Illya and Napoleon didn't see each other after Illya left that night. The next evening found the CEA on an Air France flight to Nice while the Russian was in another terminal catching an American Airlines flight to New Orleans. Illya knew he would arrive in the Crescent City hours before his partner touched down in Europe. Arrangements had been made for him to pick up a rental for the hour long drive to Houma.
The flight was uneventful and Illya was the last customer of the night for the sleepy agent manning the Hertz desk. He received the keys to a brand new Ford station wagon along with a map on which the desk clerk happily outlined the way to Houma in red ink. A short shuttle bus ride later, Illya was in his car on the way to his destination.
He was bopping his head to the New Orleans jazz station he had found when he first started the car. By his estimate, he was about twenty minutes from the outskirts of Houma. I hope there is some place open for me to get something to eat, he thought when his stomach growled. Less than a minute later, he hit something in the road that caused a blowout of his right front tire.
Chyort!, he cursed to himself as he fought to control the car and bring it to a halt on the shoulder. When it had come to a stop, he assessed his situation. There are no lights of any kind, the shoulder is too soft to support a jack holding up a car and even if it could, it is too dark for me to see how to change a tire. He got out of the car and debated whether or not to contact UNCLE New Orleans for assistance.
He had just pulled his communicator when he saw the reflection of lights heading in his direction. He replaced the device in his pocket and quickly got his Walther from its holster and stuck it in the small of his back. Moments later, a car came around the curve and slowed to a stop. A woman who appeared to be in her late fifties early sixties stepped out and leaned against her vehicle.
"Hey! Ca viens?" she called.
Flummoxed, Illya replied, "I am sorry, Madam, I do not quite understand. I have a flat tire and it is too dark to change it."
The woman craned her neck to see for herself. "Coo wee! Yeah, you do, Boo! Where you come from and whatcha doin' round here?"
"My name is Nigel, Nigel Bellamy. I work for a London newspaper and I've been sent to Houma to write about the upcoming alligator hunting season."
"Well, you're 'bout fifteen twenty minutes away. It ain't safe to try to do anything wit' that car tonight. You got a place to stay in Houma? I'll drive you into town, if you like."
"That would be wonderful, Madam. I have a room reserved at the Houma Hospitality House."
"Co Faire? That place is a dump! Cher, listen to me. My name is Josephine LeDeux. I own a small rooming house and restaurant just on the edge of town. I have the best chef in Houma working there. I got one room left, the other three I just rented to three gator hunters. That should help your story writing. Ca c'est bon! Come get in my car. Let's go!"
Illya grabbed his suitcase out of the back of the station wagon and slid it into the rear seat of Josephine's car. He ran around to hold her car door open for her and then went back to enter the passenger side. He slammed the door shut and said, "I appreciate your help, Josephine, but I cannot impose. I will be coming and going at all hours to interview the hunters and take pictures."
"It ain't a bother! I rent to gator hunters every season; Houma Hospitality don't cater to them. You pay me fifty dollars a week, just like the hunters, and that includes breakfast. If you're around for dinner, that's extra. If you don't like it, you can always go to the Hospitality House. What do you say, Cher?"
Illya did some quick calculations and realized that, on the surface, this woman was offering a better deal. Accounting will be happy about that. And it sounds like she is familiar with the area; that could prove useful. "Thank you, Miss Josephine," he said, remembering Southerners regarded that as respectful and mannerly, "I accept your kind offer."
As the woman pulled back onto the road she laughed, "Someone taught you manners! I like that. I like you, Nigel. Call me Joey, most everyone does. And when we get home, I'm going to get you something from the kitchen. Skinny as you are, you need to eat. We'll get there either right after closing or right before. Don't matter, I'm the boss!" She giggled some more at her own joke.
Illya found her easy to talk to and was actually enjoying her company. She knew all about the regular hunters in the area and dropped a pearl of knowledge on him by mentioning that Francois Hebert was one of several buyers of alligator carcasses. He was also surprised to learn that Joey owned an alligator farm that abutted her boarding house/restaurant. When they pulled into a driveway, he noted that there was one spotlight that illuminated the front of the building. The front yard wasn't painted to be a parking lot, but he saw that a few cars were parked in a somewhat orderly fashion and Joey parked in alignment with what was already there.
She waited for him to retrieve his suitcase from the car, unlocked the door and then led the way into the closed restaurant. It was small, but inviting. Wooden tables, chairs, walls and floor with a fireplace in the corner, unlit but there, greeted them both. The Russian liked it immediately.
"Al! What's left in the kitchen?" she yelled as she dropped her purse on a chair. She looked at the blond. "Al is my chef," she said by way of explanation.
A voice floated out from behind swinging doors. "I got some boudin and some crawfish bisque! Your daughter will bring it out for you."
"Have her bring two servings of each!" she called back. She pointed to a table and sat when Illya held out a chair for her. "Merci, Nigel. Angel, my baby, is around your age. Too bad you're married," she noted as she pointed her nose to his wedding ring.
Illya didn't disabuse the woman of her assumption. The smells coming out of the kitchen had captured his attention and he was really looking forward to eating. Several minutes later, the door to the kitchen swung open to reveal the back of a woman holding a large tray. She turned and revealed it held two plates with sausage and two steaming bowls of soup along with silverware and a pitcher of what he thought was iced tea. He was so busy concentrating on the food, that he didn't notice the waitress hesitate slightly.
"Angel, what you slowing down for, girl? Come on, we're hungry!"
The Russian glanced up at Joey's daughter then and saw her eyes widen in recognition and then narrow into slits. Bozhe moy! That is…
"Nigel, Darlin', let me introduce you to my beautiful baby girl, Angel LeDeux. Angel, this is Nigel Bellamy. He's gonna be stayin' here while he writes an article about gator hunting. He's a reporter for some English paper."
Angelique had angled her body slightly so that her mother couldn't quite see her face. "Is that so? Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bellamy. I'd like to talk to you about England; I'd like to go there one day." She placed everything on the table and then leaned in to nuzzle her mother's temple and plant a kiss. "I missed you, Mama. Were you able to get anything accomplished?"
"Not too much, Baby Girl." Joey looked at Illya and explained, "'Member I said I got a gator farm?" When Illya nodded she said, "Something's wrong with them; they're getting really aggressive."
"I thought alligators are naturally aggressive."
"Well, yeah, to a certain point, the wild ones can be, especially during mating season. My gators was born in captivity, most of 'em and even though I wouldn't pet one, they're kinda used to people. Least, they used to be. One of my guys who's been feeding them for years barely got out of the pen alive because three gators went to attack him. I ended up having them killed and selling them to Hebert. That ain't normal and I've been hearing tell of swamp gators grabbing livestock and pets."
Angelique poured them each a glass of iced tea and said, "Oh, Mama, stop exaggerating. Gators been snatching livestock and pets that got too close for years."
"Not like this, Baby Girl. I heard Alcide Lebeau saw a gator chase his old coonhound for twenty yards before giving up; he said the dog wasn't at the water's edge, the gator come up on land to get him!" She was about to say more, but a coughing spasm left her gasping for air for a few seconds. She waved off Illya's attempt to pat her on the back.
"That's enough, Mama, you getting yourself all worked up over nothing. Why don't you finish eating and head off to bed? I'll take Mr. Bellamy to his room." When Joey nodded agreement Angelique added, "I'm going back in the kitchen to finish cleaning up. Al left out the back way after he heated up your supper. Call me when you're finished, Mama, and I'll come out to escort Mr. Bellamy."
Joey hadn't noticed, but Illya had been rocked to his core to see his former nemesis serving him his dinner. He was beyond glad that his habit of sitting where he could see doorways had stood him in good stead as part of him fully expected Angelique to burst through the kitchen door with her gun blazing. He returned his attention to his dinner companion. "Your daughter is lovely, Joey."
"Merci, Cher. And she's smart as a whip, too. She's went to school for years. She's got herself an advanced degree in chemical engineering. I don't even know what that is! That's why she talks so good."
"Interesting. I would think that someone with that much education would want to use it and live in a large city."
Joey wiped her mouth with her hand and glanced toward the kitchen. The sounds of running water and dishes being washed continued, so she leaned closer to Illya and said in a soft and sad voice, "That's my fault. Six months ago, Angel called to see how I was doin' and I let it slip that there's somethin' wrong with my lungs. She was here two days later draggin' me to doctors all over N'Awlins. She wanted to take me to New York City to some big fancy hospital up there, but when I said I ain't goin', she left."
The Russian's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "She did? But she is here now?"
Illya saw the woman's eyes tear up before she used her napkin to wipe them. "My Angel's a good girl. She called me a couple of hours later to say she just had to close up her apartment and she would be back as soon as possible. She was gone a week before she come back home. I know Houma ain't her cup of tea no more, but she ain't never complained about being here. She makes her Mama proud!"
Just then Angelique emerged from the kitchen drying her hands on her jeans. She looked at Illya and then said, "Mama? Vomment ca vas?"
"I'm fine, Baby Girl, Nigel and I are havin' a lovely talk."
"Yes, Mama, I'm dying to talk to Nigel myself," Angelique replied as she gathered up their plates and glasses. "Just give me a minute to wash these and we'll go upstairs together."
Moments later she returned. "All right, Mama, it's past your bedtime and getting close to mine. Let's head up."
"Allons." Joey stood with the assistance of her daughter and arm in arm, they led the way out of the dining room and up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway stretched left and right. "Follow me to my mother's room and then I'll take you to yours." Illya walked behind the women with his suitcase observing how gently the younger woman acted toward her mother. Stopping in front of a door, Angelique bent down and placed a kiss on Joey's temple. "Good night, Mama."
"Good night, Joey," Illya added, "Thank you again for your help on the road and your hospitality."
"Good night, y'all."
"Your room is down the opposite end," Angelique said before turning and leading the way. She reached in her pocket which prompted Illya to reach behind his back to pull his gun from his waistband. "Calm down, you idiot!" she hissed, "I'm getting your room key!" She unlocked the door and stepped through. "Close the door behind you, 'Nigel.' You and I are going to have a little talk."
The Russian closed the door and pulled a chair so that his back was against the wall facing the woman who had deliberately sat on his bed. "I should have known you were involved with THRUSH again, Angel. What is Hebert's scheme and what is your role in his plans?"
"Hebert? He is THRUSH?" she stood and went to the window and looked outside at the darkness. "Mon Dieu." She turned around to face Illya. "Is Napoleon here?"
"You are not seriously asking me?" To his shock, she strode toward him, ignoring the gun he still held in his hand.
"If you know like I know, Kuryakin, you won't dare fire that weapon! Even if you dart me, I'll still be able to scream the house down before losing consciousness and what do you think will happen to you when everyone in this house, including my mother, is armed to the teeth? You'd never make it out alive! And just in case you thought you could escape out your bedroom window, take a look! The gator farm is right below and like Mama said, they're super aggressive right now! So I'm asking you again, nicely, is Napoleon here?"
The Russian weighed his options and decided on the truth. "No, he is not here, but I will not tell where he is."
"I do not care where he is," she hissed. "When I left Boston two years ago, I left The Game. I wanted him to come with me; he would not. If you tell him I am here, he will make his way here and I do not want that. Do you understand? The only reason I am here is because my mother will not leave. She is dying and I will not leave her. Mama knows nothing of THRUSH or UNCLE. Francois Hebert is a man I have heard of, but never met. If he is truly what you say he is, I will kill him if he crosses my path. THRUSH thinks I'm dead and it must remain so. I was well known in THRUSH. I cannot take the chance of him seeing me and reporting that I am alive. When you speak to Napoleon, and I know you will at some point, do not mention me. If you do that for me, this is what I will do for you: I will not interfere. Conduct your mission, maintain your cover, ruin THRUSH's plans. I don't care. Just keep Hebert away from here. If he does come here, you better get what you need from him before I kill him. Do you agree, Illya?"
The Russian searched her face and saw the truth of her statements. He wasn't ready to say he trusted her, but he believed at that moment that she believed what she was saying. "I will do my best to not let what I am doing find its way to this place."
"Good. One more thing, 'Nigel.' My mother named me Angel LeDeux; she has never heard of Angelique DeChien. Keep it that way, oui?"
"Agreed. I will say this, Angel…Angel, that your mother seems to be a lovely woman."
"Usually, but we've had our battles. The peace we have now was hard fought. It was not always so, but we have found our way back to each other. Mama and I serve breakfast for the hunters at four – thirty so they can be on the swamp no later than six. Be in the dining room then and Mama and I will introduce you and see if we can get one of them to let you tag along."
"I will."
"Goodnight, Nigel."
"Goodnight, Angel."
Glossary:
Ca Viens? What's going on?
Coo wee! Wow!
Boo: A term of endearment
Co faire? Why?
Cher: A term of endearment
Boudin: a type of Cajun sausage
Vomment ca vas? Are you all right?
Allons Let's go.