Crescent City Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  Taking the bag, she said, “Don’t ever miss a payment with my client again or you will be sorry. When goods are shipped, you send the money. Don’t force my client to send me to collect,” she concluded, pushing the gun into his right cheek.

  “It will never happen again. The money is all there. Take it—I’m sorry,” the man said as he backed up two steps.

  Howard eased his gun back in his holster and Julie dropped hers into her purse.

  “Get out of here,” she said as the man all but ran back to the store.

  They were back on the Interstate within minutes, just like she had said. Howard took a deep breath. “You need to warn me when you’re going to pull something like that.”

  “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him,” she said as she put on cherry-red lipstick while looking into an ultra-slim Chanel makeup mirror.

  Howard just looked ahead and drove. He had seen some crazy things but had not expected that to come from this woman. He pulled off the service road at the airport and drove around the back, stopping at the General Aviation gate. Rolling down his window, he said, “Julie Wong” to the man in the guardhouse.

  “Pull ahead,” was the response from the gate person.

  Julie pointed out a luxury Gulfstream V jet with the stairs down waiting for her. He pulled the limousine to the edge of the stairs and stopped. Howard opened the back door for her.

  “That little situation at the jewelry store. It never happened,” Julie said with a smile used many times to get whatever she wanted, and this was no exception.

  “Not a problem, Ms. Wong,” Howard said, shaking his head like a lapdog.

  No sooner had the limousine pulled away than the aircraft’s powered stairs went into the belly of the plane. The engines turned over, roaring. To an outsider, Ben Stein’s car service was a company hired out for weddings and special occasions. To a select few clients, it was much more than just a car service when Howard was the driver. He was a borderline bodyguard, making sure his clients got to their destination safely.

  Howard only had a few minutes to meet Mario across town at the London Avenue Canal, and with noontime traffic, he was going to be late. His phone rang, and he could see the number—it was Mario. Pressing the button on the phone, Howard said, “I’m on my way.”

  “You might want to hold up. I’m at the London Avenue Canal now. There are police everywhere. Let me find out more, and I’ll call you back,” Mario said.

  The weeds were high, but a small path was made from the street over time by the homeless people using the train trestle as a safe shelter. A stretcher and a black body bag labeled New Orleans Coroner Office was near a makeshift tent which was a large cardboard box with a burlap sack covering the entrance.

  Mario spotted Detective Louis Perkins bent over, looking into the box. Then he walked back to his car, probably to report his findings to his supervisor.

  Carefully walking down a slight hill under the train tracks, Mario showed a coroner employee his badge and asked, “What is the time of death?”

  “Sometime during the night. About nine hours ago,” he said, sticking his head out.

  Mario kept an eye on Louis. There was no need for him to explain why he was at this crime scene.

  The cardboard box was disassembled so the coroner’s assistant could bag the body. Mario got closer and asked what happened.

  “Other than being dead, I’m not sure. Someone called in the location from a pay phone,” the coroner’s assistant said. “No identification, but Detective Perkins believed the deceased is Willard Smith.”

  Mario pulled the picture out of his coat pocket and put it next to the man’s face before they zipped the black bag up. While his face was chalk white, there was no doubt the dead body was Willard Smith.

  Mario walked the edge of the canal, stepping high over the weeds, avoiding Detective Perkins, who came back to the scene by way of the shopping-cart path. Mario got into his car and drove off slowly, turning the corner and out of sight. Then he called Howard to fill him in on Willard. They knew he was living on borrowed time and needed to question Willard before cancer won the battle. It was too late.

  Howard headed to Calabar. With luck, he would be there by dark and find a motel to crash for the night. Visiting at Calabar started at nine in the morning, and he wanted to be in line early to talk with Cosmo Walker.

  Mario made it back to Police Headquarters just in time for the afternoon briefing. It wasn’t unusual for the Chief of Police to hold the briefing, and Waters stood at the front of the room with Chief Gretchen at his side. Conversations and chattering came to a quick stop, and people sat down, some in chairs, on top of the desk, and some just leaned against the wall.

  “Good afternoon, everyone.”

  In unison, everyone repeated, “Good afternoon, Chief.”

  Waters started with the usual small problems: a stolen car found that might fit the description of being involved in a robbery. Some other bullshit cases. Then he called upon Detective Louis Perkins.

  Standing at the front of the room, Detective Perkins addressed the group. Reading from a notebook, he spelled out the latest information they had on Kate Fontenot’s attack.

  “I’m happy to say Kate is recovering well and our prayers are with her and her family,” he said as eyes focused on Mario.

  Mario gave a thank-you smile and a nod of his head.

  The detective continued, “We have no clues on the scumbags that called themselves Juice Boy and G-Man other than they’re dead. All we know is the correctional officers’ van stopped on the main road to Calabar. The guards said a tow truck blocked the area parked across the road. A thin-build man, wearing the usual greasy overalls and a Shell Oil cap on his head with brownish hair poking out the sides, overcame the prison van.”

  “That describes pretty much every tow truck driver in the city,” one detective bellowed out as the guys let out a laugh.

  Keeping the room under control, Detective Perkins put his hands up. “True. All we have to go on is a tow truck found near an old farm upstate, and we are combing it carefully for fingerprints. Killed are Juice Boy and G-Man and should have the type of gun within the hour. The only other person involved, found dead this morning, is Willard Smith. We are waiting for the Coroner’s Office report, but we believe he lost his battle with cancer.”

  “That was too easy. The asshole should have suffered,” an officer shouted out, looking at Mario and giving a slight head shake.

  The detective continued, “I agree. For now, all we have, and it’s questionable, is a woman that knew Willard most of his life by the name of Angie Browning. We talked to her at work, and everything she said checked out. Willard’s fingerprints show up in Angie’s Honda, but records show Willard checked out of the halfway house and sat in her car. Her Honda never left the front of the halfway house, and neither did Willard. So it’s legal since he didn’t leave the grounds. Her car and stories are clean. She is just someone he grew up with.”

  Truman stood and asked a question. “Sir—do you think this Angie gal helped Willard escape from the halfway house?”

  “Her visit with him in the parking lot was a week before he disappeared, which was two days before the attack on Kate. We don’t think she has any connection to the assault.”

  Another detective asked what Mario thought, and it was best it came from someone else. “So you have no real clues?”

  “At this time, we have nothing substantial. We are still interviewing the inmates sent to the hospital, but they all have the same story. Juice Boy and G-Man started a fight in the yard, but they don’t know if it was to get to the hospital. We are aware they had a history of problems and have been in fights several times before in prison.”

  An officer in the corner raised his hand and asked, “Don’t we have leads that the Cornerview Gang is involved?”

  “We suspect they are involved in many of our unsolved crimes, but we have no proof. At this time I’ll turn it back to Chief Waters,” Detective Perkins s
aid.

  Mario stepped forward, putting his hand up. “One more thing, Detective Perkins. Who interviewed Cosmo Walker?”

  “He was one of the first I had interviewed before we shipped his ass back to Calabar,” he said with some concern. “Why do you ask?”

  “There were only two prisoners that were at the hospital that had come from Calabar: G-Man and Cosmo Walker. All the rest were from local jails waiting to be transported,” Mario said, trying to keep the conversation calm.

  “What is your point? I said we interviewed him and we didn’t find anything worth pursuing,” Perkins questioning Mario’s boldness.

  “What about his cellmate or people he hung around in the yard?” Mario shouted.

  Detective Perkins motioned to the chief to close the questioning down—he didn’t answer Mario.

  Mario thought about Detective Perkins’s answer and got a cup of coffee before returning to his office. G-Man attacked Kate, and now he was dead, so the case was closed. He sat back in his chair. I’m beginning to believe Howard’s way of doing things might be the best.

  CHAPTER 14

  Aiden James was about to be put to a challenge. He had been on the job as head of the medical staff for Doctor Ross’s Riverside Inn for a few weeks. He was familiar with the team of employees and was beginning to catch on to the system, and the residents accepted him. His temperament was a far cry from Jack’s. James walked through the halls telling people good morning, asking how they were feeling, and he seemed to be interested. Even Zack Nelson was impressed, and it took a lot for him to trust anyone in the house after his encounter with Jack.

  Aiden arrived right on time for his noon meeting, finding Doctor Ross sitting behind his desk. Looking through folders, he held one up to Aiden. “Mrs. Ruth Weitman is not doing well,” he said, opening her folder. “Heart and kidneys are good enough, but fifty years of smoking has taken its toll on her lungs.”

  Aiden leaned forward from his chair. “We have been making her comfortable. She doesn’t have much family, just a cousin that visits two or three times a year,” he said, making sure it wasn’t anything he had been doing wrong.

  “No, you and your staff have done a good job. You can’t fight a disease like this—you can only keep a patient comfortable,” Doctor Ross said, handing him a small box.

  Aiden opened the box like something was going to jump out. Pulling the lid back, he revealed a small bottle of fluid and a syringe neatly packaged in a velvet liner. The bottle had no label. The syringe was marked with a red line around the center.

  The doctor said, “One shot a day for three days filled to the red mark. When completed, bring me the bottle, case, and syringe with the needle.”

  Aiden was hesitant but asked anyway. “What’s in the bottle?”

  “Just something to keep her comfortable.” Doctor Ross smiled. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, sir. Not at all,” Aiden answered quickly. “I’ll start the first dose now,” he said, getting up from the chair.

  Doctor Ross handed Aiden Grace’s folder. “Review her file. It reads no resuscitation, and she is an organ donor. So I will need to be contacted immediately if and when of course she passes away.”

  Aiden wrinkled his lips somewhat. “Got it, sir—not a problem.”

  Doctor Ross sat back in his chair as Aiden walked out and closed the door behind him. He hoped Aiden was the right choice, and this test would prove it one way or the other. He picked up his phone and called out on his private line, the line his IT Department said they had installed a monitor on for any bugs or device that might try to record or listen in on his calls. A red light was installed and would light up if it detected any interference. So far, the doctor was happy there had not been an attempt.

  He dialed Myron’s number, feeling a little concerned since this would be the first transaction since Amir’s promotion in the family business.

  “Myron—Doctor Ross,” he said.

  “Walter, how are you?” Myron responded.

  He expected some pushback from Myron on the first deal to show his power to his new boss. Calling him Walter was disrespectful. After all, he was a certified doctor of medicine and earned the respect of being referred to in a professional matter. “Let’s keep this professional, call me Doctor Ross,” he said, waiting for a response.

  “Doctor Ross, let's stop—what you American’s say? Oh, yes, bullshit. I’ll call you whatever I want. Now, what do you have for me?” Myron said with a tone he had never heard out of Amir.

  “Just to give you a heads-up. I should have a heart and kidneys in a few days. Alert your people, and I’ll call you back,” Doctor Ross said.

  There was silence for a few seconds. Myron was talking to someone in Arabic. Then he said, “Are you sure within a few days?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a customer in Venezuela. I will bring him to Miami tomorrow. Then I’ll fly over to New Orleans and wait for your call,” Myron said. Again pausing and talking to someone in Arabic. “Walter, we will be staying at a French Quarter Hotel. Can you recommend a place we might enjoy on Bourbon Street? You know the kind place—American titty bar.”

  “Sorry, don’t know any. Start at Bourbon and Iberville Street and walk. You’ll run into more than you can handle,” Walter said, jolted back to Myron’s disrespect again. “Call me when you’re in town,” he said and hung the phone up abruptly.

  “That asshole, he is determined to show me he’s the boss. He doesn't know who the fuck he is dealing with. I run this operation; they’re just the buyer,” he mumbled as he leaned back in his office chair, running his hand over his face.

  Two days later, Aiden walked into Doctor Ross’s office with a bag. He pulled out the case with one shot left. “Mrs. Ruth Weitman passed away fifteen minutes ago.”

  The doctor took the case and looked at him as if he actually felt compassion for her. “Oh, sorry to hear. She was an elegant lady—been a resident for many years,” he said.

  “All arrangements are made. Ruth’s body is on the way to the hospital, should be there in ten minutes. I have alerted the nurses that there is a possibility you will harvest her organs,” Aiden said, puffing up with pride, indicating that he was fully capable of handling any orders.

  “Possibility?” Doctor Ross said.

  Aiden selected his words the best he could. “I mean the organs are severely damaged.”

  “Leave that decision to me. I better get to the hospital,” Dr. Ross said, shaking Aiden’s hand with a slight smile. “Well done.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Howard arrived at Calabar Prison about an hour before visitors were allowed on the grounds. He parked in line behind a luxury SUV with three rowdy kids in the back. While reading notes of questions to ask, he was distracted by the children in the SUV and could only imagine what it sounded like inside their car. Going over his questions for Cosmo Walker, he wrote one more at the bottom in case Cosmo stalled or failed to give a believable story.

  A man walked out of the guardhouse to open the gate while four other guards stood on the side of the entrance. With shotguns in hand, one guard waved the cars into the visitors’ parking area. Howard parked and managed to become second in line. The lady in the SUV had a third child in a car seat that took a while for her to unstrap. Three kids and a husband, boyfriend, or at least the father of the youngest child in prison. She was more interested in how she looked, putting lipstick on, fixing her skin-tight skirt, and making sure her cleavage was perked up and peeking through the top of her white silk blouse. Looking good for your man was one thing, but coming to visit looking like that could only make a man crazy on the inside of jail knowing she was on the outside.

  Luckily Howard cleared security relatively quickly in front of the woman with the three kids. She was going to be at security for a while. Each kid was going to be checked closely as well as the baby. They would even have to check the baby’s diaper. The prison was up to date with all the creative ways people were able to smuggle drug
s into jails, and a baby was not off limits. If she thought getting all dolled up and given a peek at her cleavage was going to be a distraction to the guards, well, she was just new to the prison system. An approach like that was older than some of the prisoners doing life.

  Sitting in a well-lit light-gray painted concrete room on a metal chair attached to a table so nothing could be picked up, Howard waited while inmates sat around him talking with their visitors.

  Finally, a guard opened the door. “Howard Blitz for Cosmo Walker.”

  Howard stood up, and Cosmo walked towards him. The room took notice, and some inmates watched who Cosmo was meeting.

  They did the allowed greeting with a smile, no handshakes or touching in any way. Then they moved to a table with two chairs in the corner. Howard wanted to be as far away from other inmates as possible. They talked fast, for the room filled quickly, and soon all the seats would be taken as well as your privacy. Once the room was at capacity, guests could enter only when a few people left or the visiting hour expired.

  “What do you have for me?” Howard said to Cosmo.

  “Man, you have to stop the gift giving. I’m getting hassled that I’m a snitch. Candy, nuts, cookies, cartons of cigarettes, even money in my account. You’re going to get me killed.”

  “Possibly, if you don’t give me some information. Talk to me,” Howard said.

  Cosmo went silent, and his face got pale. “Look, for me to testify against a guy in here—it’s crazy. The guy is doing life already. He doesn't give a shit about adding more years to his sentence—he just wants revenge.”