Viper Game
Page 5
“He swore he wasn’t drinkin’ when he saw it.”
Wyatt sighed. “What else is goin’ on around here, Nonny? That shotgun wasn’t out for the Rougarou. You wouldn’t kill it.”
“I might,” the old lady insisted. “If it threatened me.”
Wyatt lifted his eyebrow at her. “Animals don’ threaten you, Nonny. Everyone in the bayou knows that. Even the alligators leave you alone.”
The boys were fairly certain they’d inherited their psychic abilities from their grandmother, although she never admitted to anything.
Nonny let out a resigned sigh. Clearly she wanted the shapeshifting legend to be true. “Do you remember that old hospital that burned down a couple of years back? There were whispers about that place, some madman owned it and held a girl prisoner there and she set the whole thing on fire to escape.”
Wyatt nodded reluctantly. There were always rumors in the bayou – superstition melding with truth. The bayous and swamps were places where myth or legend often was rooted in reality. In this case, he knew the whispers were true.
Dr. Whitney, the previous owner of the hospital, was truly a madman. He had dedicated his life to creating a supersoldier. Those soldiers were known as GhostWalkers, because they owned the night. Few saw them, or heard them as they carried out their missions. Few knew that their DNA had been tampered with and they were all psychically as well as physically enhanced.
Now they were getting into classified things – things he couldn’t discuss with his grandmother. He kept his head down while he ate.
“I remember it,” he admitted.
“Some big shot bought up the land right away and cleaned it all up. They built a long, ugly building with few windows and walls at least a foot thick, all concrete. Not a single man or woman on the river was employed.”
There was no denying the little sneer in her voice. It was considered an insult for a large company to come into the bayou and not hire the locals who needed work. Most of the families living on the river would have taken it the same way. The “big shot” hadn’t made any friends with his decision to give work to outsiders, but he hadn’t broken any laws either.
“Who owns the land now, Nonny?” he asked.
Whitney Trust had owned it, and Lily, Whitney’s daughter, had sold it the moment she realized her father had used the facilities to experiment on a child. Wyatt didn’t look at either of the Fortunes brothers. Like him, they were fairly new in the GhostWalker force, but he had information they didn’t on the founder and creator of the program.
“They have a big sign up on their fourteen-foot-high chain-link fence with razor wire rolled up along on the top and men with guns patrolling with dogs,” Nonny said in disgust. “Like they’re afraid everyone in the bayou wants to know their business.”
Wyatt couldn’t stop the grin. “Nonny, everyone in the bayou does want to know their business.”
She threw back her head and laughed, the sound adding to the feeling of home.
“Ma’am,” Malichai interrupted. “Do you mind if I have another bowl of this very good gumbo? I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
“It’s authentic gumbo, a traditional recipe that’s been in my family for generations,” Nonny said, looking pleased. “Dive right in, that’s what it’s there for. We always have somethin’ cookin’ on the stove for you when you come in hungry.”
“I’m always hungry,” Malichai admitted.
“You’re a big man and it takes a might of food to keep you satisfied,” she said.
“If you don’t mind me saying, ma’am,” Ezekiel said, “he’s got some kind of hollow leg that’s plain impossible to fill. I ought to know, I tried for years.”
“He broke into a grocery store once,” Malichai said, “you know, back when we were kids,” he added hastily when Wyatt shot him a look. “The kind that has the hot chicken roasting and already-cooked food. Our brother Mordichai and I feasted all night and we were still hungry in the morning. Ezekiel said it was impossible to keep up with our stomachs.”
“He’s like a starved wolf, ma’am,” Ezekiel said. “Never gains an ounce of fat, but he gorges on food when we’ve got it. Our other brother is the same way.”
Nonny’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “You boys had no one lookin’ after you when you were young? Not anyone?”
Malichai shrugged. “We did a pretty good job of it, ma’am. We had each other’s backs. We grew up in a city, and we knew every building and alley there was.” He scooped a hefty amount of gumbo into his bowl and caught up a generous amount of bread before taking his seat.
“The older we got, the easier it was,” Ezekiel added. “We got a reputation for fighting and the others left us alone.”
Nonny shook her head. “You boys. You’ll fit right in with my boys. They do like to fight.” She sat back in her chair with a feigned little slump. “I should put in a call to Delmar and warn him you might be visitin’ his place and not to let the three of you in.”
“The Delmar that saw the Rougarou,” Malichai clarified.
“That’s the one,” Wyatt said. “His place, the Huracan Club, is the best place on the bayou to go for drinks, women and fights. Well, for drinks and fights. Or just plain fights,” Wyatt said to the Fortunes brothers. He laughed and raised his eyebrow at his grandmother. “That would just be mean, Nonny. We’re all grown up now and we don’ get into trouble like we used to.”
Wyatt sighed. “What else is goin’ on around here, Nonny? That shotgun wasn’t out for the Rougarou. You wouldn’t kill it.”
“I might,” the old lady insisted. “If it threatened me.”
Wyatt lifted his eyebrow at her. “Animals don’ threaten you, Nonny. Everyone in the bayou knows that. Even the alligators leave you alone.”
The boys were fairly certain they’d inherited their psychic abilities from their grandmother, although she never admitted to anything.
Nonny let out a resigned sigh. Clearly she wanted the shapeshifting legend to be true. “Do you remember that old hospital that burned down a couple of years back? There were whispers about that place, some madman owned it and held a girl prisoner there and she set the whole thing on fire to escape.”
Wyatt nodded reluctantly. There were always rumors in the bayou – superstition melding with truth. The bayous and swamps were places where myth or legend often was rooted in reality. In this case, he knew the whispers were true.
Dr. Whitney, the previous owner of the hospital, was truly a madman. He had dedicated his life to creating a supersoldier. Those soldiers were known as GhostWalkers, because they owned the night. Few saw them, or heard them as they carried out their missions. Few knew that their DNA had been tampered with and they were all psychically as well as physically enhanced.
Now they were getting into classified things – things he couldn’t discuss with his grandmother. He kept his head down while he ate.
“I remember it,” he admitted.
“Some big shot bought up the land right away and cleaned it all up. They built a long, ugly building with few windows and walls at least a foot thick, all concrete. Not a single man or woman on the river was employed.”
There was no denying the little sneer in her voice. It was considered an insult for a large company to come into the bayou and not hire the locals who needed work. Most of the families living on the river would have taken it the same way. The “big shot” hadn’t made any friends with his decision to give work to outsiders, but he hadn’t broken any laws either.
“Who owns the land now, Nonny?” he asked.
Whitney Trust had owned it, and Lily, Whitney’s daughter, had sold it the moment she realized her father had used the facilities to experiment on a child. Wyatt didn’t look at either of the Fortunes brothers. Like him, they were fairly new in the GhostWalker force, but he had information they didn’t on the founder and creator of the program.
“They have a big sign up on their fourteen-foot-high chain-link fence with razor wire rolled up along on the top and men with guns patrolling with dogs,” Nonny said in disgust. “Like they’re afraid everyone in the bayou wants to know their business.”
Wyatt couldn’t stop the grin. “Nonny, everyone in the bayou does want to know their business.”
She threw back her head and laughed, the sound adding to the feeling of home.
“Ma’am,” Malichai interrupted. “Do you mind if I have another bowl of this very good gumbo? I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
“It’s authentic gumbo, a traditional recipe that’s been in my family for generations,” Nonny said, looking pleased. “Dive right in, that’s what it’s there for. We always have somethin’ cookin’ on the stove for you when you come in hungry.”
“I’m always hungry,” Malichai admitted.
“You’re a big man and it takes a might of food to keep you satisfied,” she said.
“If you don’t mind me saying, ma’am,” Ezekiel said, “he’s got some kind of hollow leg that’s plain impossible to fill. I ought to know, I tried for years.”
“He broke into a grocery store once,” Malichai said, “you know, back when we were kids,” he added hastily when Wyatt shot him a look. “The kind that has the hot chicken roasting and already-cooked food. Our brother Mordichai and I feasted all night and we were still hungry in the morning. Ezekiel said it was impossible to keep up with our stomachs.”
“He’s like a starved wolf, ma’am,” Ezekiel said. “Never gains an ounce of fat, but he gorges on food when we’ve got it. Our other brother is the same way.”
Nonny’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “You boys had no one lookin’ after you when you were young? Not anyone?”
Malichai shrugged. “We did a pretty good job of it, ma’am. We had each other’s backs. We grew up in a city, and we knew every building and alley there was.” He scooped a hefty amount of gumbo into his bowl and caught up a generous amount of bread before taking his seat.
“The older we got, the easier it was,” Ezekiel added. “We got a reputation for fighting and the others left us alone.”
Nonny shook her head. “You boys. You’ll fit right in with my boys. They do like to fight.” She sat back in her chair with a feigned little slump. “I should put in a call to Delmar and warn him you might be visitin’ his place and not to let the three of you in.”
“The Delmar that saw the Rougarou,” Malichai clarified.
“That’s the one,” Wyatt said. “His place, the Huracan Club, is the best place on the bayou to go for drinks, women and fights. Well, for drinks and fights. Or just plain fights,” Wyatt said to the Fortunes brothers. He laughed and raised his eyebrow at his grandmother. “That would just be mean, Nonny. We’re all grown up now and we don’ get into trouble like we used to.”
