“Just wanna tell you this face-to-face.
The prim waiter brings Beau his espresso and the chief inspector scoops three heaping teaspoons of sugar in before taking a sip.
Beau waits for Cataldo to look at him.
“Something personal.”
Nick waits for it.
“We caught four men following my family around, following a woman and a little girl. Alfedo Barantini, Carlo Vetulonia, Anthony Troina and Franco Osteria, all Racconto men.” Beau tries to keep his voice down. “Following my family.” He leans close. “They next one I catch, I’m taking him into the swamp, gutting him with my Sioux knife and feeding him to gators. And I’ll get away with it. You know what I’m capable of and I’m not talking about Paris.”
Is that a slight nod?
“LaStanza tells me he’s confident you are not involved in any of this. You’re too intelligent. I hope that’s true, Signore Cataldo.” Beau pauses, adds, “He also told me to address you as ‘signore’. Show respect. I got no problem with that.” Beau finishes his espresso. “For now.”
Nick finishes his espresso, stands. “I paid for the espresso.” He knuckles the table top. “Thanks for the information, chief inspector.”
The man leaves and Beau leaves a nice tip.
THE ARCHBISHOP’S OFFICE smells of gardenias and Beau spots a row of small candles lit atop a bookcase. Bishop Eskinde steps in and points to the chairs in front of the archbishop’s desk. Both men sit. Eskinde has a fresh haircut, looks a little pale.
“The archbishop is out of town. He’s authorized the payment tomorrow. Monsignor James Gannon will make the payoff.”
“One of our people should make the payoff.”
“The archbishop wants Monsignor Gannon. The man has a photographic memory. He memorizes everything. Can you have your people in place tomorrow at noon?”
Holy amateurs.
“We’ll be there.”
“Do we pick up Monsignor Gannon here?”
“He will be in place just before noon. We hope you don’t lose our money.”
“Bishop. We need to insert the GPS device in the envelope with the money.”
The bishop nods. “You can drop it by here tomorrow morning and we’ll insert it in the envelope. You said it looks like a paperclip.”
Beau waits in case there is more.
The bishop rises. “Let us hope Chief Féroce’s vaunted Critical Investigations Unit comes through for us.”
Beau gives him a deadpan look and leaves.
ON HER WAY out of her office at four p.m., Jessie thinks –
Minidress or not, body by Playboy, fashion-model face, this maneater just traced where the fuckers who followed her and her sister had been staying, where they ate, cars they rented, airplane flights.
Stan rises from the chair inside the building’s door and goes out before her while Jefferson opens the door for Jessie, who thanks him and follows Stan along the sidewalk. A breeze raises her long hair but not her tight-fitting minidress. Stan slows until she’s almost next to him.
“I want them to know you’re covered.”
Stan looks at the people along the avenue.
“Don’t tell Dino but I learned a lot about Wops when we were partners.”
Not answering won’t discourage Stan when he’s talkative, which is most of the time.
“Sicilians, I mean. Even the fat, sloppy ones are dangerous.”
They round the corner, Jessie finds herself checking out the people as Stan does.
“The most dangerous Sicilians,” Stan’s not finished. “Are the women.”
“Yeah?”
“Lethal beauty.”
“Maneaters,” goes Jessie as they enter the parking garage.
“That’s why I married a white girl.”
BEAU TELLS STAN they don’t need bodyguards at night. not with the state-of-the-art alarm system and he and Jessie both armed. And Stella. So, the couple eat a quiet dinner in the kitchen, Stella content to curl up on the counter after devouring a packet of savory chicken-in-gravy.
The scents of the chicken gumbo Jessie picked up from Café Metier on Broadway, just off Saint Charles, does not tempt Stella so they eat without interruption – the gumbo spicy with slivers of white meat chicken with okra on a bed of white rice. The andouille jambalaya is almost as good as back home, Beau says. The andouille here can never be as succulent-delicious as the Cajun andouille back in Acadiana, the spicy smoked pork just not the same.
“Love this cornbread,” Jessie says.
“The crust,” goes Beau. “Sugar cane molasses.”
She gives him a saucy look, sitting there in one of his old Holy Ghost High School T-shirts and white panties.
“I have some information for you, mister.”
She tells him the LCN families are doing what the Louviers have done since – forever. They are buying land.
“The Cataldos just used their legitimate bank accounts to purchase Restaurant la Francaise and Café Finito. Both small places. Nick Cataldo and Lucy Incanto jointly bought three small hotels New Orleans. Hotel Marinard, The Goldring and The Pincock Inn.
“Pincock? There’s a hotel called Pincock?”
Jessie nods. “400 block of Dumaine. That’s in the Quarter.”
“The Cavalcares of Miami bought three properties on Airline in Metairie and two boutiques in Rivertown, Kenner.
“Here’s the big news. When Katrina slammed into the Mississippi Gulf Coast Casinos, the Badalamente Family, Nick Cataldo included, and Incanto Family bought out the owners of the big casinos in Pass Christian and Gulfport – The Incantos were part owners of the casinos already. Do you realize when Alphonso Badalamente died everything he owned went to his daughter, which makes Gina Badalamente one of the wealthiest women in Louisiana. Lots of land and properties, just like the Louviers and the other old money New Orleans families have done since the city was founded. Louviers, Monlezuns, Briennes, Raveneauxs, LeRouxs.
“Land. It’s all about land. Next week Louvier, LLC, will own the old Couvillion Plantation in Saint James Parish. We’ll reconstruct the plantation house to its original glory, open it for tourists. The Louviers have properties all over the city and Louisiana including farms. Sugar cane, indigo, soybeans, cotton and eight peanut farms in southeast Alabama.”
“Beyond the banks,” says Beau.
“The banks here in the U.S., we own outright. The banks in Switzerland, Luxembourg and Liechtenstein, we own with the extended Louvier family in Europe.” She smiles. “No stockholders.”
Jessie smiles again, rolls her shoulders. “That’s not all I have for you.”
They take their empty plates into the kitchen and Jessie tells him she found the credit cards used by the men who followed her and Stefi. Hotel receipts and rent-a-car receipts.
“Legwork for Juanita and Jordan,” Beau says. “Maybe somebody saw something.”
“Think this could be the prelude to a gang war? Takeover before new boss Nick Cataldo consolidates his power?”
Beau shakes his head.
“Nobody would want a bloody war. Too much publicity. Too much heat. Not if they can do it financially. Through banks. I have so much more work on this.”
They settle on the sofa to watch The Big Sleep on TCM.
“This the one when she does the whistle thing? Just put your lips together and blow?”
Jessie shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
Beau’s iPhone vibrates and he sees he’s got an email from Bishop Eskine. He clicks on it, reads:
Chief Inspector,
You left me with an ominous feeling. I am saying mass tomorrow morning for the success of your mission and the safety of Monsignor Gannon, you and your officers.
Beau texts back:
Thanks, Bishop. Couldn’t hurt.
“What was that?” goes Jessie.
He shows her the texts.
“Ominous feeling? Saying mass for you? Don’t know if I like the sound of that.”
&
nbsp; Beau puts his arm around her, touches her left breast.
“Let’s watch the movie.”
Stella settles behind them, her fur tickling Beau’s neck.
THE MAID OF Orléans, Saint Jeanne d’Arc – Joan of Arc – sits atop a stallion with her lance raised and pendant streaming, a garland crown over her head. Sunlight glimmers off the golden bronze statue on its concrete pedestal at the corner of the triangular block where Decatur Street and North Peters splits at the intersection of Saint Philip Street.
The black SUV with Juanita and Jordan sits along North Peters while Beau sits in his navy-blue SUV at the corner of Saint Philip so he can go on Decatur or North Peters. Two 1st District plainclothesmen – Follow-up officers – sit on off-road motorcycles (dirt bikes) up Saint Philip, two more sit on Decatur and two more down North Peters. Four NOPD bicycle officers, also in plainclothes are positioned along the three streets, while additional follow-up officers sit in unmarked Ford Crown Vics up by Dumaine, down by Barracks Street and along Chartres and the remaining two bike officers are along the Moonwalk next to the Mississippi if the extortionist makes it over the seawall.
At least fifty people crowd the tri-intersection, most walking, some taking pictures, some standing or moving in and out of the shops, some just pointing and talking. The French Quarter tourist mecca on a sunny Friday. The police radios are turned to a private, scrambled channel and after radio checks, it remains quiet.
As a buxomly blond in a see-through undershirt and tight shorts moves by, Beau pulls his eyes away and thinks – glad half the cops are female.
At 11:50 a.m., a black Lincoln stops on Decatur and Monsignor James Gannon climbs out in his ankle-length cassock and stands just behind Saint Joan with a manila envelope in his right hand. The Lincoln pulls away.
At noon, Beau hears the distant bell of Saint Louis Cathedral ringing.
A black and white dog ambles up to the monsignor, sits and looks up at him.
Beau thinks – a border collie. Pretty animal.
The dog has a small black satchel on its back and a piece of white paper hanging from its collar. The monsignor notices and leans over. He looks up and around and the dog puts its paws on his leg and the monsignor reaches down, opens the satchel and slips the envelope inside.
What the fuck?
Monsignor Gannon closes the satchel and the dog is off to the races.
“The dog has the money!” Jordan’s voice.
“What dog?”
“Black and white dog running up Decatur.” Jordan again.
“It’s running down Decatur.” Juanita now. Jordan hasn’t learned – in New Orleans anything heading uptown is going up a street and anything heading downtown is going down a street. The black SUV cuts into traffic to head down North Peters to parallel the dog. Two bike officers flash down Decatur against traffic, two dirt bikes run the stop sign next to Beau’s parked SUV, cut across the neutral ground where the statue stands and zoom down North Peters.
“Anyone got a visual?”
“It’s running along the sidewalk on Decatur.” Jordan again.
“Whoops. Just turned up Ursulines.”
Beau gets out of the SUV with his radio, leans against the fender to keep from collapsing he laughs so hard.
A dog? How the fuck do you follow a dog?
Monsignor Gannon sees Beau, lifts his Cossack and crosses the street.
“He’s running flat out!” On the radio.
“111 just crashed into a van.” One of the bicycle officers is down.
“114, I’m in a signal 20. Ursulines and Royal. No injuries.” A crashed dirt bike.
Beau takes out his iPhone, calls his office, gets Aileen Bowers on the phone.
“You on your computer with the GPS device?”
“Of course. It’s moving down Bourbon against traffic.”
Gannon arrives. Beau turns away, switches to his radio, tells the pursuers the dog is heading down Bourbon. Officers acknowledge, some telling others to go parallel, one dirt biker turning down Bourbon. Jordan says they are on Barracks Street now.
Beau looks at Gannon.
“There was a sign on the dog’s collar – I AM JACK.”
Beau nods as Aileen says, “It’s heading down Barracks now.”
“Hey, it just ran past us.” Jordan again.
No shit.
Aileen – “It’s on Chartres now heading downtown.”
Beau tells the units.
“Should I have held on to the money?” Monsignor Gannon asks.
Beau shakes his head, turns away. Cops talk over each other on the radio. It’s falling apart, a couple calling out ‘fucks’.
Aileen again – “It’s across Esplanade.”
Beau relates the information. Hears sirens in the distance. Can’t be Juanita. Gotta be the follow-ups in the Fords.
“It’s back on Royal Street.” Aileen says and Beau tries to cut in on the chatter, tells everyone if they don’t see the goddamn dog, stay off the radio. A half-minute later he asks Aileen who says the GPS blinked out.
“Whaddya mean? Blinked out.”
“There it is again. Going up Governor Nicholls.”
The dog’s back in the French Quarter.
Beau tells everyone, tells Juanita to get up to Rampart Street.
“Lost it again,” goes Aileen.
The radio remains quiet.
“Think I should call Bishop Eskine?” Gannon shows Beau his cell phone.
Beau starts laughing again. “Go ahead. Tell him you gave the $5,000 to a dog.”
Aileen says – “It’s moving down Burgundy now.”
Beau tells everyone.
“It’s crossed Esplanade again. Oh, it blinked out again.”
A minute later an impatient officer asks Beau if there’s any new direction.
“You think I wouldn’t let you know?”
Numnuts.
He waits for Aileen.
Gannon holds up his cell phone. “The bishop asks to talk to you.”
Beau glares at the fool, shows the iPhone in one hand and the radio in the other. Gannon takes his cell phone away.
Nine minutes after they lost the GPS device, Aileen locates it.
“Appears stationary. Rampart and Esplanade. Uptown-riverside of the street.”
There’s an abandoned gas station there.
“Get in, monsignor.”
By the time Beau arrives at the defunct Gulf station, four of the bike cops are there and two of the dirt bikers. Juanita and Jordan stand behind the building, both looking down at the torn manila envelope and the ten paper clips used on the money.
The Sioux war chant starts and Beau sees it’s Chief Féroce.
He answers, “We didn’t bring a big net.”
“What?”
“Ever try catching a dog running flat out?”
“Dog?”
He tells her what happened. When he finishes, she remains quiet for a few seconds before she says, “You sound like you’re about to laugh.”
“I started laughing as soon as the goofy monsignor slipped the money into the dog’s satchel and it ran off like it was on fire.”
“This is not good.”
“It’s brilliant. This guy’s a criminal genius. We had eighteen cops in SUVs, cars, motorbikes and bicycles, including your elite CIU, and he sends a dog.”
“Did you tell Bishop Eskine yet?”
“Gannon did but I’m about to call the idiot. I told him we should handle the payoff. No fuckin’ way we’re giving 5K to a dog.” He looks at Gannon’s big eyes watching him. “What seminary did you go to? Disneyworld?”
He hears the chief breathe.
“What about the GPS device?”
“Oh, sorry. I forgot to mention. He left the envelope and all the paperclips behind a defunct gas station, Rampart and Esplanade. I bet he fanned the bills to make sure nothing was stuffed between them.”
The chief breathes a couple more times before she says, “I’ll call Bishop E
skine.”
“Aw, you’re taking all the fun outta this.”
“You don’t have to be insolent, John.”
“You gave me this gig, Janet. I was happy solving murders.”
He waits for it and hears her giggling now.
“First time you ever called me ‘Janet’.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He takes in a breath, lowers his voice. “I’m sorry I was insolent.”
“I know you are. Heat of the moment.” She hangs up.
Damn – think Beau. She’s the best thing that happened to NOPD and I have to sound like LaStanza. He shakes his head. What made me think that?
Juanita already has the crime lab in route and Beau starts spreading the assembled officers to canvass the area.
JESSIE COMES OUT with a bottle of Asti Spumante and two wine glasses. She steps over to him in the Jacuzzi, leans over with a glass for him to take and fills it. He watches those gorgeous breasts as she rises, sets the other glass and bottle on the edge and climbs in.
“Are you ogling me, mister?” she says as she fills her glass.
“Yep.”
A sly smile on her lips now, “I like that look in your eyes.”
She climbs in. “Hope you ogle me like that when I’m sixty-four.”
“Probably not.”
She splashes him and sits next to him, both sipping the icy-bubbly wine many call Italian champagne.
“So, you bought everybody pizza?”
“The CIU expense account bought everybody pizza. If we don’t use the expense money they won’t re-allot it next fiscal year. This was during work hours. We got so rowdy we were almost asked to leave and things are always rowdy at Shakey’s Pizza Parlor.”
“Just blowing off steam?”
“Laughing at ourselves. The great dog-chase caper. This will be legendary.”
“And who was in charge?”
Beau almost spills his wine, goes, “The Great Fuckin’ Beau.”
He’d told her the whole story and she laughed as hard as he did. Jessie presses a leg against his.
“No one saw anyone near the gas station or saw anyone leave Rampart and Esplanade with a black and white border collie.”
“Aren’t all border collies black and white?” She’s being cute now. “Some are gold-brown and white.”
“How was your day?”
12 Bullets Page 14
