The Devil's Muse

by Bill Loehfelm

“I’m not seeing it,” Sansone said, distracted. “They’ll disavow him, no matter if he’s actually in with them or not.” He turned to her. “He may not even be in with J-Street anymore, no matter who his uncle was. There’s been leadership changes since Scales is gone. Goody might not be welcome anymore.”

  “Can we find any of this out?” Maureen asked.

  “That’s what I’m saying. They won’t tell us, either way.”

  This kid here, Maureen thought, the one Sansone watched, noting the bandanna on his head again, was the only one with a crown. Maureen wondered for a moment why the king was the only one talking to any of the girls. He didn’t seem to favor one of them in particular over the others. Then she saw the reason. His 3NG buddies were busy watching the J-Street guys watch him. Only the king has a harem, never the king’s guard. Away from the castle, the king needed protecting.

  And the girls? They knew everybody saw them, noticed them, and stared at them, the gangbangers and the regular boys, the basketball team, the cops, too, and they played their part to the hilt. Hips rocking, hair flipping, chests stuck out. They charged the air around them like downed wires in a puddle and they knew it. Dangerous. Fire starters. Sirens. Dragons. Maureen could feel the hormones shaking the ground under her feet like a passing drum line.

  “You think these Three-N-G guys know about the shooting?” Maureen asked.

  “Oh, I guarantee it,” Sansone said. “Every one of them. I mean, they know that it happened. I don’t know that they know who did it. I don’t know that they care, especially since the guy who got shot didn’t belong to any of them. I have not seen a ripple in the night’s proceedings. Nobody’s reacting to it. Not Three-N-G. Not J-Street. Not the others. I’m thinking your boy may have been freelancing, that this was a personal grudge.”

  “What do I tell Hardin?” Maureen asked, considering Sansone’s suggestion of a grudge. “I don’t want to go back to him with nothing. In less than an hour, he’s got to prep the DC and the superintendent on the case. I don’t want to tell him to give them the all clear if the violence isn’t over.”

  “What you got by coming here is not nothing,” Sansone said. “You ask me, no news is the best possible news there is. Tell Hardin that he’s dealing with an isolated incident, a case of mistaken identity, probably, if you can’t find a connection between Goody and the victim, and if you can, it’s something personal, and that we caught the guy who did it and now it’s over. Unless Goody’s gonna confess, we don’t need him anymore. Let Drayton lock him up and be done with it.” He spread his hands. “Look, Cogs. There was a shooting, and we caught the guy. Enjoy it. Bask in it. Fuck, dude. Good work.”

  “Except for the OD John Doe I let die in the street,” Maureen said.

  “Can’t win ’em all,” Sansone said.

  “C’mon,” Maureen said, “that’s harsh. Even for you. That’s like, Morello harsh.”

  “I’m just saying, that little girl, that teacher, that grandmother, all they were doing was going to the parade. That guy in the street, he did it to himself. It’s a shame, but it’s not on you, that one. Let it go. Don’t carry him around with you.”

  28

  “Before I go back to my route assignment,” Maureen said to Sansone, “I want to ask you about something, while I’ve got you and the other tactical and gang guys here.”

  “Go for it.”

  “So there’s this TV crew out on the route,” Maureen said, “well, video or Internet or whatever, it’s a long story.”

  “Nobody takes their tits out up here,” Sansone said. “They hafta go to the Quarter for that bullshit, you told them that, right?”

  “They’re not looking for that kind of material so much,” Maureen said. “It’s a documentary on a new kind of drug. Something called flakka.”

  “Never heard of it,” Sansone said.

  “It’s like bath salts,” Maureen said. “Or mojo. But ten times worse.”

  “Damn. And it’s here? Of course it’s here. Why wouldn’t it be here?”

  “The producer on the film crew,” Maureen said, “she’s telling me this drug may be what killed the kid on the route.”

  “I thought Hardin didn’t want you talking about it.”

  “Hear me out,” Maureen said. “This producer woman, Laine Daniels, she thinks we’re looking at a big problem with this thing. You guys spend a lot of time on the gangs, kicking in doors. Have you heard anything about it?”

  “Okay, okay,” Sansone said. “You know what…” Maureen could tell something was coming together in his head. “We heard the radio calls while that guy was running around freaking out, trashing shit and hitting people and whatever. We’re listening, we’re laughing, except for Achee over there.” He gestured to a tall officer with salt-and-pepper hair leaning against the cruiser. “He’s tuned in to the details. Turns out, the whole thing sounds familiar to him. Something about an eviction he was in on or something.” Sansone straightened up. “He can tell you better. Yo! Henry! C’mere.”

  Henry Achee walked over, taking his time, looking around. The officers on this part of the route, Maureen noticed, had their own pace, their own speed. Not quite languid, but deliberate. It wasn’t tiredness, and it certainly wasn’t laziness. They didn’t want to miss anything that mattered while rushing to deal with something that didn’t. Achee nodded at Maureen. She didn’t recognize him.

  “Achee,” Sansone said, “Officer Maureen Coughlin. She works the Sixth. She’s new. Kinda. Cogs, Officer Henry Achee.” He and Maureen shook hands. “What was the story with that crazy drug casualty you had the other week?”

  Maureen saw the recognition flash across Achee’s face. “That was you,” he said, “that handled the OD up the route.”

  “That was me,” Maureen said. “He died.”

  “I heard,” Achee said. “Rotten fucking luck.”

  “You were saying earlier,” Sansone said, “that what happened with him sounded like something you had. Tell Coughlin about it.”

  “Fucked up,” Achee said, shaking his head, “is what it was.”

  “Can you elaborate, please?” Sansone said. “We know it was fucked up.”

  “Last week, we were backing up the sheriff on a problem eviction. In the Upper Nine. Really out of the way. Somebody said something about weapons in the house, so we went with. Anyway, there was nothing to that, but there was this couple, and they were bat-shit insane. This is at, like, six in the morning. They’d barricaded the front door with the fridge, drug it from the kitchen, but they forgot about the back door, so we went in that way. Wasn’t even locked. They never heard us coming, and we made noise. Both of them are stark naked, and fucking emaciated, the two of them. Covered in this greasy sweat. The house fucking stank.

  “When they finally realized we were really there, that we weren’t hallucinations, they literally started trying to climb the walls. Afraid of us not like we’re cops, but like we’re monsters. The girl, she was like someone had stuck a live wire up a wet cat’s ass. All nails and teeth and we couldn’t get her calmed down. The dude just threw himself through the front window, which was closed, of course. Cut himself to shreds. We thought he might bleed out in the street. I couldn’t believe he got enough force to get through the glass. The girl, we finally had to tase her. Fucking embarrassing.” Achee shook his head. “Hitting a naked, ninety-pound woman with a Taser. But she grabbed some scissors, started threatening to jab her own eyes out, and we needed to end it before shit got worse. Took six people to get the bleeding guy into the ambulance. Six. When we were done, there was blood on the walls, literally.”

  “Did anyone ever find out,” Maureen asked, “what they were high on?”

  Achee shrugged. “She went in one ambulance, he went in another, and off they went. We didn’t do a search of the place. It wasn’t a drug bust. We were the backup, the muscle. Evictions are sheriff’s department business. You know they didn’t follow up on anything. I didn’t think much about it until today, when I heard abou
t your guy up the way. You think it was the same shit? Sounds like it to me.”

  “Could be,” Maureen said. She pulled her phone from her pocket. She found Wilburn’s number and sent him a text: Are you with the camera crew? I need a photo of the John Doe.

  “That makes four of these cases in the past couple of weeks,” she said. “The Quarter, the CBD, the Upper Nine, and now, if you count tonight’s John Doe, up here on the parade route. That sounds like a problem.” Wilburn’s answer came. One sec. “Bear with me a minute.”

  “We’re here all night,” Achee said.

  Less than a minute later Maureen got a message from a number she didn’t know with an area code that wasn’t New Orleans. In the message was a clear photo of the John Doe’s face. Except for the feverish sheen of sweat on his face, he looked for all the world like he was fast asleep. The words under the photo read: You’re welcome, L.

  Maureen enlarged the photo. “You guys work with the gang unit, you know all the big players, right?”

  “Big and small,” Sansone said.

  She passed her phone to him. “We got nothing on this kid. I’m hoping he’s local. We’d like to find his people and we need a place to start looking. He look familiar to you? Anything you can give us?”

  Sansone’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead. “Well, shit.” He touched the screen, enlarging the face again. He turned the phone to Achee. “Who’s that look like to you?”

  “It looks like Benji Allen,” Achee said. He shook his head. “If Benji starved himself for a couple weeks.”

  Sansone checked the picture again, and something settled in his face this time. “But look at that, Henry, that weird mole on his left temple. That’s Benji fucking Allen. Fuck.” He handed Maureen back her phone. “We’ve been wondering what happened to him.” He directed a stare at the 3NG crew. “So have they. He was one of theirs.” He pointed at the J-Street crew. “They been wondering, too, and waiting for Three-N-G to blame them. So have we, to tell you the truth. Cogs, you solvin’ mysteries left and right tonight.”

  “Here’s a mystery for you,” Maureen said. “Now what do we fucking do? Should we tell these guys that their missing member is dead, and that it wasn’t the other gang that killed him?”

  “That’s heavy news for Mardi Gras time,” Sansone said. “Maybe we let that go.”

  “Think of the next of kin, too,” Achee said. “They should hear about this from us.”

  Maureen took out her notebook. “Speaking of. I’ll bring this back to Hardin.” The department would send someone to tell the family tomorrow morning. “You guys know the next of kin? Any of the family?”

  Both men were quiet for a long moment. Sansone spoke up. “Yeah, actually. We do know some family of his. We went to them not long ago asking after Benji. We wanted to find him or find out what happened to him before Mardi Gras, didn’t want any extra fuel to burn down here on the route with these guys out here on top of one another.” He glanced at Achee.

  “I guess they were telling us the truth when they said they had no idea what happened to him. Go figure.” He turned back to Maureen. “He’s got a sister, and an older brother. The sister had a kid maybe a year ago, a little less, maybe. I don’t know who the father is, but I don’t think he’s around much. The girl, Alisha, I think, moved in with the brother. They live a little farther uptown, on Harmony Street, above St. Charles. Brother drives a tow truck for the city, I think. I forget the house number, but I can get it.”

  “No need,” Maureen said. “I know the place you’re talking about. Alisha was the one who gave us the shooter.”

  Sansone shook his head. “This flakka shit you’re talking about killed him in, what, ten days, two weeks? What the fuck?”

  29

  “Alisha and her brother must know the shooter,” Achee said, “if he went to their house on Harmony Street after to try and hide out.”

  “But Alisha and her brother wanted no part of him,” Maureen said. “They dimed him to us, in fact.”

  “So they really don’t like him,” Sansone said.

  “And you say the shooter is this young cat, Goody Curtis,” said Achee, “who you pulled out from under the house. Where does the teacher fit in?”

  “I don’t think he does,” Maureen said. “Based on info I got at the scene from his girlfriend and other witnesses, I think he’s a stranger to that whole crew. I’m convinced he was a mistake.”

  “What else do you know about this flakka?” Sansone asked.

  “Not much,” Maureen said. “I’m only hearing about it for the first time tonight. It got started in Florida. The film crew I was telling you about, their producer, she’s my source on this. She said it’s coming this way along the Gulf Coast, though it looks like we’ve been dealing with it already.”

  “You got a picture of the teacher on that phone, too?” Sansone asked.

  “His name is Cordell,” Maureen said. “He lives in the neighborhood around where he got shot. The bartender at Verret’s knows him.” She searched her messages for the photo that Dakota had sent. She pulled it up, showed it to Sansone. “You recognize him?”

  “Nope,” Sansone said after a beat. “But I would’ve said different had you not told me who he was first. I have an idea. Can I borrow your phone for a sec?”

  “Yeah, of course,” Maureen said. She handed it to him.

  Sansone took a couple of steps toward the 3NG crew. “Kenny,” he called out.

  The kid with the bandanna on his head didn’t look over, but he stopped talking. The girls looked at the ground. Kenny’s boys didn’t move. “Kenny Polite, come here for a minute.”

  Sansone held up Maureen’s phone for Kenny to see. “I need you to settle a bet for me. It’ll just take a second. One quick question. I’ll owe you a favor, a small one.”

  Kenny relaxed. He smiled, touched his top lip with the knuckle of his index finger. He gazed at the girls from under his perfect eyebrows. They watched him, asking without any words what he intended to do about this cop who was interrupting their flirting. Kenny turned on his heel and eased himself loose-limbed in Sansone’s direction, his hand fixed under his nose.

  Maureen watched Sansone, who smiled as Kenny went through his motions, and Achee, who did not smile at anything as he watched everyone else.

  “Sansone, man,” Kenny said, “you see what I got happening over here. You know how I do. You got no one else you can ask this question?”

  “You love it,” Sansone said, with a smile as always. “Don’t bullshit me. You love looking important to the Five-Oh in front of those girls. I’m doing your situation a favor.” He turned and gestured at Maureen. “This is Officer Coughlin. Y’all should get acquainted. She’s going to be running the Sixth District in no time flat.”

  Kenny nodded in deference to Maureen, lowering his eyes. She said nothing, did nothing to return the gesture. Kenny certainly didn’t expect anything from her. But he was a good diplomat, she figured. Don’t make a new enemy if it can be avoided, which it could, for now.

  “Officer Coughlin and I have a wager,” Sansone said, “and we need your knowledge of the neighborhood celebrities to settle it.” He brought up the picture of Cordell on the phone and turned the device so Kenny could see it. “Who is that?”

  Kenny laughed at the sight of the picture then leaned in closer for a better look at it. He stroked his chin. “Looks like Dee Harris to me. Not the best picture.” His forehead furrowed, though his voice stayed jovial. “How you get a picture of that m’fucker in a tie, though? Looks like he in court, with that tie on, and that nice shirt, that’s a good color, but Dee never been to court. Never been arrested even.” He smiled at Sansone widely, teeth as white as Sansone’s or Laine’s. Here was another guy who’d do well in front of Laine’s camera. “Not that y’all ain’t tried.” He looked at Maureen. “Y’all always after Dee, y’all think he’s a bad man, but Dee ain’t like that.”

  “We know how he do,” Sansone said. “We’ll leave it at that.”<
br />
  “Does Dee teach middle school?” Maureen asked.

  Kenny barked out a laugh. “She is new, ain’t she?” he said to Sansone. “Dee ain’t no teacher, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Answer me this,” Maureen said, “does Dee have a white girlfriend?”

  “Now how the fuck you know that?” Kenny asked.

  “’Bout my height, brown hair?” Maureen asked.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Kenny asked, gawking at Maureen. He turned to Sansone. “The fuck she’s new.”

  Maureen watched the realization of what was happening dawn across Kenny’s handsome, unlined face. “Let me see that picture again. Yeah, yeah, the haircut ain’t exactly right, but damn, if this ain’t Dee, then it look a lot like him.” He tapped the screen with the finger he’d been holding under his nose. “A lot.” The playfulness he’d exuded since Sansone had called his name had left him. “That’s who got shot tonight, isn’t it? Up on Washington. Y’all think they was after Dee and they got this teacher instead. That’s why you showing Dee’s picture around.”

  “We said nothing of the sort,” Maureen said. “But why don’t you tell us why you think someone would be out gunning for Dee?”

  “I’m not telling you that,” Kenny said. “Y’all are telling me that, showing this picture, asking these questions. I didn’t know a thing about anyone gunnin’ for Dee. Until now, that is.”

  Sansone stepped close to Kenny. Maureen saw his boys tense, but they didn’t move. She couldn’t imagine they’d try anything against Sansone, not with her and Achee standing right there and five other cops across the street watching their every move. Not without the okay from Kenny.

  “I need you to pay attention to what I’m saying,” Sansone told Kenny, his voice lower than it had been. He was done playing, too. Kenny had picked up on the change. He lowered his head to listen, his lips pursed, his hands clasped behind his back.

  Maureen marveled at Sansone’s composure, at how well he handled Kenny, doing and saying nothing to embarrass him or intimidate him in front of the girls, or his crew, or the other police officers. As a result, he had Kenny’s patience and respect, which in turn gave Sansone a shot at getting through to him, at least for tonight.