Street Justice

by Vito Zuppardo

  Howard held his hands up, as one goon frisked him thoroughly for a weapon, then walked into Mr. Ferrari’s private room at the rear of the restaurant.

  Julie had described the glass-enclosed room perfectly. Bullet-resistant glass was six feet high and double-paned to the ceiling. Roberto was well under six feet tall, so when he stood, no part of his body was in the line of fire. Should someone try to take him out. Too bad for anyone taller.

  Howard could only guess that the man at the table dressed in a suit and tie was Roberto. He was arrested at twenty-two, and there was only one picture found in the police database.

  They talked about the weather, the flight, the traffic, and other uninteresting topics as an icebreaker. It gave Howard time to look over his opponents, should things get out of hand. Sitting next to Roberto was Bobby G., just like Julie said he would be. The two goons stood at the door inside the room, different from what Julie said. They were usually positioned outside the area with eyes on who came in the front door.

  Howard offered his condolences on the death of Roberto’s nephew, Michael. A lid was put on Michael’s death in New Orleans. All that hit the papers was that he died in a shootout with police. Roberto’s reaction to Howard’s comforting words wasn’t expected.

  “Sooner or later, he was going to get himself killed.” Roberto wrinkled his nose. “As far as I’m concerned, it didn’t come soon enough. Kids been a screw up all his life.”

  Roberto, a cold-blooded killer, had no time for feelings or family. “So, why did you request a sit-down, Mr. Blitz?”

  Howard watched the two goons from the corner of his eye. They widened out a little and were three feet to each side of him, maybe four steps back, he estimated. “I need a favor.”

  “If you have the money, I can grant anything.”

  “Call the contract off on Mario DeLuca.” Howard shot him a deep frown that made Roberto uncomfortable.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Howard drilled him, taking a big chance if he was wrong. Revealed he knew about the guy and his girlfriend dead in the wrong apartment. The bomb that killed the wrong cop.

  Roberto’s emotion changed, his cheeks a little red, his eyes piercing. “Jul . . . ie!” He stretched out her name.

  “Don’t look at me.” Julie quickly took the defense. “This guy knows more about your business than me.”

  “How come I couldn’t find any info on this—Howard Blitz?” Roberto pointed at Julie, his face redder by the second.

  Howard’s name was well-hidden on the police roster, with years of undercover work. One would never find records of him on the city payroll, no such person as Howard Blitz.

  Roberto motioned to Sal. “Was he checked?”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Recheck him.” Julie was right again. He could blow up without warning. “Gun, recorder, whatever’s in his pockets.”

  Sal grabbed Howard by the underarms and stood him up.

  With one swift movement, Howard ripped Sal’s gun from his shoulder holster and kicked the other guy, knocking him to the floor. “I’ve already been frisked,” he said, circling the gun from Sal to Bobby G., then Roberto. The surprised look couldn’t be described by any of them; not even Julie expected Howard’s reaction.

  “I’m a cop! Dirty, but still a cop,” Howard said. Then he emptied the gun, dropping the bullets into his coat pocket, and placed the weapon on the table and sat down.

  Roberto’s heart rate elevated to the point he could hardly speak. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Boss, let me take him out back,” Sal said.

  “Please,” Howard said. “Don’t make that mistake. I’ve come to talk.”

  Roberto motioned for the bodyguards to stand post outside the glass wall. “Find me two bodyguards who can actually protect me,” he said with a shoulder toward Bobby G.

  Howard explained that Roberto was interfering with his job to take out Mario DeLuca. When asked who hired Howard, he didn’t provide an answer. It was too early to spill his lies. He needed more from Roberto, holding back might keep him talking.

  “Why do so many people want this Mario guy dead?” He raised a bottle from the table. “Wine?” Howard accepted the gesture and it showed a calmer Roberto.

  Howard fed him a tidbit. “He’s in the way.”

  “He’s got a big mouth too,” Roberto said. “Aside from killing one of my best earners.”

  “Lorenzo Savino?” Howard asked, then took a sip of wine.

  Roberto didn’t answer, his eyes said he wanted to tell more. Howard pushed harder. “You think Mario did it alone?”

  The room was silent. Howard glanced at Julie; she didn’t make eye contact.

  Then Roberto spoke. “My sources say it was Mario DeLuca, and some lady cop, Olivia, helped.”

  Howard was sure that Roberto had never seen his face. Roberto believing that Mario and Olivia acted to kill Lorenzo meant Chief Parks had done her job in keeping his name out of the killing. “Why say he’s a big mouth?”

  A sharp side angle look came from Julie, maybe he was pushing too hard.

  Roberto raised the empty wine bottle to a waiter outside the glass room. Within seconds, a new bottle was placed on the table. He mulled around and then poured some wine, fixed his napkin.

  Come on, asshole. Tell me why Mario is a big mouth. Howard was sure he was ready to give it up. Bosses love to brag on their accomplishments of illegal activity.

  There was something other than Mario taking out Lorenzo that had Roberto so pissed. Stopping the mafia’s money stream could kill anyone, but Howard smelled more.

  “Why do you want Mario dead?” Roberto asked again, staring Howard down like they were in a high-stake poker game. He was trying to read Howard, but that would never happen. He was a stone professional. If there were college classes for assassins, he would have graduated with honors and top of his class.

  Howard was well-prepared and had his story ready, expecting the question. A year ago a businessman, who issued hospital certificates, was introduced to the governor of Louisiana. It’s what developers needed to build a hospital. The certificate was worth three times the cost of the building. The businessman had permits in several cities. Before the hospital broke ground, the paperwork switched hands, and the businessman walked away with millions of dollars for doing nothing.

  Somehow, Mario, at some state police luncheon, got on the governor’s ear and the next day, the company’s hospital certificate was pulled.

  Howard had done his homework. There was such a deal between a man and the governor; it was in the paper a few months back. The deal fell through, because the governor didn’t think the first guy was a good fit for the city of New Orleans. Mario had no involvement, but there was no way Roberto could dispute the point.

  “I set up the meeting with the governor and was due a million dollars if the deal went through,” Howard said. “Is that not grounds to kill the asshole?”

  Roberto smiled. It was a good sign, and Howard used it to his advantage. “A million bucks might be funny to some, but to me it’s a lot of money.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Roberto said. “I can top that.”

  Bobby G., who had yet to say a word, reached for his boss’s arm. “Hold up, boss.”

  Roberto pulled away, waving him off. It was nothing more than what the newspaper and TV reported. He jumped around, talking about his investments in Atlantic City casinos, not in gambling because a license was required and a background check he’d never pass. His investments were in paper products, food supply (mostly poultry and ground beef), and coffee.

  Louisiana, with one land-based casino, was ready to vote on riverboat gambling. It was a shoo-in to be approved. All that was left was for the mayor to issue the license to the many qualified companies that applied. Roberto’s company was ready to roll into the Crescent City and take over the food supply business, just like he’d done on the East Coast. Vendors were bought out at unwilling prices, o
thers’ trucks got hijacked on delivery until they finally gave up and closed shop.

  Howard listened carefully, and before Roberto finished, he had the answer why Mario became a target. At a town meeting at a French Quarter hotel ballroom, restaurant managers, retail merchants, hotel managers, and even some owners were present. The media flocked around the place as Mario spoke about what came with casinos. He discussed traffic into the CBD and that French Quarter that would look like New Year’s Eve or Mardi Gras every day. Street crime would rise; people would have less discretionary income to eat out at restaurants or go shopping. Hotels would gain from the casinos, until the casinos built their own hotels and gave rooms away to high rollers. People who spent thousands of dollars a night on suites in French Quarter hotels would then get complimentary rooms, food, and all the alcohol they could consume.

  Mario painted a gloomy picture for merchants, especially for restaurants, bars, and hotels, which made up the majority of the businesses affected if casinos came to the city. Residents protested the casinos, and the media ran with Mario’s view to vote down gambling. Other publishers picked up on the negatives of riverboat casino gambling. Traffic influx into the neighborhood would become main roads where bumper-to-bumper cars would damage streets.

  “This big mouth started a snowball rolling downhill,” Roberto said.

  Howard took a shot to see if he’d bite and asked an off-the-wall question. “Who’s working on the ground?”

  Roberto gave a confused look.

  “Who’s looking out for your interests? Eyes and ears on the streets of New Orleans?” Howard asked, watching for a reaction. “I’m available, have connections with the city council and police headquarters.”

  Roberto smiled. “I have all the boots I need on the ground. Mayor Wallace Jackson, soon to be reelected, has a lot to gain if gambling is approved. I should say when it’s approved.”

  Howard watched Bobby G’s face. It told the story that the mayor was the player on the ground, and it shouldn’t have been leaked. Roberto was too concerned with impressing Howard, as if there was a winner for more connections with the city powers. Roberto couldn’t resist revealing that he had the number one man at city hall in his pocket.

  In the end, Roberto admitted to two missed attacks on Mario. He agreed to call off the hit—for thirty days.

  Howard threw in a bonus. He’d kill Olivia when he took out Mario as a thank you for cooperating. The plan went perfectly. Howard bought time for Mario and Olivia, while he worked on taking down Roberto and his crew.

  “Mr. Blitz, let me be clear.” Roberto stopped him before he got to the door. “Thirty days to take out these cops.”

  “No problem, sir.”

  Julie gave Roberto a kiss on the cheek. “It’ll work out.”

  “One more thing.” Roberto, a stone-cold psychopath’s attitude changed, and his face was now beet red. “Ever attempt to muscle my people or threaten me again—I’ll kill you myself.”

  Howard took the gun and walked. Julie followed. At the door, he flipped the empty weapon to the bodyguard.

  “Want me dead?” Howard broke a smile. “Better bring more than these two goons—a lot more.”

  Chapter 23

  Howard’s ears vibrated, not from the loudness of jet engines when he walked off the airplane but from Julie’s voice. She’d preached to him the entire flight back to New Orleans. She demanded an explanation of his actions with Roberto. People just didn’t talk to a mafia boss in such a way. Condescending talk to a man with power, money, and no conscience was a way to get killed.

  Howard, happy the way the meeting went, assured Julie she’d overreacted. He thanked her for the introduction to Roberto. If another sit-down was required, he’d arrange it with Bobby G. directly.

  Howard asked her for one more favor. Her frustration showed. “What?”

  “Call me if you get another job from Roberto.”

  “Tell you if I get a contract job?” She laughed. “Why? So I can get arrested?”

  “I’ll always be indebted to you,” Howard said. “I promise, and Mario too, we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from being arrested. Unless you try to kill one of us.”

  “Fair enough.” She watched his car pull away and mumbled. “That’s one crazy bastard.”

  Before hitting the highway, Howard checked his calls. It was the first time he’d seen so many messages. Usually he was prompt at returning calls, but under the circumstances he wasn’t free to talk in the presence of Roberto and wasn’t answering any on the plane with Julie listening. From one assassin to another, they kept each other at arm’s length. Mario and Olivia left one unnerving message after another.

  He called Mario first, and he picked up on the second ring.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Saving your ass,” Howard said. “What’s up?”

  Mario played it off casually and rattled off that the money sent back to Savino’s account was missing, Lina and Little Pete were dead, and he and Cyrus found Jay.

  “And remember that we’ve been reinstated,” he said. “Pick up your gun and your shield.”

  They agreed to meet at Liuzza by the Track, a mid-city grill they both favored.

  Howard arrived first and got a table for two, away from the noisy bar area. That was quickly changed to a table for four when Mario walked in with Olivia and Cyrus. He welcomed them with a smile, only to get a sharp frown from Olivia.

  “Holy crap.” Howard smiled with open arms. “Cyrus cleans up good.”

  “Yes, thanks to the both of you,” he said. “I’ve got a job too.”

  Howard gave Mario a glance. “A long story.” Then rolled his eyes.

  “I’ve got to go,” Cyrus said. “My ride is waiting. I just wanted to thank you both in person for all your kindness.”

  Once Cyrus departed, everyone was ready to speak out and put all the pieces of the puzzle together. Lunch was ordered and served with sweet tea, and the conversation stopped for a few seconds to eat.

  Howard filled them in on the details of his meeting with Roberto. Olivia was horrified that she was a target with a thirty-day clock ticking. She asked how he got a sit-down with a mafia kingpin like Roberto. Howard was tight-lipped, and Mario truthfully had no idea, although the jet engines when they talked on the phone indicated that Julie might be involved.

  Olivia pointed out she had proof to go to the DA. Leon’s fingerprints were found on the chassis of the car, and she found a tiny one on a wire the FBI said came from the bomb. With Leon having only one hand, he must have had to use a finger and a thumb to attach the wires.

  Howard suggested it might be a move to consider. Push the district attorney to close the case. The bomber was dead; who killed him was an entirely different investigation.

  Mario’s eyes looked at the ceiling, then made some rolling motions. “Might be the right play while we go after the mayor.”

  “I have one other nugget of information,” Howard said. “Mayor Wallace Jackson is on Roberto’s payroll.”

  Mario and Olivia were lost for words. When asked if he was sure, Howard clarified there was no doubt. It was Roberto who wanted Mario dead for his speech to the city council against New Orleans legalizing riverboat gambling casinos—and for killing Lorenzo, one of his best earners.

  “Does he know we killed Michael?” Mario asked.

  “No,” Howard said. “He was pleased to know Michael was dead. Didn’t care who killed him.”

  Mario brought them up to date on locating Jay. It would have never happened without the help of Cyrus. Jay, placed in a holding tank, wasn’t charged with anything and would have to be released within twelve hours. He admitted taking pictures of Leon and Wallace. Money exchanged hands between them, because Jay was paid two hundred dollars from the very envelope Wallace handed off to Leon.

  “A lot of money for taking a picture,” Olivia said.

  Mario smiled. “A couple of bucks extra for hiding in the bushes.”

 
Jay was paid to take the pictures as proof of Leon meeting with the mayor. Jay was told it was a precaution, and Leon hoped he’d never need them. Mario pressured him hard about the bomb and was convinced that Jay wasn’t involved and knew nothing about the act.

  Cyrus found Jay at a bar on the corner of Bourbon and Conti Streets. This time, Jay wasn’t hustling people out front; he was on a bar stool inside. It was a change of life for a homeless guy. All cleaned up, shaved, and a fresh haircut with a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and several empty glasses. He’d been there awhile, Cyrus told Mario.

  Jay invested the two hundred dollars for picture taking in himself. He’d just returned from a job interview and was hired at a local grocery store—stocking shelves. He was at the bar celebrating.

  “So why did Jay take pictures of Leon and the mayor’s brother?” Olivia questioned.

  “Proof, if needed as a payoff for building the bomb,” Howard said. “In case Leon got caught. Wallace would have to help him with his political power, or Leon would implicate the mayor.”

  “The mayor had his own plan.” Mario gave a mysterious look. “Leave no witnesses.”

  The table went silent, and Olivia took that opportunity to leave and promised to keep them in the loop.

  Mario and Howard paid the bill and headed to Central Lockup to combine their efforts to squeeze more information out of Jay, if he had any to give.

  Police headquarters was a block away from Central Lockup. It gave Howard time to play nice with the chief and accept her formal greetings of his reinstatement.

  Handing over his badge and his weapon, Chief Parks gave him a piercing expression. “Try not to kill anyone this week.”

  Howard smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

  At Central Lockup, the detectives waited for Jay to be brought down to the questioning room. A word from the sergeant on duty was to the point. Charge Jay or cut him loose; he needed the cell. No need to hold him if he would be released in a few hours.

  In the room, Jay sat across from Mario while Howard stood. He wasn’t cuffed, and the men offered a Coke, which he accepted.