off! We’re busy here.”