Chapter 8

It was dark behind the closed door the hit man had pulled Jarrod behind. Jarrod couldn't get a good look at the man, but he remembered what he saw of him in the gambling hall and when he was grabbed on the street. What he didn't like right now was not knowing if the man had a gun on him or not.

"Give me the money," the man said.

Jarrod took the envelope out of his inside breast pocket and handed it over. "Where were you last night?" he asked.

The man took the money and smashed Jarrod in the face without answering. Jarrod fell back against a wall, stunned and hurting. He saw the flash of bright light and then following darkness as the man left, but he was too hurt to get up and follow. For the moment he couldn't even stand up, and a moment later the whole world was spinning.

Outside, Nick and the police officer had gone separate directions, further away from the corner where Jarrod had disappeared. The hit man came out of the building, looked carefully around, and then went back up the street toward the Absinthe House. He kept on going beyond that, though, and knew he was safely away.

Nick rejoined the police officer in a few minutes, back in front the building where Jarrod had disappeared. "Nothing?" Nick asked.

The cop shook his head.

Nick looked at the door to the building beside them, and he reached for it. It opened – he held it open because it was so dark inside and he needed the light. He and the cop stood there, and Nick saw something moving on the floor in the shadow. He pulled the door open wider and saw his brother.

"Jarrod!" he said and got down beside him.

Jarrod struggled to get up, Nick supporting him. The cop held the door open as Nick got his brother outside. They rested against the wall of the building. People looked but kept on walking. A stumblebum on a New Orleans corner was nothing to draw any real attention.

Jarrod moaned and held his head. "Are you all right?" Nick asked.

"Hit my head when he hit me and I went down," Jarrod said. "I'll be all right in a minute."

"Was it our hit man?" the cop asked.

"It was," Jarrod said. "He has the money. He got away from you?"

"Yeah," Nick said. "We lost you both for a few minutes. Let's get you back to the hotel."

"No," Jarrod said, beginning to recover. "Give me a minute. I have an appointment I have to get to."

"Maybe you'd better forget about that."

"No, I'll be all right. You can go with me." Jarrod finally opened his eyes and looked at his brother, and he smiled. "I guess we're through with Jack Darby."

"Damned right we are," Nick said and glared at the cop.

The cop sighed, frustrated and worried he hadn't done his job. He was supposed to protect Jarrod and to pick up this hit man if he appeared. He hadn't done either one.

Jarrod straightened up, on his feet again if a little wobbly. "Tell DuMont to stop by my hotel between four and five," Jarrod said. "We'll be there."

The cop nodded.

XXXXXXX

With Nick along with him, Jarrod made it to his appointment and by four o'clock they were back at the hotel, Jarrod's contract completed and signed and all the work he was sent to do here was over. It wasn't until they were back at the hotel and Jarrod got a look in the mirror that he saw the bruise developing under his left eye, where the hit man had hit him. Jarrod still wondered why the guy had punched him when he could have just left, but he supposed the man wanted to be sure he wouldn't be followed. No matter. It was all over now.

Jarrod and Nick would be meeting their dates at the gentlemen's club, then walking them around the corner to a lovely restaurant on Bourbon Street near Canal. It was a place Jarrod remembered for a wonderful Louisiana crab cake and lobster thermador. Just the thought of wonderful food put the rest of the day out of his mind, until a knock came at the door at about five.

Shaved and half dressed, Jarrod answered the door and found DuMont there. He invited the man in, asking, "Did you get him?"

"No," DuMont said. "Sadly, he got clean away."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jarrod said.

"Not as sorry as I am," DuMont said. "We were supposed to have him before he made off with $5000 of the department's money. That'll probably be coming out of my salary for the rest of my life."

Under more normal circumstances, Jarrod would have asked more questions, but he didn't want to be backed into getting shanghaied as Jack Darby anymore. Nick came in from his bedroom about then, announcing, "We're done."

"Sort of," DuMont said.

"No, no, no," Jarrod quickly responded. "We're done."

"You might want to hold of saying that until you hear who the hit is on," DuMont said.

Jarrod and Nick both looked angrily suspicious.

DuMont said, "A fellow who volunteered to be our target. A man named Louis LaValle. I think you know him."

The restauranteur they met coming in from the rain, the place where Jarrod got his first slap across the face. "Why in the world would he volunteer for that?" Nick asked.

"His partner in the restaurant was hit last year," DuMont said. "It wasn't the same hit man, we don't think, but LaValle was approached because he's been loud and livid about paid hits."

"Does he know the hit's been paid for?" Jarrod asked.

DuMont nodded. "I just came from there. That's when we got talking about Darby and he told me you two had been in there."

"So what do you want out of me now?" Jarrod asked.

"Not much. Just keep being Darby."

"Oh, no," Jarrod said. "I am through being Jack Darby."

"Hear me out. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to change any of your plans for your vacation. You don't have to convince anyone that you're Darby, and whoever knows you're Barkley can keep knowing you're Barkley. All you have to do is not correct anyone who thinks you're Darby."

"For what purpose?" Jarrod asked, leering.

"Just to keep this hit man from getting wise, just to keep him from getting any wind of the notion that you're not Jack Darby. Just until we can round him up."

"Round him up," Nick said. "He slipped you today. There's a good chance he can kill LaValle and slip you again!"

"LaValle knows that," DuMont said. "He'll have a police presence around him, undercover. Our hit man will never know he's being watched."

"How can you be sure of that?" Jarrod asked. "Are you sure he didn't know you were following us today?"

DuMont had to concede. "No. I'm not sure he didn't know we were following you, and I suspect he did know. But if he gets wind that you're not Jack Darby – he'll know for sure he was set up."

"Maybe he ought to find out," Nick said. "Maybe that's the way of making sure he doesn't hit LaValle."

"We want to get this guy," DuMont said. "LaValle wants to get this guy. All I'm asking is that you don't correct anyone who thinks you're Darby."

"That may not be enough," Jarrod said.

"It may not," DuMont said, "but I won't ask you to openly pass yourself off as Darby anymore. Just don't correct people who take you for him. And it won't be for long. I'm betting we'll have this guy within 24 hours."

"You've done a lot of betting wrong," Nick said.

"I'm not going to bet wrong this time," DuMont said. "If he makes any try for LaValle at all, we're going to know. And LaValle has his own protection, too."

The big black man named Mose. But, "Somebody could take a shot at him from a distance and that could be that," Nick said.

DuMont shook his head. "Easy to do out west, not so easy in New Orleans. These streets are narrow, full of buildings and people. If our man wants to take LaValle out, he's going to have to get closer."

Jarrod sighed. "Just what makes you think your man doesn't already know I'm not Darby?"

"He might know," DuMont conceded. "But if he doesn't, I don't want him to get wind of it."

"We have plans for this evening with a couple young ladies," Jarrod said. "I don't want them exposed to any danger at all."

DuMont nodded. "There'll be a couple officers shadowing you for the next 24 hours, and I really don't think you're in any danger from our hit man. He doesn't kill unless he gets paid to, and right now it's LaValle he's paid to kill, not you. And, uh – " DuMont reached into his pocket and pulled out two business cards that he gave to Jarrod and Nick. "These are your passes out of jail, if you need them."

Jarrod and Nick took them and pocketed them. "I trust you'll let us know when this is over," Jarrod said.

DuMont nodded.

Jarrod and Nick looked at each other. Nick shrugged. Jarrod said, "All right, I'll play along for the next 24 hours, but our ladies will already know I'm Jarrod Barkley, not Jack Darby."

DuMont nodded one more time. "I doubt that will make any difference."

"Has anybody ever figured out where Darby went?" Jarrod asked.

DuMont shook his head. "Out of town, probably, or he's really lying low. Whenever he turns up, though, he and I are going to have a nice long talk."

"You better hope I don't get to him first," Nick said.