He caught up with Howard, and his piercing eyes indicated his patience had run thin waiting for Mario, or so he thought. They moved to a small room for privacy, and Howard lowered a bomb on him. Julie had called for the fifth time, and this time he answered. Lorenzo offered a lot of money for her to kill Olivia. He was eliminating everyone who had come in contact with Tony. She was no exception. A walk around the farm with her friend, a break from the excitement, and loud wedding music in St. Francisville, could prove deadly when she ran into Tony.
Howard frowned, chewing on the side of his mouth for a second. “There was a bonus for taking you out too.”
That got a further reaction from Mario. “That asshole. I should drive over and stick my gun down his throat.”
“The info was a thank you from Julie.” Howard leaned on the wall for support. “For letting her leave the country. Julie wasn’t sure but thought Lorenzo might have passed the hit off to some Russian group.”
At the booking, neither of the Russian guys would respond to questions, but their driver’s licenses showed they were brothers, Egor and Yuri Sokolov.
Howard found a free desk and fired up a computer. Locating the Sokolov brothers’ mugshots taken downstairs, he then ran a computer search nationwide for charges. Mario watched over his shoulder, while the screen showed percentages of job search completions. There were no hits on their names, not even in Texas where their driver’s licenses were issued. Both were charged that morning on a bullshit charge of carrying handguns and high-powered rifles. Enough to question them, but not to hold them for more than a few hours.
Howard banged on the keyboard. “Nothing!”
“Can only be an alias,” Mario said. “Professionals have rap sheets. You don’t suddenly decide to become a hitman.” Mario kicked a desk chair. It flew across the room. “They’re never this clean.”
The room of staff workers, detectives, and uniformed police went silent. Mario apologized and rolled the chair back in place.
Howard had an idea. “Lawyer scam,” he said to Mario. A nod of his head showed he was in for the move.
He went down to his car and grabbed his black suit, fresh from the dry cleaners. Mario headed to interview Yuri Sokolov, the brother who had not encountered Howard. It was a perfect setup to see just how seasoned of killers they were. If not to arrest them, then to gather information.
Mario got little information from Yuri, a few head nods or a roll of his eyes. Howard stood alone, dressed in a black suit and tie. He watched Mario scream into Yuri’s face from another room through a one-way mirror. He adjusted his shirt cuff to show his fancy cufflinks and mumbled to himself, “Show time.”
Howard carried a briefcase, with folders of clients on limo runs, and abruptly entered the interview room.
“May I help you?” Mario shouted.
“Attorney for Yuri Sokolov.” Howard opened his briefcase and flopped a folder on the table and handed Mario his limousine business card, all with an expressionless straight face.
Mario glanced at the card. “Impressive firm, Kuzma.”
“Attorney?” Yuri shouted.
“Don’t speak!” Howard said to him, in his best Russian accent. “I would like a moment with my client.”
Mario stared Yuri down and backed out of the room.
“Who sent you?” Yuri asked.
“Shush!” Howard walked Yuri to an open cell door in the corner of the room. “We are away from the cameras and microphones now.”
“Cameras?”
“Yes, that’s why I didn’t want you talking out there. These fucking cops will use everything against you, legal or not.”
“Are we safe in here?”
“Yes, the mic is usually under the table.” Howard played his part and spoke in Russian at times. “Don’t worry; you’re in good hands. Lorenzo sent me. My name is Kuzma.” Howard stopped and studied Yuri’s face and gave him time to absorb the information. His Russian was rusty, so he continued in English. “You and your brother will be out of here in an hour. For now, I need to know about this Olivia? Is it finished?”
Yuri’s eyes focused down. His cheeks puffed up. Howard calculated his thoughts. His special force training told him Olivia was alive.
“I missed her at the house, but she’s done,” he said, with a broad smile. “Misha is at her work; she’ll be dead soon.”
Howard buried his emotions and continued with his act. “Who’s Misha?”
“She’s our backup. Misha can get closer to this Olivia than maybe one of us guys.” Yuri smiled. “Get us out. Tonight, we’ll finish the job on the cop,” he whispered.
Howard’s mind ran a hundred miles an hour, but he restrained himself from rushing out of the room. “Sit tight. You’ll be out of here soon.” With his eyes focused on Yuri, he reached for the door handle.
“Tell Lorenzo I appreciate everything,” Yuri said.
“I will, I’ll make it a point to see him.”
Howard scrambled to the observation room where Mario had already heard most of the conversation. The room was empty. In the office, Mario slammed a phone down, got Howard’s attention, and they were quickly in his police car. Olivia didn’t answer her desk phone, so Mario sent three units only blocks away from her office to get her to a safe location.
With a blue flashing light on the dash and a siren at full blast, they cut through traffic. When Mario’s car pulled up, police were on the scene. The cops covered the lobby, and Howard and Mario rushed in with guns drawn up a stairway to the second floor.
A coworker told Mario that Olivia wasn’t at her desk. Mario put his gun in the holster and kept his hand on top. He slowly roamed room to room. Howard was step for step with him. He slipped into the break room, three people sat having coffee. “Have you seen Olivia?”
“Last I saw, she was heading to the ladies’ room,” a woman said.
Mario pulled his gun and walked the hall, putting his finger over his mouth. He motioned for people to take cover. It was a scramble but done silently. Mario slipped into the ladies’ room.
“Put your hands up!” Mario shouted. A woman stood terrified. He reached for her purse, searched inside, and threw it to the floor. Frisked her up one leg and down the other and felt her underarms. Howard stood over and looked down into stalls.
“What the hell! Mario,” Olivia shouted, coming from a stall.
He apologized to the woman, showed his shield, and picked her purse up. The woman was visibly shaken. Mario quickly explained the situation.
Olivia described an unexpected woman who asked for her. She was placed in a conference room by the receptionist. It was a possibility, and Mario was taking no chances.
The conference room had a double door entrance and a single door off to the side of the hallway. Mario stood by the single door and Howard the other. With a head nod from Mario, they both entered the room simultaneously with guns drawn.
“Put the gun down!” Mario shouted to a woman, standing with her back against a floor-to-ceiling glass wall. A handgun with a silencer connected at the tip was pointed at Howard’s door, the one she expected Olivia to walk through. “Put it down, Misha.”
Misha locked her focus on Howard. “I’ll kill him.”
That was all the motivation Mario needed. “I’ll count to three, if the gun is not down, you’re dead. One, two—”
Howard knew the drill, and on two, he fired his weapon, striking the woman several times until the force of bullets pushed her through the glass wall landing on the ground below.
Although Mario knew there were three assassins—two were still locked up and one was dead on the ground—he hustled Olivia out of the building to safety.
Olivia was taken home by two uniformed cops who sat out front, and a female officer kept her company inside. She had to stay out of sight until these other two were no further risk.
Mario briefed the chief by phone about the turn of events, and she approved the next move.
Howard and Mario arrived at Central
Lockup. Mario went directly to the observation room, and Howard, with briefcase in hand, walked in to face Yuri.
“About time, Kuzma,” Yuri said.
A guard opened the cell door. Howard waited for him to leave before slipping inside. As much as Howard wanted to beat this guy to death, he composed himself for the moment and shook Yuri’s hand.
“One down,” Howard said. “She’s dead.”
“Misha okay?”
Howard watched Yuri’s eyes. It was easy to figure out he was sweet on Misha. “She’s in the wind.”
Yuri shook his head up and down. “She’ll surface in a few weeks,” he said, with a smile. “She knows to lay low for a while.”
“Good,” Howard said, almost choking on the words. Howard took Yuri by the arm and whispered, “Lorenzo wants this job finished.” He gave Yuri a sticky note with his cell number. “Call me when it’s done, or if you run into any problems.”
“Tell Lorenzo it will be done tonight,” Yuri said. “It will look like a suicide. A distressed cop kills himself over the death of his coworker or should I say—how the Americans say?—his fuck buddy.”
Howard felt this surge of heat come through his body. The rage he’d held down since he walked in the room was about to erupt. Luckily, in a huff, Mario popped open the door.
“Mr. Kuzma, you and your creep of a client are free to go,”
Yuri passed in front of Mario, the smirk on his face pushed his buttons, but he let it go. “I told you! You have nothing on me.”
Mario kept his cool. “We will meet again.”
Chapter 27
Mario stepped out of the shower, dried off, and rooted in a dresser drawer for a pair of faded Saints shorts, his favorite for lounging. Howard, an overnight guest, sat comfortably on the sofa. An open Venezia pizza box with a few, empty, Dixie Beer bottles sat on the coffee table. He eyeballed the last slice of pizza. When Mario declined, he finished the piece with another beer.
Mario checked on Olivia one last time before calling it a night. The officer sitting in the darkest part of her living room came back over the radio, “All clear.” The same response came back from the patrol car out front of her house.
A plainclothes police officer worked with Robbie, the doorman of Mario’s condo, as a trainee for the night. Another plainclothes officer lurked through the darkness of the five-story stairway, the most likely way for the Sokolov brothers to enter Mario’s floor. The chief ordered a command post of five additional officers down the street inside an old warehouse.
Howard took the first, two-hour shift in the dark. With a chair propped against a wall, he listened for movement in the hall and watched the balcony, an unlikely entrance since the condo was on the fourth floor. Mario got a few winks. They would swap every two hours until the brothers made their move, if any at all that night.
Mario tried to sleep but had a lot running through his mind. There was no remorse for taking out Misha. It had to be done, just like he’d do to the Sokolov brothers, then Lorenzo and his crew. Mario was a believer in capital punishment. He also didn’t like wasting city money on prosecuting and keeping these known killers on death row for ten or fifteen years. Lorenzo’s dynasty had to end.
Neon lights in the area lit up the sky, helped by a bright moon that night. The glass sliding door, open with a slight breeze blowing the drapes, kept a coolness throughout the condo. The clock on the wall showed 2:10 A.M. when Mario returned to relieve Howard.
“I can’t sleep,” Mario said. “You take a shot at getting some rest.”
Howard gave a head nod and headed to the room. A few minutes later, the shower turned on, and Mario took his post in the chair.
He stayed alert by counting stupid things, like how often the Hotel Monteleone billboard on top of the building stayed lit, then went dark, then illuminated. He scored twelve seconds. Sounds kept him occupied—police sirens different from fire engines sounded in the distance. Horns sounding when ships rounded the bend at Algiers Point. A sight to see when these monster ships loaded with cargo slowly made turns at the crescent of the city. The point, two hundred feet deep, was the most dangerous part of the river for ship captains.
A glimpse of a shadow off the side of the balcony struck Mario as odd. He was alert and sat up in the chair. Two ropes fell, about eight feet apart, in front of the railing. Mario’s blood pumped rapidly through his veins, his heart ready to jump out his chest. An unexpected maneuver for the Sokolov brothers. Two beefy guys shimmying down a rope from a rooftop? Not predictable, not even for the most experienced cop. A slight buzzing sound could be heard. The buzz blended in with the sounds of the French Quarter. Mario picked up on the odd sound but couldn’t place it for sure. Into view came what looked like a man dressed in black with a black ski mask. It was the window-washing platform slowly coming down from the roof hangers. The man quietly brushed the windows with a long pole in the night.
Mario was familiar with the process, but never at this time of the morning. He pulled his gun and buried himself in the chair, deep in a dark corner.
A breeze from the platform when the man stepped off moved the curtains. He passed through the sliding door with a gun in hand and a silencer affixed to the end of the barrel. The intruder’s head jerked toward the bedroom door when the shower cut off and shook a water pipe in the wall, something maintenance had never gotten around to fixing.
If Mario flipped the light switch, he might get a drop on the guy and get him to go peacefully, but if he didn’t respond, he could justifiably take the guy out. As a known assassin and an intruder, Mario wouldn’t be breaking police protocol. He aimed his weapon at the man, but a slight hesitation allowed the intruder to slip into the bedroom.
Two gunshots were fired. Instantly, Mario knew from the sound it was Howard’s gun. When Mario pushed the door open, he flipped the light on and found the thug wobbling.
“He has a vest!” Mario shouted. He got a brief glimpse, before the man stepped forward and was out of sight.
The assassin pulled another gun and fired three shots into the living room. Mario jumped behind a sofa. With his weapon in hand, he fired again through the wall where he estimated the killer might be standing. When the thug fired back into the living room, Mario knew he had not hit his target. Rapid-fire shots penetrated the bathroom door, now hanging by one hinge. He could only hope Howard had covered himself by jumping into the shower surrounded by concrete and tile.
The split second it took for the assassin to reload, Howard stepped into the doorway with a gun in each hand and emptied two full clips, hitting the killer in the arms, legs, neck, and head. He didn’t even try to penetrate the military grade vest.
Howard checked for vital signs, despite a bloody body riddled with bullets. The body forcefully pushed into a chair sat upright.
“He’s dead,” Howard shouted out, then ripped the ski mask off his face. “It’s Egor.”
Mario answered the front door on the first sound of one officer shouting his name. Soon after, the room was flooded with police officers. Mario called out on his radio to the officer parked in front of Olivia’s house. He assured Mario everything was secured. Olivia couldn’t sleep and prepared an early breakfast for the team.
The crime scene unit investigation showed Egor had done his homework. A two-man utility crew working electric lines, as they often did during the night around the Warehouse District, were found dead. He stole their bucket truck and parked it in the alleyway of the building. The bucket lift allowed him to reach the fire escape ladder and from there he got to the roof.
A detective from Special Crimes told Mario the guy was a professional killer. He had it well-planned-out. Mario laughed and said, “Yep, a real professional. He just wasn’t good at it, or he wouldn’t be dead.”
Mario packed some clothes and moved to a hotel. It would be a few days before the crime scene would release the condo back to him. Then the real work would start with carpenters patching up bullet holes, replacing the bathroom door, painting,
replacing carpet in the bedroom, and getting the smell of gunpowder out of the drapes, sofa, and bedspread.
There was no chance of catching a few winks before work, so Mario and Howard cleaned up and started their day. The first stop was the Ruby Slipper Café. It opened early for the breakfast crowd of bankers and investment brokers who worked downtown.
Halfway through his omelet, Mario answered a call from the chief. It was expected, with her two top detectives involved in a shoot-out. She asked if they were okay and told him to get to her office. The call was short and to the point.
Mario gave Howard a look. “The Chief wants to talk.”
“Expected,” Howard replied.
“Not really. The DA and mayor will be joining us.”
Howard gave an eyebrow lift. “That’s never good.”
“It’s about Lorenzo,” Mario said, chewing his lip, as his eyes drifted away. “She’s not worried about his bank account. She has enough to put him away for a long time.”
This plan to move Lorenzo’s money from the offshore account to his local bank account no longer seemed to fit the game plan. It was Mario’s get-back for the attempts on Olivia and his life. Watching Lorenzo’s face when he learned his hard-earned drug money was seized took all the fun out of the arrest.
Howard smiled, “I have an idea. This will hurt Lorenzo deeper than the feds taking his money.”
Howard pointed out Ralph Givens, a few tables down, a stockbroker eating breakfast with his face buried in the financial news. Howard and Mario did a few favors for this guy, saved his career, and more than likely his life—more than once. Ralph was one guy who abused Mario for favors, because they were college buddies. He had long since run the friendship into the ground.
Howard laid out his plan. Mario, with a stone frown on his face, seldom blinking, stared at the ceiling. “Genius,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
Vieux Carré Detective Page 16
