Lethal Authority (Wade Hanna Series Book 2)

by Joseph D'Antoni

  Wade took the sharp left on Melpomene Street. He was now headed toward the comfort of St. Charles Avenue. The avenue was a tourist attraction, with a large neutral ground where the trolleys ran. It offered a greater hope of seeing patrol cars and more public witnesses. His followers couldn’t possibly want public attention, or better yet, to literally run into a police car. As they approached St. Charles Avenue his followers would soon be on public display. Let’s see if they blink.

  The wheels of his ’55 squealed when Wade took the sharp right turn on the avenue headed toward Lee Circle and downtown. It was 11:30 in the evening. The avenue was quieter than Wade expected. Where the hell are all the tourists? Streetcars were no longer running for the evening. His hope for police protection and an avenue full of tourists quickly faded.

  Wade considered driving down the neutral ground between the trolley tracks to draw more attention. He changed his mind when he suddenly saw an opening in the avenue that allowed him to make better time.

  He gunned the engine, knowing the elevated statue of a stoic General Lee would soon come into view. Checking the rear view mirror, he could see that his pursuers were still there but had become inhibited by a double-parked car on the avenue. He could see men in each car honking and yelling out the window at each other. The delay allowed Wade to gain three more car lengths as he approached his next crossroads.

  It afforded him a few more seconds to think about his options. Lee Circle was approaching. He didn’t like the idea of going around the General’s circle – too many uncertainties with approaching traffic.

  He knew his best overall option was to get to Jake Pisano’s police building in the Quarter, but that was still a long way away. If he could get close to the police precinct building, his followers would drop the chase. The goal still seemed out of reach, and he was out of time and options.

  Approaching Robert E. Lee atop his column at this speed might even cause the General to turn his head. The General had been surrounded by enemy soldiers many times before, after all. Wade just wanted a nod from him that he was making the right decision.

  He checked the rear view mirror again. He now had a five-car lead. Lee Circle approached more quickly than he expected. Considered judgment could wait for another day. There was no more time to consider options; he had to rely on instinct.

  Instinct indeed took over when he pulled down hard on the steering wheel under General Lee’s statue. Wheels squealed as he took a sharp right on Andrew Higgins Avenue at high speed. The old Confederate Museum on his left passed in a blurry flash.

  The force of the turn made the left side of the car feel like it was coming off the ground. There was no more time to think. No sooner had he navigated the right turn then he made a hard left, in part to counterbalance the car. Dazed, the second turn put him on Camp Street facing Canal Street and his ultimate downtown destination.

  Before readjusting from his turn on Camp Street, a large yellow light appeared as a square across the street. It was as though someone had painted a bright yellow direction sign for his benefit, and instinct alone told Wade to follow that light.

  He pulled the wheel hard left again, not understanding where the light was coming from. Wade hit his brakes hard after making the turn to avoid the side of the building. Everything was happening so fast that his surroundings were a blur. When the car stopped, he was parked under the source of light. He had somehow landed in a commercial building that happened to have a roll-up door open at midnight while a crew unloaded a truck.

  As he took in the building surrounding him, he noticed the two structural columns he’d barely missed on either side. He hadn’t even seen the concrete wall in front of him. His brakes stopped the car less than a foot before he would have plowed into a concrete loading dock.

  Wade didn’t know where he was or how he got there. He looked around the large building and thought, Who could possibly be open at this late hour?

  He shut off his engine and got out of the car in one fluid movement. The car was still rocking from the sudden stop. Warehousemen in blue coveralls holding boxes stood frozen in place with their mouths open in disbelief at the sudden intrusion and near collision.

  A sign across the top of the dock area read “Standard Import – Export.” He grabbed the pipe railing and raced up the concrete stairs to the loading dock. Slowing to a brisk walk, Wade moved toward the center of the dock, now realizing he had his gun in his hand.

  A middle-aged man stood at a warehouse podium in a short-sleeve shirt and tie, checking off items as they were unloaded. A printed form was attached to a clipboard. When the man saw Wade approaching with his gun, the pen curled over his forefinger and dropped to the clipboard. The rest of his body remained motionless.

  Workers looked back and forth at each other, waiting for a sign from their foreman. Packages in their hands remained suspended in midair. The men didn’t know whether to put their packages down, their hands up, or run. Wade approached the podium with a calm but urgent look on his face.

  “My name is Wade Hanna. I’m undercover NOPD. I’m being followed by two mob guys, and I need to use your phone.”

  “Our offices are closed, sir. We’re just finishing a late night shift. We’ll be unloaded very soon. You got a badge?”

  “I was off duty when this happened. I work for Detective Jake Pisano of the NOPD downtown division. I don’t have time to stand here and discuss this. I need to get into your offices to use the phone to call for help. Just show me where the phones are.”

  The man paused, looking into Wade’s eyes for some confirming sign of truth. He definitely saw conviction in Wade’s face, but wasn’t sure about truth or what this crazy man might do. He knew his job and his life might soon be on the line if he guessed wrong.

  Seconds passed as the two men stared at each other in silence. Wade slowly raised his weapon, and placed his hand with the weapon on the podium. The manager briefly glanced down at the well-used weapon. It didn’t look like police issue to him.

  Wade could tell he had to be convincing. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I can arrest you if I need to.”

  The man looked Wade hard in the eyes. Neither man’s expression changed. The barrel of Wade’s gun was less than a foot away from the foreman. The foreman had to think quickly for himself as he looked into Wade’s eyes. He’s definitely got conviction. Conviction isn’t always ‘truth,’ but it will have to do for the moment.

  The foreman finally broke the silence. “I’ve heard the name Jake Pisano on the news before. Come with me.”

  They briskly walked to a door leading into the darkened office building. The foreman reached for the long chain of keys hanging from his belt and opened the door to dark offices.

  “I’ll turn on the lights for you.”

  Wade noticed a line of dim safety lights along the baseboard used for hurricane emergencies. “No, leave the lights off. Just tell me where the phones are.”

  “Go down that hall and make the first turn to your left where all the accounting desks are. They’ll all have phones on them.”

  “Have your men close those outer doors until the police arrive. By the way, what’s your name?”

  “I’m Mike Cusso.”

  “Thank you, Mike.”

  Still fearful of what he done, Mike tentatively extended his hand.

  “My pleasure.”

  Chapter 4

  Wade quickly moved down the darkened hall to the accounting desks, picking up the first receiver he found to dial Pisano. The extension button at the bottom of the phone glowed in the darkness – not very strongly, but enough for Wade to see the surface of the desk.

  While Jake’s line rang, Wade slid the breach of his gun back to confirm he had a shell in the chamber, before resting his gun back on the desk. Jake was accustomed to getting late night calls from his men. He had his phone calls transferred to his home when there was an operation in progress. This evening, though, he was just working late. Finally Wade heard the familiar vo
ice: “This is Detective Pisano.”

  “It’s Wade. I’m being followed by two guys with bad intentions. I pulled into a warehouse on Camp Street next to the Confederate Museum. The building just happened to be open. The car following me was a late model black Ford sedan. I think they could be Lugassi’s boys.”

  “Stay put. I’m on my way.”

  Wade looked around the darkened room, thinking about upcoming arrivals. There was a dim light at the other end of the large room. When he removed the telephone headset, the small extension lights came on at the base of the phone. He moved the phone around and used the light to check desk drawers. Nothing in the first desk appeared helpful.

  He moved to the next desk and picked up its phone, using the light to check the drawers. Again, nothing helpful. He repeated the same procedure on the third desk. In the bottom left hand file drawer, he found what he was looking for--a small flashlight.

  Using the flashlight, Wade quickly scanned the layout of the room. There was a door to another room halfway down the line of cubicles to his left. He went to that door, opened it, and checked the wall panels. That wall didn’t have what he was looking for.

  He spotted another door across the room near the elevators. Flashlight in hand, he ran across the room, opened the door and found a wall with the electrical box and breaker switches. He scanned the labels next to each switch and turned off all the breakers for the first floor lighting.

  Wade knew the darkness would likely slow down his tail, who wouldn’t be expecting it. Darkness was his friend, and any hesitation he could create might compensate for his out-gunned position.

  Now he had to find the best location from which to confront his adversaries. He ran to another door, which opened off the main hall to the employee lunch room. He beamed his light across the lunch room, over chairs and tables, to another door. That one opened into a storage room. Though he found the storage room door unlocked, it could clearly be locked from the inside, keeping out anyone in the lunch room. Wade liked what he saw.

  The storage room was lined with partially-filled shelving. Another door in the storage room opened to the dock area and could also be locked from the inside. He liked the option of a second escape route to the dock. He flashed his light around one more time before deciding that was the place he would make his stand.

  A position behind a shelving unit and heavy boxes offered some protection. He moved the boxes around and opened a small space between them for a shooting platform. Wade locked himself inside and took his position in the dark room. Checking his watch with one last flash from his light, he estimated another fifteen to twenty minutes before Pisano arrived.

  The next few minutes in darkness seemed like hours. Tension gripped Wade every time he heard the slightest noise. He had never realized how many noises an old building made throughout the night. At one time he thought the building was breathing in a rhythm not dissimilar to his own, creaking as it stretched tired old bones.

  The next sound Wade heard wasn’t from inside the building; it was someone pounding on the outside of the metal roll-up door. Wade listened carefully. A loud voice penetrated the outer steel roll-up door.

  “This is the police. Open up.”

  The same voice repeated itself. “This is Jake Pisano of the New Orleans Police Department. Open up.”

  Wade breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Mike open the outer door.

  Pisano and two detectives with guns drawn greeted Mike, showing him their badges. The three detectives fanned out in the warehouse, and another two began searching the street and sidewalk outside the building.

  Mike showed Pisano where he’d let Wade into the offices and opened the door for him. Jake called out loudly into the darkened room, hoping his voice wouldn’t be met with gunfire.

  Immediately recognizing Jake’s voice, Wade responded with a yell of his own as he left the storeroom to meet Jake in the hallway next to the darkened offices.

  “There was no sign of your tail when we got here. Tell me what happened.”

  “Let me get the lights on first.”

  They walked across the room behind Wade’s flashlight. Pisano watched as Wade switched the overhead lighting back on. Jake and Wade sat down at the first cubicle across the desk from each other.

  Wade provided a detailed account from the time he’d left for school that morning. While telling his story, Wade wrote on the desk pad the four digits of the license plate number and handed it to Jake.

  “They were probably waiting for you at school and followed you to your friend’s house,” Pisano remarked.

  “Do you think they were Lugassi’s men?”

  “I’m not certain, but they could be. So much for your being out at sea.”

  “What should I do now?”

  “It’s time for you to get out of Dodge. We’ll follow up on the license plate and pay a visit to whoever owns this vehicle. Call me in a few days. I’ll make sure the Lugassi boys know we're watching them closely. That may hold them off for a while.”

  Wade followed Jake’s advice and headed out of town. For Wade the trip meant returning to his beloved swamp and his family’s camp sixty miles west of New Orleans. Before leaving town he placed several calls to Jenkins at the Intelligence Agency, finally getting through to him.

  “This is Agent Jenkins. How may I help you?”

  “Hello Mr. Jenkins. My name is Wade Hanna. We met two weeks ago, and I just wanted to know when I might be hearing back from you on my proposal?”

  “Your proposal is in the right hands now. I’m expecting a call back any time. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “I’m thinking about going out of town for a few days and didn’t want to miss your call. I can cancel my trip if you think you’re going to hear something soon.”

  “You don’t need to cancel your trip. Why don’t you call me at the end of next week? I should know more by then.”

  The Louisiana Swamp

  Wade couldn’t wait to get back to the swamp. He not only needed to be away from prying eyes in the city, but the swamp was the only place in this world where he could really clear his mind. The primitive surroundings were still the place he’d called home since childhood.

  He called a few friends to join him, but they were too busy with other things. The more Wade thought about being alone, though, the better he liked the idea. The two-hour drive to the swamp included frequent checks of the rear view mirror for any unwelcome company. He thought to himself: Anyone crazy enough to follow me into my darkened domain does so at his own peril.

  Every new mile away from the city further improved his outlook. His thoughts jumped from one topic to another. He kept in mind his promise to his father to keep the camp in good repair, and wondered what damage might have occurred since his last visit a couple of months ago.

  He’d already agreed to take care of some minor repairs during this trip, but wasn’t sure if his father was thinking about selling the camp because it was getting so little use. Wade was against the sale, wanting the camp for himself, but he understood his father’s reasoning, especially in light of his own uncertain future.

  If his father did sell the camp, Wade knew that one day he would have one of his own.

  Since Wade couldn’t control when – or if – the government would respond to his proposal, all he could do was spend time thinking about his other options. No place better than the swamp to consider my alternatives.

  Wade motored down the long drive under the overhang of branches and Spanish moss. He pulled up to the camp and started unpacking his provisions. The few areas that needed repair were obvious, and easily repairable if he used the ladder in the garage.

  Pausing from his unloading, Wade reflected on the crossroads where he stood in his life. Melancholy washed over him as he realized he had few choices regarding his future. It hit him that the vast majority of the rest of his life would be determined by others, and that caused his stomach to tense when he saw the truth. No matter which path he chose, o
r had chosen for him, this was the last time he would see his beloved camp for a long time – perhaps forever.

  The quiet of the swamp struck him as never before. His senses weren’t coping with the absence of city noise; his ears actually rang from the silence.

  He took a deep breath and inhaled familiar earthy scents from the surrounding swamp. He gazed out over the pond. The soft afternoon light reflected white cumulus clouds in front of a blue sky over the still water. The weather report had said a cool breeze was coming in from the north that evening.

  His surroundings were all-consuming now. He caught himself staring into space as if taking part in some long-forgotten spiritual ritual. In the trance, he seemed like an observer too young to be allowed by the spirit to fully participate in the ceremony. Perhaps it was penance for his long absence from the swamp?

  When it came to unpleasant childhood memories, Wade’s mind was normally like a crawfish net trying to hold water. They passed through holes, were buried deep, or no longer existed. But something strange was going on here. Unwanted childhood visions played before him like a projector spinning a celluloid reel, and he couldn’t walk out of the theater. Images were coming fast at him with no particular order or purpose. He reached out, bracing himself against the bark of a nearby oak tree, hoping to slow the memories down. Good idea, but it didn’t work.

  The images contained harsh childhood images of beatings and being left alone in locked rooms whose details he didn’t want to recall or couldn’t remember. Past and present times were all the same. Wade knew his mind wasn’t playing these tricks on him. There was definitely a swamp spirit behind all this.

  Perhaps it was reminding him of who was in charge and not to stray too far from the swamp again. The experience took his breath away and he abruptly gasped for air, wanting all this realism to stop. Moments passed before a light flashed in his brain.