Crescent City Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  “What is his name?” Howard asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Howard shot him a look.

  “Really! I don’t know his name—prison life is different. You hear a piece of something from one person, another part of the story from someone else until you have the whole plan.”

  “What was your part?”

  Cosmo whispered, “Just to get cut in the fight and go to the hospital to cause chaos. That’s all, just to help and create havoc once in the hospital.”

  Howard folded his arms on the table. “Why not go after Mario direct? Why Kate?”

  Cosmo didn’t answer. The blank look on his face exposed he had something else to say.

  “Man, I can’t go there.”

  “My friend, you don’t have a choice,” Howard said, clutching his hands together.

  Then he sat silent and gazed at the frightened inmate. Most of the prisoners were into their own conversations at this point, but Cosmo was paranoid. With his hands on his face like blinders, possibly so he couldn’t see the inmates near him, Cosmo broke the silence. “Okay. Whoever wanted to see Mario dead fucked up. Adrianna Acosta, did you hear about her?”

  Howard said, “The girl that killed the waiter at a café in the French Quarters?”

  “Yes. It was a hit gone wrong. Should have been Mario dead outside the cafe,” Cosmo said. He focused on the two inmates that sat down near them. He took a deep breath. “After that missed opportunity, the Big Man got lucky.”

  “Who? What is the Big Man’s name?” Howard said, grinding his teeth as words flowed over his lips without opening his mouth.

  “I don’t know a fucking name. I told you.” There was no way he was giving up Felipe’s name, known as the Big Man at Calabar Prison. If he did, it would surely be instant death for him.

  Howard rubbed his eyes. “How in the hell did they know about Kate?”

  “Your guy Willard Smith. The man with cancer. About six months ago he was in Charity Hospital’s emergency room. Shackled down and watched by guards through a window while being treated by an oncologist—guess who the nurse was?”

  “Of course—Kate,” Howard said.

  Cosmo loosened up, almost like he wanted to get the information off his chest. “Willard never returned to Calabar. He was put into a halfway house in New Orleans during treatment and got to know Kate, her days off and what shift she worked. The clincher was when she revealed Mario’s name it was by accident, but Willard picked up on her mistake and saw an opportunity. He funneled the information to the Big Man through an inmate that drove a van between the halfway house and Calabar.”

  A voice came over the speaker alerting everyone their hour of visiting had ten minutes left. The information was echoed by a guard walking in between the tables. “Wrap it up—ten minutes.”

  “Look, my job was to start another fight at the hospital if G-Man didn’t get into the room with Kate,” Cosmo said.

  Howard whispered, “And if he didn’t get in the room with Kate?”

  “I was to start a fight, and Willard would slip into the room and kill her,” he said.

  “Five minutes!” the guard strolling the room shouted.

  Howard looked down at his notes at the last question underlined. The one he felt was his crowbar to pry the one truth that was missing. He stood up. “We’re done here.”

  Again looking to each side of him, Cosmo whispered, “We’re okay? Call off the dogs?”

  “No such chance.” Howard sat back down and leaned over the table and got as close to Cosmo that was allowed. “You told me everything but the Big Guy’s name. You know who sent the orders down. You know who runs this prison.”

  “Man, I don’t know.”

  The guard walked through the tables again. “Let’s say your goodbyes. One minute.”

  Howard took a shot with his last question. “Who is Josephine Walker?”

  A frightened look came over Cosmo’s face. “My grandmother. Why?”

  “She lives on Esplanade Avenue, right? That little house that was once white until age and weather peeled the paint off. The one with the broken screen porch, rotted boards, and broken concrete in front. You know, the house down the street from Cornerview Gang’s flophouse.”

  “What the fuck, man?” Cosmo said, standing up, getting the attention of a guard.

  “Didn’t think I’d do my research before coming to see you,” Howard smirked, then stared at him. “I know your grandma is the only person that will talk to you. Sit down, asshole,” Howard said softly but with conviction.

  “Your snacks, cigarettes and personal items will double tomorrow. You’ll look like you’re going into business. Oh, yeah one more thing: a crew will show up at grandma’s house. New sidewalk, new screen porch, fresh paint, and maybe some flowers. How long you think you and her are going to live when the Cornerview Gang reports to your Big Man that you and grandma are getting special favors? See you, asshole,” Howard said and walked away.

  Cosmo couldn’t believe Howard would drag his eighty-year-old grandmother into this. “Howard,” he shouted, turning the heads of a few people, including guards.

  Howard turned back and walked to Cosmo.

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you,” Cosmo said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. He wiggled a piece of paper from the waistband of his prison outfit. Then, placing it on the table, he rested his hand on it and gently slid it across the table to Howard. Hopefully, he would catch on and take the paper.

  “Let’s go, visiting time is over. All inmates line up in the hall—now!” a guard said, more than loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Howard pulled the piece of paper from under Cosmo’s hand and stuck it in his pocket.

  Cosmo looked back with his pale face and gazing eyes. Howard gave a slight shake of his head indicating he was satisfied and it was over.

  The guards watched as the inmates lined up, waiting for the door to open, allowing them to return to their cells.

  “You brought me down here for nothing. We had a deal!” Howard shouted.

  Cosmo yelled back, smiling, “It was great while it lasted. See you, sucker.”

  It was the ending Cosmo wanted the guards to hear and the inmates too.They filed out the door, and it wouldn’t take long for the word to get back to Felipe that he wasn’t a snitch.

  The Louisiana sun heated up the limousine. Howard pulled all the windows down and let in some fresh air. He picked Cosmo’s note out of his pocket. Handwritten on a small piece of paper torn from a book was “Felipe Cruz.” He quickly called Zack and had him contact his people at Calabar to have guards go into Cosmo’s cell and pick up all the goodies and cancel any future deliveries. Cosmo was a seasoned criminal and had a backup plan too. Felip’s name written down ahead of time—just in case it was needed. A good criminal always had options.

  Howard stopped for gas, bathroom break, and a drink at the only gas station for the next forty miles before starting the two-and-a-half-hour drive back to New Orleans. With the air conditioner running on high, he made one more phone call to Mario before starting his trip. The phone rang, and Mario answered quickly.

  “Hello.”

  “Mario? I have a lot of information. For now, you and Kate are in danger. She needs protection at the hospital, and you better know who is guarding her. Also, does the name Felipe Cruz ring a bell?” Howard said.

  There was a pause then Mario spoke. “Unfortunately, yes. Why?”

  “I’ll explain later. For now, pull Felipe’s file. See if any close associates dodged prison when he went in or recently paroled. It has to be someone in his inner circle that’s trusted.” Howard checked the side mirror to make sure none of Felipe’s soldiers followed him from Calabar. A guy with that much juice on the inside had people on the outside protecting him too.

  “I’m on my way back to the city. I’ll see you in a few hours.

  “Felipe—I always suspected him. I thought he let it go after all these years. I should have kille
d him when I had the chance,” Mario said and hung the phone up.

  Howard looked in the mirror again, and a red truck was moving fast behind him. He reached for his gun and placed it on the window ledge facing the glass. The truck’s blinker flipped on, and it was keeping speed with the limousine in the left lane. The window of the limo came down. Howard got ready to empty a clip into the truck. Then the vehicle accelerated and passed. It was just a farmer with a load of sugar cane. He exhaled, tucked the gun between the seats, and turned on some tunes to relax.

  CHAPTER 16

  The news of Ruth Weitman’s death spread rapidly through Riverside Inn, and it seemed everyone had an opinion of how she died. They all knew she was sickly once the nurse moved her to what was called the hospital side of the house, which was nothing more than a few rooms with remote beds, oxygen plugins, and a few registered nurses watching over her. In their minds, it was still a sudden death if one day you were talking and walking and the next you’re dead. With the criminal charges Doctor Ross was able to wiggle out of, most residents were suspicious of anyone dying that lived at the house. A person could get hit by a car, and they blamed the doctor.

  As usual, the daily newsletter offered entertainment, dinner menus, and upcoming events for the month at Riverside. On the lower bottom of the page, barely visible in small print, was a notice that Ruth Weitman passed away of natural causes.

  Zack Nelson, the ex-detective of reasoning, would always bring up to his friends Emma Lou, Dave, and Pearl Ann his views of someone dying. He would say, “Well, you know she was getting up in age. After all, she was over eighty years old,” or “She had been sick for a long time.” Anything to ease their minds. There was plenty anxiety in Zack knowing how Andrew and his wife died under the care of Doctor Ross, so he put on this persona of reasoning for the sake of his friends. He hated the doctor in so many ways morally, professionally, and all around flat out disliked him, but kept it to himself the best he could.

  They watched Ruth’s body being removed from her room a few days ago and heard she was an organ donor. That meant her body went to the well-respected Dr. Ross’s favorite hospital, which was not much more than an organ slaughterhouse.

  Her body parts were properly packaged and were on Myron’s plane to Miami within an hour. By now they were functioning and lively as ever except in someone else's body.

  Aiden James made his rounds at the dinner tables. He was the new voice in the house and was gaining friendship momentum from the residents daily, asking how was dinner, did they have a good day, all in general conversation so you couldn’t say he didn’t care.

  Zack never fell for it. He knew Aiden was nothing more than an extension of Dr. Ross, doing the same dirty work Jack did for him for years. The doctor had found the right person—Aiden. He was clean-cut, personable, and knew how to ask people the right questions. Zack felt it was nothing more than feeding the people the bullshit they wanted to hear. He wasn’t buying.

  Aiden finally strolled over to the table where Zack, Emma Lou, Dave, and Pearl Ann were sitting. “Good evening. I hope dinner was up to your expectations?” he said.

  Zack just frowned, knowing Pearl Ann was going to reply. She was the polite one of the group and always saw the good in everyone. Entirely different from him, and often it showed. “Excellent,” she said.

  Something caught Dave’s eye, a bright reflection from Aiden’s wrist. Maybe a cufflink from under his coat sleeve or a watch. There it was again as he stretched his arms while making small talk at the table. A gold Rolex, and a big one, he observed, mulling over in his mind. “Nice watch,” Dave said.

  Aiden smiled, lifting his arm so everyone could get a good view. “Thank you.”

  Dave couldn’t hold back. “They must pay good around here. We should look into a job here, Zack.” They both chuckled.

  “It was a gift,” Aiden quickly said. “I got it a few days ago. You all have a lovely evening.” He quickly walked away.

  Zack exhaled. “Did you notice anything familiar?”

  The ladies in harmony said no, but Dave saw it immediately. “Same style and color Rolex that Jack had. Must be a bonus for signing up with the not-so-professional medical group of Doctor Ross.”

  Zack echoed that it was one more reason not to like or trust Aiden. “Who the hell wears a Rolex and fancy cufflinks in a retirement community?”

  Dave chuckled. “It’s to remind us we are overpaying for our so-called luxury living.”

  Howard was on Interstate-10 heading east when his phone rang for a pickup at the New Orleans Airport. He had just passed LaPlace and was rounding the curb on the five-mile stretch over the spillway looking up at the tall trees with few branches other than at the very top. On one of the trees, there was an eagle’s nest, and traffic always slowed down to catch an eye of the rare bird that made a home deep in the heart of the South. The big green sign showed two miles before the exit to the airport, and this was another Code Red customer. He was waiting for the VIP dispatch to call him with a name of the person or people he was transporting. Code Red could never be more than two people. The call came in, and to his surprise, it was a return visit for Julie Wong. He reached into the console and put his gun in his holster. Hopefully, he would not need it, but that was the procedure for Code Red customers.

  The limousine drove around to the back of the airport and stopped at General Aviation’s gate. Showing identification, he was then directed to the same Gulfstream aircraft he dropped Julie Wong off at a few days ago.

  She gracefully walked down the stairway, elegantly dressed with a Coach shoulder bag draping her. “Wow, she sure loves the brand,” Howard whispered. He knew favorite brands of ladies’ accessories, and anyone would have noticed this one—a gold Coach logo reflecting in the sun when she stepped off the airplane. He opened the rear door for her.

  She politely said, “Nice to see you, Howard.”

  “My pleasure, Ms. Wong. Did not expect to see you so soon,” Howard said.

  She held her skirt from sliding up as she slipped into the back seat. “I wasn’t expecting to be back so soon, either.”

  Howard got in the car and turned back, looking through the little privacy glass between the driver and the customer. “Where can I take you?”

  “Seven hundred Dumain Street. It’s on the corner of Wilson Drive,” she said.

  A funny feeling came over him, and it wasn’t a good feeling. What the hell could she want at Riverside Inn? Kept running through his mind at a hundred miles an hour.

  “I know the place,” he said.

  They arrived at Riverside, and Howard ran around and opened the door for Ms. Wong and escorted her in, anxiously wanting to know why she was there. All he knew about her was what Ben Stein told him. She was dominant, never took no for an answer, and always got the job done. From what he heard from Ben and had already personally seen in action, she was not someone you wanted chasing you down.

  “Doctor Ross, please,” she said to the nurse at the reception desk.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the nurse asked.

  Julie Wong leaned over the counter, gripping the edge of the fake granite with her hands. “Honey, just direct me to his office,” she said in a nasty, demanding tone.

  Howard smiled. “I’ll show her the way.” Then he walked her down the hall and opened a small glass door to a room leading to the doctor's main entrance. Howard waited while Julie barged into Doctor Ross’s office unannounced or caring who else might be in the office.

  Julie walked up to the doctor’s desk and stood without saying a word, watching him sitting in his chair shuffling papers around. She startled him when he looked up.

  “Who the hell are you?” Doctor Ross said.

  “My client, Myron, sends a message. You have five days to produce new, healthier organs or refund the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Julie said, pulling an eight-inch Italian stiletto switchblade knife out of her Coach purse. It had a rare pearl-white handle that fits in her h
and perfectly. Swiftly, before Doctor Ross could react, she popped the knife open and cut his tie and the first four buttons off his shirt. It was like filleting a fish. His shirt burst open, and the buttons hit the floor with a piece of his tie slowly floating down, landing under the chair.

  “Don’t ever send such aged and damaged organs,” she said, putting the knife point against his neck. He jerked away to avoid the point. “Myron’s buyer is dying because of you.” She pushed the knife deeper into his throat until the tip broke the skin and beads of blood ran down the side of his neck. She wiped the blood off the blade on the piece of the tie still around his neck and closed the knife. Then she put it back into her purse and walked towards the door. Stopping, she turned back, looking at the doctor. “Quality organs or the money! You have five days.”

  Within minutes she was back in the limousine, and Howard was driving her back to the airplane. She made a phone call on one of those new smaller cell phones Howard had heard about. The phone was extremely expensive, but the price probably didn’t matter in her line of work, whatever that might be, he thought.

  She wasn’t shy on the phone or cared that Howard might hear her, putting the call on speaker. “Done, you should be getting a call very soon. How bad was the product?”

  “Not bad enough that I couldn’t use the organs on another buyer I had in the wing waiting and more desperate,” Myron said. “Walter is going to pay off like an ATM.”

  “I understand. Deposit my fee and let me know if you need me to revisit the doctor,” Julie said as her eyes spotted Howard in the mirror. She gave him a smile and flipped the phone closed and dropped it into her purse.

  Howard thought he was out of that type of business when Ben Stein recruited him to the United States, where he believed life was different. He smiled back at her as if to say, you can trust me.

  CHAPTER 17

  Cosmo Walker sat in his cell looking out through the bars, being gawked at from across the hall by other inmates. While the iron door protected him, three times a day the secured doors slid open, and orderly everyone walked to the cafeteria or “slop kitchen,” as most inmates referred to the quality of food served. That was when it became dangerous—one push, then another, and someone was lying on the floor with a shank in his back.