Cut and Run 7 - Touch and Geaux

asked.
    Ty’s jaw tightened. “This is out of hand.”
    “But—”
    “They blew a cat at me!” Ty shouted. “Someone give me your phone!”
    Zane handed his to Ty. “Put it on speaker,” he requested.
    “You promise you won’t say anything to him?” Ty asked.
    “Ty.”
    “Swear to me, Garrett.”
    “Fine, whatever, I pinky swear, just call him.”
    “I feel like I missed an episode of a television show here,” Owen said.
    “Blew a cat at you?” Nick asked, though he sounded like he didn’t really want the answer.
    Ty muttered that he’d explain later and dialed Richard Burns’s number. He pressed the speaker button and held the phone out, leaning forward.
    “Richard Burns.”
    “It’s Grady.”
    “Happy Easter, kiddo. How’s your dad?”
    Ty closed his eyes. “I— I’ve gotten into something deep, I need help.”
    Burns was silent a few breaths. “Go on.”
    “I’m in New Orleans.”
    “What?”
    “Garrett’s with me. So are the Sidewinder boys.”
    “What the hell, Tyler?”
    “It’s worse. Liam Bell is here with a pink slip with our names on it. The Vega cartel has sniffed us both out, and someone somewhere told them we’d be here this weekend.”
    They heard him moving, closing a door and coughing. “How did anyone know you’d be there? Why are you there?”
    “It was last minute, we didn’t even know we’d be here.”
    “You have a mole, someone on you.”
    “Yes sir, but that’s not my concern right now. The police commander here has me pegged as a CI that gave him fits five years ago; he’s trying to kill me. He’s got us locked down. The agent we tried to contact for extraction was dirty. I don’t . . . we can’t get out.”
    Burns didn’t respond for a tense moment. Ty licked his lips, meeting Zane’s eyes.
    “I’m sorry, Grady,” Burns finally said, his voice stern and professional. “I can’t help you.”
    Ty stared at the phone, his mouth falling open. Zane’s heart raced. Richard Burns was like a father to Ty. There were photos of the man holding Ty as a baby on Mara Grady’s wall.
    “Uncle Dick . . . we’re going to die down here,” Ty said, hoarse and pleading. “Please help me.”
    “I can’t, Ty,” Burns whispered. “You’re too far out. Good luck, son.”
    He ended the call, leaving Ty holding the phone in a hand that had begun to tremble.

    Ty hadn’t said a word since his call with Burns, and Nick wasn’t sure they were going to pull Ty back from the brink in time to save any of them.
    Digger had taken them through several shortcuts and odd turns and finally back into the French Quarter. Road blocks had cropped up everywhere, and there was no way for the group to get out now. If they were going to escape New Orleans, they would have to split up to do so. And none of them were willing to do that.
    They headed for the last place Ty knew to go. He said it was his former boss’s home, the man who’d been murdered before they arrived in New Orleans. Arthur Murdoch had no family left, and his house would probably still be vacant. He had resided in the Tremé, a historical black neighborhood that bordered the other side of Rampart Street, across from the French Quarter.
    They arrived at Murdoch’s house and sat on it for an hour to watch it for surveillance. When they found it clear, they dumped the van nearby, where it was unlikely to be found any time soon. And if it was found, it would simply serve to point their pursuers away from the neighborhood. As they made their way back to Murdoch’s house, Nick got the impression the area was usually a lively place, though it was run-down and in disrepair. It was also dead quiet after all the shooting on Rampart earlier.
    They all crowded around Murdoch’s living room, stretched out on the couch, hovering on the arms of the chairs, and sitting around the tiny dining table.
    “He left you in the wind?” Liam asked in patent disbelief.
    “What are you going to do?” Nick asked Ty.
    Ty’s jaw tightened and he stood, pacing away from the rest of them. Nick watched Zane and Liam, who were sitting at the table. Both men looked worried and defeated.
    “Hey, this isn’t the first time we’ve had to rely on our own devices, right?” Nick tried. He looked over at Ty, who still had his back to them, staring at a wall full of photographs and artwork. Ty was in several of those photos, arm around a grandfatherly black man in a Panama hat. “Ty?”
    When Ty turned, he looked like a