Revenge - A Jessie Carr Novel #1

by JL Schneider

  This question couldn’t be answered with a nod and threw the kids whole act off. Thibodeaux had had enough and told the kid, “Come out from behind the bar and, lets you and me take a ride downtown.” Apparently he had been downtown before and decided he didn’t want to go again. The kid started talking real fast, “It was a white guy and they were talking real low. The white guy had a bag and showed Sugar something in it, then they left, that’s all I saw.” Well it was a start, Thibodeaux asked “Good, now what did the white man look like?” The kid still looked confused but answered, “He just looked like a white guy, about this tall.” He held up his hand to indicate about shoulder height on him. “He was wearing a blue jacket with a hood, that’s all I noticed. He was only here for a few minutes and didn’t order no drink or nothing.” Thibodeaux made a couple of notes and asked, “Could you hear what they were talking about?” Again confusion but he answered, “The only thing I heard was something about a girl and money, that’s it.” Again Thibodeaux wrote a note. “Were there any other customer in here then?” Grover answered “None that I can remember.” Shit, great, fucking Einstein here was going to be no help. “Was any of Sugar’s girls in here this morning?” The kid shakes his head no. “OK, there is going to be a police artist coming to see you later, just try and remember what the white guy looked like and tell her, OK? One more question, did you ever see this white guy in here before?” Again another negative head shake. “Now, you stay here until that sketch artist comes.” Thibodeaux started toward the door and turned toward the kid “How many people work here?” The kid scratched what in some circles passes for a beard and responded, “Just 3 of us, I work mornings, Don, this is his joint, works afternoons and Stan, he works nights.” Finally an answer, “I’m going to need the names and addresses of the others, can you do that for me Grover.” The kid nodded yes. “Good, another officer is going to be coming by in a few minutes, give him that information.”

  Thibodeaux left The Nest and headed back to the alley. The coroner had arrived and was waiting to remove the body. Thibodeaux’s partner was looking over the items he had removed from Sugar’s pockets. “Nothing of any interest, couple of grand cash, packs of rubbers, couple of rocks of crack, oh and of course a Glock 40 caliber. Did you know this clowns real name was Leon Watts? Says so right here on his license. Looks like he was having a problem getting his piece out of his waistband, his hand were wrapped around it when he went down.” Thibodeaux had to laugh, “I knew that fat would eventually kill him. So someone was quicker on the draw than he was.” His partner shook his head. “No, this chest wound was from a knife, a big one. ME says the throat was done after he was down. Probably to make sure he didn’t live, and it worked. They want to move the body, we finished here?” Thibodeaux shook his head and singled the coroner to take Sugar’s body away. They both walked to the street and a uniform cop handed Thibodeaux the names of the other The Nest employees. The uniforms were still canvassing the area looking for a witness. Thibodeaux had little hope they would find one.

  They climbed in their car and headed for the home of Stan Holmes, The Nest’s employee that lived the closest. Holmes lived in the French Quarter on Dauphine St. His home turned out to be a small apartment in an old run down flat. They climbed the rickety stairs and found apartment 307. A woman answered their knock. They flashed their badges and asked to speak with Stan Holmes. The woman opened the door and let them in. The place was a dump, it smelled of cheap perfume and cat shit. The woman, sporting teased hair and a ton of makeup turned and screamed, “Hey Stan, the fucking cops want to see you.” A bathroom door opened Stan Holmes entered the room wearing shorts and no shirt. Holmes was middle aged but could have passed for 100 years old. He was skinny and tall with long hair pulled back in a pony tail. He looked like he hadn’t shaved or washed his hair in a year. Stan Holmes was without a doubt a junkie. Thibodeaux understood why he was kept on the midnight shift at The Nest.

  Holmes looked at the cops through bloodshot eyes and asked, “What”. Thibodeaux asked him if he worked the night before. He had, so he asked if he knew Sugar Bear. “Sugar Bear, yea, I know him, pimp meets his girl there sometimes.” Thibodeaux thought, damn, and intelligent answer. “Was he in the bar last night?” Holmes thought about it for a few seconds. “Yep, he was there till about 3, met a couple of girls, then left.” “So, he was there when you got in, midnight right?” “Yea, he was sitting in his usual place at the end of the bar.” Thibodeaux considered this, Holmes hadn’t mentioned a man meeting with Sugar, only his hookers.”You recall any other people meeting with Sugar other than the girls?” Holmes though for a minute before responding. “No just the usual hookers paying him a visit, as far as I can remember he never talked to anyone else.” Thibodeaux knew he had hit a dead end. They thanked Holmes and left the apartment, his partner looked up the address of Don Carter, the swing shift bartender and owner of The Nest. Carter lived in the lower ninth ward of the city, below the Industrial Canal.

  They took the 20 minute drive to Forstall Street. Carter’s house was an old New Orleans style shotgun home. They parked in front and as they exited the car a large black man came out the front door. “You must be the cops, Don told me you would be coming.” They walked up the steps to the small front porch and introduced themselves to Carter. He offered them something to drink and they declined. There was no place to sit on the porch so they stood and began their questioning. “Did you work yesterday?” Carter answered quickly, “Yea, I worked from 4 to midnight every day. Don said you were asking about Leon, I mean Sugar Bear.” Thibodeaux responded, “Yep, I understand he was there when Don came to relieve you, so he was there while you worked?” Carter answered, “Yea, he is there a lot, meets his girls there all the time, he came in about 8 or 9, sat in his usual spot. One of his girls was there talking to a guy.” Thibodeaux thought, finally making headway. “A guy you say, what can you tell me about this guy?” Carter glanced around before answering, “This guy had a couple of brews and one of Sugar’s girls came in, Simone I think. Yes, it definitely was Simone. The guy asked me what was her story, I told him what I knew. She was a whore, he moved over to talk to her. Sugar came in they seemed to be doing some negotiating over Simone. I had other customer there at that time, it was a little noisy, but they must have made some agreement because the guy left with the girl. Hey, what’s this all about, I mean Sugar do something wrong? Besides being a pimp I mean.” Thibodeaux figured there was no sense lying to him. It would be on the news soon anyway. “Sugars dead, someone murdered him this morning. You said this guy left with Simone, but you couldn’t hear anything they discussed. What did this guy look like?” Carter thought for a moment then replied, “Damn Sugar dead, I saw him every day. Oh yea, the guy, white guy, about 5’10, I don’t know 170 or 180. Real short hair, light completion, maybe 45 or so.” Thibodeaux was impressed, this guy might actually help. “Good, what else can you tell me, have you seen him in the bar before?” “Not before last night, I mean Sugar is there all the time, but this guy was new. Oh there was one thing I caught, when he was leaving with Simone, Sugar asked him what room he was in. I don’t remember the room number, but I do remember hearing them mention the Royal Orleans.” Thibodeaux thought great at last a break. Maybe someone at the hotel would remember the guy with the hooker. “Just a couple more things, would you recognize this guy if you saw him again, and what does this Simone look like?” Carter responded “Oh yea I could recognize him if I saw him again and Simone, I saw her all the time. Kind of rough looking girl, short black hair, real short. You know the usual, short hooker skirt, blouse showing her small tits and those high hooker boots. She was real skinny and it seemed every time she came in she looked a little worse. Always had the same outfit on don’t ever remember seeing her in anything else. She actually kind of looked dirty, why anyone would pay to fuck her was beyond me.” Thibodeaux looked at his partner then said, “I want to have you work with a sketch artist to get an idea what this guy looked, like, can you do t
hat for us?” Carter said he would and it was arranged for the artist to meet him at the bar at 2PM.

  Thibodeaux and Greyfield thank him and headed for the Royal Orleans Hotel on Royal Street in the Quarter. Three hours later they had questioned everyone they could think of in the hotel and had drawn a blank. No one had seen a hooker that looked like Simone. They headed back to headquarters to see if Vice had any information on Sugar or Simone that might help. They met with Samuel Chin a vice cop who worked the quarter. Thibodeaux asked, “Sammy, you know of anyone that would have a beef with Sugar?” Sammy shrugged, “Well you know, all the pimps down there are in competition. But to kill him, naw, not to go that far. I busted him quite a few times. You how that is, two hours in lockup and he’s gone.” Thibodeaux nodded, “How about one of his girls, goes by the name of Simone. You ever bust her?” Sammy shook his head, “I know of her. Showed up maybe six months ago. I have no idea where she came from. She was nice looking when she first showed. None of Sugars girls stay good looking for long. Rough life out there, especially with Sugar. And as far as a beef with Sugar, he had the low end hookers for sure. No one would kill him to steal his girls. Most pimps at least keep their girls clean, not Sugar. When we busted one of his girls they always smelled.” It was eight hours since they had started and had nothing. One dead pimp, one unidentified white guy, and one dirty hooker. Time to call it a day.

  Chapter 16

  I arrived home at 8:40 AM. One hour to take a man’s life. I opened the door and Rachael was sitting where I had left her, but now her hair was wet and she was wearing a robe I recognized as mine. “I needed a shower, hope you don’t mind.” Of course I didn’t mind. She looked at me and said “You might want to take off those bloody clothes.” I hadn’t even realized I had Sugar’s blood on my jacket, pants, and gym bag. She had started a fire in the fireplace. I took out the money that wasn’t covered in blood and put it aside, the rest, including the bag went in the fireplace. I removed my pants, checked the pockets and added them to the fire. My sweat shirt and undershirt followed. I took the K-Bar to the kitchen, put water and bleach in the sink and put it in to soak. I walked back to the living room and stood there in my underwear. Rachael was smiling “I assume that blood wasn’t yours.” I shook my head no. She continued, “You never know, you might have blood on your Jockeys, you might want to take them off also.” I smiled, removed my underwear and tossed them in the fire, “You’re a bad girl Rachael, so hold that though I need a shower.” I knew I had a lot of explaining to do, but first I showered. I grabbed a pair of sweats and walked down the steps.

  I went into the kitchen and grabbed us both a beer and went back to the sofa. I told her I was going to tell everything, but first, I wanted to know what she found out about Jasmine. She took a deep breath and started. “She has a staph infection in some of the recent burns and cuts. She has anal and vaginal tearing, indicating extremely rough sex. She has bruises indicating beating both blunt force and with a belt or rope. Her body is weak due to lack of rest, lack of food, and infections. I cleaned all the wounds, applied an antibiotic, and bandaged them. I gave her a broad spectrum antibiotic that should help and I drew some blood, which is in the refrigerator. I will take that to work to be analyzed. This evening I’ll get the results of the blood test and get an antibiotic appropriate for her condition. But Jessie, I need to ask you a question and I need the absolute truth. Did you have intercourse with her?” I was shocked by the question but said, “No I didn’t, you know me better than that, at least I hope you do. That girl needs a break, not somebody taking even more advantage of her.” She shook her head sadly “I’m sorry I had to ask that, but Jessie, Jasmine has some sort of venereal disease, probably Cancroids. She has ulcers inside her vagina which are a good indicator. The blood test will show more, but I’m fairly certain that’s what it is. She could be treated with on strong dose of antibiotic. She has one more issue, she’s hooked on drugs, probably coke and meth. She will be experiencing some withdrawal symptoms and that could also be eased with drugs I can get. This poor girl has so much stacked against her, somehow God has forgotten to watch over her.” Then I looked at Rachael and stated the obvious. “God had sent you to take care of her Rach.” She knew I was right, because in the condition she was in with Sugar Bear, she would be just another dead Jane Doe.

  Now it was my turn to talk. I couldn’t hold anything back, Rachael deserved the entire truth. When the words began they just seemed to flow out. It was a relief to share this with her. She sat and listened, never interrupting even once. Thirty minutes later my explanation was complete. I sat there and waited for some reaction, I got a reaction I never expected. She smiled and leaned over and kissed me. Not a friendly kiss, a deep sexually charged kiss. At first I was stunned, but kissed her back, I needed her so badly. She stood and took me by the hand and led me upstairs, we entered the guest bedroom and she faced me and opened her robe. She was naked underneath. She removed the robe and laid on the bed, I removed my sweats and joined her. Our passion took over and for the next thirty minutes we made passionate love. When we were both exhausted she looked into my eyes and said, “I love you Jessie.” She closed her eyes and we both slept.

  Chapter 17

  We both woke up at 1pm and made love again. It had been a long time since I had felt so good. Rachael got dressed in her scrubs and headed to work. She had the 3 to 11 shift. She would get the necessary drugs for Jasmine, and return here after work. I told her I would be gone when she got there, but I should be home before 1am. We kissed and she departed, I slipped on my sweats and looked in on Jasmine. She was awake and sitting up in the bed. “Hello beautiful, how are you feeling now?” She smiled, “Much better thank you.” I sat on the edge of the bed, “Rachael will come back tonight with some medicine for you. She’s a nurse and will take care of you. I think the rest helped too, you were so weak.” She smiled at the mention of Rachael’s name. She said, “I like her, she really cares for me, I like you too, thank you.” I said, “Thank you, but I just want you to get well then you can go home.” With the mention of home her expression changed and she quietly cried. Her memory of home was gone, we knew her address In New Orleans from her driver’s license but she had no idea what awaited her at home. I showed her the copy of the internet page searching for her. None of the pictures on the page rang a bell. I told her “Be patient, your memory will return.” We sat there several minutes in silence. She looked at me and said “It was so nice to hear you and Rachael in bed.” I wasn’t sure I understood what she said so I asked her to repeat it. “I heard you and Rachael making love and it was wonderful, I though sex was ugly, dirty, and brutal, but hearing you and her made me feel that there is hope.” I made a mental note that the walls in my house were thin, but too late now. I guess I was blushing because she laughed, the first time I heard her laughed and it was infectious. I starting laughing and it turned to tears. Any misgiving I had about the past few days vanished, I knew I had done the right thing.

  I had to prepare both mentally and physically for the delivery that night. My mind was racing with all the possible things that could go wrong. I decided that there was nothing I could do to prevent a double-cross. I would be on their home turf and probably outnumbered, so physical preparation was impossible. Even if I brought a weapon the outcome would probably end badly for me. Mentally I tried to tell myself all would be OK and they would simply make the exchange and I would be on my way. Who was I kidding? I was dealing with people who knew they had the upper hand. I was at their mercy.

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday night, 11PM, Calliope Projects. I had placed the recorder in a safe deposit box at Capital One Bank and threw the key in a sewer drain. Now it would only be opened upon my death or incarceration. I’m waiting for my contact. I have the duffel bag in the trunk. Word must have gotten around the project not to fuck with the white boy in the car, because no one has bothered me.

  At 11:30 PM, a car pulled up behind me. A passenger got out, walked ov
er and got in my passenger side. He was a small black man, mid 20s, solid build, white tee shirt, baggy pants, pistol in his belt. My insides are churning. He told me to drive two blocks and take a left. He’s the one with the gun, so I do as I am told. A left takes me deeper into the projects. I am told to drive down a mud strip in the middle of the block. I drive up to a building and am told to stop. I am told to pop the trunk. I have run into my first problem. I drive a convertible and the motor must be turned off to pop the trunk. I try to tell him I need to stop the motor, he pulls the gun. I tell him the remote has the button but the motor must be off. I think he understands, I kill the motor and hit the button, the trunk clicks. He tucks the gun back in his belt and gets out. I breathe a sigh of relief, I sit and keep quiet. I hear voices behind the car, the trunk slams. A shadow walks by the door and taps the window. I roll it down and something is thrown in I hear “Get the fuck outta here.” The form disappears behind the car. I start the motor and get the fuck outta there. I u-turn and head back where I came from. I get to Broad Street and drive several blocks. I pull over the search for what is hopefully a key. I find a key with the number 46 engraved on it. I head toward the bus terminal on Tulane Avenue. The place is nearly deserted this time of night. I find the pay lockers in a corner of the building and search for number 46. I hope when I open the locker it doesn’t go boom. I look around, only two other people in the place and they are both sleeping on benches. I open the locker. Inside is a duffel bag similar to the one I had just given up. I peek in the bag. Lots of paper which in the dark I assume is money. Can’t check here; I head for the car, pop the trunk and toss the bag in, then drive home.