The Auction House

by Vito Zuppardo

  The dealer gave Margaret a look. As a skilled player, she knew she’d have to show the cards or muck them before the dealer could push the chips to the winner.

  “You’re right, Mr. Wong, a flush can’t win,” Margaret said with the saddest face she could muster. Then she turned the four of hearts. With another side-glance from the dealer, she slowly turned the seven of hearts. “Mr. Dealer? Is that a flush? Woof-woof looks like you’re not the big dog.”

  The dealer knew Margaret too well. She could bust balls at a poker table better than anyone. “Straight flush wins the pot,” the dealer said. Then he pushed all the chips to Margaret.

  “You slow-rolled me!” Never shouted. A term known to poker players as slowly turning over your cards when you know you’re the winner, it was an insult to the loser of the hand. Margaret respected her gambling buddies, but Never had been pushing her buttons all night.

  “You slow-rolled me, bitch! I’ll pay you back.” Never stood and moved toward Margaret, but before he could make the second step, security had him by each arm.

  “The game is over for you, sir,” the poker manager said. “Walk him to his car.”

  Security had Wong by his arms locked behind his back when they came face to face with Mario and Howard. Their arms extended, flashing their badges, the detectives blocked the aisle.

  “We’ll take him from here,” Howard said, expressing a delightful grin.

  Chapter 12

  Never Wong followed directions, as his hands were cuffed behind his back and held tightly by Howard. Security insisted they not walk him out of the front entrance and make a scene. The guards followed a path through the kitchen around prep tables and workers who stopped what they were doing to get a glance of the parade of men in suits—highly unusual to see in the kitchen. They exited a door on Saint Peter Street, where the casino and restaurants received deliveries. Howard elected Mario to walk around the block and get the vehicle from the valet.

  Mario shot Howard a side-glance. “Don’t kill him before I get back.”

  Never perked up from the all-night card game, swearing if they uncuffed him, he’d kill both of them without a weapon. Howard gave a cocked head gesture and pulled the keys to the handcuffs out of his pocket.

  “Let’s see what you got, my friend.” Howard placed the key into the lock.

  “No!” Mario shouted, taking the keys. “Let’s keep him alive until we find out what the hell he’s doing here.”

  It took a while for Mario to return to the valet area on the other side of the block. He picked up Howard and his nasty mouth captive and sat him in the backseat, then pulled around to an alley stretched between buildings and parked next to the dumpsters. Howard blindfolded Wong with a thick black hood and tied it securely around his neck. Then they drove off.

  A call rang on Mario’s cell—the name Margaret flashed on the screen. It wasn’t the time to talk to her, but something made him answer anyway.

  “Mario, how far away are you?” an anxious Margaret blurted out. She quickly detailed how she had pulled from the parking lot, and for several blocks, a car followed her. Even making unnecessary turns, the vehicle kept with every turn she made.

  “Beat up, black Honda?” Mario asked.

  Margaret slowed and peeked at the rearview mirror. “Yeah, smashed grill—it’s seen better days,” she said.

  She quickly took another turn to shake them, but the vehicle continued to follow. “Mario, I have close to a hundred thousand in my purse. I’m trying to get to the bank—without getting robbed or killed.”

  “Margaret, relax,” Mario said, giving a slight chuckle.

  “I’m glad it is entertaining for you.”

  “Margaret, it’s two undercover cops—I called them. They’ve followed since you cashed out at the cage.”

  “Crap, Mario—thanks for the heads up.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t think you’d notice—their tailing skills are bad if you spotted them,” Mario talked her down. The cops followed Margaret to the bank, waited for thirty minutes for it to open, then watched her go inside, and then went on their way.

  The dark tint on Mario’s car windows didn’t allow anyone to see in the backseat. He stopped for one traffic light behind several cars. There wasn’t any need to have cars pull to the side with his flashing dashboard lights. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention and have some cop patrolling radio dispatch, asking if he needed back up. The vehicle drove at a fair speed not to disturb anyone and pulled into Howard’s limousine barn unnoticed by the early morning employee shift. Most huddled around limos and luxury buses, cleaning them from the reservations the night before.

  The car stopped, and the lock on the back door popped open. Howard pulled Never Wong out of the backseat. With a firm hand, Howard directed him through a door marked No Exit. Mario followed and left the process in Howard's hands—something he hoped he’d not regret.

  A side wall panel opened with a push of a button, and they stepped down into a bunker.

  Howard led Wong then pushed him into a chair. The room was built like a bomb shelter with eight-inch walls and a single light bulb hanging overhead.

  Ben Stein created the place years earlier from his childhood memories of a place he and his sister hid from Nazi’s in the old country. His use was straightforward. Ben’s purpose for the area he called the vault was like a police interrogation room. In Howard’s earlier days, when directed by Ben, he’d gain information by any means in the room.

  Howard shot questions—one after the other, not waiting for a reply. “Who ordered the dump truck? Who was driving? Where is it now?”

  In a muffled voice, Never Wong replied he didn’t know anything about a dump truck.

  “Really?” Howard asked, giving Mario, who sat across the room, a look.

  Then he flipped a switch. Bright lights came on, and a wall opened, exposing firearms of every type, knives, hand grenades, and tools of all kind not typically found in a workshop, even a flamethrower. It was all military-grade equipment Howard insisted on having when Ben smuggled him to the United States.

  Howard studied the neatly placed tools on a pegboard. Then as if no one else was in the room, he said, “These will do,” and reached for a pair of massive pliers, a hammer, nails, and a piece of wood.

  It took Wong’s eyes a while to adjust to the light when Howard yanked the hood off his head. With pliers in his hand and an electric cord hanging to the ground, Howard waved the tool in Wong’s face before plugging it into a wall socket.

  With the hammer, Howard pounded a nail deep into the wood. Then he took the plies, flipped a button, and without any effort, the power tool moved vigorously back and forth until the nail head came out of the wood.

  “So, Mr. Never Wong, this is what’s going to happen,” Howard said. “I’ll ask questions, and if I don’t like the answer, one of your pearly whites will come out your mouth. Bet you spend a lot of money on those perfectly straight teeth, not counting the process to get them so white,” Howard said, releasing the nail from the pliers and dropping it to the floor. “One by one, your teeth will rest at your feet when giving the wrong answer.”

  “Howard—” Mario cautioned, his eyes wide and arms in the air. “What the hell?”

  Nothing distracted Howard when on a mission. “First question—who ordered us dead?”

  Wong’s eyes shifted, his complexion becoming pale. A long hesitation caused Howard to flip the switch on the pliers again. It sounded much like something one hears in a dentist’s chair.

  “Better speak up—”

  Wong tried to move in the chair, but the handcuffs only allowed a few inches on each side of him. “I don’t know!” he shouted. “That’s the truth.”

  “You’re on a plane with Julie and a bunch of two dollar thugs, and you didn’t hear anything?”

  Howard looked up at Mario. He gave a stare and continued the intimidation. Mario played along.

  “If your group isn’t here to kill two of New Orleans’s
finest, then why?”

  Wong chewed on his lip. His eyes shifted from side to side. Then he got lucky. A timer went off on Mario’s phone. Beep beep. The sound echoed throughout the walls of the cave-type room.

  “Howard, we have to pick up the Chief,” he said. “We have fifteen minutes to get to her.”

  “Why are you in town?” Howard shouted, his teeth grinding hard, a promising sign he was about to come unglued. The pliers head raced when he pressed the button to a higher speed. “Why!”

  “All I know is I’m being paid to bid on an item this afternoon at the Rockford Auction House,” Wong said, attempting to lift his arms upward.

  Howard went for the kill. “What items and why?”

  Wong settled down and explained he was in town to bid on a chair. He wasn’t sure of the item number and was only told to look for a late entry—a single chair. Three other men flew in on Julie’s plane to do the same.

  “What’s in it for you?” Howard pushed the pliers into Wong’s chest.

  Twenty grand was his answer, which confused the two detectives.

  “You’re paid twenty grand? How valuable is this chair?” Howard demanded and pushed the pliers to full speed.

  Mario motioned to cut him loose—they were out of time. Reluctantly Howard took the cuffs off and walked Wong out to the garage. A driver putting finishing touches on a limousine was flagged over.

  “Get a dirty car and drop this guy in the French Quarter,” Howard directed.

  “I’m staying at the Monteleone,” Wong said.

  The driver waited for Howard to confirm. “Drop him at the foot of Canal Street, let him walk the rest of the way.”

  Wong got in the backseat of the car and peered back at Howard. “We’ll meet again.”

  Howard’s evil grin surfaced. “Oh yeah—a lot sooner than you think.

  Chapter 13

  The dark sedan pulled into the police underground parking garage, and the Chief stepped off the curb to meet her ride. Howard held the door while she slipped into the backseat.

  “Is your driver sick today?” Howard tried to play friendly—the best way to get the Chief off-topic and distracted from where they had been for the last few days.

  “Yes, again,” she said. “Know any drivers?”

  Howard quickly offered her a limo and a driver daily at less than the city paid now. Chief Parks let out a laugh. “Yeah! That would set the Mayor off. He couldn’t deny it if it’s cheaper.

  The car pulled out of the garage.

  Mario hit her with a question to avoid answering anything she’d ask. “Why are we going to a meeting with the Mayor?” He gave a glance at her through the rearview mirror. “You always get us in the middle of your bullshit.”

  “It’s my goal to make your life miserable, Mario.” She gave a smile back at the mirror. “Now, where the hell have you two been?”

  Howard jumped in first. “Myself, I’ve been in my cellar torturing an Asian man. Tough guy—had to use the electric pliers on him.”

  “I don’t know why I even ask.” Parks gave a headshake. “Neither of you can ever give a truthful answer.”

  The detectives exchanged grins with a shoulder shrug.

  “Make sure I get a report by tonight on what you’re working on—and I mean tonight.”

  “Not a problem, Chief,” Mario responded.

  Chief Parks handed a handwritten note to Mario with the address for the meeting. “Hopefully, the address is correct. My aid wrote it down. I could use a new driver and an assistant, too,” she said.

  The car stopped. “Café Degas?” Mario asked.

  “Why in the hell didn’t the Mayor say the restaurant’s name?” Parks asked with a disgusted look across her face.

  The old house turned gourmet restaurant was a lot more romantic at night but had a cozy feeling in the day. In the heart of the Mid-City area, it was well known to most everyone.

  “Well, we will eat good, that’s for sure,” Mario added.

  Standing outside the car gave Howard a view down Esplanade Avenue, all the way to the entrance of City Park a few blocks away. It allowed him to scan the street on both sides, then the other direction as far as the eye could see.

  “I don’t like this,” Howard said. He pulled his Glock from his holster.

  “What the hell, Howard?” The Chief panicked.

  Mario pulled his gun and, with his hand over the trigger, hid the weapon inside his coat. “I’m with Howard—his instincts are usually on target.”

  “Think someone is going to take me out?” she asked with a slight chuckle.

  “No,” Howard responded. “Me and Mario.”

  The Chief brushed the comment off until she realized they weren’t kidding. Howard pointed out a black SUV halfway down the block. The motor was running and one man sat behind the wheel from the best he could see through the tinted windows. In another vehicle, hugging the curb on the narrow street, sat one person behind the wheel across the street.

  An observation by the detectives pointed out the Mayor’s car was nowhere around. His usual parking space was front and center of the Café, making sure everyone saw him go inside—even though the area was marked Passenger Zone. The Chief’s cop instincts kicked in, and she drew her gun, holding it close to her vest.

  A pocket binocular pulled from Howard’s coat allowed him to check out the vehicle with the man sitting with the motor running. Howard read the license plate numbers, and Mario called it to dispatch. The man on duty responded that the plates were blocked. They all knew a blocked tag could mean anything from criminals under investigation to federal agents.

  The Chief said she was going with criminals, someone that might want her dead, or all of them. The Chief and Mario entered the front entrance and allowed Howard to come in from the service area.

  Howard strolled through the kitchen with his weapon pointed to the ground, then turned into the dining room. His eyes scanned the room where a few couples were gathered and two men were sitting at a table for six, dressed in suits. It was difficult to tell who carried weapons.

  “It couldn’t be easy,” Howard said under his breath.

  The Chief and Mario approached the podium, and she asked for the Mayor. A young lady said, “He’s expecting you,” and pointed to a table. The two men stood.

  The Chief gave a side-glance to Mario. “I don’t know these two guys.”

  Then they walked toward her. Howard slipped behind them.

  “Chief Parks?” one man said and reached in his pocket.

  The coolness of a gun barrel caught the men by surprise. Pointed at the back of their heads was a Glock at one and an extra piece Howard kept in a leg holster.

  “Don’t move,” Howard said, motioning to Mario with his head.

  Mario reached and pulled guns from both men and placed them at the podium. The young woman’s eyes all but popped out of her head, seeing the weapons.

  “Who are you?” one man asked.

  “That’s my question,” Howard said and reached into his coat pocket. Pulling out a leather wallet, it opened from the weight of a gold badge inside.

  “ATF?” Howard asked, giving the Chief a look with one eyebrow upward.

  Then the other person asked to allow him to identify himself. He slowly pulled his badge and showed another shield marked FBI.

  The Chief apologized to the owner, who surfaced from the kitchen along with a few kitchen workers. With guns holstered, they walked back to the table. The waiter dragged two chairs and placed them at the round table as they settled in their seats.

  The Chief mustered a smile. “Let’s all take a deep breath.”

  “We asked the Mayor to have you come alone,” the ATF agent said after introducing himself as Agent Tom Roth. Then he pointed to the other man. “This is FBI Agent Ralph Barnes.”

  “Where is the Mayor?” The Chief shot an unpleasant look around the room.

  “Not coming—never was invited,” Tom said.

  Once Chief Parks gave t
hem more than a piece of her mind, they explained their process. The two agencies had joined together, leading an investigation in the Chief’s district. They asked the Mayor to set up the meeting in a public area. They didn’t want street cops, secretaries, and other heads of departments seeing them walk into city hall or the police station for a sit-down. It attracted too many eyeballs on them—predicting something big was about to go down. Rumors fly in any office, and this was a delicate subject. They wanted the Chief to hear it from them officially.

  Howard, not one to hold his tongue, said, “There is an easier way to have handled this.”

  “My God,” Mario said. “A call to the Chief’s cell would have gotten her to meet you in some remote area.”

  Tom raised an eyebrow and gave a slight head motion to the Chief. She caught the hint and quickly replied, “My detectives go where I go.”

  When necessary, Parks could be a lady, but she didn’t make Chief by allowing men or higher government agencies to push her around. She was always ready to stand her ground.

  She locked eyes with Tom. “They stay, or we all go,” she repeated. “They’re my most trusted men and have worked many priority cases over the years—both legal and not so.”

  It took a while for the detectives to calm down, and rightfully so after drawing their guns and being ready to use them if necessary. It was a ridiculous approach to get a private meeting with the Chief, and Howard variably lashed out several times.

  It seemed Agent Tom Roth with ATF was the lead on the case. He did most of the talking and explained the topic—but was slow at giving details. Agent Ralph Barnes with the FBI kept interrupting. Ralph said once too many times, “That’s confidential.”

  Mario cut Ralph off. “Why don’t you give names and details or get the hell out?”

  The Chief shot Mario a look and quickly added, “I think my feelings are the same.” Chief Parks raised her voice slightly, keeping a lady-like but stern image.

  Agent Roth pulled a one-sheet piece of paper from his pocket and read off names. “Roland Rockford. He and Simon Kade are the kingpins behind the Rockford Auction House. Katherine Fontenot, we think she is a decoy.” He took a breath and let out a sigh. “And finally Julie Wong, we believe she’s knee-high into this operation.”