RED AND GOLD
The trip had been bumpy.
The lights of New Orleans were a very welcome sight.
It was just about a year ago since Jim Henderson had accepted
the position of Goodwill Representative for a major American oil
company in Dallas, Texas.
“I am beginning to get tired of the fundraisers,” Jim said to his
wife, Louise.
“Honey, this one is special, and a bit different, as well,” she
replied showing her own support. “New Orleans is in need, and
Mardi Gras is about to begin. A masquerade party will surely be
both fun and supportive. Your company made a healthy donation
for the cause.”
Besides costumes, the Party Committee had strongly
encouraged everyone to wear a mask made up of their school
colors. It was felt that with faces covered up, acquaintances would
recognize each other by their hat colors. Also, people who had
never met would know something about a potential, new
acquaintance.
“Many will wear costumes, and almost everyone will wear
masks bearing their school’s colors. I remembered to bring two red
and gold face masks, the fashionable style, of course,” Louise added.
“Perhaps there will be other red and gold masks at the fundraiser.”
“Perhaps,” he responded.
“Mr. Henderson, we will have a good time tonight,” she said
assertively and with a smile.
“Yes, I expect so. We must not stay too long. It’s already been a
long day. We’ll leave just after the fireworks,” he responded.
No argument and no discussion.
Jake, Joey and Tongo wore red and yellow masks that would
help serve them to keep track of each other. They had delivered the
“extra” ice and liquor as ordered. Each wore simple but different
costumes and would blend well into the geography. No one had
questioned their handling of the delivered items. Their masks were
in place.
“Here’s what we know,” Tongo said in a hushed voice. “He will
be wearing a red and gold mask. We think that her dress will be
red.”
“I checked things out,” Jake added. “Fireworks at midnight.
Must be ready to act and act fast. The Liquor Service van will be
ready and waiting. There will be many distractions occurring to
help us.”
“I’ll be ready,” Tongo interjected with a nod.
The festivities began as scheduled.
The plan for the contract murder was set in motion, as well.
Louise and Jim arrived at the event as planned and
immediately felt the energy that awaited them.
The humidity was high, even on this February evening. The
mask caused Jim to sweat slightly and beads of perspiration began
to bother Louise.
Jim would have been sweating more than slightly if he knew
the contract for murder involved him.
A red and gold mask approached Louise and Jim, greeting
them with a deep voice. After a brief chat, they shook hands and
parted.
“Young whippersnapper,” he whispered to his wife. “Wish I
didn’t have my mask in place. I don’t think he was feeling any pain.”
“There are a few of those at every party,” Louise remarked.
“We must get a drink immediately,” Louise insisted.
“Come, Louise. Then let’s go get one,” Jim agreed.
Once again, no argument and no discussion.
It might have been their secret to survival!
The bars were open for drinks upon arrival.
Thirty minutes later music filled the large room and dancing
commenced almost immediately. The fact that most all donned
masks seemed to quash any shyness factors that might have been
lurking throughout the thickening party.
At one point a blue and silver mask decided to entertain the
partygoers with his renditions of a few jazz songs while the band
took a break.
It was fun. It was elegant. It was different. It was Mardi Gras!
The Hendersons decided to leave before the fireworks at
midnight. They were growing tired fast. The long day and humidity
had drained their energy. They wanted to look rested for their
television Channel 10 News interview on the following afternoon
regarding the respected fund-raising party.
Fireworks exploded as scheduled at midnight. Bright bursts of
color and thunderous bangs were an exuberating interruption into
the regularities of a jubilant party.
Tongo spotted his target and moved swiftly. Jake and Joey
followed closely. Tongo wrapped his thick arm around the chest of
the Red and Gold as he stumbled in the direction of the men’s
restroom.
He stuffed the red smelly handkerchief to his nose. Tongo
motioned to Jake and Joey as they began to pass him.
“Help me get him out of this room! He needs some fresh air
quick!” Tongo yelled.
Jake and Joey rapidly whisked the Red and Gold through the
two sets of doors and into the awaiting van and let him drop to the
floor. Jake locked the doors as Joey jumped into the driver’s seat
and turned the key. He slowly backed the van to the back of the
alley where Tongo had parked his car. The three of them
transferred the Red and Gold to Tongo’s car. Joey sat in the back
seat with the Red and Gold laying across his legs. Joey’s right hand
held the smelly handkerchief snugly over his nose. His left hand
removed the victim’s mask.
Mission accomplished!
Ditch the evidence. Remove oneself from the crime, quickly.
To the bayou at once and let the water do its job. It had been easy.
Payoff would come later.
It was all well planned and well executed.
Later the next day, all could be found to be well and rested
with one exception.
Louise and Jim Henderson were rested and ready for their live
television interview.
The technical filming lights were hot. Jim was a bit sweaty and
Louise felt small beads of perspiration beginning to form. The
interview was about to start.
The one exception, a once Red and Gold, floated wet and
lifeless in the bayou. Sadly, he had not yet been missed.
Joey, Jake and Tongo were starving.
Two pepperoni pizzas were delivered.
Tensions and excitement had settled. Time to relax. Stabilize.
“Let’s turn on the television,” Tongo suggested. “The News
show has already started.”
The Hendersons were being interviewed.
“The party last night was exhilarating, and much money was
raised for New Orleans and the needed reconstruction after the
hurricane,” Jim said proudly.
Jakes pizza slice slipped from his hand to slap onto the floor.
Jaws dropped. They all looked at each other. How? What?
A fine job, but . . .
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