“Train? Under it said parking,” Camila shouted out. “I was moving fast, but I did see the word parking.”
It took a second for it to register with Mario. He sped up to the next block and turned down a side street. A sign stretched across the driveway of a parking garage which had a red blinking light in the alleyway. Mario pointed to the Pontchartrain Hotel Parking sign in big blue letters. Directly across was the fire escape. The alleyway led to a thoroughfare that ran across Saint Charles Avenue, where the streetcar ran.
“It wasn’t a railroad track. It’s the streetcar route,” Mario said. They drove back slowly to the alley, and Camila confirmed and pointed to the apartment window she’d jump from onto the steel staircase.
The front of the apartment house faced a street, and the building and hotel shared the alleyway. Mario called in his backup. One undercover cop walked the alleyway digging in trash cans. Another rested against the wall at the end of the street a wine bottle sat at his side. A panhandler on the Saint Charles Avenue side worked the streetcars as they made stops in the front of the Pontchartrain Hotel.
Camila was dropped off a block away and roamed the area. Mario’s only hope was the guys that abducted her were still in the area and desperate to find the girl—a perfect match to the auction house’s highest bidder.
A call came from Avery to Mario’s cell while he was on foot with the female officer, looking much like the rest of the office workers going to and from lunch.
The afternoon auction had started, and there was heavy bidding on a fancy Chinese Dynasty vase. She explained to Mario the bidding started high and hit over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The second vase was about to go up for bid. Jennifer and Simon Kate were present, and the thugs Julie flew in were doing the bidding.
“Don’t see Jin or Julie in the place,” Avery pointed out.
Mario quickly sidestepped the remark.
“I did get a hit on the hospital,” Avery said. “Touro Hospital had a woman come in a few hours earlier with a slice across her face and a shoulder puncture. Said she fell on a glass coffee table. Not sure if that’s your suspect.”
Mario’s voice stepped up. “Was she released?”
“Yeah, about an hour ago,” Avery said.
Mario broke away, leaving Butler in charge of protecting Camila. With four people watching Camila’s every move, she was in good hands.
Mario drove the few blocks to the hospital. He flashed his badge at an officer on duty when he parked in a No Parking Zone on the ER ramp. “Official business.”
Stepping through the lobby with his badge over his head, he shouted, “Police! Who’s in charge?”
A nurse behind the counter directed Mario to an office.
Standard hospital protocol worked for Mario’s rescue. A surveillance camera picked up the woman with the shoulder gash getting out of a car at the ER entrance and again in the room where they sewed her up. Mario thought the driver’s license the nurse had on record might be bogus. It showed the name of Jackie Green and an address in Troy, Alabama. What was confirmed was the license plate and make of the car that dropped her off at the hospital.
Mario rushed out of the building as quickly as he arrived. In the car, he called Butler and gave her the car’s description and plates. After parking in front of the hotel on Saint Charles Avenue, he took off by foot and found Butler. One of the homeless undercover cops spotted a white Honda and the plates parked in front of the apartment they had under scrutiny.
Butler called in for additional backup, but Mario wasn’t waiting. He had Camila scooped up by one of the cops acting out as homeless and brought her to him. They walked the alley, and she pointed out the apartment window she escaped. With the help of the undercover cops, Butler moved a trash dumpster under the pull-down ladder. With a good leap, she caught the last bar, and her weight pulled the ladder closer. She climbed upward while Mario made his way to the front entrance. Turning the corner, he saw the white Honda parked in front. With his pocketknife, he casually stabbed two tires of the car flat.
Inside, Mario faced a stairway and climbed slowly, his weapon drawn and pointed down. He decided the middle door had to be the one that matched the window Camila pointed out from the alley. Quietly, he climbed the last four steps. Mario hugged the wall and turned the doorknob to find it locked—much like he expected. With one foot, he aimed at the knob and kicked the door in, splitting the wood frame. The sound echoed through the hallway, only to find the room empty.
Mario’s mind was confused. Wrong door?
It had to be the one to the left as he reached for the door handle.
“The door is open,” a man said, pressing a gun to Mario’s back. A second man appeared, taking the Glock from Mario and waltzing him into the apartment.
Mario scanned the room. He was in the correct place—a woman, matching the surveillance picture of Jackie Green, was sitting in a chair with her shoulder bandaged. What wasn’t expected was the gun to his back.
The negotiating skills came out, and Mario tried to talk them down. Letting them know a team of cops was about ready to seize the building.
“Shut up!” one thug shouted. Stepping aside, he pointed a gun at Mario’s head. “Where is the girl?”
“What girl?” Mario quickly replied. The gun dug deeper into the side of his head.
“I’m on a drug bust—what girl?”
“Alone?” a disgruntled thug scoffed. “You make drug busts by yourself?”
“You know I’m not alone—the police have surrounded the building.”
The fatal mistake was when the thug stepped away from Mario toward the window. Human instinct was to check the view to the alley for cops. Mario knew the guy couldn’t resist—and he didn’t disappoint. Before taking another step, a bullet hit him in the arm.
It was all the time Butler needed. She stood on the fire escape, legs stretched fully balanced, with her gun pointed. The thug raised his weapon, and she fired a second time, clipping him in the shoulder. His gun flipped out of his hand, and he fell hard to the floor.
Mario made glaring eye contact with Butler and pulled an old trick. He counted, “One, two, three.” On three, he dropped to his knees, exposing the man behind him and Butler fired two more rounds, both hit her target square in the chest.
From the fire escape, Butler saw Jackie slip her hand under the seat cushion. The butt of a handgun showed. Butler broke the rest of the glass with her gun’s tip that the bullets hadn’t shatter to the ground. Carefully, she stepped through the window, dodging pointed sharp edges, the weapon in her hand raised and placed directly in Jackie’s face.
“Two are down—I have no problem making you the third,” Butler said, pulling the hammer back on her gun.
Mario checked the man that held the gun to his head. With his fingers to his neck, he said to Butler, “No pulse.” The other guy was breathing, but with two holes in him, blood poured to the floor. Butler kept the pressure on the wound with a blanket for a quick fix, but he needed help desperately. Mario called dispatch and gave the address and apartment number. “I need a hospital wagon and one body bag.”
Chapter 25
One vehicle in Howard’s fleet wasn’t a fancy limousine decked out with mirrors, plush seats, and a bar. He called this car the workhorse, a twelve-year-old Chev Suburban used to jump dead batteries, change flat tires, and run errands for the garage manager that maintained his fleet.
The Suburban was well-maintained, including a new original color paint job. It stood out among the more recent models on the road and drew attention as Howard drove the interstate to Ponchatoula. The one-hour drive was best known for its Strawberry Festival, but the Alligator Farm was a close second.
Dwayne Guillory hunted alligators for a living and did side work as a location manager for movie production companies. The New Orleans area was trendy for its scenery. Not everything in a movie showed nightclubs on Bourbon Street or the French Quarter. When the script called for a swamp scene, Dwayne found th
e location to fit the film. He was a snake wrangler and caught alligators since he was a teenager, and he was hired to ensure everyone’s safety during filming.
Guillory’s Alligator Farm came about during off months of movie making. Dwayne stocked his swampland with giant gators and walking bridges for tourists to feed them and view from a distance. Tours conducted between filming allowed him to control the fenced swamp area of his property. He kept the gators happy between meals, selling chicken parts to tourists to throw and watch the big mouth gator snap them down like popcorn. The gators also snacked on snakes keeping the area snake-free during filming.
Howard turned off the interstate and took the service road, then a quick left onto a gravel road and followed Guillory’s Alligator Farm’s signs.
“Where the hell are you taking us?” Julie asked from the backseat. “Could you have found rougher roads?”
“Welcome to Louisiana, pothole capital of the world,” Howard replied, peeking at her and Jin in the backseat through the rearview mirror. They were silent for most of the trip, and now reality was about to set in.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Howard asked with one eye on the dusty road, the other on her and Jin.
Julie’s smile was fake. “There is no other option.”
“There are always options,” Howard shot back. “You forget who you’re talking to.”
The vehicle came to a halt. Howard got out, leaving the air condition on for Julie and Jin. He checked the front hood for chips from the gravel road.
“You did good,” he said, running his hand over the hot hood. “Now I have to get you back home safe and scratch-free.”
A perky woman met him with a khaki uniform, shorts, and top matched the high socks and brown shoes. She was looking like she was ready for a jungle safari, including the hat.
“Welcome to Guillory’s Alligator Farm,” she said. “How many are in your party?” About to go into the tour times, Howard cut her off. Presenting his black leather folder with his New Orleans Police Badge, she stopped talking in mid-sentence.
“Oh dear, is something wrong?”
“There is no problem,” Howard assured her. “Just here to see Dwayne.”
Howard walked Julie and Jin inside the gift shop with stuffed animal heads on the wall, as well as a giant alligator in the center of the floor. They had everything from jungle hats to spears and even chocolates in the shape of little gators. Tourists were lined up at the register to buy their items for memories of the farm.
An average height, overweight, red face man came out of an office and greeted them.
“Detective Blitz?” he said, his hand extended. “Dwayne Guillory, Mario said you were coming over.”
They walked through the gift shop and made small talk. Julie was openly uninterested as Dwayne described how he hunted down each of his animal trophies hanging on the wall. He was smart enough to pick up on Julie’s lack of interest and walked them out to the open air for privacy.
“Mario said you had a delicate situation. Maybe I can help,” Dwayne said with a whisper.
“We’re hoping so.” It was the first time Julie had spoken in front of Dwayne.
They moved inside, and without explaining, Julie said, “I need him,” she pointed to Jin, “to look dead—convincingly dead.”
A smile came over the burly guy, almost as if he’d enjoy the challenge. “I have a freelance makeup artist that helps with movies. Not any movie big productions with famous actors, if she can make those pain in the ass people happy—you’ll be happy, too.”
“I take it she’s good?” Howard added.
A nod of approval, and Dwayne picked up a phone and made a call. The call didn’t last long. “She’s on her way.”
They discussed some details, and Julie kept things vague. Dwayne dug for information much as he did on scripts with directors wanting to provide the best results for a film.
“Look, big guy,” Julie said, stepping forward. “In my movie, the lead character has to die. He has to look dead, and you have to show how the body is not going to pop up out of the water a few weeks from now. Am I clear?”
“Say, no more, little lady.” Dwayne’s eyes lit up. “I have an idea for a perfect scene.”
It wasn’t long before a tall, skinny, loud-mouthed woman walked in—brutally uncouth. Tattoos stretched down both boney arms, she was dressed in jeans with a bib and a white T-shirt. With her hand stretched out, she introduced herself as Dixie Barr.
Julie’s eyes dropped to her grimy fingernails caked with grease and acknowledged her with an icy stare.
“Sorry, I’ve been working on my truck,” she said, dropping her hand and turning to Dwayne. “What you got, Big D?” Dwayne gave a nod Jin’s way. She turned Jin’s head from side to side. “Such a good-looking face to kill off.”
She suggested they clear the room and leave Dwayne and her alone to prepare Jin for before and after makeup pictures.
“Bullshit,” Jin blurred out. “My sister goes, I go.”
Julie said something in their native language that went over Howard’s head, but Jin got the message. He agreed to stay, and Howard and Julie walked the gift shop while Dwayne did his magic with who Julie called Swamp Woman.
They sat in the café and sipped on a cup of Gator Mud, which turned out to be good coffee. Everything in the café had a gator theme. Gator chips that looked like twisted potato chips, not even close to looking like an alligator. Gator burgers that Howard was sure were bogus based on price—three bucks for a burger and chips.
A smiling Dwayne gave a hand wave from the front entrance. Julie dashed to meet him quicker than Howard could place the empty coffee mugs on a tray.
“We’re ready,” Dwayne said, grinning like a kid at a circus.
She followed him through the thick bamboo path directed by stepping-stones to an open-air jeep on the side of a muddy road. Howard caught up with them as they loaded up.
Dwayne helped Julie board the backseat, giving a snicker when viewing her feet. “Sorry about your shoes, pretty lady.”
Julie’s casual shoes by Jimmy Choo looked great but weren’t for this terrain. She looked at the thickly caked mud on the sides and smiled at him—then pulled a handgun from her purse and pointed at Dwayne.
“You call me ‘pretty lady’ one more time, and I’ll put two bullets in you and let your gators finish you off. Understand?”
“Not a problem, Ms. Julie,” Dwayne said, climbing into the driver seat. “Let’s go! I’ll take you to the murder scene.”
The three of them bounced around the road to the back of Dwayne’s property. On the way, the jeep slowed down and Dwayne pointed out trees, side paths that led to nowhere, and described the area a movie star stood or a shootout between villains occurred during filming. Dwayne next pointed out a barn that saw better days used in some film, but Howard or Julie never heard of nor cared to know.
Julie pulled herself forward by the back of Dwayne’s seat. “Remember that gun I showed you? If you don’t stop with your backlot movie tour, I’ll use it—I promise.”
With that warning, he stepped on the gas. They bounced around a road that seemed to go in a circle before the Jeep came to an abrupt stop in front of heavy foliage other than a small path. Dwayne led them down a flight of wooden steps with a handrail on one side. At the bottom were Dixie and Jin. They seemed to get along—at least he was following directions.
“Oh my God,” Julie said. “All you need is a coffin.”
“I take this meets your approval?” Dixie asked, taking a step toward her.
“So, I’ll need a selfie of me with him on the ground and maybe a tire iron in my hand,” Julie said, painting the scene of how she killed Jin.
“I thought you wanted to sell this—had to look real,” Dixie said, taking another step toward her.
“Why are you getting closer to me?”
“She’s got a gun,” Dwayne said.
“Ooh, a woman with a weapon.” Dixie gave a flirtatious
smile. “Now, what is a pretty little thing like you doing with a gun?”
“Dixie!” Dwayne shouted. “Don’t call her pretty, either.”
“So, what can I call you?”
“Try Julie—better yet, don’t talk to me.”
Howard had seen Julie in action too often—it wouldn’t end well for Dixie. “Can we get on with the pictures and get the hell out of here?”
“Ahoy neighbor?” a man shouted, coming toward them in a flatboat ran by a small battery-operated motor. The boat moved slowly, causing tiny ripples in the water until it hit soft mud. Dwayne one-handedly pulled it further up to dry land.
“This is my son Didier,” Dwayne said proudly as if he introduced royalty.
Julie turned to Howard and their lips said the same thing. “Didier?”
Didier got out of the boat looking like his father only by the nasty clothes and Gator Farm T-shirt. Other than that, he was a much smaller person with long, greasy hair tucked behind his ears, wearing dirty blue jeans and a stained T-shirt that had yesterday’s lunch dripped down the front. A necklace with five alligator teeth hung from his neck like a trophy.
“You brought Big Patty?” Dixie asked, getting a smile from Didier that was missing teeth in the front.
“Oh yeah.” He reached in an ice chest and pulled out a quarter of raw chicken. Then he pulled twice on a rope strapped to the side and tossed the chicken about six feet over the water. Out of nowhere, an alligator snatched the chicken out of the air before hitting the water. A few chews and the water calmed as the gator sunk under the surface.
“What the hell?” Jin blurted out of control.
“That’s Big Patty,” Didier said. “She’s going to make your snapshot look real. There will be no question that you were killed and eaten by an alligator.”
Things got confusing with so many people talking at once. Even Howard chimed in with a hand fixed on the butt of his gun. “That son of a bitch comes out the water again, and I’ll put a bullet between its eyes.”
The Auction House Page 14
