The Chef - James Patterson Page 0,100

special breed down here.”

“You got that right.”

“That’s what all these suits don’t understand,” I say, wanting to focus on this kind-looking man before me, not wanting to think of his part in what I witnessed this morning. The blood. The screams. The crumpled bodies.

I go on. “They show up, thinking they know everything. But all they do is make a mess. If you ask me, that’s what’s really going to destroy our city. Not hurricanes. But people. From the outside. Who don’t belong here.”

He bobs his head. “Amen to that, brother. Amen to that.”

“Now, I can see why that makes you angry, Reggie,” I say. “Truth is, it pisses me off, too. When outsiders come in, try to charm us, try to steal away what’s special about the Big Easy. I can understand this. But…”

I pause, take a moment to scratch at the back of my head, like I’m trying to figure out the crossword puzzle in that day’s New York Times. “But what I can’t understand is, how you could fall under the spell of a man like Billy Needham.”

I watch his reaction closely. He doesn’t admit to anything. But he doesn’t deny it, either.

Progress.

Oh, so slight, but I know I’m making progress.

“You used to work at a seafood plant out in Buras,” I say. “Isn’t that right? Until a new investor stepped in two years ago, laid off a bunch of folks. Especially the old-timers. That must have hurt real bad, Reggie. But do you know who that investor was?”

He smiles wider, but it’s an uneasy smile. “Oh, c’mon, man, Mr. Needham had nothing to do with that. He loves this city, and he cares about us folks. You’re bullshitting me!”

“Reggie, please, you of all people…Billy Needham says he loves this city, and loves folks like you, but when it comes to business, the bucks come first. He was behind that buyout. Wait a bit longer, I’ll get you copies of the purchase and sales agreements. His signature is right at the bottom of them. He betrayed you, your friends, and your coworkers. And when it came time to use you and others, he didn’t hesitate, not for a moment.”

The smile has faded. I press on.

“You were one of the tractor drivers,” I say. “But something happened. The tractor stalled out, maybe you got blocked, maybe…maybe you had a change of heart. You saw all those scared tourists, the folks running away, and you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t do what Billy asked you to do, to drive into a crowd and kill a lot of innocents.”

He says again, “You’re bullshitting me. I…I was going to do it, and then I got jumped by that krewe behind me. That was the plan. I just didn’t get it done.”

I reach for the folder, slowly slide it in front of me. “Billy, you know what they say about plans. That’s how you make God laugh. You say you’re making plans. So what did you plan for your sister, Grace, and her daughter, Melissa?”

He freezes, staring at the folder. “Don’t you dare,” he says, his voice a near whisper. “Don’t you dare.”

I slowly shake my head. “You warned them, didn’t you? Stay away from the French Quarter today. Don’t go to the parades. Stay home. But you know how kids are…they don’t listen. They promise one thing, and they sneak away, and they hope they don’t get caught. But sometimes they do…”

I open the folder and rotate it so Reggie can see what’s inside: a color NOPD crime-scene photo, showing a narrow street, strewn with debris from beads to flowers to empty bottles, and in the foreground, a small, yellow-blanket-covered figure with plastic numbered evidence triangles scattered around it.

He doesn’t say a word, but breathes out a low, keening moan. I close the folder.

“Billy used you,” I say. “Used you and the others, and we’re trying to find him, Reggie. Before he can use others. Before he can kill others…like your niece.”

More low moaning.

“Reggie, where is he?”

Moaning.

“Reggie…please…help us. Where is he?”

Tears are running down his cheeks, he’s shaking his head, and he says, “I don’t know, I don’t know, honest…”

“Reggie, the police”—I make sure to leave the FBI out of it—“they’ve looked at his restaurants, his warehouse, his home…there must be someplace else. Am I right? Someplace they don’t know about?”

He nods his head. “Melissa…Melissa…”

I reach over, gently touch the back of his hand. “It’s too late for Melissa. I’m sorry, Reggie. But you can help save others. You didn’t hurt