The Contract

by JM Gulvin

  Soulja stared at the floor.

  ‘The blond-haired guy – who is he?’

  Lips pursed, Soulja peered at him.

  ‘His name, Soulja, or this ain’t going to work.’

  ‘Franklin.’

  ‘Franklin, right, now we’re getting somewhere. So how long have you known him?’

  Soulja lifted his shoulders. ‘Couple of years I guess.’

  ‘When was the first time you saw him?’

  Soulja thought about that. ‘’63. Saw him driving a cab that summer and he showed up at the club.’

  Taking another cigarette from his pack he rolled it against his palm. He looked at Quarrie across the room and Quarrie peered into eyes that were empty and blank. ‘So who is he? Tell me who I’m dealing with.’

  Soulja put the unlit cigarette back in his pack. ‘First time he come to the club was with a couple of buddies and they took it to the chicks pretty good. After that Franklin started showing up on his own, then one night this older guy comes in. The way he walked, the way he carried himself, it was like he owned the joint. He showed up in the cab with Franklin driving, only Franklin he didn’t come in. That old man had him a walking cane with a snake’s head handle and the one chick he was with that night . . .’ He let air usher from his cheeks. ‘He beat up on her so bad he punched holes in her with that thing.’

  ‘You’re talking about Rosslyn Tobie.’

  Soulja peered at him. ‘I ain’t saying any more till I’m out of here. You know what a man like that’d do if he caught me talking to you? Big as I am, big and tough and mean, he’d strip me naked and string me up with a fire to my balls just to hear me scream. It might be you’re a cop and all but you don’t know who you’re fucking with.’

  ‘So tell me about him, Soulja.’

  ‘I will. I’ll tell you it all when the time comes but I ain’t doing it here and I ain’t doing it now, you dig?’ He pointed a finger at Quarrie. ‘You told me you were my best chance of seeing out the day so let’s see if you’re as good as you think.’

  Quarrie held his gaze. ‘Where do I find Franklin? You can keep the rest for now, but I need to know where that cab driver lives.’

  Soulja took the cigarette from his pack again and let smoke creep from his nostrils. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at Quarrie and Quarrie looked back at him. ‘Where do I find him?’ he said. ‘Tell me and I’ll pick up the phone and you’ll be protected. Don’t and I kick you out right now and you take your chance on the street.’

  Soulja took another pull at the cigarette. ‘Washington Avenue,’ he said. ‘Mostly it’s houses over that way but there’s a brick-built block, he lives in one of the apartments.’

  Quarrie picked up the phone and asked Yvonne for an outside line. He dialled the number with his gaze fixed on Soulja Blue.

  ‘District Attorney’s office?’ a woman’s voice said.

  ‘Jim Garrison, please: tell him it’s Ranger Sergeant Quarrie.’

  Soulja stared. ‘The district attorney, are you kidding? I thought you were getting me out of here.’

  Quarrie placed his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘You want protection in New Orleans? Tell me a better place.’

  Garrison came on the line and Quarrie lifted an index finger to keep Soulja quiet.

  ‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’

  ‘I’ve got somebody here you’re going to want to talk to.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that on the phone but they have information and you will want to talk to them, trust me.’

  ‘Where are you? I’ll send a vehicle.’

  ‘No, sir: we’ll make our own way. Is Gervais back from Baton Rouge?’

  ‘Yes, he is. I talked to him and he told me that when he went down to the garage you weren’t there. He said he drove to Lafayette Square but could find no evidence to back up anything you said.’

  ‘All right, Mr Garrison: I want words with him. We’ll come in the same way I did before.’ Quarrie hung up the phone and Soulja squinted at him.

  ‘We’re going to talk to Pershing Gervais?’

  ‘I am. You ain’t. You’ll be talking to Garrison.’

  Picking up the phone a second time Quarrie called Colback’s office. ‘Lieutenant,’ he said when he came on the line. ‘I got somebody with me who needs protection and I want to know where to bring them.’

  ‘Who is it, what’re you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about somebody who needs protecting. Where do I bring them?’

  ‘Right now . . .’ Colback seemed to deliberate. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Not on the phone. Take my word on this. They got information about what’s going on. It has to be somewhere secure.’

  ‘All right, you better bring them here.’

  ‘No, sir, I’m not going to do that; your office is too close to Lafayette Square.’

  Colback was silent for a moment. ‘I tell you what, bring them to my house. Camp Street, Quarrie, you know where it is.’

  Hanging up the phone again Quarrie crossed to the window and Soulja looked at him with a puzzled expression. ‘The DA and Lieutenant Colback, what’s up with that?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Quarrie said. ‘Your time working for Franklin, did you come across a cop called Anderson?’

  Soulja shook his head.

  ‘It was his apartment you searched with Vernon. The 28th, what was that about?’

  ‘I don’t know. Franklin never said.’

  ‘But he told you to look out for anything to do with that date?’

  Soulja nodded.

  ‘Tomorrow Garrison is holding a press conference on the steps of City Hall. Did Franklin talk about that?’

  Soulja shook his head.

  Quarrie strapped on his shoulder holsters then slipped his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. Placing Soulja’s weapons in the nightstand drawer he locked it and took the key. Together they went down to the courtyard and he told the big man to wait while he went out to the sidewalk. He gazed across the road to the American Bank building but there was no sign of Franklin’s cab. He studied the buildings beyond the Savings & Loan, the stores and shop fronts and the people clogging the sidewalk. Finally he beckoned Soulja Blue and they walked down to the pedestrian light.

  *

  On the other side of the road Franklin was hidden by a crowd of tourists. He had the brim of the trilby he’d bought pulled low and the pea coat secured with one button. Collar up, he had his right hand inside the coat and the sleeve tucked into the pocket.

  *

  ‘So you called the DA and Colback both. Which is it, where we going?’ A film of perspiration glistened on Soulja’s forehead as they waited for the light. Quarrie nodded to where the sign for the A&G diner was illuminated further up Canal Street.

  ‘Neither,’ he said. ‘I figure we’ll set tight and see who shows.’ The WALK sign flipped and the collective throng stepped off the sidewalk from both sides of the road. The sound of traffic on St Charles was deafening. As they got halfway across a truck driver slapped a hand to his horn. Quarrie looked back the way they had come to see if anyone was following.

  ‘Soulja,’ he said. It was as far as he got because the big man was on his knees. Panic in his eyes, he was clutching his chest. Quarrie saw blood pulse from between his fingers. He spun around to face the way they had come but all he could see were the backs of a dozen people making for the sidewalk. Turning again he stared at the open windows where office blinds flapped in the breeze.

  Pistol drawn, he dashed across the road keeping his eyes on those windows but he could see no hint of a gun barrel, no telltale flash of light. The people in front had not witnessed what happened and those who came behind walked around the fallen man at first. Then someone started to scream. Quarrie made it to the opposing sidewalk with people parting before him. Some were shouting, some pointing at the gun he was holding. He looked back to where a crowd had gathered and the traffic backed up the length of C
anal Street. Holstering his gun he cut south to St Charles, hopped a trolley car and sat in a seat at the back where the sign for ‘Coloreds’ still showed.

  Thirty

  When he got to Camp Street the lieutenant was waiting at the front door. An unmarked Ford parked in the driveway, no sign of the Cadillac Quarrie had seen before.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Colback peered up and down the street. ‘You said you had somebody with you.’

  Quarrie walked up the path and the lieutenant stepped aside. Crossing the hallway he went through to the living room and peered out the window.

  ‘What is it?’ Colback said. ‘Who’s out there? What’s going on?’

  Quarrie was watching the street. ‘I was in my room just now when that shaven-headed fuck from Governor Nicholls shows up at my door. The cab driver’s name is Franklin, Lieutenant. He’s got an apartment on Washington Avenue.’

  ‘Whoa there a minute, hold up.’ Brows knit, Colback stared. ‘You talked to Soulja Blue. Where is he now?’

  ‘He’s lying on Canal Street with a bullet in his chest.’ Stepping away from the window Quarrie stared past Colback into the hall. ‘All I got was the cab driver’s name and an address. We need a warrant. We need to go search his apartment.’

  ‘Just hold on a second. You’re telling me that black guy from the club’s been murdered?’

  ‘Yes, I am. They shot him as we crossed at the light.’

  ‘You were bringing him here?’

  Quarrie nodded. ‘He had it all. He knew everything about everybody.’

  ‘What about tomorrow? Did he talk about that?’

  ‘He didn’t say anything I don’t already know. He knew the date was important but he didn’t know why. The target is Jim Garrison, Lieutenant. He’s supposed to be talking to the press on the steps of City Hall.’

  Colback wrinkled his eyes. ‘Why would they want to kill Garrison?’

  ‘On account of Clay Shaw. Back in February he’s indicted for conspiracy and they’re talking to David Ferrie, the pilot that flew him wherever he wanted to go. Ferrie is saying to anyone who’ll listen how he’s in fear for his life then he ups and dies.’

  ‘His death was natural; I saw the DP report myself.’

  ‘It wasn’t natural,’ Quarrie said. ‘He died of a Proloid overdose same as Trace Anderson.’

  Breaking off for a moment he stared at the floor. ‘There’s something else you need to know. Yesterday after you told me Dean Andrews worked in that building we had us a conversation. Something I saw in Garrison’s office, a note he’d made in one of the files.’ Quarrie gestured. ‘Right after Kennedy was shot Clay Shaw called Andrews using the alias “Bertrand” and asked him to represent Lee Oswald. The next day Andrews took another call telling him he wouldn’t be needed after all.’

  ‘You mean another call from Shaw?’

  Quarrie shook his head. ‘That’s what Garrison thinks, but according to Andrews it wasn’t Shaw on the phone, it was Rosslyn Tobie.’

  Colback sat down heavily.

  ‘That’s right, Lieutenant. Andrews told me that old man’s been trying to tie him to his law firm for a while.’

  Colback was staring into space.

  ‘We need to get hold of Pershing Gervais. We need to ask him about Earl Moore.’

  ‘I tried talking to him this morning. If he’s in New Orleans he isn’t taking my calls.’

  ‘He’s here all right,’ Quarrie said. ‘Before I called you just now I spoke to Garrison and told him the same thing I said to you.’

  ‘And the next thing you know that black guy’s dead and you’re putting it down to Gervais?’

  ‘Who the hell else could it be? Garrison would’ve told him I’d called and he’s the only one that knew I’d be in the parking garage.’ He paused for a moment then. ‘We need to talk to him and we need that warrant for Franklin’s place, but there’s something else I think we ought to take care of first.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We need to pay Earl Moore’s widow a visit.’

  ‘Why would we want to do that?’

  ‘Because her husband was in Anderson’s apartment before I ever got there and all I found was the photograph. I think he found something else, notes maybe or a file, whatever Anderson had been working on. It’s not in his office so I figure he must’ve taken it home.’

  Using Colback’s car they drove the causeway across Lake Pontchartrain heading for the north shore. From there it was the freeway for a few miles before they turned west on the Old Spanish Trail. They located the house in a small sub-division close to an elementary school. Two stories, it was built in a chalet style and when they pulled up outside the sprinkler system was going, though the lawn looked as if it could do with the mower rather than any more moisture right now.

  Together they walked up the driveway and Mrs Moore answered the door wearing a sleeveless dress that reached just above the knees. Her hair was cut to shoulder length and fixed with a band that matched the dress.

  ‘Mrs Moore,’ Quarrie said. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, mam, but my name’s Quarrie and this is Lieutenant Colback. I believe Mr Garrison gave you a call.’

  She hugged herself as if she was cold. ‘Yes, he did, and Mr Gervais came over about an hour ago.’

  ‘He did?’ Quarrie glanced briefly at Colback.

  ‘Uh-huh. He told me he’d been down to where my husband was supposed to have been shot but couldn’t find anything at all. I told him it had to be some sick hoax because someone from the DA’s office called to tell me Earl had gone out of town.’

  ‘Someone from the DA’s office,’ Quarrie peered at her. ‘Was it a man or a woman?’

  ‘A man, he didn’t tell me his name.’

  ‘Mam,’ he said, ‘I have to tell you, it was me who called Mr Gervais about your husband in the first place. I was there when he was shot. I’m the one who saw him fall.’

  Tears breaking from her eyes, she shook her head. ‘But somebody phoned me. Somebody called from the DA’s office and told me he had to go out of town.’

  Quarrie exchanged another glance with Colback. ‘When Mr Gervais was here did he say anything else? Anything about what your husband was working on maybe, any paperwork, stuff like that?’

  ‘No, he never said anything about any paperwork. He told me what’d happened and said he was looking into it. He wanted to see Earl’s study but I wouldn’t let him, not without talking to Earl.’

  Again Quarrie looked at Colback.

  ‘That’s his private space,’ Mrs Moore went on. ‘He’s been studying law, night classes at Tulane. He’s tired of being a cop and can’t see much future in it. Mr Garrison encouraged him to try for the bar.’

  Quarrie gazed beyond her the length of the hall. ‘Mrs Moore,’ he said. ‘This is really important. I need you to let us into your husband’s study.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that. Not without speaking to Earl.’

  Taking her hands in his now Colback spoke to her firmly. ‘He’s dead, mam. That’s the truth, I’m afraid. Now, we have to catch the men who killed him and to do that we need your help.’

  Fresh tears spilled onto the young woman’s cheeks. Her shoulders shook with sobs but she didn’t make any sound. Finally she seemed to accept what they were telling her and led them to a room at the back of the house.

  A somber little space, the walls were painted a drab-colored green. Saints memorabilia adorned the walls as well as a couple of ragged-looking university pennants from Tulane. Mrs Moore left them alone and Quarrie closed the door.

  ‘So what’re we looking for?’ Colback said.

  ‘Papers; notes or files maybe, whatever it was that Moore found and Gervais wanted.’ Quarrie glanced at him. ‘You heard what she said, Lieutenant, no sooner is Soulja Blue shot dead than he shows up over here.’

  Colback nodded. ‘You said earlier that Garrison knew nothing about Moore being killed even though you spoke to Gervais?’

  ‘That’s right.
’

  Colback made a face. ‘Maybe that’s not so suspicious. Gervais is the chief investigator after all: he called me to check it out and he’s not going to report everything back to his boss, at least not till he’s sure.’

  Quarrie had the bottom drawer of the file cabinet open where two legal text books were lying on top of each other. He lifted them out to reveal the gray metal panel that was the bottom of the drawer. For a moment he studied it, something not quite right, the color perhaps. Brushing his fingertips over the surface he discovered it wasn’t metal but balsa wood. He tapped and it yielded a hollow sound. A false bottom with space underneath, it concealed a paper file similar to the ones he had seen in the DA’s office. Carefully he lifted it out and inside was a large white envelope containing half a dozen photographs.

  Immediately he recognized the camelback house in the 7th Ward: a photo taken on the stoop where Moore and Gigi were hooked in an embrace. The next was similar and the next again. Flicking through those he came to a couple of images taken through the window.

  ‘Well,’ he said softly, ‘this ain’t what Moore picked up from Anderson’s apartment, it’s what Gervais had on Moore.’ He passed the photos to the lieutenant. ‘A white police officer with a wife and kids caught on film with a black nightclub singer. That would end his marriage and screw up his career.’

  ‘Blackmail,’ Colback said. ‘Why would Gervais do that? What’s it matter to him if Moore is fooling around with a colored girl?’

  Quarrie thought about that. ‘I think it mattered a whole lot.’ He turned the envelope over in his hands. ‘Pershing Gervais might be Garrison’s chief investigator, but because of what happened with the crime commission he’s got no access to the files they’re putting together on Shaw. I believe the people he’s working for need that access so they made sure he got it through Moore.’

  He fell silent for a moment then he said, ‘I told you Anderson was ex NOPD. Did you get around to checking him out?’

  Colback nodded. ‘Nothing untoward in his background, he only left the job a few months back.’