STELLA’S THERE TO greet Beau but she’s silent, content to raise a paw to get his attention and rubbing her face against his hand as he pets her. She purrs and jumps down from the foyer table to follow him. Is that Stefi on the sofa? He turns into the living room and sees Scamp lying on Stefi’s back as she sleeps on the sofa. That’s why Stella’s quiet.
Jessie comes in without a sound and hugs him from behind.
She whispers a shush in his ear and he steps to his desk to drop off his briefcase before they ease back into the hall and down to the kitchen.
“When God made kittens,” Beau says, “He only gave them two settings. Lunatic and off.”
“He did the same thing with my little sister.”
“So how was your day? And what’s for supper?”
“Homemade burritos with rotisserie chicken from Rouse’s and Rosarita refrieds.” Then she tells him about the Dutch bankers, who asked for an escort to Bourbon Street tonight as she takes out the ingredients from the fridge, lays them on the counter. Beau opens a can of cat food, refills both bowls, washes his hands.
Jessie says, “Leopold’s got night duty with Claire. Fel’s not busy so he’s taking them. He’s going to like Farahilde. Tall blond.” She spells it for Beau. “She’s sweating black men.”
“She said that?”
“She thinks Denzel Washington’s the shit.”
“Lotta people do.”
“She thinks the same of Cedric the Entertainer. She also mentioned Jamie Fox and Mike Tyson. It’s funny listening to Dutch accents trying to talk American cool. How’s your case going?”
“Juanita’s got it under control. She’s better with details than me.
It sounded like a cluster fuck when Beau called earlier with all the people talking in the background. He tells Jessie about the stolen car.
“Maybe the GPS will kick in. Your phone’s in your pocket?”
Scamp rushes in straight for his food dish and hits it like a leopard attacking a gazelle. Stella comes in slowly, moves to her dish.
“I’m not going to Japan,” Jessie says, “But I have to go to Paris.” She bumps his hip with hers as he helps wrap a burrito. “In a couple weeks. Wanna come along?”
“A vacation? Or you’ll be working?” He bumps her back, gently. “You’ll have time for me over there?”
“It’s Paris. We’re talking Paris.”
Stefi comes in all sleepy-eyed.
Jessie says, “Paris gives me a deadline to negotiate a peace treaty between the battling Carinis.”
Stefi goes, “Y’all go to Paris. I can stay here with the cats.” The girl misses nothing.
“I can only imagine the selfies.”
“What? With Scamp?” Stefi gives her sister a doe-eyed look.
“You’re not staying here alone.”
Beau’s got a deadline now, if he wants to go to the great city of the French universe. He’s never taken a vacation in the middle of a case.
Stefi waits until they are at the dining room table to bring it up again.
“If Johnny can’t go with you. I’ll just stay here with him.”
Jessie opens her mouth to argue but Beau cuts in.
“That isn’t happening. You better sign a treaty with your mother.”
“Why?”
“Because you have a big brother now working a murder case. I could work day and night and I don’t have time to tell you what to do.”
Stefi lets her mouth fall open in mock shock.
“I know. People don’t tell you what to do, Miss Stefi I-do-whatever-I-want. But I see things you and even Jessie here doesn’t see about you Carinis.”
They wait as he takes a bite, chews. He keeps them waiting.
“OK. Enlighten me.” Stefi taps the table with her fork.
“Your mother’s a great lady. She raised three incredible daughters. Live up to what you are.”
He takes another bite.
“What am I?”
He stares at her. Her eyes grow wide. Has to wait as Beau’s eyes lose all expression. Deadpan.
Eventually he says, “You’re a great kid, you’re just too hardheaded to admit it.”
“But my mother …”
“Outranks you. Sometimes you just got to be thankful for what you have rather than what you don’t have.” His eyes sharpen as if he’s aiming a gun. “You know this. How’s your art coming along?”
They each take bites, Stefi goes, “You changed the subject, right?”
“You haven’t shown me anything you’ve drawn, have you?”
Alizée starts singing and Beau pulls his phone from a side pocket. Sees it’s Tim Rothman, answers.
“What?”
“I didn’t send you any emails today, did I?”
They would have shown up on Beau’s phone. He tells his friend no.
“Good.” Goofball hangs up on Beau.
Stefi says, “We’ve been working with charcoal. Just starting in on line drawing. Got some up in my room.”
“Good. Then I know what we’re doing after we finish eating.”
Stefi waits until they’re cleaning up the dishes.
“You playing me?”
He tickles her side. “I just started.”
Jessie gets him to herself a minute later, wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a soft kiss, then a nice long French kiss.
I could get used to this.
It isn’t until he wakes up at 3 a.m. with both arms aching, both hands clenched in fists and he realizes he’d been dreaming of Mike Agrippa sitting there in that white undershirt with his stainless steel revolver pressed to his right temple that sad, hideous smile on his face and the concussion, the fount of blood and brains rising like a broken fire hydrant, up into a sky as blue as NOPD uniform shirts and he sees eyes filled with tears, eyes of a black lady from the Calliope Housing Project after her four year old was killed in a drive-by shooting and the dead face of Cassandra Smith as she lies on the pavement outside the Napoleon House, lies there in her blue NOPD uniform, her life cut down by an assassin, the pasty, young face of Officer Peter James lying on the autopsy table in his blue uniform, the agony in Jodie Kintyre’s eyes the night Detective Eddie Kelly was killed and she held Kelly’s head in her arms, her lips pressed to his face and Beau leaning close to her and whispering to her, lines from the Acadian epic love story of love lost, words from Longfellow’s Evangeline, words she probably didn’t hear but he had to go where Cajuns go when their heart’s anguish. He tried to tell Mike. Don’t smile. Don’t –
Beau makes it to the bathroom without waking Jessie and leans against the door after he closes it and tries to work the stiffness from his arms, to open his hands but can’t and a snapshot of a warrior racing across the plain on a spotted pony and he shoves that vision away and begins to recite the Longfellow lines he had whispered to Jodie –
“All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, all the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, all the dull, deep pain – ”
And he sees the maiden Evangeline and her young love pulled apart by a conquering enemy. The tightness grows in Beau’s chest and slowly the tightness in his hands and arms fades.
Longfellow’s lines continue – “Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard.”
He manages to get into bed without waking Jessie and he lies there, looking up at the ceiling, wondering what would happen if he ever lost her.
THE CELL PHONE pings, sounds like sonar in a submarine movie. Beau slows as he approaches the police garage and pulls his iPhone out to see a map with a red dot flashing slowly on the screen. The red dot moves slightly and he realizes it’s the GPS program. The stolen Toyota’s on Claiborne Avenue heading uptown.
He tools the SUV back to Tulane Avenue and floors it trying his best not to crack up, driving with one hand and trying to call Juanita on his
cell. Then he remember Siri.
“Yes, My Love,” Siri answers in her soft, sexy French accent.
“Call Juanita for me.”
“Her cell?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, My Love.”
Damn Rothman.
Tim Rothman talked Beau into telling Siri to call him ‘My Love’ and Beau still can’t change it. Juanita answers after the second ring and he tells her what’s up.
“I’m about to pick up Jordan. Where’s it heading now?”
“You kiddin’? I’m doing 60 miles an hour on Tulane and talking on my phone, how the fuck – ? Hello. Hello.”
Fuck. He’d pushed the disconnect button.
The GPS turns off so he pulls into a gas station without hitting anything and scrolls to the GPS app. The GPS is on again, the Toyota is still on Claiborne and Beau punches it back on Tulane to make an illegal turn on Claiborne. The Toyota is a couple miles ahead, still on Claiborne.
Beau almost rams into the back of an RTA bus and hits the blue lights and taps the siren to get a black limo out of his way. He has to stop at the light at ML King as all three lanes are blocked with cars. GPS map shows the Toyota passing Louisiana Avenue. He worms his way through traffic and passes Delachaise as the Toyota turns up Napoleon Avenue. He spots it as it turns down South Derbigny but another goddamn bus blocks him, pulling to the side of the avenue but keeping its ass in traffic and Beau can’t get around it. For a moment he thinks of jumping the neutral ground but doesn’t want to tear up the undercarriage.
The GPS has the Toyota stopped now and Beau races up Derbigny, sees the Toyota as he passes Milan Street and has to go around the block as it’s parked against the curb on Milan. As he comes rounds the corner, a blond woman moves away from the Toyota as it pulls away. Edna Greta Schwandorf, Countess Isenburg, in a green blouse and white slacks, moves up to a shotgun double house.
Split second decision, snatch the countess or go after the Toyota? He looks back as the Toyota turns right on Claiborne again. The countess goes into the door on the left side of the double. He punches it and reaches Claiborne only he cannot see the Toyota and the GPS blinks off, then on, the off again.
He goes back to Milan street parks the SUV and his iPhone starts up. Juanita.
“Where are you?”
He gives her the address.
“We’re coming.”
He takes his radio to the house, ducks under plants hanging from the gallery and he eases to the left side. The door has no peephole and the lone front window is far enough away from the door, if he presses himself against the wall beyond the door, no one can see him through the window.
His back to the wall, he reaches over and knocks softly on the door. Waits. Knocks softly again.
“Who es there?” Edna’s German accent, all right.
He knocks again.
Nothing.
Waits. Knocks again.
Nothing.
Another soft knock.
“Who es there?”
A movement catches Beau’s eyes as a little girl stops in front of the house and watches him. He puts a finger over his lips to give her the shush signal. She hurries off.
He knocks again.
“Who es it?”
He knocks a little harder.
“I vill call police.”
He pulls out the obsidian knife and scratches the door. Keeps scratching.
“Go avay!”
He keeps scratching. Waits with the patience of a warrior, scratching the door, varnish flicking to the porch. The edge of the window curtain moves. He stops. Waits. At least the kid hasn’t call 911 yet.
He waits. The curtain moves again. Stops.
Two seconds later, the door lock clicks, knob slowly turning. The door begins to open and he slams into it and it crashes against who opened it and Beau goes in, obsidian knife held high.
“EEE! EEE! EEE!” Like the Psycho bathroom scene, knife slashing the air.
Edna rolls on her back, kicking at him, screaming, her right high-heel flying off. Beau slips the knife back into its sheath at the small of his back.
“Surprise! It’s the police.”
She stops screaming, recognizes him, starts to sit up.
Beau extends a hand and she slaps it, then takes it and he pulls her up, twists her hand behind her back and slaps a handcuff on it.
“You’re under arrest, Fraulein.”
He walks her to an old fashioned radiator heater, pats her down, makes sure she doesn’t have a gun or handcuff key. Sits her on the floor and cuffs her to the radiator.
“Anyone else here?”
If she isn’t cursing him out in German, well, it sounds that way. He searches the house. Doesn’t see any paintings or jewelry, comes back and she starts up again.
“Put a sock in it. Or I will.”
He calls for a unit to transport a prisoner. Juanita and Jordan beat the patrol car, both hustling up to the gallery and through the open door. Beau takes Juanita back on the porch. The little girl stands with a smaller black boy and a large pit bull just beyond the fence gate. All watch Beau.
“Take her to the office. Use the conference room. She might talk to you.”
Jordan peeks out. Beau points at him, says, “Go with Juanita and cut a search warrant for this house and the Toyota. Call me as soon as you get a judge to sign them.”
“I have to run federal warrants pass the Attorney General’s Office and they are SLOW.”
“Get Aileen to help type out state warrants. Juanita can sign them. Call me as soon as you get a judge to sign them.”
Jordan’s eyes go wide and he reaches for his weapon and Beau turns to see the pit bull rushing up. Juanita’s pulling out her Glock.
“No, Ellie. Don’t. Don’t!” The little girl runs through the gate. The dog runs up on the porch and presses its snout against Beau’s left leg, its tail wagging. Beau pets its head as the little girl arrives. She looks as surprised as Juanita.
“Good girl,” Beau tells the pit bull. He asks the little girl to take the dog away and they can watch from a distance, but it might get dangerous now.
“You police?”
He taps his badge clipped to his belt.
A marked unit pulls up and Beau doesn’t recognize them, checks out their names. A. Jones and A. Jones. A black and white team. Gotta love this department. Jordan leads the countess out and she tries to spit on Beau, misses.
Beau calls out to Jordan, “Make sure she doesn’t make bail after we book her. Put a federal hold on her ass.”
Juanita hurries out, “You’re not coming?”
“I think the douche bag in the Toyota will come back and I’ll be waiting.”
“Waiting?”
He steps to the open door. “I’ll bushwhack the bastard.”
He closes the door but doesn’t lock it, moves through the front room into a bedroom, pulls a rocking chair to where he can watch the front door, sits and takes out his iPhone.
“You doing anything?”
“Fuckin’ paperwork.”
“I need backup. Can you 10-19?”
“Where the fuck are you?”
He gives Rothman the address, then goes to the GPS app. Nothing.
FRIZZY HEADED TIM Rothman comes through the door.
“I found this guy on the way out of HQ.”
Sam Bowers has thickened out. Married life will do that. Aileen’s man. They shake hands and Beau shows them a picture of Fritz Erik Reinach of Zurich, Switzerland. Beau asks Sam to cover the back door in case the bastard comes in that way, adding, “Don’t take any chances. He’s armed. And he murdered a dog. Big dog.”
He asks Tim to cover the front door while he starts a careful search of the house. An hour into it, Jordan calls, says the warrants are signed. Ten minutes later Beau finds a small black velvet pouch sandwiched between the mattress and box spring of the bed in the second bedroom. Can’t get fingerprints from velvet, so he peeks in, sees three 1-inch vials with red plastic tops.
Two have clear liquid inside, the other empty. He closes the pouch and puts it back.
Rothman stands peeking through the front window with his Glock in hand. He points to the door and Beau makes it behind the door as it opens. Fritz calls out in German as he steps in wearing a tan suit without a tie, sees Rothman and the Glock pointed at his face and freezes. Beau plants a leg behind the fuck, grabs the hair atop the man’s large head and flips him over the leg to the floor and plants a knee in the man’s throat, pinning his right arm with the other knee. Fritz swings a roundhouse left Beau, who grabs the fist with both hands and twists the arm, digging his knee into the throat as the man gags, eyes bulging.
Sam arrives and grabs Fritz’s right arm as Rothman re-holsters his weapon, pulls out his cuffs. Fritz bucks and tries kicking but misses, his face growing red as Beau keeps kneeling on his throat. The man tries twisting his head but Beau puts more weight until the man’s eyes flicker and he’s about to pass out. Beau lifts his knee and Fritz gasps for air and they roll him over to handcuff him. Beau snatches a nickel plated Beretta .380 from a holster at the small of the man’s back, hands it to Sam. They search Fritz then handcuff him behind his back.
“Cheetah series,” goes Sam. “14 rounds.”
They wait for Fritz to catch his breath, Beau standing and calling headquarters for the crime lab and another team to transport. Then he calls Jordan to bring over the warrants while Sam goes outside to locate the Toyota.
Fritz tries to spit on Rothman who shoves him to the floor, face first and stands on the back of his neck.
“What’s with the spitting?” Beau says. “Fuckin’ Germans.”
Beau goes on his haunches next to Fritz’s head, away from the spitting mouth.
“You thirsty, Fritz?”
Tim says, “Maybe he doesn’t speak English.”
“I got a couple vials in that black pouch upstairs. Wanna sip one down?”
The Great Beau Page 16
