his story opens up new horizons for your story about the guns. Where else but an isolated stockade to hide
the weapons?”
“A rather amazing coincidence that you found him,” she said, turning to Telemacques. “Will you show us?”
The Indian remained silent.
“Yes, of course, Papa,” said Orial in a low tone.
Telemacques relented. “You will have to come at night. They watch us during the day.”
“They saw you come here?” inquired Wilma.
“We saw no one follow us.”
Eddie tried convincing Telemacques to allow him and Wilma to accompany him to the bayou, but the stubborn Acadian wouldn’t
hear of anyone setting foot on his soil until Thursday. “Ghosts will not return to my house for two days,” he said. “When
they come back, you will be protected from the evil men, the Army. I cast a spell .
it will drive the spirits off my land for two days. It’s not safe for you until they return.”
“Don’t be ridiculou—” began Wilma.
Orial interrupted, “My father knows what he is talking about. Please don’t argue with him.”
Removing a topographical map from his files, Eddie obtained directions to their bayou home. A paved road led a few miles out
of Morgan City to dirt paths winding through the marshes. Figuring they’d have to charter a plane to avoid the hidden perils
of the bayou, Telemacques pointed out a clearing (unspecified on the map) where an air strip would accommodate a small craft.
As Telemacques and his daughter drove off, they were watched by the seedy occupants of a black van idling noisily across the
street. One, who looked like a burly Hell’s Angel, was equipped with binoculars. He left the van and walked to a telephone
booth.
“Mr. Baal,” he said, raspy-voiced.
Someone on the other end spoke. “You followed the old man?”
“Yeah, he and the teen-age bitch just came out of the wire service office. I couldn’t get close enough to hear anything, but
they were looking at maps.”
Baal paused. “Return to the motel and await my instructions. I will be in the city for a few more hours and will take care
of the Indian.”
“Will you be at this number?”
“The new shipment isn’t here yet. I’ll be on the dock until mid-afternoon. Just keep your eye on the newspaper people. Good-bye.”
He returned to the van, asking his partner, a skinny. unkept leather-clad punk, to tail the woman. He’d watch the other. Grabbing
a walkie-talkie, the punk silently acknowledged the order, and ran across the street to a Kentucky Fried Chicken take-out.
Eddie insisted upon taking Wilma to an early lunch, but she preferred going back to the hotel alone. “I have to write a follow-up
to the Parfrey article.” she said, again discouraging Eddie’s advances. “We can meet for supper later.”
Walking the nine blocks back to the La Grange Hotel,
she stopped twice to notice a tall, gangly street kid keeping a block’s distance, moving at her pace. She took a convoluted
path, over sidestreets and including a ten-minute rest on a sidewalk bench, but the punk still followed her. She made a call
to Eddie at a pay phone, suspecting that he might have an unwanted pursuer. No answer. Keeping cool and not making the punk
aware that she saw him, Wilma moved quickly to the hotel.
In the lobby, she doubled back through a foyer, past the main desk, to spy on the punk. He did not enter the hotel, but instead
sprinted to a parked Chevy van and leapt in an open side door. The vehicle peeled rubber, heading toward the wharves at breakneck
speed… Turning down Bourbon Street, it disappeared in a cloud of exhaust.
The heat wave made Wilma very uncomfortable and sweaty, so she headed back to her room for a shower. She dropped some of her
clothes on the floor and draped others over a yellow sofa; while her underwear dotted a path to the bathroom door.
The bathroom door was closed and the shower head spraying noisily when an intruder picked her lock and
the weapons?”
“A rather amazing coincidence that you found him,” she said, turning to Telemacques. “Will you show us?”
The Indian remained silent.
“Yes, of course, Papa,” said Orial in a low tone.
Telemacques relented. “You will have to come at night. They watch us during the day.”
“They saw you come here?” inquired Wilma.
“We saw no one follow us.”
Eddie tried convincing Telemacques to allow him and Wilma to accompany him to the bayou, but the stubborn Acadian wouldn’t
hear of anyone setting foot on his soil until Thursday. “Ghosts will not return to my house for two days,” he said. “When
they come back, you will be protected from the evil men, the Army. I cast a spell .
it will drive the spirits off my land for two days. It’s not safe for you until they return.”
“Don’t be ridiculou—” began Wilma.
Orial interrupted, “My father knows what he is talking about. Please don’t argue with him.”
Removing a topographical map from his files, Eddie obtained directions to their bayou home. A paved road led a few miles out
of Morgan City to dirt paths winding through the marshes. Figuring they’d have to charter a plane to avoid the hidden perils
of the bayou, Telemacques pointed out a clearing (unspecified on the map) where an air strip would accommodate a small craft.
As Telemacques and his daughter drove off, they were watched by the seedy occupants of a black van idling noisily across the
street. One, who looked like a burly Hell’s Angel, was equipped with binoculars. He left the van and walked to a telephone
booth.
“Mr. Baal,” he said, raspy-voiced.
Someone on the other end spoke. “You followed the old man?”
“Yeah, he and the teen-age bitch just came out of the wire service office. I couldn’t get close enough to hear anything, but
they were looking at maps.”
Baal paused. “Return to the motel and await my instructions. I will be in the city for a few more hours and will take care
of the Indian.”
“Will you be at this number?”
“The new shipment isn’t here yet. I’ll be on the dock until mid-afternoon. Just keep your eye on the newspaper people. Good-bye.”
He returned to the van, asking his partner, a skinny. unkept leather-clad punk, to tail the woman. He’d watch the other. Grabbing
a walkie-talkie, the punk silently acknowledged the order, and ran across the street to a Kentucky Fried Chicken take-out.
Eddie insisted upon taking Wilma to an early lunch, but she preferred going back to the hotel alone. “I have to write a follow-up
to the Parfrey article.” she said, again discouraging Eddie’s advances. “We can meet for supper later.”
Walking the nine blocks back to the La Grange Hotel,
she stopped twice to notice a tall, gangly street kid keeping a block’s distance, moving at her pace. She took a convoluted
path, over sidestreets and including a ten-minute rest on a sidewalk bench, but the punk still followed her. She made a call
to Eddie at a pay phone, suspecting that he might have an unwanted pursuer. No answer. Keeping cool and not making the punk
aware that she saw him, Wilma moved quickly to the hotel.
In the lobby, she doubled back through a foyer, past the main desk, to spy on the punk. He did not enter the hotel, but instead
sprinted to a parked Chevy van and leapt in an open side door. The vehicle peeled rubber, heading toward the wharves at breakneck
speed… Turning down Bourbon Street, it disappeared in a cloud of exhaust.
The heat wave made Wilma very uncomfortable and sweaty, so she headed back to her room for a shower. She dropped some of her
clothes on the floor and draped others over a yellow sofa; while her underwear dotted a path to the bathroom door.
The bathroom door was closed and the shower head spraying noisily when an intruder picked her lock and
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