Crescent City Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  With tears running down Pedro’s face, he could barely talk. “They will kill me.”

  “They will kill you if you talk—I will kill you if you don’t. But if you do, the police will protect you,” Howard said.

  Mario was concerned Howard may have taken this too far, but Howard didn’t let up. “After the trial, you’ll go into witness protection.” Howard made a face. “You didn’t follow the rules. A simple yes or no was in order.” Howard hit the button again, this time for ten seconds.

  Pedro let out another round of screams. His body was shaking and the handcuffs were rattling against the steel pipe. “Yes! Yes, I will,” Pedro shouted.

  “Okay, we have a deal,” Howard said. Turning to Mario, he said, “I called ahead and talked to Big Gabe Chmura at the carwash. He will house Pedro safely until we can figure this out.”

  Pedro was stuffed back into the limousine and handcuffed to the door handle. Zack sat in the back of the limo, and the caravan of vehicles drove down the dirt road to the interstate.

  From New Orleans East it was an easy drive back to Police Headquarters. On the way, Mario made some calls, first to Olivia, and gave her Pedro Lopez’s name and date of birth for her to run a background check. Then he contacted Truman to have him call the warden of Calabar Prison. An emergency meeting was set up. Once Mario got the approval, he bypassed the police station and headed directly to the prison. The last call was to Elijah Woodward Senior.

  He answered his cell, and that was when Mario knew all the stars were lining up for his plan. Woody was on his way to the prison to visit his son. It was perfect. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just a Wednesday visit for Woody and Elijah. He filled Woody in on the plan, and he assured Mario he would get Elijah to do his part—as long Mario followed through on his promise.

  Mario stopped at an exit in Baton Rouge, got gas, and found a pay phone, which was getting harder to locate with so many people now having cell phones.

  Mario needed a secure line and dialed the phone number from the card given to him. “Good morning, Little Pete. I need to speak to Lorenzo Savino.”

  “Hang tight. Mr. Savino will call you from a secured line to this number,” Little Pete said, and disconnected the call. Mario stood next to the phone and waited. It wasn’t long before it rang and Mario answered on the second ring.

  “Mario?” Lorenzo Savino said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What can I do for you?” Lorenzo said, then listened to Mario lay out a strategy he needed to be delivered to Joey Savino in prison.

  Lorenzo was skeptical. “Are you sure this is the way you want to go?”

  Mario paused, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t going to second-guess his plan. “Yes, sir. If Elijah gives the okay at the breakfast line on Friday morning and Joey follows through, I promise Joey will live a king’s life the rest of his days in prison.”

  “You’re taking a big responsibility, Detective,” Lorenzo said.

  “I’ll deliver.”

  “I’ve never trusted a cop, but okay. Lina will visit him tomorrow morning and set things up for Friday breakfast. Elijah gives the okay, Joey will do his part.” Then he disconnected the call.

  Mario exited the interstate and took the single-lane highway to the prison. There was no line, and the parking gate was down. A guard checked Mario’s ID and waved him on to the grounds of Warden Cameron Leblanc’s residence a half a mile from the prison. Mario was retained on the front porch of the antebellum home once owned by a cotton farmer. In the yard were trusted inmates cleaning around the house, pulling grass out the gardens, all around living a much better life than inside the prison.

  “Warden Leblanc will see you now,” said a man dressed in a black suit. Mario followed him into Warden Leblanc’s chamber. He sat behind a massive wood desk.

  “Warden Leblanc, thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Mario said, extending his hand.

  “No problem. Please have a seat.”

  “Warden, you have a problem in your prison.”

  Leblanc laughed. “Just one? Please call me Cam.”

  Mario looked around. “Very well, Cam. Is this room secured?”

  “Sure.”

  “No, I mean really secured.”

  Cam got up and looked down the hallway. “Tommy, I’m good. Go help in the kitchen with lunch,” he said, closing the door to his office behind him.

  “What do you have?” the Warden said, taking his seat.

  Mario went into detail how the drugs were entering the prison and distributed to inmates. He explained that he didn’t think any of his guards were in on it since the drugs came so concealed. Without dogs checking every box of supplies coming from the semi-trailer to the prison kitchen, how would the guards know?

  “Great. The new governor made the prison his pet peeve since he was elected. This should really make his day,” Cam said, leaning back in his leather desk chair. “He’ll bury me in the press with drugs right under my nose.”

  “Cam,” Mario said, walking around to him and resting on the edge of the desk. “With your help, I’ll make you a hero.”

  “Who’s behind this?”

  “Felipe Cruz,” Mario said, and watched his face turn red.

  “Of course. Who else has the balls to pull this off? That fucker—in front of my guards.”

  Mario patted Cam’s arm. “Take a deep breath.”

  “So, how are you going to make me a hero?”

  “No one but me in law enforcement knows about this prison drug issue.”

  “No one?”

  “Listen, on Friday morning I can bust this thing wide open, and at the end of the day you will be the hero.”

  “What’s in it for you?” Cam said, taking a cigar out and putting it in his mouth. He walked over to the window and looked out. “I have to be on the right side of this.”

  “You will be, just trust me,” Mario said. “I need you to guarantee me three things.”

  “Go ahead,” Cam said, chewing on the cigar.

  “When your guards discover the drugs, you transfer Elijah Woodward from the kitchen to a halfway house immediately—under house protection.”

  “I can live with that,” Cam said, spitting a piece of the cigar in the trash.

  “Second, Felipe will be caught with the drugs. I need him put in the hole until the trial. Regardless of the verdict, Felipe never comes in contact with another prisoner.”

  “Solitary confinement?”

  “For the rest of his life,” Mario said, waiting for the answer. It never came. “The third item, Joey Savino is moved to work detail on your plantation, with full benefits of farmhand meal plans, conjugal visits, and other perks you might offer at your Hillbilly Country Club.”

  Warden Leblanc walked the room. Spitting the cigar in a trash can. “Cigars were supposed to help my smoking problem. Doesn’ seem to be working.”

  Mario cringed as pieces of tobacco stuck to Cam’s lips. He stood and waited for the answer he needed for it all to work.

  “Any downside?”

  “I don’t see any,” Mario said.

  “Someone fucks up, and the Chow Hall will break into a free-for-all. I can’t have my guards at risk—that will be bad press and fuel for the governor.”

  Mario stepped closer to Warden Leblanc and looked him in the eyes. “Have extra guards at breakfast ready for anything—nothing will go wrong. Can you handle these demands?”

  The warden looked around the room then his eyes focused out the window with the prison in view at a distance. With one hand he slammed a lamp to the floor. “That motherfucker—he thinks he can run drugs through my prison. Detective, you have a deal.”

  Mario walked to the door and turned back. “Thank you, sir. Set up a news conference for noon on Friday. Wear your dress blues, like a hero would.”

  CHAPTER 54

  THURSDAY 2:00 p.m.

  The car wash was busy, so Mario wasn’t much noticed by employees when he walked into Big Gabe’s office
and met Howard.

  “Plan B is in place. Let's go talk to the star of plan A,” Mario said.

  Big Gabe led the way out his back office door pass one armed guard and into a barn. “Hold your breath if you're not used to pig shit,” he said as they passed a stall with three hogs housed and two goats running loose.

  “Shit, Gabe,” Mario said.

  “That’s what it is, better known as pig shit.”

  Out in the fresh air, they crossed some bricks and another armed guard visible at the edge of the yard. Big Gabe opened the door to a small room, flipped a switch, and a single light overhead brightened the room—enough to see Pedro handcuffed to a chair.

  “He’s not going anyplace,” Gabe said.

  “I see that,” Mario said.

  When Mario looked closer, Pedro had a steel strap around his stomach that hooked to chains that looped under his legs, which were bolted to the wall. Mario picked up the heavy chain. “Wow, you’re right, he’s not going anywhere. Looks like some medieval torture device.”

  “Not sure what my grandfather used it for. On occasion, it comes in handy.”

  “So, tell me, Pedro, you ready for your debut?”

  “You better answer, or I’ll knock you into tomorrow,” Big Gabe said, freeing Howard from stepping in.

  “What’s tomorrow?” Pedro said with his head facing down.

  Howard stepped closer. “Tomorrow is the day you’ll come with us and tell the police all about the prison cocaine scheme.”

  Pedro lifted his head, and with the arrogance bred into him by the gangs over the years, he said, “You know the saying—you can take the horse to the water but can’t make him drink. That’s me. Take me to the police station, but I’m not talking,” then he spits into Howard’s face.

  Big Gabe landed a punch on Petro’s chest, doubling him up.

  “Nice punch for an old pussy like you,” Pedro said, and started to spit at him.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Gabe said, ready to turn Pedro into a punching bag.

  Mario watched with uncertainty if this was going to work. “You see, Pedro, I have a plan B that will work. You’re Plan A, and it could save your life.”

  “Fuck you and your ABC’s,” Pedro said, red-faced with rage.

  “Let's go. He’ll come around,” Gabe said, giving Mario and Howard a nod towards the door. “I’ll persuade him tonight.”

  They opened the door to the room and sunlight beamed through.

  “Detective!” Pedro shouted out. “Thanks for the vacation. I loved Paris.”

  It was like Mario was frozen in time. How could this come up? How would this low-level punk gang member know about Paris? ran through his mind at a hundred miles per hour. He heard him, but couldn’t move.

  Pedro smiled. “Yeah, one fine woman. She likes sitting on that park bench, feeding this little cat. The one in the picture.”

  Big Gabe had seen the photo of Kate on the bench in Paris and heard the details. He took a step towards Pedro and Mario pulled him back by the arm. “Let him talk.”

  Pedro kept smiling. He enjoyed giving the details. “Mommy and daddy are gone now. She’s all alone in Paris.” He paused and thought for a second and his ego won. “I’m the one that took the picture…and killed the cat.”

  “What cat?” Mario said as calm as he could, preferring to rip Pedro’s head off.

  “The cat in the picture, sitting at her feet.” Pedro laughed. “Could have killed her that day. Felipe said not yet. So I killed the cat.”

  One blow to the face and Pedro was out cold. Gabe rubbed his hand. “I had to do it.”

  Mario walked out with Howard keeping step. Big Gabe, breathing heavily, came out a minute later.

  “This asshole is not going to be an asset,” Big Gabe said.

  Howard rubbed his face. “No telling what he might say to the police. We knew it was borderline to trust him, even under torture,” Howard said. “Let me take him back to the trailer, I’ll fry his brain with the battery or just outright kill him.”

  Mario stood silently and reached for his phone and dialed a number. He called Olivia and asked her to transfer the call to his desk. Then he asked for her to look at the picture of Kate in Paris—it was taped to the wall. He wanted her to check it close for a cat in the picture.

  At first, she didn’t see a cat, but at the bottom, a cat was at the leg of the bench blending into a bush. She confirmed it was definitely a cat.

  Mario hung up and dialed another number. “Hold on—looks like plan B is the best move,” he said to Howard. “Amelia. Yes, nice to talk to you too. Could you ask the Fontenots if they know if Kate befriended a cat in the park in Paris?”

  Mario waited. “I hope I’m wrong.” Howard and Big Gabe waited.

  Amelia confirmed there was a cat she fed every day in the park but one afternoon she discovered the cat with its throat slit—draped at the back of the bench on top of a bush.

  “That deranged fuck,” Mario shouted, loud enough to turn the heads of some of the customers.

  THURSDAY 3:00 p.m.

  The underground parking garage looked darker than usual, or maybe it was his mood,

  Mario thought. He found Truman and went over details of how the meeting would be presented.

  “Everyone ready and seated?”

  “Yes, are you a hundred percent sure? This is a career decision,” Truman asked.

  “No, I’m a thousand percent sure. Let’s not keep the boss waiting.”

  Mario led the way to the chief’s conference room on the top floor of the police building, greeting people as he strolled by their desk. Security was heavy in the place as always when you had the Mayor of New Orleans , Chief of Police, SWAT Commander, and the Chief of Detectives all in one area. A police officer standing by the door opened it for Mario and Truman.

  “Good afternoon everyone,” Mario said.

  Truman nodded his head. “Lady and gentlemen.”

  Pulling some notes out of his pocket, Mario opened with a thank you for meeting with him and trusting his judgment that it was vital that they all participate.

  “I have discovered a cocaine distribution house in the city. It’s being cut and repackaged for distribution throughout the state.”

  “Where?” Chief of Police Waters said.

  “Cornerview Gang area,” Truman said.

  Chief Parks asked, “Dante Cruz behind this?”

  Mario hesitated, knowing he would hit a nerve. “Dante and Felipe.”

  “Detective, Felipe is in prison,” the mayor said. “You put him there yourself.”

  Chief Waters cut the mayor off. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t give the okay to his brother.”

  Mario thought, Yeah, let’s go with that point of view. “Felipe probably still has some say in decisions.”

  “Why didn’t you turn this over to drug control?” SWAT Commander Johnson said.

  “I believe I know the answer to that,” Chief Parks spoke up. “I’ll open that discussion with Chief Waters at a later date.”

  Mario looked at his watch then at Truman, who nodded his head. Then a knock at the door was followed by the chief’s assistant coming in the room.

  “Excuse me, Olivia Johansson has an urgent message for Detective Mario.”

  Mario excused himself and asked for a few minutes.

  Olivia met him in a small office and explained the details of a stakeout earlier that morning. Her contacts followed a truck from Luther Marks’s warehouse to an On The Road Again van parked on some side street. Two boxes were exchanged. Luther’s vehicle went to Pastor Monet’s lunch room in the back of the church, and the service truck went to the flophouse.

  Max, her undercover cop, walked in on the Pastor’s breakfast at the right time and spotted two guys that didn’t fit in with the homeless and had several boxes of cereal in front of them. Max, in conversation with one of the men, managed to snatch one cereal box.

  Olivia confirmed the black mark on the bottom and found what appeared to b
e a small bag of coke inside.

  Without thinking, Mario gave Olivia a kiss. “Thanks!”

  Back at the meeting room, Mario rushed to his seat. “Sorry for the delay,” Mario said. “Dante is moving his drugs through a food company that delivers to Pastor Monet’s church.”

  “No way,” the mayor said.

  “Sorry to upset you, sir,” Mario said. “But your big campaign contributor for the crime-driven neighborhoods wasn’t in it for his people.”

  Mario pulled a yellow piece of paper out of his coat and reviewed his notes, then made his request. To complete the plan he needed a SWAT team to hit the front and rear flophouse on Frenchmen street, the church lunchroom, and Luther Marks’s warehouse, all simultaneously at eight a.m. the next morning.

  They all sat silent and finally agreed not to contact the warden at Calabar Prison until the arrest of Dante Cruz, his crew, and Pastor Monet. Mario let out a sigh of relief—the plan was coming together.

  “Gentlemen, good luck tomorrow, eight a.m. sharp. No sooner, no later.” Mario said. “Commander Johnson, I’d like to follow the SWAT Team into the hood tomorrow? I’d like to see Dante’s face when he is arrested.”

  “No problem, Detective. You should share in the glory.”

  The meeting broke, and Truman and Mario made it down to the lobby and met Olivia. Mario took Olivia by the arm. “I couldn’t have done this without you,” he said, giving her a hug. Olivia looked surprised—it was unprofessional. She looked over her shoulder, and no one was paying any attention to them, so she latched on to Mario and gave a squeeze back. Unacceptable for sure in the workplace, but she loved every second of the embrace.

  “What’s so important about eight a.m.? You must have said it three times,” Truman said.

  “The Warden is part of my Plan B—he has to be the hero of the prison and will be by tomorrow morning.”

  Truman gave him a look. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Tune in to the news conference at noon tomorrow,” Mario said with a smile on his face and a skip in his step as he walked to the garage.