“Rose, it’s Cross. Where are you?”
His voice echoed through the silent house. Now be became worried and called again. Still, no reply. It was too early for her to be in bed. He started up the stairs and sniffed the stale air. There was a distinctive odor, one that he had encountered several times in the army. The odor of death.
He knocked on her bedroom door. There was no response. The door creaked as he opened it. Rose was crumpled on the floor. He didn’t bother to check for a pulse. Probably a heart attack. He picked up the house phone and dialed 911 and reported the death. He walked back down the stairs and took a seat in one of the rockers on the porch. Nice old lady, he thought. She just needed a friend. I’m glad I could fill that role for the last couple of years of her life.
Cross heard the siren before he saw the cop car with lights flashing. It stopped in front of the house. He rose to greet the officers.
They climbed the stairs to the veranda. “I’m Cross. I found the body.”
“You live here?” the older officer asked.
“Yeah, around the corner in the back. I rent a room.”
“Why did you go in the house?”
“I have a key. I haven’t seen Rose in two or three days. Figured I better check on her. She’s about eighty. I served thirty years in the army. I know the smell of death. It was coming from the second floor. I checked her room. Left her as you’ll see her. Probably dead a couple of days.”
The officer turned to his partner and spoke to Cross. “You stay here while we check it out.”
The two officers entered the house just as an ambulance, a second siren disturbing the quiet of the evening, stopped behind the police car. Neighbors began to gather on the sidewalk. Cross knew a couple of them and walked down the stairs to report what had probably happened. Still they stayed and more joined them. Cross shook his head. They wouldn’t leave until they saw the stretcher with a body covered in a sheet being placed into the back of the ambulance.
The two officers appeared on the front porch and motioned to Cross. He joined them.
“No sign of foul play,” the older officer said. “Looks like her heart just stopped beating. Or maybe it was a stroke.” He motioned to the EMTs. “Body’s in a bedroom at the top of the stairs. No need for an autopsy.” He turned to Cross. “She have relatives?”
“She told me she had a couple of kids, boy and a girl as I recall. They both moved to California. She hadn’t heard from them in ten or fifteen years. If it’s okay with you, I’ll look through the house to see if I can find phone numbers or something.”
The older cop nodded. “That’s fine. Here’s my card. Let me know if you turn up a way to locate them. She’ll be in cold storage at the morgue for a few days while you look.”
The EMTs came out with Rose’s body covered and on a stretcher, placed it in the back of the ambulance, and then were gone. The crowd finally dispersed and the cops left. Cross went to his room and poured large bourbon over rocks and returned to the front porch to listen to the sounds of the night.
Cross drank two cups of black coffee the next morning and walked around to the front of the house. He unlocked the door and paused. He glanced to the left of the entry to a small den that contained a butler’s desk pushed up against the wall. He rarely saw Rose use it but decided to start there before rummaging through kitchen cabinets and drawers and her bedroom. The desk had a writing piece that was pulled down to reveal a dozen small drawers, about four inches by four inches, maybe ten inches deep. Under the writing surface were three large drawers. Rose had an old oak straight back chair beside it that she could move in front when she lowered the writing surface. Cross started with the small drawers. They were stuffed with canceled checks, doctor bills, receipts, articles clipped from magazines, some twenty years old. If there was rhyme or reason to the hodgepodge, Cross could not determine it. Certainly, there was nothing from Rose’s children.
He closed the writing surface and, one by one, went through the three large drawers. Still nothing to or from any children. At the back of the bottom drawer Cross found a heavy manila envelope with “Last Will and Testament of Rose Beauregard” written on the front. He opened the envelope and found the will. He skimmed it and stopped when he got to the bequests. Rose had willed everything to him. The house, the furniture, her bank account, everything. She had her lawyer put in the will that Cross was her only true friend. Her children had abandoned her. She wanted Cross to have everything.
The old veteran teared up as he read. He wasn’t looking for this when he helped the old lady. Still, he was pleased that he inherited the house. He found New Orleans to his liking and particularly liked Uptown. He would make sure that the roses in front stayed in bloom in honor of their namesake.
55
Cross filed the will for probate. The clerk told him that the probate court was swamped and it would be several months before even a simple will would get to the top of the docket. Until then he could not transfer the house to his name. Rose’s bank account held less than $10,000 with deposits coming monthly from Social Security. He did get permission to use the money in her account to buy a burial plot at a small cemetery in Metairie out close to the airport. He asked the funeral home associated with the cemetery to arrange for embalming and a minister to say a few words at a funeral that only he attended. He tipped the minister with a hundred dollar bill, thanked him and drove back to what he now called his house where he continued his very lucrative career as a fence.
It was late on a Thursday evening. Bernard had not brought him any clients, as he now called them. The band was winding up its final set. He sipped the last of his fourth beer and was rising to leave when Bernard motioned him from the stage.
“Cross, can you stick around for ten more minutes. I wanted to wait until the place had cleared out to talk to you about another business opportunity.”
Cross nodded and returned to his seat. Bernard left the stage to sit across from him and leaned over the table, his voice barely a whisper. “This is big. I’ve got a lead on a contract. There’s a big event coming up in Fort Worth. Someone wants a multi-billionaire named Edward Hale killed and the Texas Governor wounded, not killed. Fee’s a half a million. If you can arrange it, I’ll take fifty grand. The rest is yours.”
Cross glared at Bernard. “Not interested. I’m making a very good living. Killing is not something I want any part of, not now, not ever.” He rose to leave.
“No, no. Hear me out. Money can’t be traced to you. I suspect you can make a few calls and get it done.”
“Dammit, Bernard, you’re talking about the Texas governor and some rich guy. Cops will be all over it like flies on a rotting carcass.”
“Cross, it’ll be a clean. I know the guy that is putting out the contract. He comes in here three, four times a year, whenever he’s in town. He likes our music. He’s not a criminal. Not the Mafia. It’s strictly a business deal.”
“What’s he do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know his name. Dresses nice, Rolex watch with diamonds all around the face, Matching diamond ring. Well spoken. Pretty ordinary looking guy. Very big tipper. Usually slips the band a grand at the end of the evening.”
Cross drummed his fingers on the table while he thought. “Tell him it’s going to cost $750,000. That leaves me $700,000 after paying you. I’ll set up an offshore corporation just for this. Money flows into the corporation. I don’t want to know his name. He doesn’t know mine. We’ll have one phone call, if I do it, just to get the information on what he wants done. If he’ll do it on my terms, we’ve got a deal. If not, you better be looking for someone else.”
Bernard rose and shook his hand. “I’ll be back in touch in a couple of days.”
56
Two days later Bernard called Cross at home. “We’re set. Can I give him your cell number?”
“Not yet. I need to incorporate a business. Then open a bank account for that corporation. Give me a couple of days. I’ll call you.�
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Cross clicked off the phone and walked out to the veranda with a cup of dark black Community coffee. He sat in one of the rockers and remembered all of the hours he had sat in that same rocker with Rose beside him, neither of them saying much. He had grown fond of her and missed her rocking quietly beside him as the district coasted into darkness. Then he thought about the proposal Bernard had dumped in his lap. If he were caught, he would probably die in prison. He had heard that Angola was not the place to spend your last days. On the other hand, if he could get Van Zandt to fulfill the contact for $300,000, that would put $400,000 in his hands, tax free. And what were the chances of getting caught? This guy wouldn’t know his name. The money would go into and out of his new corporation; then he would close down the account and the corporation. That would leave Bernard as the only link to him. If Bernard had to be eliminated, he could do it. Still, that decision could be postponed. He rose from the rocker and went inside. He sat at his desk and searched through his cell phone until he found a banker in the Cayman Islands. He told the banker he wanted to establish a corporation on an expedited basis and open an account in that corporation’s name. The banker put him in touch with a lawyer who streamlined the process. In forty-eight hours he had a corporation he named Kathouse Properties, Inc. a name no one else had used, and an offshore bank account in its name.
Next, Cross drove down Canal and stopped at one of the tourist shops that lined the street. He bought a burner phone, good for about ten hours. He returned to his house and sat at the kitchen table to call Bernard. He didn’t identify himself. “I’ll do it. Have your man call me on this cell at five today. Only you and him have this number.”
“Got it. He’ll identify himself as Zero.”
“I don’t give a damn about zeros as long as there are four of them with a dollar sign and seven-five at the front.”
Cross was sitting at the butler’s desk with the phone in front of him. When it chimed, he waited until the fourth ring before he clicked it and put it to his ear. “Yeah.”
“This is Zero. We’re about to do some business. Here’s what’s coming down. There’s a big Republican fundraiser in Fort Worth in a few weeks.” Zero described the event, including the fact that the attendees would be in Halloween costumes. He would arrange for one of the side doors to the ballroom to be open. Next he explained what he wanted done once the shooter accessed the ballroom. Cross confirmed the amount of the contract and gave him the wire transfer instructions for the offshore account, warning that the funds had to be in that account in twenty-four hours or the deal was off.
Before Cross ended the call, Zero said, “Look, this has to be a really fine shooter. I don’t want the governor killed, only badly wounded. Your shooter will have photos of everyone on the stage, with names on the back. My instructions have to be followed to the letter. Clear?”
“Yeah. It’ll be done like you say. I’ll check that account about mid-morning tomorrow.”
The funds arrived. When he verified on line that the funds were there, he called Van Zandt and explained the mission. There was a long pause after Cross finished talking.
Cross could hear Van Zandt spit into something. “My best pistol shot is my girl, Miriam. She enters competitions all around out here in West Texas, even over into New Mexico. She shows up and everyone else, male or female, knows they’re going after second place. She can do the job. Wouldn’t be the first time. What’s it worth to you?”
Cross thought before he replied. “I’m not sure what the going rate is for a hit. I figure something in the range of $25,000.”
Van Zandt coughed and spit again. “That’s about right for most, say a wife wants her husband eliminated. Here, you’re talking about the top of the food chain. “I’d say it’ll take a half a million.”
Cross offered a hundred thousand. They settled on $300,000, just the number Cross wanted all along. Van Zandt asked more questions about the party, security, access and escape routes. Cross said he would call his contact for more information, explaining that he had never done this before. Van Zandt gave him his Cayman account information. That brought a laugh from Cross.
“Seems like everyone has accounts offshore these days.”
“I damn sure do. Can’t trust the government. I ain’t being paranoid, believe me. They could confiscate folks’ onshore accounts any time. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened by now.”
“Look for the money in your account by tomorrow.”
They ended the call. Cross then used the burner phone to call the banker in the Caymans. He arranged for a wire transfer to Van Zandt and was about to wire the rest to his account in New Orleans when he hesitated and thought. No one would probably ever try to trace the money. Still, he was now involved in a murder. The thought of Angola again flitted across his mind. Out of an abundance of caution he requested two cashier’s checks, payable only to cash, to be overnighted to him, one for $400,000 and one for $50,000. It wasn’t foolproof, but nothing was. Still, it would be one more obstacle to overcome if anyone ever tried to get information from the Cayman bank. Once the checks were in his hands, he would put his in another account, again, probably offshore. Once the banker verified the transactions would be done that day, he closed the Kathouse Properties account. He made one more call to Zero and a second call to Van Zandt to relay more information. Two nights later he went to Trombone’s and put a smile on Bernard’s face when he handed him his check for fifty grand.
57
The three men retrieved their bags from the luggage area at Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans. Jack claimed the guns and ammo. They were bussed to the Hertz lot where Jack had reserved a small SUV. J.D. took the driver’s seat with Jack beside him. Ike was in the back.
As they made the thirty minute drive into New Orleans, Ike could hardly conceal his excitement. “Man, is this bringing back memories. I haven’t been back since Katrina blew me all the way to Fort Worth. Now, explain once more what we hope to get done if we find this fellow, Crossmore?”
Jack turned to face Ike. “We know there was $750,000 in a Cayman account with a dummy name. $300,000 went to old man Van Zandt. Two checks, one for $400,000 and one for $50,000 were written to cash and the account was closed. We know that Van Zandt and Crossmore had some business dealings. Now that we know that until a few years ago Crossmore was a buck sergeant in the army, he couldn’t have been the one funding the attack. Our guess is that he got the $400,000 for setting it up. We want to find him, may have to bluff, but threaten him with jail or even the death penalty to learn who provided the money.”
Ike thought for a few seconds. “I understand. What about the $50,000?”
“That’s another unanswered question we’ll pose to Crossmore if we can find him.”
Ike sat back and tried to absorb all that he had heard.
“J.D., you packed plenty of those photos of Cross, didn’t you?” Walt asked.
“Come on, Dad, of course I did. We could tack one on every utility pole in the French Quarter and still have a bunch left.”
“Then, we’ll head to the Sonesta, check in, and maybe take a nap since we may be out late tonight.”
When they entered the Quarter, Ike gazed from side to side like he was a tourist.
“You recognize anyone yet?” J.D. asked as he looked in his rear view mirror and saw what Ike was doing.
“Not yet. Recognize some of the clubs, though. I played some of them a long, long time ago.”
“J.D., turn onto the side street there beside the Sonesta. There’s a basement parking garage entrance right around the corner.”
J.D. parked in a spot close to the elevator on the second basement level. When they rose to the lobby, they exited. Ike stopped and took in the scene. “I’d forgotten how beautiful this hotel was. I would have a drink here from time to time, usually when I could talk someone else into buying. I’m glad that Katrina didn’t do any serious damage to her.”
“Did it flood the French Quarter?” J.D. asked.
“Nothing serious. The land here is a little higher than the surroundings. So the hotels and bars and strip clubs and restaurants and jazz clubs were mostly saved. Once the water went down in other parts of the city, life went on in the Quarter like nothing had happened.”
Jack approached the desk and presented his credit card and identification. “Welcome, Mr. Bryant. We haven’t seen you since that Sugar Bowl game four years ago.”
Jack complimented the desk attendant for checking on his last visit. That was when J.D. was a freshman, and T.C.U. won the Sugar Bowl, defeating the Florida State Seminoles. He thanked the attendant and declined any help from a bellman since they each had a wheeled bag. “I’ve got three adjoining rooms. The one in the middle is mine and should have a large living area where we can meet and discuss strategy.” J.D. pushed the elevator button for the fourth floor. When they exited, Jack looked at the sign that directed guests in the direction of their room. Jack motioned left, and they walked down the hall. “Here’s our first. Ike you take that one. Unlock the adjoining door when you’re ready.” He and J.D. walked a few steps farther. “This one’s mine. Yours is next. Come on over when you get unpacked.”
The men assembled in Jack’s suite that included a living area with a door opening to the balcony and Bourbon Street down below. “J.D., there’s your Glock with some ammo on the coffee table. Ike, we have these rooms until Friday. How do you suggest we go about the search?”
Ike thought for a moment. “We start with Bourbon Street and walk it from one end to the other. Early evening is going to be better to get anyone to talk, before the crowds hit. We can keep trying when the tourist invasion occurs. That’s usually starting about nine every evening, but it’ll be a little harder to get someone’s undivided attention. That’s when they’re making their big tips. After Bourbon Street, we start on the side streets and over to Jackson Square. A little like finding a needle in a haystack.”
Jack shook his head. “Not quite. We know he has his army retirement deposited here.”
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