It was a crazy game they sometimes played at a restaurant, making fun of people dining together. They tried to guess what they might be talking about from their expressions, lack of engagement with each other, or the ones on a first date.
Mario went first and pointed out a couple in the corner. “That man is looking at the check too long. He told his date, you sure ordered up.”
Kate picked up the woman’s part. “She’s telling him, You want people to see you with a beautiful woman? That’s the price you have to pay.”
They got a chuckle out of it, and Mario moved to an older couple. “He’s telling her, this place is too expensive. We have to slow down; I never thought I’d outlive my money.”
They giggled at each other's description as the waiter picked up the plates and set their entrée in front of each of them. “Bon appétit.” He poured them both more wine. “Enjoy.”
They made small talk and enjoyed a delicious meal. Mario took one more slice of the garlic butter and split the last piece of bread with Kate.
“Okay, one last couple. “That lady in the blue dress. Her eyes are red, might be from crying,” Kate said.
Mario studied the couple. “She has a smile with her tears—he just proposed to her.”
“Wrong,” Kate said. “The woman is telling the man she took a job as a nurse—in Paris.”
Tears ran down Kate’s face. She hated to ruin a beautiful night but had to break the news to Mario. She had been trying to tell him for days by phone and now during the evening, but the night kept getting better and more romantic and then the perfect opportunity appeared.
“I leave next week. I’m sorry, Mario.”
There were no words Mario could think of as a reply. He watched her sob at the table uncontrollably. She dabbed her eyes with the napkin and took a sip of water.
Inconspicuously, the waiter slipped a small pack of tissue at Kate’s side of the table and quickly moved on with his busy work.
“Kate, this is not the time or the place to discuss this. I don’t have any say-so?”
“I knew if we discussed my concerns you could talk me out of it, like you always do,” she said, composing herself and gently touching up her nose with a tissue. “This is a tough decision for me to make.”
“And that is why we should talk. This is impulsive.”
Mario reached over the table and took Kate’s hand. “I know you have been through a lot, but time—”
“What, Mario? Will time heal? Will time erase the scars on my neck? Make me forget the attack and the kidnapping? In time will I forget the limousine driver is security, because only God knows who wants you to suffer by killing me?”
Mario took a deep breath and looked around, worried that viewers could see and hear their quarrel. It was all in his head. People were engaged in their own conversations. The only person noticing the squabble was the waiter, who stopped and whispered in Mario's ear, “Sir, do you want me to make a to-go box for your surprise dessert?”
“No.” Mario looked around the room. “Send the cake to that young couple—they look like they're in love.”
Mario felt drained of all the blood in his body. He kept his emotions in check for the most part, looking around for Howard at the entrance. They locked eyes, and a nod of his head alerted Howard he was ready to leave. After paying the bill while Kate freshened up in the ladies’ room, they met near the elevator. The ride down was nothing the way Mario had envisioned after the perfect night he’d so carefully planned.
For the first few blocks, they both looked out the limousine window, then Mario broke the silence. “I know it is hard to believe, but very soon all these guys will be behind bars and never see the outside world again.” He touched Kate’s face and turned it towards him. “You are allowing this psychopath to ruin our lives. If you run, he wins.”
Kate looked into Mario’s eyes. The eyes that once melted her to putty—the eyes she fell in love with from day one. She just couldn’t live in fear any longer. Mario would always be hated; it was the nature of his job. There were hundreds of thugs like Felipe wanting him dead.
Mario sat back in the seat knowing Kate was right on every point. If it wasn’t Felipe, it would be Dante, Marina, or another family member coming up through the ranks. The only way was to cut the head of the snake off, and in this case it was Felipe and all family members in and out of prison. Taking all the family down would dissolve the Cornerview Gang.
The car stopped at the side entrance of the Fontenot home. Mario took one last shot and asked if there was anything he could say or do that might lessen her fear.
With tears running down her face, she said, “No.” Howard opened the door, helping her out of the back seat. She stopped walking midway up the brick walk and looked back at Mario. “I will always love you,” she said, then hurried to the house.
CHAPTER 43
A few days passed, and Mario began to accept Kate’s decision. He still didn’t approve, but understood her thoughts on the matter. A few attempts to contact her got intercepted by the Fontenots or Amelia. The answer, when he asked about Kate, was like a pre-recorded message. Kate’s not available, or she was resting.
An afternoon lunch with Howard at a French Quarter bistro was the least he could do as a thank you for his assistance over the last week. They met at a line in front of the door, mostly tourists willing to wait up to an hour for a table. Mario walked to the front of the line, flashed his badge, and the line separated like the Red Sea. Getting the attention of the hostess, he really no longer needed to flash his badge for quick access—Mario was welcome anytime and never waited in line.
Mario pointed out a table in the corner to the hostess, and she obliged.
“You’re like the Mafia guys—can’t have your back to the front entrance,” Howard said with a lift of his eyes directed at Mario.
Mario hesitated. “I want to know when and who is coming at me.”
Howard chuckled. “Maybe too many cop movies as a kid?”
“Yeah, that too,” Mario said, looking over the menu.
The lunch went uneventful, and Howard tried to stay away from asking about Kate. They had talked over the last few days about her plan to move to Paris. There was nothing else to say that neither hadn’t already covered.
Mario looked at his watch for the second time within a few minutes. Kate was leaving for the airport at four in the afternoon, and he wanted to be curbside when she walked out the house.
Howard was annoyed and assured him he had plenty time. He just wanted him to enjoy his lunch and relax.
The waiter passed, picking up the lunch dishes, and Mario ordered one bread pudding separated into two small bowls. He claimed it was too sweet to eat a whole piece by yourself, although it was the best bread pudding in town.
Howard complained he had gained weight since he met Mario and needed to get back to the gym or stop hanging with him and that marathon-eating group at Riverside. Mario agreed they did spend a lot of time in the dining room. Zack and his friends’ days were built around the next meal.
The waiter placed a bowl of bread pudding in front of them, and to save time, Mario asked for the check. Howard was shocked to see such a large portion of bread pudding. Mario was right—it was too much for one person to eat and it tasted fantastic.
Mario checked his surroundings then asked Howard, “Do you know the Savino family?”
“Not that I can pick up a phone and call one of them,” Howard said. “I know someone that does and can make such a call.”
Ben Stein, his employer and trusted friend, knew the Savino Family. Ben owned a building on Bourbon Street. One of the Savino’s rented it from him. It was a favorite local bar, whorehouse, and where wealthy people and out-of-towners picked up drugs. Howard raised an eyebrow. Maybe it wasn’t a good move to tell a police officer such information.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” Howard said.
Mario gave him a look that told him not to be concerned—he was there as Mario his friend, not Mario
the cop. He needed a sit-down with the decision maker of the Savino family.
Howard knew Ben could set a meeting up for him. It was just unclear why Mario wanted a sit-down with a powerful Mafia Family member, but it wasn’t his place to ask. He agreed to contact Ben Stein for help.
The waiter came to the table for the second time asking if they needed anything further. Mario just wanted the check. The waiter assured him the manager was working on it, but the restaurant had a computer glitch.
Mario looked around the packed room, and there was a line standing outside waiting to get seated. Flashing his badge at the young man, he demanded his manager come to the table. The waiter returned with a lady and introduced her. She told Mario if he was in a hurry he could leave—lunch was on them.
Mario looked the woman in the eyes, almost scary. “Tell me precisely what is the problem.”
She explained the exact issue Commander Morris and he had talked about a few days earlier. During peak business hours their computers ran slow and they couldn’t close out tickets.
Mario scanned the room of people again and assured the woman he was going to fix her computer problem.
The manager returned to her office to try and resolve the problem. Howard walked the restaurant, eyeballing customers but not their face, just their hands, lap, or even under their chair. Some customers gave funny looks. He couldn’t blame them; he looked like a pervert staring under the tablecloths at their feet.
Mario called headquarters and talked to Olivia. She mentioned knowing a college friend, some computer whiz guy she went to school with. He explained the problem and held on the phone, hoping the whiz geek could come up with an answer.
Olivia came back with the information needed. It was much easier than expected. Her contact said it was highly unlikely a computer was stonewalling their service. That type of equipment was too expensive and not on the commercial market. Her whiz geek said it was something simple.
Mario suggested those fancy little laptops that recently came on the market. But it was shot down because Internet service at this time in the French Quarter only had what was called hard-wired setup, not much better than the old home phone dial-up systems.
The French Quarter was behind the rest of the city when it came to Internet service and technology in general. Cables ran underground and came up the side of the building, much like the electric feed. The computer whiz suggested it could be as simple as someone disconnecting the cable, shutting it down, not slowing it up. Basically unplugging for a few minutes then plugging it back in several times an hour. That made it look like kitchen orders and customer checks were running slow.
“Damn, that’s a sweet girl. Smart, too.” Mario thought for a second then waved for Howard, who had made it outside and was checking the people in line.
The manager presented Mario a bill for lunch. “It’s working. I got most of the bill processed before it went down again.”
Mario thought the whiz geek had to be right and asked to be directed where the power came into the building. Most of the French Quarter restaurants had basements or wine cellars used for storage, employee lockers, and bathrooms. That was where the power lines came in from the outside.
Mario and Howard followed her directions downstairs and found the cable wire coming from the bottom of a brick wall to a box about eye level. All the connections were tight. Then Mario looked up at the ceiling and the stairway. To find the entry point outside, they would have to go out the front door and turn left to the side of the building. There had to be a street or alley on that wall.
“Stay a few feet back of me—we don’t want to cause alarm,” Mario said. “Let’s hit the street and see what we find.”
Together they walked through the restaurant, bypassing some people at the front door. They went left about fifty feet to an alleyway that ran between two buildings. Mario walked into the alley first, and Howard watched from the sidewalk. A man walked past Mario, definitely a homeless guy, one of many living in the alleyways of the French Quarters. Wearing an old tan color sports coat with the lining hanging out and grease stains around the sleeves, his clothes were filthy. His hands were black, like he worked on a car engine most of the day, and the smell coming from him was enough to knock you down. The man said nothing and kept his head down. Mario found the cable box on the wall of the restaurant. He followed the wire coming from underground to a plastic cover. He opened the box. The cable was connected to a line running into the wall. That was when the detective training kicked in to observe your surroundings at all times.
“Howard! Stop that guy,” Mario shouted.
With little resistance, Howard held on to the man.
“What were you doing in the alley?” Mario said.
“What do you think?” the guy said, pulling away from Howard. “Taking a piss.”
“Walk with me,” Mario said, having the homeless guy follow him, and Howard kept him moving forward.
Mario pulled the bottom of the wire and the silver connector—it was dirty. He bet the fingerprint on the connector matched the grimy fingers of the homeless guy. The guy didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to—his expression said it all.
“Who paid you to disconnect the wire?” Mario reached into his pocket and pulled out twenty dollars. “How much did they pay you,” Mario said, stuffing the money into the guy’s hand.
“I’m just trying to make a buck.”
Howard pinned him against the wall. “What’s your name?”
“Reggie.”
“Who hired you?”
The guy was hesitant, but a little pressure applied to his chest against the brick wall got him talking.
“I was told to disconnect the cable at eleven a.m., reconnect it in ten minutes and repeat three times,” Reggie said, walking to the end of the alley. “I timed it by the bank clock on the corner,” he said, pointing to a building.
“Who paid you?” Mario shouted.
“I don’t know his name. He sat in the restaurant while I pulled the cable.”
Howard reacted quicker than Mario could get to Reggie and took him by the coat. “Point the guy out,” he said, dragging him to the front window.
“That’s him,” Reggie said. “The Asian kid with the red Nike shirt. He’s getting up now, hopefully to pay me.”
Mario and Howard directed Reggie to the alleyway while they stood looking around like a tourist. Sure enough, the kid walked out the restaurant and went straight to the alley, slipping Reggie some money.
Howard intercepted him. “Let’s take a stroll,” he said, pushing him toward Mario.
Mario thought for a second. It was a perfect example of Kate’s concern. I never stop being a cop. This restaurant issue wasn’t his problem. He was a homicide detective; he shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. At this point, the very least he should do was call Commander Nicole Morris, as it was her district.
Ramming the guy against the brick wall, Mario said, “What’s your name?”
“Tim.”
“Typical American name. I’m sure your last name is ‘Wong’ or ‘Nguyen.’”
“Lee.”
“Of course,” Mario said, lifting him off the ground by his neck. “What the hell is going on here? Who hired you?”
Howard tapped Mario on the shoulder. He was getting out of control. His face was red and he had a look in his eyes that showed he was seconds away from hurting the kid—badly. He snapped out of it and Tim slid down the bricks to his feet. Mario brushed him off and fixed his shirt. “Give me a name.”
“I don’t know his name. I ran into him at my work across the street, the printing company. He stopped me on a delivery and said he’ll pay me a hundred bucks if I disconnected the cable a few times, so I did. But then he came to my work, said I needed to do it again. This guy is scary, man. I didn’t have a choice.”
“What about Reggie?” Mario said.
“I found Reggie in the alleyway and got him to disconnect the cable for twenty bucks.”
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“You’re a real entrepreneur,” Mario said, stuffing his business card in Tim’s pocket. “Call me when the guy approaches you again.”
“I don’t have to. That’s him getting out that car across the street,” Tim said, all but hiding behind Howard.
Landon, a thug that should be in jail, got out the driver’s side of a Chev. Mario assured Tim protection while he met with Landon. An unexpected surprise left Mario speechless when Dante Cruz stepped out of the passenger's side of the car. Landon, his latest bodyguard, walked a few steps in front of Dante. As fast as Mario put these guys in jail, some judge let them out. He kept an eye on them as they talked to Tim.
“There it is,” Mario said to Howard. “Did you see it?”
Landon slipped Tim something in his hand and patted him on the shoulder. Then Landon and Dante bypassed the restaurant line and walked right into the building. Tim walked fast towards the alley holding a hundred-dollar bill in front of him. That was all Mario needed to see as he stepped to the corner pay phone. He alerted Nicole Morris. she told Mario to stay put and dispatched two police units.
Surprised to find the two thugs seated, Mario found the manager and asked how they got seated so quickly. You could see she was scared and he assured her she was safe.
She whispered, “They do it all the time—just walk in and take a seat.”
Mario, already fired up, didn’t need any more fuel to put him over the top. Howard stood in the middle of the restaurant. Mario walked to the table, looked Dante in the eyes, and grabbed him, slapping a handcuff on the one hand, telling him he was under arrest.
Dante gave resistance, so Mario rammed Dante in the chest like a football player after a quarterback, knocking over several chairs before Dante fought back. Landon stood and attempted to join in. One elbow to the jaw and Howard had the guy on the floor.
Dante was losing the battle. Tables flipped, and customers scatted as Dante took a good swing at Mario and to his surprise he missed.
Mario buried his shoulder into Dante’s gut, lifting him off the ground, driving him over two tables and through the front window. Stretched out on the street covered in glass, he was disoriented long enough for police to arrest him. Commander Morris’s police backup finally arrived, but not before Mario took the law into his own hands.
Crescent City Detective Page 31
