Page 23 of Saving Salem
“Do you recognize those pictures,” Jack asked.
“Yeah. I printed these off a flash drive this morning. A rush job.” He gave Jack a crooked smile before adding, “I was worried you were looking for some different pictures. Some that weren’t quite so…normal.”
“Wilson, did you recognize the person who had the pictures printed?” Gator’s deep voice shifted Wilson’s attention back to him, and his head bobbed up and down rapidly.
“Oh, yeah. It was Bubba Hebert. Came in this morning asking if I could print the pictures and put a rush on them. Wanted them while he waited. Seemed in an awful big hurry.” Wilson handed the envelope with the pictures back to Gator. “Paid me extra for the rush job. Now that you mention it, he did seem a bit excited about getting those photos. And he flashed a wad of cash big as a horse around. Peeled a couple hundreds off and handed them over without a problem.”
“Bubba Hebert? I thought he was still in Angola.”
“Nah, he got out about six weeks ago. His brother, Buddy, he’s still there, got another five years.”
Gator tapped the envelope against his hand at the news. Good thing he knew these people and could keep the names straight. Buddy, Bubba. Who’d be next, Bambi?
“Any idea where Bubba’s staying at? I know his momma done moved to Metairie a couple years ago, and his sister married Lamar Haskins and moved to Mississippi.”
Wilson smirked, placing his hands on the counter and leaning forward, saying in a conspiratorial whisper, “You didn’t hear it from me, because I can’t afford for him to show up and trash the place…or worse, but he’s staying across the street. Got a room there paying week by week. Earl said he’s paid cash, caught up on his rent just the other day. Why he’d stay in a dump like that when he’s flush with all that cash don’t make sense. I’d be staying at the Ritz-Carlton downtown if it was me.”
Gator shot a look at Jack, one brow raised. Giving him a subtle nod, Jack quietly headed toward the door to wait for Gator to wrap up his questioning. He had enough information, and his hands itched to get hold of this Bubba Hebert. If he was flashing cash, as Wilson purported he was, then somebody paid him to put those cameras in Salem’s apartment. He needed proof that it was the Amirs behind it.
“You sure you guys don’t need anything. Laptop? Portable printer? DVD player? I’ll give ’em to you at cost.”
“No, thanks, Wilson. Simply needed the info. You tell your daddy I said hello, and we need to go fishing again real soon.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Gator. I bet he’ll like that.” Wilson scrambled from behind the counter as Gator walked toward the door where Jack stood waiting. As soon as they stepped outside, he heard the deadbolt click. Guess Wilson didn’t want any more customers. Either that or he was afraid Bubba Hebert might come back.
“I know Earl, the manager, at the motel. Should be able to give us Bubba’s room number if he hasn’t checked out.”
“What are the odds you think he’s still hanging around?”
Gator shot him a look. “I have a feeling he’ll still be there. Even flush with cash, Bubba’s going to want to lay low at least for a day or two. Unless he was paid enough to leave the country, Bubba’s more apt to head to Shreveport to the casinos. I doubt he’s had time to make travel plans yet. I bet he doesn’t think anybody’s going to catch up to him this soon. Of course, he’s not expecting Samuel and C.S.S. to be on the case this soon. We don’t tend to waste time.”
“Another good reason for me to want to work there.” Jack’s quick steps matched Gator’s. “Neither do I.”
Gator’s buddy, Earl, grinned as soon as Gator opened the door to the manager’s office. He gave a big belly laugh, his whole body shaking with each bellow. The cigar clamped between his teeth threatened to fall out, but he clamped his hand around the unlit stogie and plopped it into an overflowing ashtray sitting on the check-in counter’s lower shelf.
“Gator Boudreau! Been wondering how long it’d take you to darken my doorstep.”
“Earl. I see you’ve lost a few pounds since the last time I saw you. Been dieting?”
Earl patted his enormous belly with both hands. The way Jack figured, the man had to be over four hundred pounds easy. “Down thirty pounds. Stella’s got me on a new high protein diet. At least this time she’s feeding me meat instead of a bunch of lettuce leaves. And she packs me meals so I don’t cheat. Of course, staying away from the vending machines gets mighty hard when the hunger pangs hit.” Easing his bulk down onto the office chair behind the desk, he grinned again. “Bet you’re looking for Bubba Hebert, am I right?”
“That’s right. Heard he was staying here.”
“Now, Gator, you know I can’t tell you who’s staying at my place. Confidentiality and all that. Now, I can’t stop you if you happen to see names listed in the registration, if I’m not at my desk, can I?” Earl stood, placing an old-fashioned bound ledger on the top shelf of the registration desk, making sure it was opened and face up. Jack almost laughed at the oh-so-serious expression on the other man’s face. Told him more than words that he wanted Bubba Hebert away from his motel, and this was the best way to have it happen without the cops getting involved. Smart man.
“Absolutely right, Earl. Bet you’re about ready to take a smoke break, aren’t you?”
“That’s the plan, Gator. That’s the plan. Oh, but you should know, if—and I’m not confirming or denying anything—but if Bubba Hebert was staying here, I would think he’s getting ready to hit the road ASAP.” Earl walked to the glass front door and peered out. “And if Bubba Hebert was staying here, he might be driving a 2018 navy blue Chrysler 300. And it might be parked in front of room 108. If he was staying here, that is.”
Without waiting for any questions, Earl sauntered through the manager’s office and into the back, closing the door behind him. Gator waited about half a second before glancing at the page before tearing it from the registration book, folding it, and putting it in his pocket. Turning, he sauntered out the front door without pausing and headed toward the Chrysler 300, parked exactly where Earl said it would be. The trunk was open and two black plastic garbage bags sat side-by-side inside.
The door to room 108 opened and a tall, almost skeletally thin man came out, a khaki green duffle clutched in one hand. He stopped cold when he spotted Jack and Gator.
“Ah, hell,” he muttered before dropping the duffle on the ground and took off running. He’d barely made it more than a few steps before he landed face first on the asphalt, having tripped over Gator’s outstretched foot. Jack winced at the sound of the guy landing hard enough he actually bounced.
Bubba slowly rolled over onto his back and stared up at Gator as he put a foot on Bubba’s chest.
“Afternoon, Bubba. Going someplace?”
