“Good luck. Something got the chief’s panties in a wad,” a fellow officer said.
He turned the doorknob and stuck his head in the room. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”
“Detective DeLuca, please come in and sit down,” she said in an unpleasant voice.
Mario knew before he took a step that she was in a pissy mood. She never called a detective by their last name unless it was a formal meeting or an ass chewing. Since no one else was in the room, it had to be an ass chew. He took a seat in front of her desk.
“Detective, do you know who called me this morning?”
“No, Chief. I’m sure you get a lot of calls.”
“Don’t get flip with me, Mario,” she said, standing up with her arms folded. “Do you know who Jerry Wainer is?”
“You mean the Lieutenant Governor Jerry Wainer?”
“Yes! Right answer,” the chief said, walking around to the front of her desk.
Where the hell are you going with this? Mario wanted to say.
“His sister is Lilly Wainer, and she drives a nineteen fifty-seven Chev in mint condition. She is also my personal trainer, and you pulled your weapon out on her at a traffic light at the corner of Poydras and Saint Charles Avenue. Unlucky for you, she saw motorcycle officer Cooper’s name tag on his uniform. She called me—you pulled your weapon on her and a twelve-year-old?”
Oh, shit! Mario thought, and tried not to show any reaction.
“What the hell was that all about?”
“Well Chief Parks, we were—”
“Shut the hell up! I don’t care—you pulled your gun out and pointed at an unarmed person sitting at a traffic light. For no goddam purpose. Unfortunately for you, her brother happens to be the Lieutenant Governor.”
“I know ‘sorry’ is not what you want to hear. But—” Mario tried to say before being cut off again.
“She was on her way to an auto show at the Convention Center. Her husband is the promoter. Re-conditioning early model cars are their business. That was her car. With her son sitting in the front seat.”
“Chief, just hear me out. The model and color is a traditional gang member’s car. We were escorting Kate home, and it pulled up next to her limousine.”
“What the hell was Kate doing in a limo?” the chief bawled.
“That’s an entirely different issue, and I’m not ready to discuss it—at this time,” Mario said politely. “I approached the Chev with caution.”
“With your gun drawn?”
“With all due respect, Chief. Five years in Gang Task Force, you don’t approach a vehicle with tinted glasses without your weapon drawn. That is how we lost Officer Brooks. I have a case to work,” Mario said, standing.
“Sit down! I say when we’re finished,” she said, leaning against the window. “You’re just lucky Lilly called me and not her policial brother. Now we’re finished—get out!”
Mario left the room with his tail between his legs, as they say. His fellow officers, who had heard the conversation through the thin walls, never made eye contact.
“Do I have any ass left?” Mario asked when he got to his desk.
“Definitely a chunk missing,” Truman said.
CHAPTER 22
The sunlight blinded Cosmo Walker as two guards pushed him into the yard. He had spent twenty days in the hole with little food and nothing but a fluorescent light hanging in his cell for six hours a day, the rest of the time nothing but darkness. It took a solid ten minutes before he could start to remove his hands that covered his eyes from the bright sunlight. Cosmo wasn’t sure who had him by the arms, but didn’t think it was a guard, since he was all but lifted off the ground and floated across the recreation yard at Calabar Prison. Without being able to see very well, but knowing the yard like the back of his hand, he landed in an area controlled by the Cornerview leader Felipe Cruz.
Cosmo slowly moved both hands from his eyes and adjusted to the sunlight. The first person he saw was Felipe and his army of soldiers surrounding him. “Fresh air. Glad to be out.”
“How was your vacation?” Felipe asked with his usual stone-faced look.
“It’s not my first rodeo. I handled it fine,” Cosmo said, trying to keep an eye on all of them for any sudden moves—not that he could have protected himself from such a large group.
Felipe stepped forward and put his arm around Cosmo’s shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk, brother. We need to talk.”
Cosmo tried to relax the best he could. There were only two ways this was going to end. Felipe was going to protect him in jail or kill him right then in the yard. He walked with his back arched, knowing a prison-made knife could hit him any second. Felipe owned most guards in the recreation areas, and the other gangs never interfered if something went down. Cosmo knew he was on his own.
“I take it the pigs offered you protection and amenities if you talked?”
Cosmo was surprised that Felipe jumped right into what he wanted to know so quickly. The yard was the only way Felipe could get a one-on-one with a prisoner. It was a little harder inside, since the only contact you had with another prisoner was in the Chow Hall or maybe the TV room, but it was not too private.
“I saved myself by telling them I knew something about the attack of that nurse,” Cosmo said, looking over his shoulder to see if any of Felipe’s army had followed. Just his two bodyguards were walking six steps behind, and Cosmo was sure they were there to protect Felipe. “I played them and got what I wanted. You know, boss—some sweets, cigarettes, cell phone, and few things to make life easier in here. But that’s all gone now. Everything I told them was bullshit—they finally caught on.”
“Good. So tell me what went down at the hospital? I heard you talked to some guy by the name of Howard. Is he a dick?”
“No, he’s not a detective, he’s my attorney. Howard was at the hospital visiting someone, and he saw me handcuffed to the post. He asked a lot of questions about my case.” There was no doubt Felipe did his homework, and a guard relayed a message that Howard was on his visitor's list as his lawyer.
“Funny, the boys on the street can’t find him listed as an attorney,” Felipe said, turning the conversation to interrogation.
“I can’t afford a high-priced attorney. He’s one of those disbarred guys that work cheap. If he feels he can get you off the charge, it’s referred to a lawyer that can represent you in court.”
“Did you know I gave the order to kill G-Man and Juice Boy? And that little Angie woman that stepped in after Willard died. It would have all been perfect if Willard hadn’t passed away before he had a chance to kill G-Man and Juice Boy. So I had to kill Angie too.”
Oh, fuck! Why is he telling me this? Cosmo thought as the conversation took a significant change. Felipe’s approach was smooth talk you with some bullshit and then hit you with what he really wanted to say.
It was no secret in prison that Cosmo’s father was in protected custody with the Feds for years before he died on the courthouse steps. He learned one thing from his father—when you had no information to give, you lied. You told cops, detectives, Feds, and anyone else that might be questioning you what they wanted to hear. You filled their heads with bullshit and kept them running in circles. But now and then you had to give them something real. Something they could sink their teeth into and know you were worth keeping alive.
Felipe was much like the Feds. He was trying to catch people too—those that were looking to gather information to push the death penalty on him and get him moved from the prison population to death row where he would have no control of anything or anybody.
“I didn’t know you gave the order,” Cosmo said.
“Who the fuck do you think organized the hit? On all of them,” Felipe said, grinding his teeth and displaying his gold fangs.
“No disrespect. I should have known no one but you would have been so bold as to give such an order,” Cosmo said, trying to cover his mistake of taking the glory of the killings away from Felipe.
“You’re fucking right. And I’ll tell you something else.”
Cosmo flinched. Please don’t say anything else that could get me killed!
“Let's break it up,” one of the prison guards that were well paid by Felipe said, pointing to the entrance of the building. A higher-ranking officer came out the door, making his afternoon rounds. Felipe’s paid guard waved to him, indicating everything was okay on his side of the yard, and his superior walked the other way.
Inmates were gathering in line at the door to walk back to their cells. Cosmo had to talk fast and convince Felipe he had information and was worth keeping alive. Cosmo was the only living person that could tie Felipe to three murders, and he had to be worth something to Felipe, the boss of the gang in prison and outside, to survive.
If he learned anything from his father, who was never around much growing up and died at the hands of a gang member, was that when you couldn’t give any more information, you lied. The bigger the lie, the better. Whatever it took to stay alive.
“Boss, before they split us up. You know this Mario guy, NOPD detective?” Cosmo said, setting up his protection lie.
“Oh, I know him. That fucker got lucky in the French Quarter. He should be dead,” Felipe said as his anger came out again. “Are you wearing a wire? Are you trying to set me up on that busboy hit?”
“No, no, man. I wouldn’t do that,” Cosmo said, lifting his shirt up and pulling his pants to his knees. Inmates and guards in the area watched in disbelief.
Cosmo had to move fast. He pulled his pants back up. “Howard knows this Mario guy, and he said Mario is working on taking the Cornerview Gang down. And he is coming after you. I’ve got my crew watching him. They should have something for me on the next visiting day,” he said as fast as he could rattle the bullshit off.
“Take me down? I’ll take his whole fucking family down,” Felipe said as the angry look came back and his gold fangs came out.
“Let’s get in line,” an officer said as the group started walking into the building. Prisoners were mostly quiet and took the last few puffs of their only love left in life: an unfiltered cigarette. One by one they took their last drag and dropped the cigarette butt into a tube that fell into a bucket of sand, putting the small flame out.
Cosmo and Felipe got separated at the back of the line. “I’ll take care of this, boss. I’ll have some more information after visiting day, next week.”
Felipe gave a hand sign to his bodyguards. It was a hand sign Cosmo had only seen once before and was happy to see. Left thumb up and two fingers pointing across his body. To the gang, it meant “let him live.” Cosmo was walking the edge of death, and now knew just how close he’d come. He had bought time to come up with new lies, anything that would keep him alive.
Single file, the inmates walked a wide hallway leading them to a stairway home. To some, calling it “home” sounded more civilized than a cell. Cosmo walked into his jail cell only to find he now had a companion. The man wore a bright color jumpsuit indicating he was either a new inmate or relocated from another prison. It was something you wore for the first few weeks of prison life. His new cellmate was average height, broad shoulders, and very young to be in Calabar. They both stood just inside the cell door looking out as an officer passed and checked their names off a list.
“Step back. Lock the doors,” the officer shouted. The electric doors closed until that dreaded sound of steel clanking and the lock clamping down securing the door echoed.
Cosmo turned to his new roommate. “What’s your name?”
“Elijah,” he said with a scared look on his face. “Elijah Woodward.”
“Well, Elijah, welcome to Calabar,” Cosmo said, giving him a chin check which was known in prison as a swift punch to his jaw. Call it a welcome to the neighborhood greeting. It happened all the time to see if you were going to fight back. The force knocked him three feet back, smashing him into a concrete wall. With a look on his face of pure amazement, he slid to the floor. Cosmo made his mark and owned Elijah.
Throwing paper towels on the floor, he said, “Clean the blood off the floor. My name is Cosmo. I’ll protect you in here. If you ever cross me, I’ll kill you quicker than you can blink.”
In the distance, you could hear cell doors lock and officers taking their stand in the watchtower office at the end of the cell block row. Nothing more than cameras were watching thirty cell doors. Guards glanced at the monitor when they weren't playing cards or reading. It was a routine they all knew, unfortunately, too well. You sat in your cell and waited for the next meal, yard break, and if you were lucky, two hours in the TV room.
“Relax, kid, you have five hours before dinner,” Cosmo said to Elijah, who was still a little gun shy and kept his distance the best he could in the small cell.
“What are you in for?”
Elijah looked up, holding his chin. “Pure bullshit.”
“Yea, aren’t we all,” Cosmo said.
“I have a few years left—was given no reason why I was transferred.”
Cosmo smiled. “You’re one of the lucky ones—might actually get out of this hellhole.”
The time passed, and the loud sound of a buzzer went off followed by an automatic recording. Stand back two feet from your door.
Once again you followed a routine and waited for the prisoner in front of your cell to exit before joining in the line. Like soldiers solo, you walked to the Chow Hall for dinner.
Cosmo sat at his usual table, one near Felipe, and he invited his new cellmate, Elijah. Glancing up at Felipe, he got a slight indication they were cool for the time being. Felipe and his people were talking among themselves, and that was a good sign. In prison, if something was going to happen, you could feel the tension in the air. People would be looking down, no talking, and staring at their target. It was entirely too lively in the Chow Hall for Cosmo to be concerned at this time.
Some people ate fast, others took their time. It was important for Cosmo to sacrifice eating so he could get in line for the phone room. You were allowed an eight-minute call twice a day, and some inmates took full advantage of every opportunity to call a loved one or a friend. Most were starved for the conversation to the outside world and happy to talk to anyone other than their lowlife prison friends. Some couldn’t make calls for weeks until they found a family member or friend to accept their calls—there was always a disconnect once sentenced.
Four people were in line, and there were plenty of phones available. The eight minutes started when your party was on the line. The room was made up of a phone bank of twenty. There were twenty chairs in front of a wall with a soundboard on each side of you. There was little security in the room, since there was only one door in or out. In front of the door, two guards stood and watched over the inmates as they talked, and another roamed inside the phone room. You learned early on in prison to watch what you said on the phone. Some calls were monitored as you spoke, but all calls got recorded, and a trained agent took notes to certain keywords or words that made no sense in the conversation.
Cosmo didn’t have to think about who to call. There were only two people on his approved phone list: his grandmother, Josephine Walker, and Pastor Rosey.
“Pastor, how are you?” Cosmo said after the recording had stated the call was from a state prison and asked if you would accept the call.
“I’m fine, son. How are you?”
“Life is good. I read my prayer book every day, I think positive, and I pray for you and my grandmother,” Cosmo said, not believing the words that just came out of his mouth.
“Well, that is good, my son,” the pastor said.
“Pastor Rosey, is it possible for you to drive my grandmother up on Saturday to visit me? I haven’t seen her for a long time, and her friend that drives her is sickly. She just doesn’t have anyone to give her a ride.”
“Your grandmother isn’t getting any younger either,” Rosey said. “Not a problem. I’d be happy to bring her to see you.”
“Thank you so much. I appreciate your kindness,” Cosmo managed to say without hesitation. The conversation lasted for a few minutes but way under the eight-minute limit.
Cosmo hung the phone up and slowly walked to the exit door. He said nothing that was suspicious in case an ear was listening, but yet he had laid the groundwork for his lies. It was the only way to stay alive. Exiting the phone room, he walked into the TV room. There he found one of Felipe’s bodyguard's leaning against the wall. Felipe was sitting down, looking at the television, and his security watched every person that walked in the room.
Cosmo made it a point to walk in front of Felipe and gave him a thumbs up and a smile.
“It’s set. I’ll have something on Saturday.” Felipe never reacted to inmates, but you knew he absorbed every word.
Thursday rolled around, and Cosmo stood in line at the visitors’ office. Each person would talk into the small window with bars across, barely making visual contact with the guard on the other side. The only information you needed was your name, identification number, and the full name of the person visiting you on Saturday. And the person was pre-approved, or the guard would make you pay dearly for holding up the line. Cosmo was next, and he stepped in front of the window, giving his name and number, but before he could say another word, the guard said, “Josephine Walker is on the list to visit you, and Pastor Rosey is driving her from New Orleans.”
Asshole! Cosmo wanted to say but held back.
The prison would sometimes put your guest’s name on the list before you even spoke. That was just a reminder that you never knew when they might be listening. Cosmo walked off with a grin on his face. At this point all they knew was he asked a preacher to drive his elderly grandmother to Calabar to visit him.
The next two days, Cosmo stayed away from Felipe and his boys, as far away as a prison yard allowed.
The Saturday morning breakfast alarm sounded, and that was music to Cosmo’s ears. Visiting day was exciting to prisoners—at least the ones that were getting visitors. It was not too enjoyable for the people that didn’t have visitors or were visited by their attorneys. Once you were in Calabar, the only reason an attorney might visit you was to talk about your appeal process. But attorneys seldom showed up to deliver good news.
Crescent City Detective Page 15