Crescent City Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  Living in prison was never good, and you felt like you were always looking over your shoulder. But life was much better before Cosmo got involved with Felipe Cruz. He talked to very few people, did his work, and followed orders and functioned just fine for the last two years. He was never invited into Felipe’s inner circle but recruited for the hospital job. His cooperation earned him protection, and he thought he might need protection with eight more years left for him at Hotel Calabar.

  It had been a full day since Howard left and nothing had been done to reverse the damage done by sending all the so-called prison luxury items to his cell.

  Cosmo tried not to be concerned with the whispering and chit-chat as he passed a group of guys in the yard.

  “Snitch,” one inmate said.

  Anther looked him in the eyes and said, “Stoolie.”

  One of the first items sent to Cosmo in his first batch of goodies was a small clock he buried inside his mattress. Timepieces of any type were not allowed. Such luxuries would only cause problems, and you had better not get caught. Most inmates had to wait for their cell door to open, indicating it was meal time. Some were anticipating the time by standing at the cell door to wait for the loud buzzer to sound before the iron doors slid open.

  Cosmo pulled his clock from between the mattress, and there were ten minutes before the next meal. He lay back on his bunk and waited.

  Buzz, buzz, loud enough to shake the concrete walls as all the cell doors opened. Inmates walked the white line on the floor in a single file into the cafeteria and stood. As the line moved, you were served by kitchen workers. Some considered kitchen work a privilege. Cosmo strolled with his tray in hand, and a small carton of milk, a plate of red beans and rice, two pieces of smoked sausage, and a piece of cornbread was gently put on his tray by a kitchen worker. Inmates were not allowed to touch or select their food.

  He took a seat at one of the empty tables, his usual one that had a broken seat and only sat seven people. The few people he sat with were behind him in line. Their cells were further away from the stairways leading down to the main floor, so it took longer for them to get to the food line. Slowly his prison buddies got their food and passed him and sat at another table. Cosmo kept his head down into his plate and ate. He could only imagine how weird he must have looked sitting at a large table alone. More importantly, something was going down, and he was the center of attention. It didn’t take long to learn the rules of the prison. A command went out from someone, and it never got traced back to them for reasons of loyalty. The order was passed down one person at a time until enough people were told to stay away from you, and you were sitting by yourself. It was apparent to you, the prisoners, and guards that you were the mark and should be left alone until the boycott got lifted, or they found you dead, usually in a shower stall.

  There wasn’t much Cosmo could do but finish his meal and head to the yard, a mandatory route to take after lunch. He ate the best he could under the circumstances until his stomach made a flip, and he lost his appetite relatively quickly. It was time to take his plate to the trash can. Pushing the remainder of the food in the garbage, he put the plate and tray on top of the container, much like you did at a fast food restaurant.

  A guard was posted about every twenty feet down the hallway as the prisoners walked in a single file to the yard. Cosmo joined in and was quickly surrounded by several people, a few in front and a few in the back, walking closer than normal.

  Guards quickly noticed and said, “Let’s loosen up, you’re too close—move along.”

  The door to the yard was held open by two guards as the prisoners walked out to what was a beautiful sunny day and should have been enjoyed by all—but not for Cosmo. He would have rather be locked in his secured cell under the rays of fluorescent lighting.

  There was no way to stay near a guard, but you could get close enough that prisoners couldn’t gather around you. Cosmo hung to the side of the concrete building about ten feet from the guard that he knew would not move around because his post was at the door leading back into the jail.

  They had thirty minutes in the yard, and it was going by slow. Cosmo could only hope the buzzing sound would ring out soon, indicating it was time to go back to your cell. Your safe area of four walls and a steel door most dreaded to go back to was welcomed and couldn’t come quick enough for Cosmo. An inmate walked directly up to Cosmo. Surely he won’t try and take me out here this close to a guard, he thought.

  “Walk with me,” the inmate said in a low tone.

  Cosmo scanned the yard, and all eyes were on him. He took a few steps and stopped. “What do you want?”

  “Felipe wants to talk to you,” the inmate said.

  It was then that his stomach remade flips when he saw Felipe and one of his soldiers walk towards him. The guard’s back was to him, and Cosmo wasn’t sure if he was focused on something else or paid to look the other way. Then he thought, Hell, Felipe wouldn’t kill me himself. He must want to talk. A sense of trust came over him as Felipe stopped in front of him.

  “I understand you had a visitor,” Felipe said.

  Cosmo couldn’t show fear; it would surely get him killed. “Yeah, my lawyer.”

  Felipe smiled, showing his gold grill, something prohibited in jail, but that showed the leverage he had with the guards. When he wanted to show you who was the boss, he would give you a little reminder by displaying his gold caps. “So, what did you talk about?”

  “Look, man, they pinched me at the hospital. But I told them nothing,” Cosmo said with conviction in his voice. “Claimed they would cut my sentence and provide privileges most of us don’t get inside. They wanted me to give up who mastered the hospital attack. Though they could buy me with some cigarettes and chocolate chip cookies. I told them to fuck off,” he said, spitting on the ground, showing his revulsion of the subject.

  Cosmo got concerned when the guard walked to the other side of the yard. There were no guards within thirty yards of him. Come on, you fucking asshole, you know you want to believe me, that’s the best smack talk I have. Cosmo wanted to stay gazing into his eyes, something he heard Felipe hated.

  It took what felt like several minutes to Cosmo, but was not more than seconds. Finally, Felipe smiled. “Okay. If you say so—time will tell.”

  Cosmo continued selling him. “I’ve got eight more years. You have to know I wouldn’t talk and expect to live—” Let it go. You’re selling too hard, a voice in his head said, making him stop in mid-sentence. Then he heard what he needed: the sound of the loud buzzer. It was the first time Cosmo welcomed the repulsive sound.

  Single file they walked back to their cells, the buzzer sounded, and the iron door closed, restricting the inmates to their secure four walls until the next meal.

  Cosmo sat on his bunk and went over what was said. He could only hope Felipe believed him. The usual sounds were coming from the other cells: men calling out to each other, some even telling jokes. In prison, you became very creative to pass your day, and then you slept and woke up and started it all over again.

  From nowhere came four guards standing in front of his cell. “Cosmo Walker! Let’s go,” one guard shouted. “Put your hands in the slot. You know the routine.”

  Cosmo followed directions. A guard handcuffed him. “What’s going on?”

  “Open,” another guard said to the officer at the end of the walk that controlled the cell doors. One guard stood with his hand on Cosmo’s neck, pushing him into the brick wall. Three other guards filled boxes of his snacks, cigarettes, and personal items. They tossed his cell, pulling the mattress off the bunks, and more cigarettes fell to the floor. They even found the clock and threw it against the brick wall, breaking it into pieces.

  They gathered all the items and walked out with two boxes full. With one guard in front and one behind, they led Cosmo past inmates clinging to the bars, looking out at him.

  “Your good days are over, my friend,” the guard said to Cosmo. “You should have li
ved up to your side of the bargain.”

  Cosmo realized Howard came through. “Fuck you, asshole, I used you as long as I could,” he said, turning his head to get into the guard's face. “It took you guys long enough to catch on.”

  The guard jerked Cosmo back and forth by his handcuffed arms. “Shut up! Let’s see how you like the hole.”

  Cosmo shouted back, “Solitary confinement? A piece of cake.”

  Then the guard stopped in front of Felipe’s cell and punched Cosmo in the stomach once and then again as he doubled over. “See if thirty days in the hole makes you remember what you promised,” the guard said again for Felipe’s sake.

  Cosmo could see while bent over trying to catch his breath a smile come over Felip’s face and his gold grill in full view. It was a sign of approval as Felipe gave Cosmo a nod.

  As he passed prisoners one after the other, they shouted words of encouragement and cheered him on. “Cosmo, Cosmo.”

  The hole was the price he had to pay to stay alive. He gladly accepted.

  CHAPTER 18

  It took two days for Mario to get the records from the archives in the document room to review Felipe Cruz’s court case files. He had to provide a written request to his commander, then the commander had to sign off on the application form and have it sent downtown to some unmarked secured building where the city warehoused old court files. Once in the hands of the controlling, slow-moving, file-keeping people, it could take days to get your records. Unless requested by a judge, and in that case, you got what you wanted within the hour. Mario gave up fighting with the document room years ago and just waited for the phone call that his requested files were ready for pickup.

  Mario and his partner, Truman, were in the middle of an investigation when he got a call that the records were available for pickup. Truman handled the follow-up questions with some witness while Mario headed downtown. The archive building closed at five p.m. sharp, and he only had about thirty minutes to get to Broad Street. That time of day, traffic was moving slowly.

  Mario did what any officer would do and flipped his red and blue lights on and headed downtown. His flashing lights moved the traffic along quickly, or at minimum out of his way as they pulled to the side of the street, allowing him through. Finding a parking space in front of the building, he walked in just in time to piss the clerk off, who looked at the big clock on the wall before saying a word. It was four fifty-five p.m., and you could see the agony on the clerk’s face that he might have to work a minute or two past closing time.

  Mario signed for the three file boxes and put them in the trunk of his police cruiser. He checked in with Truman and his day was wrapping up after questioning the last witness. They agreed to meet the next morning. Mario headed to the Last Call Bar to meet with Howard and a frosty cold beer.

  They sat at a table in the corner of the room. Angie smiled from across the bar and said, “I’ll be right with you.”

  “So give me word for word,” Mario said but was interrupted by Angie.

  “Boys, how are you doing today?” she said, putting cold beers in front of them.

  “How are you?” Howard asked.

  “Much better now that the cops are not on my ass,” she said, giving Mario a slight smile. “No offense,” she said.

  “None was taken,” Mario said, smiling back.

  He raised his beer mug. “Well done,” Mario said.

  Howard knew Mario had not had time to review the files but asked what he might

  have remembered about the case. Reviewing the case wasn’t about Felipe, it was about who might be involved with him and still on the outside or recently released from prison. The circumstance was embedded in Mario’s mind as a visual forever.

  It was several years ago, and Mario had just made detective. An informer he knew was somewhat involved with the Cornerview Gang. The snitch would find Mario whenever he needed money. Ten bucks got leads on stolen items from a UPS truck. They were selling all types of products right from one of the gang member’s apartment. The ten dollars paid off and got three people arrested.

  One time a call came in, and the informer was nervous, stating he had something big and just wanted Mario to know that he wasn’t involved. The only information given was an address of an abandoned house down the street from the Cornerview Gang’s flophouse. The informer said to search the walls on the right side of the living room. Only seconds later a call came into the police station that someone reported hearing screams from the same house.

  Mario rushed to the location with plainclothes police backup. They ambushed the house from the rear and front at the same time. Standing in the living room, they found Felipe Cruz with a nail gun hanging sheetrock.

  He remembered the words like it was yesterday. “Come to help? You don’t need guns. You need hammers, bro.” Mario wanted to shoot Felipe right then.

  His first reaction was the snitch set the police up. But the lady that called said she heard a woman screaming. This horrible feeling came over Mario, and he drew his gun, pointing it at Felipe. That was when things went wrong. Before an officer could get the nail gun out of Felipe's hand, the nail gun discharged, and a three-inch nail hit Mario in the shoulder. They handcuffed Felipe to an old iron heater bolted to the floor.

  Mario held his shoulder, and with the help of three officers, they pulled the fresh sheetrock off the wall. Behind it was a closet with no door. The sheetrock covered the two-and-a-half-foot by three-foot space.

  Howard listened in disbelief as he waved for Angie to bring two more beers. “So what happened?” Howard asked.

  Mario went on to describe in details the finding. “As the last large piece of sheetrock was pulled off, the light from the window shone in, making it evident what Felipe had done. A woman was still alive with a muffled scream coming from her taped mouth. She was wrapped in clear plastic, and the plastic nailed around her body, pinning her shoulders to the back wall. The woman was cut from the wall and lived. Unfortunately, three other people in plastic were found in the same opening and were nothing but bones surrounded by plastic clinging to the wall by nails. We had a full-blown serial killer, a witness that survived, and she was willing to testify against Felipe. After a year going through the court system, the day before the trial she disappeared. We had her set up in a small motel near the airport. An off-duty officer sat in his cruiser twenty feet from her front door day and night. The morning of the case we went to pick her up, and she was gone. Cameras show she walked in the front door of the motel and never left. The best we came up with was that if someone came in, it had to be through a small bathroom window. They took her out of the room, and she never surfaced again.”

  Howard sat in awe, listening. “That’s incredible.”

  “This scumbag killed her or had her killed,” Mario said, taking a breath and looking around the bar. Happy hour was in full bloom, and people were starting to come in after what they called a stressful day. He wanted to shake them and say, “You should walk in law enforcement shoes. Then you'll see what real stress is.”

  “So how did Felipe’s hatred intensify? Aside from you being the one to break the case and arrest him?” Howard asked.

  Mario was worn out from telling the story that sparked such memories, but he continued, “Felipe had a good team of lawyers and a poor district attorney wanting just to put someone behind bars and not fight for the death penalty or life in prison. They struck a deal right before sentencing. I was sitting behind Felipe, and he looked me in my eyes with such hatred and said, ‘I’ll be out in eighteen years, and if you’re still alive, I’ll kill you myself.’”

  Angie came by and offered another beer. They both declined. Mario made small talk with her while Howard excused himself and walked out to the limousine. Opening the trunk, Howard pulled a bag of money from under the spare tire. He had taken it from Angie’s car. Looking around the potholed parking lot, making sure he wasn’t seen, he put the bag of money where he’d found it under the driver's seat of Angie’s Hon
da.

  Howard went back to the table and found Mario paying the bill. “Nice trick.”

  Howard smiled. “What?”

  “Disappear when the bill comes.” They both laughed.

  “Old trick I learned at a tavern back home,” Howard replied.

  Angie returned with the change in one hand, and a tray of six beers freshly poured in frosty mugs on the other arm slightly over her shoulder.

  Mario remarked, “Got some arm muscles there, Angie.”

  She smiled and placed the change on the counter and put the tray of beer on a table where a party of six was sitting. Angie returned to the bar and picked up her tip from Mario.

  “Tips from cops are not allowed. You guys protect us every day.” She took the money and stuffed it in her pocket. “But it is appreciated.”

  “No hard feelings about the cops busting in and questioning you?” Mario said, feeling a little guilty about giving her a hard time. “You work out?” He wasn’t sure why he mentioned such a thing to a woman.

  “Yeah, with beer, stacked up on a tray all night,” she said with a smirk. “My partner and I used to get a good workout when we were in business. Believe it or not, we ran a mobile car and truck tire-repair company.”

  “Tire repair?” Mario and Howard said at the same time.

  “Yeah, did well. Called the business ‘Two Daisies.’” Turning her left hand over, she showed at the edge of her wrist a tattoo with “Daisy One” on top of a daisy flower. “My partner was Daisy Two. We would come out with our little shorts and halter tops, fix a flat in fifteen minutes. Before long we were getting calls from guys on the side of the road with a flat. Only for us to see it wasn’t a flat; they let the air out just for us to show up with our little shorts.”