Chapter 13
At the head of the conference table sat Chief Parks, next was DEA Commander Sanchez, and on the other side was District Attorney Gilbert James, two FBI agents, Mayor Wallace Jackson, and his assistant Kory Barnes.
The mayor never left his office without Kory. If he didn’t want to answer a question, he’d say Kory would check and get back with an answer. Which meant the mayor had no intention of agreeing and would say no over the phone in a few days. Kory never spoke out in a meeting or asked a direct question. Before the meeting started, Kory fetched bottled water and a cup of coffee for his boss, then took a seat behind him against the wall.
Mario greeted everyone, getting a sharp look from the chief. As if to say, “I got the DEA here; you better come through.” He gave her a nod of assurance and prayed Howard would deliver.
Olivia entered the room with a look of horror on her face. Clearly not expecting so many people and top officials waiting for her update.
No call or text from Howard made Mario anxious. He did his best to stall the meeting and lost the battle when the chief called on Olivia to start.
The lights were dimmed. Olivia started with a slide show of pictures from the bomb scene. Nothing Mario hadn’t seen and studied for hours. She acknowledged the DEA and the FBI for the work they did in the investigation. Specified the FBI’s assistance in finding the device that triggered the bomb. The slides ended, and the lights were turned brighter.
Mario’s heart jumped a beat with a knock at the door. Howard peeked in. “Sorry I’m late.” A blink of his eyes assured Mario he had the newspapers, and Howard took a seat.
Olivia continued and surprised Mario how far her investigation had progressed. She’d worked the VA Medical Center officials hard, and they came up with results. There were three men with military explosives background who came in for treatment. There were no physical addresses for any of them. A nurse described the condition of the men: dirty clothes and smelly. She suspected they were living on the streets. All three had military records but parts were sealed, so there was no way of knowing if they’d had honorable discharges.
DEA Commander Sanchez asked how the three men were picked out as possible suspects. Olivia thanked him and explained that the team narrowed it down to those men based on their military training. That much was available in their records. Two were born in the Midwest, and one was raised in New Orleans. All three were trained in defusing bombs, the type that blew up Truman. They were housed together and schooled at the same facility, then shipped to Afghanistan, sweeping hotels, taverns, and any place soldiers gathered when off duty.
“Surely if they could seek out and defuse a bomb . . .” Olivia paused and looked each person in the eyes. “They easily could build a bomb of the same type.”
“But why?” the chief interrupted.
“Why? I don’t know at this time,” Olivia replied.
Mario recommended an undercover officer penetrate the homeless shelters. With pictures of the men, they shouldn’t be hard to find. He volunteered himself.
“That might be a drastic move.” Chief Parks shot Mario a look. “It’s early in the game.”
Mayor Jackson chimed in that too many roamers were spreading word about the explosion. He told his supporters, mostly preachers, that it was an isolated incident. His largest backer for the mayor’s race was Pastor Ignatius Green. When he made a call, the mayor jumped. He disagreed with the undercover operation. Pounding the table, he stood. “I want my city back to normal. Am I clear?” Kory opened the door and he stormed out.
Side looks went around the table. The chief shook her head in disbelief. She and the mayor had not seen eye to eye since the day he took office.
Howard broke the tension. “I’ll go undercover with Mario.”
Olivia handed off the file to Mario, indicating her office was finished with its part of the investigation. Mario announced he’d put two detectives on the ground, while he and Howard lived the homeless life for a few days.
Everyone agreed except Commander Sanchez, who frankly said it wasn’t a DEA issue and questioned why he was asked to attend the meeting.
Howard slid the newspapers to Mario as he stood. “Commander Sanchez, I’m reopening the Lorenzo Savino case.”
“Why?” A confused look came over him. “He’s dead. We found nothing, and Lina and Pete walked. Why embarrass us again?”
“To get even,” Howard said with a snicker, giving Mario the cue to begin.
Mario did his pace around the conference room. “Who gets the trophy?” Questionable eyes focused on Mario’s slang. “Lorenzo’s money. That would be the trophy.”
“Any money found in a drug-related bust goes to the DEA,” Sanchez said. “The cartel snatched the money before we got the approval to seize Lorenzo’s Panama bank account.”
Mario tossed the newspapers across the table. Glenn did his part—producing the perfect headline. It read “Drug Lord’s Money Found.”
The chief and Sanchez reached for a newspaper. They were quiet, deep into reading the article Glenn wrote. Mario did a dry run of the bullshit story in his head. He had one shot at selling it and began with the publisher of the newspaper’s statement.
Lorenzo met with Isaac Garza on the yacht the morning of the raid. Isaac was ordered to transfer most of the money in the Panama bank to offshore investments. The transfer had a timestamp of 120 business days, then automatically moved back to the Panama bank. Possibly to keep the money rolling in case the feds were watching.
“Today is one hundred and twenty days.” Mario gave a glimpse to each person at the table. They bought the story.
“How does this publisher know?” Sanchez glanced at who wrote the article. “Glenn Macy, how did he get this information?”
Mario shrugged his shoulders. “The TV news picked up the story—it has to have some truth to it for them to stick their necks out.”
Howard spoke up when the room went silent. “Check the Panama bank account.” He pushed the routing and account numbers across the table.
The eerie silence worried Mario. Then DA James said, “ I’ll get a judge to sign off on seizing the account. Of course, if there is any money.”
“No,” Sanchez said. “This is a DEA case. If there is a substantial amount of money in the account, Lina Savino, an officer in the company, will have to produce tax records of its earning.”
Mario gave a slight snicker and made eye contact with Howard. “Is twelve million dollars substantial?”
The DEA commander’s eyes lit up. “More than enough.”
Chapter 14
There was no time wasted. Mario and Howard went undercover the next morning. Mario had an early call with the department’s makeup artist. She created fake beards, mustaches, dreadlocks, and in this case, heavy gel in Mario’s hair. Made it greasy looking, like a wash was needed a month ago. Makeup around his eyes gave a genuine dark circle effort, and she fitted him for raggedy overalls. Howard, Mario, and a shopping cart full of junk got loaded into a van. They parked on a side street near a busy intersection. Waiting for traffic to pass, including any passersby on foot, Howard gave the okay. Mario, with his props, jumped out the back on the vehicle, pushing his way to the corner.
“Shit!” Mario shouted. “Could have gotten me a grocery cart with good wheels.”
“You’re undercover—need to fit in among the homeless.” Howard planned for a dreadful day. With a microphone taped to Mario’s chest, he’d bitch at every little thing..
“Well, you’re not pushing this piece of shit.”
“Sorry, they were all out of new, smooth-rolling carts.”
Mario moved the wagon of junk alongside an overpass. It was the perfect shelter area for the homeless. Overhead coverage, traffic for panhandling, and an interstate exit to the Central Business District. Fancy cars and people with jobs heading to the CBD. A textbook place to score some loose change as drivers sat desperately waiting for the traffic light to turn green.
Mari
o did his best not to make eye contact with the men and women who sat with their possessions in an area of the ground claimed by a line drawn in the dirt. He’d learned from his homeless snitches, they didn’t like visual contact. Noticed enough to get a dollar or two, but deep down most were ashamed for the life they were forced to live. In makeshift beds and shelters made of cardboard boxes, they slept, ate, and watched when drivers threw cigarettes or half-eaten packages of snacks to the ground.
Mario thought he was prepared for the smell of urine, body odor, and spoiled food. He wasn’t. The pungent aroma was strong.
“Hey,” a guy shouted out. “How much for the blanket?”
Mario had spent little time looking over his inventory that the prop department stocked in the cart. On top, an oil-stained blanket had seen better days.
“Give me a buck,” Mario shouted back.
The guy waved him off. “Too much.”
“What are you offering?’ Mario wanted to make a friend.
“Fifty cents,” the guy said.
“Deal.”
Mario took the money from the guy and let him grab the nasty, stained blanket. “What’s your name?” An attempt to strike up a conversation.
He halfheartedly answered, “Cyrus.”
“Nod your head, if you’re ready,” Howard’s voice came over Mario’s earpiece.
Mario gave a nod and twenty feet away the van pulled into traffic.
“Nice to meet you, Cyrus,” Mario said
The van startled Cyrus when it stopped at the curb. Mario assured Cyrus it was okay and he would protect him by stepping in front.
“Can I help you, sir?” Mario played his part and got aggressive with Howard.
“What are your names?”
“I’m Little John; this is Cyrus,” Mario said.
Howard was holding his composure. They hadn’t discussed an alias name. “Little John?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“But you’re not so little.”
Mario played along. “They call me LJ.”
Howard played his part and stepped out of the van. He explained he was an off-duty cop working for an attorney. Flipped out three pictures, and Mario fetched the images so Cyrus could get a better look. Cyrus shook his head, his eyesight had long failed.
Howard rushed back to the van and returned with some reading glasses. Something he thought was crazy to request for their secret project, but Mario insisted. Candy bars, soap, and a stack of dollar bills too. He planned to spread them around for information.
“Here you go.” Howard handed Cyrus a pair of two-and-a-half strength eyeglass readers.
Adjusting the glasses, Cyrus blinked a few times. “This middle guy.” Then abruptly stopped. “He wanted for something?” Then returned the picture and the glasses.
Howard quickly reacted, pulling out an official-looking paper showing the three men in the picture were due money from a lawsuit settlement against the United States military.
“Really?” Cyrus looked closely. “The middle guy, I called him One-Arm Jack. I recognize the one on the left too.” He pointed. “They are always together.”
“When’s the last time—” Mario said and stopped mid-sentence. His detective instincts had nearly taken over.
Howard continued the question. “When was the last time you saw them?”
Cyrus took his nasty Dixie Beer logo cap off. It looked as old as him. He scratched his long, greasy hair. “Maybe two days ago.”
A candy bar and two bucks were given to Cyrus as a thank you. Mario put his hand out.
Howard made a face and handed him a candy bar, he kept his hand out for the money.
Then Howard handed out quarters. “Call my cell if you see these guys. Could be some money for finding them.”
“Mr. lawyer man?” Cyrus gave a toothless smile. “When’s the last time you saw a pay phone?”
Mario raised his shoulders. “He’s right. Mr. Lawyer man, no street phones anymore.”
Howard busted a big grin. Mario played the part too well. He told them to stay put and by foot crossed at the corner and walked a half block to a Walgreens drugstore.
Mario buddied up to Cyrus. Put out a plan that two were better than one and if they found the guys, they could split the money. Mario pulled his shirt up showing a small revolver. Letting Cyrus know he’d protect him on the streets.
Howard returned with two cell phones with fifty paid minutes. Then he wrote his name and number on a piece of paper. “Call me if you see either of the men.”
“The guy in the middle,” Cyrus said. “I know him as One-Arm Jack but never said it to his face.” He reached for the picture and showed how the man had his arm hidden behind a tree. “His left arm, elbow down is missing.”
Howard gave Mario a side glance. “Good to know. The two on each end are Barry and Jay,” he pointed. “The man without the arm is Leon.”
Barry had hung with Leon for as long as Cyrus could remember. Jay joined them much later.
Mario wandered with Cyrus most of the morning and learned his history. He’d lived under the bridge for four years. When asked about family, last job, or kids, he’d shut down and Mario knew not to push. There is a breaking point with the unstable who take to the streets to live. It can’t be by choice, and one had to gain trust before they opened up.
Mario parked his cart by Cyrus’s claimed piece of ground and walked to Magazine Street. St. Andrew’s offered lunch in the back of the church. That day red beans and rice, smoked sausage, and a three-day-old slice of Bunny Bread. Cyrus showed the way. Mario gained his trust asking easy nonpersonal questions. Cyrus told him where he could eat five days a week. Saturday and Sunday, they were on their own.
While standing in line, Cyrus gave off a weird look. “LJ, where have you been eating? I’ve never seen you around.”
Mario’s mind had a slow reaction. It was the first time he was called LJ. He’d planned a history of the last five years if asked—not traceable by a street person. His answer was that he’d been in jail for five years and was just released. Family disowned him. Broke and homeless, he took to the streets just a few days ago.
“What about the gun?”
“I stashed it before going to prison. The first thing I looked up when I got out of the halfway house. Not looking for trouble, but sometimes trouble just shows up.”
Cyrus gave a look. Shook his head up and down. “What were you in for?”
Luckily the conversation was cut short when someone shouted. “Next!”
They got their plates of food and sat at a table. Mario scanned the people, looking for the three suspects. He saw a bunch of dirty men with heads down in their dishes eating fast. As if it was their last meal or maybe they hadn’t had a meal in a while.
Mario ate along at a slower pace and monitored everyone in and out of the church hall. Howard’s message came through Mario’s earpiece, alerting him he was parked at the corner should he need help. A few words opened with “calling Little John” put a smile on both the detectives’ faces. Mario covered his mouth and whispered expletives into the microphone.
Over lunch, Cyrus discussed a few places he’d seen One-Arm Jack during the day. His favorite was inside Lafayette Square, cooling down under an oak tree. Another was a bar he’d bum beers from, and a corner he hustled for cash. After lunch, they checked. There was no sign of One-Arm Jack.
They walked up Magazine Street and made a turn on Canal Street heading back to the camp when Cyrus stopped in his tracks. His eyes locked on a car coming toward them.
“Those two in the black Mercedes?” Cyrus kept focused on the car. “Some bad dudes.”
“How so?” Mario said and repeated the license plate out loud a few times.
“Copy.” Howard, down the street in the van, wrote the number down.
The man in the passenger seat stared Cyrus down. The car turned on Magazine Street.
“You have a run-in with those guys?”
“No, but Jack did.”<
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“You mean Leon?”
“Yeah, man! Leon, One-Arm Jack, it’s all the same person,” Cyrus shouted.
“Wish I had a car.” Mario talked with his chin down to his chest. “I’d follow the black Mercedes.”
The Mercedes had just passed Howard’s van. “I’m on it,” came over Mario’s earpiece. Howard picked up all Mario’s clues. Cyrus was so engrossed with the Mercedes, he didn’t think anything of Mario rattling off the license plate number.
By the next block, Cyrus calmed down, and Howard got him talking. It furthered the trust between the two.
Cyrus remembered the Mercedes with the same two guys pulling up under the bridge a week ago. Jack talked to them through the window when he and Barry got in the car and drove off. Before leaving, Jack asked Cyrus to look after his stuff, he’d be back in a few days. It was the last Cyrus saw of the two.
Howard’s voice came over Mario’s earpiece in a whisper. “Followed the Mercedes. Need your help. I’m on my way.”
Working with a partner undercover, there were rules. Talk little over the radios. Even with an earpiece, the voice can travel beyond the ears. Get to the point and have a prearranged meeting place should one or the other need help.
Mario cut the conversation with Cyrus. Said he’d meet up later, then took to a side alley. He ripped the overalls off, ran a comb through his hair, and with a handkerchief wiped the makeup off the best he could. Like Clark Kent becoming Superman, Little John submerged from the dumpster as Mario the detective and ran to the rendezvous point.
Chapter 15
Three rendezvous points were planned. A two-man undercover team had to know their partner’s location at all times. Mario had confidence Howard would head to the Fairmont New Orleans hotel, the Baronne Street entrance, as it was his closest rendezvous point.
Mario made small talk with the doorman, dressed in black tuxedo tails and a top hat, who stood on the red-carpet entrance of the elegant hotel. Mario’s abrupt departure left the doorman talking to himself when Howard’s van roared up to the curb.
“What’s up?” Mario got in and they sped off.
Street Justice Page 5
