The Auction House

by Vito Zuppardo

  “Move, and your brains will splatter across the mirror,” Howard said, pressing the gun harder into his head.

  Pixie let out a scream. “I didn’t sign up for no gun shit. Roxy!” His hands shook way above his head as he ran out the room, shouting, “Oh my god, oh my God.”

  “That’s the drama I was talking about,” Roxy said, taking a position behind the bar.

  The disturbance didn’t interrupt Jin. He turned slowly toward the gun. “You’re making a big mistake.”

  “I’ve made a few in my life—I live with them,” Howard said. “Get Julie on the phone.”

  Jin’s eyes shifted to the window, and then a red laser dot appeared on Howard’s chest.

  “Get her on the phone!” Howard demanded with another push of the steel to Jin’s head.

  “I have a wire on. Julie can hear everything,” Jin said, pulling his coat back. “I can truly tell you if you don’t lower your gun, she will put a bullet or two in your face.”

  Howard shifted his eyes to Roxy. “You still have artillery behind the bar?”

  “I sure do,” Roxy’s said, lifting a shotgun. “I may dress like a woman, but I’m all man and not afraid to blast away.

  “Hear this, Julie, step in the bar for a friendly conversation,” stone-faced Howard said. “Roxy, I go down, blow Jin’s head off.”

  He opened the barrel and checked the load. “Mr. Jin, one shell will kill you—the second will just make a lot of mess to clean up. Don’t make me shoot. Ten seconds, Julie. Ten ... nine ... ” Howard spoke directly into Jin’s face.

  When Howard hit five, the red laser disappeared off him, and by the count of three, the front door opened.

  “Good afternoon, Julie,” Howard said, holstering his weapon once he saw she entered empty-handed. With a gentle touch of her arm, he moved to a table. “Roxy, two old Fashions.”

  “Make it a double,” Julie said.

  Roxy placed the shotgun under the counter and called a shaken Pixie hiding behind the stage to make the drinks. With trembling legs, he stepped from the curtain down behind the bar. His eyes locked on Howard.

  “I swear, Roxy, either one of them pulls a gun, and I’ll have to go change my pants.”

  “This is a no crap zone,” Roxy said. “Just make the drinks.”

  Across the room, Julie opened up quickly and asked, “Why are you in my business?”

  “I made you my business when I saved your life years ago.” Howard was sure that would get her cranked up.

  “Saved who?” Julie came back quickly. “I remember the story a little different.”

  Roxy brought the cocktails to the table after a terrified Pixie said he’d quit his job before he’d get any closer to the two gunslingers.

  “Enjoy,” Roxy said, placing the drinks down. “You two killers made up like old lovers?”

  “Not sure,” Julie replied. She took one glass, swirled the ice a time or two, and knocked it back. “Bring me another,” she said before Roxy could turn and walk away.

  “My kind of girl,” Roxy said, giving off a smile.

  Jin sat at the bar, waiting, and Roxy kept him entertained while making Julie’s second double—one eye on Julie and the other on Jin.

  Back at the table, Howard took a sip of his drink. “What can I do to help?” he asked, giving Julie a devious smile.

  She frowned and didn’t say a word.

  “Are you that deep?” Howard studied her. “You always leave options.”

  “I have one option. Kill Jin or Mr. Heinz—who do you think is going to live?”

  Julie’s second drink arrived, and she talked, and Howard didn’t interject until she came up for air.

  She wasn’t aware of all the details when taking the contract, a normal process. Heinz was sketchy like that, allowing the client the opportunity to make changes to the order. There was always someone left for dead—that was a given.

  She leveled with Howard—this time, truthfully. Roland Rockford got creative at the auction house in moving counterfeit money and young women, but she didn’t learn any of that from Heinz. A loose-mouth foreigner talked too loud and gave too much information when explaining to a fellow passenger on the flight to New Orleans how lucrative counterfeit money could get circulated. It was a high-profile move even for the mastermind Heinz to think up. He was the perfect person who could put all the pieces together to make it work.

  Julie quizzed Howard on Mr. Heinz—she’d rarely asked for advice from anyone. When you’re out of options and desperate, you call on a friend. Howard was her only trusted friend, and even then, she kept him at arm’s length.

  They discussed and came up with the apparent conclusion that if Heinz wanted Julie to kill everyone involved outside of the buyers, maybe in the end, he’d have her eliminated.

  It was way later into the flight before Julie found out the people she’d been protecting had a deal worth over fifty million dollars if all went well at the auction. In the middle of explaining, Howard threw a hand up.

  “Hold on! I only heard bids for less than a hundred thousand on some ugly chair—where do the millions come in?”

  She took little more than a sip of her second drink then explained, “The chairs secured keys to apartments for the winning bidder—in this case, a young woman. The larger bids will come today.”

  “Why? Roland has the world by the ass—more money than anyone would ever need.”

  “It’s not about money for rich people. Maybe they’re bored? They need some excitement in their lives and believe their money and attorney make them above the law.”

  Howard pushed the counterfeit money to the back burner for a second. “Do you know how they recruited the women?”

  Julie made a head gesture and raised her shoulder. “What I know about the process is the girls were hunted for weeks—the type of hair, build, a specific look. Then a day before delivery, they snatch up the girl.”

  “You know a lot about the process,” Howard said, lifting one eyebrow.

  “I know things, Howard,” she said. “Doesn’t mean I’m involved. I draw the line on human trafficking.”

  “Mr. Heinz’s played you.” Howard rocked back on his seat. “There comes a time in your line of work—” He stopped, chewing on the side of his mouth and gave her a death glare. “You simply know too much.”

  “Counterfeit money, human trafficking, all the murders Heinz ordered ... ” She paused, her eyelashes blinking like they had a mind of their own. “Might be time to eliminate me?”

  Howard’s cell phone rang, and the screen read Avery. He glared at the screen for a moment.

  “Avery?” he asked.

  “Oh my God, Howard, you have to get to the office. Mario stumbled across a teenager.”

  Avery unloaded the details as quickly as possible about Camila Garcia’s abduction on the Gulf Coast fifty miles from New Orleans.

  Howard listened. He didn’t interrupt and let Avery ramble, then promised he’d come to the station within a few minutes.

  He hung up and gave Julie a look. “Do you know anything about this?”

  “No!” Julie said, adding that a grab was always miles away from the delivery area and no more than twenty-four hours prior. Some police departments ask you to wait 24-72 hours to file an official missing person report—by that time, the mark would be long gone.

  Howard called Avery back. He shot her a question and waited for her to call back. It wasn’t long, and the phone rang again. Howard quickly answered. “What do you have?”

  Avery’s voice came through the phone loudly, even Julie heard her from across the table.

  “Handcock police department said the earliest they check into a missing person is forty-eight hours, and most of the time they drag their feet for a full sixty hours. The desk sergeant sounded like it was a lot of paperwork. They wait as long as possible in hopes it’s a runaway who returns home.”

  Howard thanked her and told her to let Mario know he was on his way to the office.

&nbs
p; “Could this kid be part of Heinz’s operation?” Howard asked, but spoke more like he was questioning himself.

  “She could easily be part of this,” Julie said. “I don’t know what the keys open—drugs, women, fake money. Only Heinz knows all the details.

  “What about Jin?” Howard questioned, glancing at the bar.

  Julie’s eyes shifted to Roxy. “I had hoped this phone number would get me an artist.”

  “For what?” Howard asked.

  “We have to make Jin look dead—it has to look perfect.” She hesitated. “If not, Heinz will spot the scam.”

  “And if he does? You’re dead,” Howard said to a worrisome Julie.

  Howard gave Julie the hard stone facts. She had to stay off the streets until he could work things out. The Fed’s and Mario were looking to arrest her, and it was just a question of time which agency got to her first.

  Howard took the paper from Julie’s hand and ripped it up. “I’ll help. The number was fake anyway—it just rang to the club.”

  “So I just dumped five hundred on a bogus contact?” Julie stood. “I want a refund.”

  “Sorry, it’s the cost of doing business.” Howard stood with his arms open and hugged her. “Let’s go kill some real bad guys.

  Chapter 24

  It was over an hour into Howard and Mario’s conversation at the Eighth District that got heated several times regarding why Howard wasn’t answering his cell phone. It wasn’t until Mario insisted one of his street rats saw Julie roaming the airport, possibly waiting for a commercial flight, that Howard came forward.

  “Julie is still in the city,” Howard said, then leaned back into the desk chair and studied Mario’s eyes. Mario’s complexion turned pink, then red to a point his ears illuminated.

  “You’ve been in contact with Julie?”

  “I have and there are some big problems.”

  “For her,” Mario quickly added.

  “The Fed’s might not be telling you the whole story about why they arrested Roland and have him as a prime suspect.”

  “I don’t think Roland is involved, and I’m sure Kate is not,” Mario said and stood then did his pacing dance, almost in a circle around the conference table.

  Howard hesitated then spoke. “I’m sure Kate is clean, but I know Roland is not.” Detailing what went on at Roxy’s club, he could see Mario’s ears getting brighter as he talked.

  “Do you know the bullshit I’ve given the Chief for the last two days? How we’re about to make the FBI look like fools and could prove Roland was innocent.” Mario continued his pace. “I told her you were working some leads—the whole time I had no clue where the hell you were.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Point!” Mario started to say, but the words fled from his mind for a split second. He re-grouped. “Point is I’m lying to the Chief to cover your ass.”

  “It’s not the first time—get over it,” Howard said, backing Mario into his desk chair like he’d done many times when they had differences. “Sit down and listen. I’m going to take you on a ride you’re not going to believe.”

  Howard knew telling Mario of Julie’s whereabouts might prompt him to call it in and have her arrested. Howard also knew Mario was a True Blue Cop—the priority was always to capture and prosecute the right person for the crime. Julie was guilty of many things but counterfeit money and human trafficking wasn’t her style. Her only part in this caper was flying people into the city for an auction. It was not a chargeable offense, and she’d walk regardless of her history, which was hearsay since her arrest record was clean.

  They broke it down on a yellow pad, not necessarily in priority but a general idea of what was facing them. First on the list was counterfeit money, human trafficking, Camila Garica, making Jin Wong look dead, and how to handle Mr. Heinz. Mario made it clear he’d have no part in Heinz. Howard assured him that wasn’t a problem—Julie planned to have a face-to-face with Heinz and settle their dispute.

  The two detectives got moving with the plan. Avery, a perfect fit to keep an eye on Jennifer Gray and Simon Kade, was sent to the auction house for the afternoon schedule.

  Mario had no intentions of getting involved with Jin Wong’s fake death but came up with the perfect solution and made a phone call to get the ball rolling. There were many business owners that owed Mario a favor during his years as a police officer. He’d helped many folks, and Dwayne Guillory was about to make restitution to the man that allowed him to sidestep prison.

  Mario met Butler Ray at the lab of the police forensics division on Broad Street. He’d talked to her many time by phone but few in person. He remembered she was a voluptuous woman whose curves showed through her green scrubs. His experience with the scrub-waring crowd, the clothing hung on them like a sack of potatoes. Not Butler—even with no makeup and with her hair pulled back—she’d turn heads. Mario always noticed the female NOPD employees, but he was all business, and nothing distracted him from the core of a case.

  She was newly appointed to head up the department and more than willing to work with Mario, who she’d heard was much like her—a perfectionist. She pulled some photos from an envelope and showed Mario pictures taken by the crime unit. Butler pointed out that Camila probably was forced into a vehicle from the bruises on her arm. They left the building with a small bag containing Camila’s clothes. He was lucky they’d finished the workup and allowed him to take the evidence, including the clothes Camila wore when kidnapped. Butler assured Mario that Camila had not been attacked based on the rape kit and the clothes examination. He was grateful for the teen, but the traumatic experience still had consequences—someone would pay.

  Mario arrived at a middle-income neighborhood on the west bank of New Orleans called Terrytown. He drove slow as kids played in the street, much like they did years ago. The shotgun homes were one after another, and the road was the playground.

  Watching the kids play ball brought back memories for Mario of his old neighborhood when he was a youngster. The hard cold reality now was different, if you saw kids sitting on the steps of an old, run-down house—they were selling drugs. In this case, a car slowed down, indicating the person was a buyer. The kid that was up would run after the vehicle making the drug pitch. You either made the sale or went to the back of the line and waited for your next turn.

  In the middle of the block, a lady sat on a swing with a blanket across her lap. It wasn’t that it was cold weather, she covered her legs during the summer just like in winter. Mario parked and stood curbside, waiting for her to recognize him. She smiled, then remove her hands from under the blanket.

  Mario nicknamed her Mrs. Jenny—a code-name whenever he called her house. She was one of those people that owed him a favor from many years ago. She more than paid him back for coaching her grandson, who was heading for the wrong side of the law. Mrs. Jenny’s loyalty kept her faithful to Mario whenever he called.

  Greeting Mrs. Jenny with a smile, she did the same.

  “Come give me a hug,” she said with open arms.

  Mario bent down to her, and they hugged it out.

  “Ana,” Jenny shouted. “Bring Camila out, please.”

  Jenny’s granddaughter walked out holding Camila’s hand.

  “Happy to see you, Camila,” Mario said, holding the screen door open. “I have great news. We’ve been in contact with the Handcock County police. They are driving your father to New Orleans as we speak.”

  A smile seconds ago turned to a scary stare, Camila’s hand shook.

  Mario reached and held her. “It’s okay. The police are not interested in deporting your father.” He gave her a gentle hug. “You two will connect tonight at a hotel, and tomorrow you’ll both will head home.”

  It took a minute, then she worked up a grin. “Thank you.”

  He introduced the woman officer, and Camila walked inside with her. A few minutes later, Camila returned in the original clothes the priest found her in at the church.

 
“She’ll do it,” Butler said, holding Camila by the hand.

  Mario pulled a radio from the clip on his belt. “It’s a go. We’re on our way.”

  Camila buried her face in Jenny’s chest, saying, “Thank you,” and got in the car.

  “How’s your grandson, Mrs. Jenny,” Mario asked.

  A teary-eyed Jenny beamed. “Great, just reenlisted in the Air Force. He tells me all the time if I see Officer DeLuca tell him hello.”

  Mario grinned. “He a good kid,”

  “Owes it all to you,” Jenny said. “You know he would have been in jail by the time he was seventeen if it wasn’t for that program you started.”

  “Happy to help, Mrs. Jenny. Thanks for looking after Camila.”

  Jenny pulled the blanket from her lap and lifted a shotgun. With two cranks, she unloaded the shells, dropping them to the floor. “Send me someone to protect—they’re in good hands.”

  Mario shook his head and turned to the lady officer. “The surprising part. That little old grandmother would have cut somebody in half if they got close to Camila.”

  “Is she an informant?” she asked, getting into the car passenger seat.

  “Nope,” Mario said, slipping in behind the wheel. “Just a friend, willing to help.”

  “Where the hell do you find these people?”

  “I don’t, they find me.”

  Mario drove with a glance in the rearview mirror often as he talked to Camila. Going over the plan, he promised the cops watching her were undercover, while she’d feel alone—they were near and would protect her.

  There were many alleyways in the French Quarter, Uptown, and the Garden District. Camila explained that she had come down a fire escape and ran past trash cans. At the end of the street, she followed the railroad tracks until she came to the church where she took refuge. The saving grace part came when Camila remembered coming down the ladder to a blinking red light across the alley. She only caught the last part of the sign, which read train. She told Mario she couldn’t begin to pronounce the full name.

  Mario had but one idea and drove down Saint Charles Avenue. He turned on a side street, asking Camila if she recognized the area. She frowned and said no.