* * *
CHAPTER 26
“It’s raining so hard the dogs can drink standing up,” Ritmo quipped. He was in a good mood. It was late afternoon and had been raining all day. I dropped in The Gallop for the first time since I made the buy from Dubroc and Tanzini. I knew that if the deal with Frank Duplessis concluded the next day, this could be my last trip to the place.
“What’s cooking, Ritmo?”
“I’ve got something to show you,” he beamed. He hurriedly wiped his hands on a bar towel and took me through the rear door of the club. A sheet of water fell from the small overhang above the back door. Parked a few feet away was a brand new, wine-colored Mercedes-Benz coupe. “I’ve gotta build a carport back here for it. Nice wheels, huh Tony?”
“Yeah. Beautiful.”
“I’ve got you to thank for it.”
Ritmo had used his share of the money from the bank securities as a down payment on the car. The color of the vehicle seemed appropriate since it was literally bought with blood money. The car purchase meant that some, if not all of Uncle Sam’s one-hundred thousand dollars in buy money had slipped through the surveillance.
“I’m glad for you, Ritmo. I guess Cliff bought one too.”
“Hell, no. He’s already got a big hog. Besides, he’s got too much Cajun blood in him to spend this much at one time.”
I pushed him for more information about the connection between Phil Tanzini and The Gallop. “Why didn’t you tell me about Tanzini?”
“I don’t fuck with that guy. Period. I can put two and two together, but I don’t know much about him and Cliff or what they do. I don’t wanna know.” He was lying.
“Why the dumb act?”
“Look, a few times I gave him cash envelopes from Cliff. I never looked inside.”
It became obvious that I wasn’t going to get any more out of him. I changed the subject. “Where is Cheri’s day job? I need to talk to her.”
Ritmo perked up. “Come on, I’ll take you for a ride in the Benz, we’ll go there.” We finished a drink together, then climbed into his new car. He drove downtown and parked directly in front of a small office building that spelled out Mouton Insurance Agency in gold lettering on the plate glass window. Inside, a well-dressed receptionist sat behind a long desk. Before I could ask for Cheri I heard small steps clacking towards me on the hard terrazzo floor. Cheri was dressed in a tight navy skirt and white blouse, with attractive but inexpensive jewelry around her neck. She also wore a big smile.
“Did you get lost, Cher?”
“Maybe so. Guess I’m in the wrong place.” I turned my back to her and took a step toward the door. She grabbed me by the arm. “Okay, okay. Two can tease. Would you like a soda?”
“Sure.”
I followed her into the small break room and sat down. She got two soda cans from a small refrigerator and sat down next to me. “I can take my break now, but I only have a few minutes. I’m glad you came by, but why didn’t you let me know you were back before now?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So I heard.”
“Heard? Heard what?”
“Never mind.”
“How about dinner tonight?”
Her smile widened for a moment, then she got a sour look on her face. “I can’t. It’s Friday night, I’m working.”
“No you’re not. I fixed it with Ritmo. I’ll pick you up at eight. The smile returned, and she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. She scribbled her address on an insurance agency note pad and jumped up from her chair.
“I’ll be ready,” she said. “Can you find your way out?”
I joined Ritmo, who was still admiring the new car from his position behind the steering wheel. He headed back to the club and said, “Cliff’s been asking for you. Are you coming back tonight?”
“Maybe.”
I listened to the news from the radio on the night table in my room. A large turnout was expected for the Louisiana primary elections the following day. I thought about the date with Cheri. I probably wouldn’t see her again after that night. I was near the end of the investigation in Lafayette, so it was harmless to socialize with her now, at least as far as the case was concerned. But, any intimacy with her was cheating on Gina. Or was it? After all, I had been literally thrown out of my house. The ink wasn’t yet dry on the divorce petition Gina filed against me. I was still married, but only by means of legal technicality.
I easily found the small rental cottage located on a tree-lined street in the city. When I arrived, the screen door swung open and Cheri turned to the little girl with the blonde ringlets who was held by the babysitter. She blew a kiss and said, “Be good, Monique. Go to sleep when it’s time.” She skipped to the car and let herself in. Before I could restart the engine she put her hand around the back of my neck and pulled me toward her. She gave me a long, deep, soul-searing kiss. I hadn’t been kissed like that for months and had forgotten how good it felt. Then she sat straight up and said, “Where to?”
We arrived at Prejean’s, one of the finest restaurants in town. I could tell she hadn’t spent much time in this kind of establishment. The lighting was subdued, and soft music drifted from the piano bar. The place was cozy and classy. We were shown to our table by a tuxedo clad maitre d’ who delivered the wine list and menu.
“Order anything you want,” I said.
“Anything?” She giggled, but ordered in French as soon as the waiter arrived.
We ate leisurely and had several glasses of wine. We held hands across the table, which was covered with a brown linen tablecloth. I told her how I respected her for holding two jobs while caring for her child, all while avoiding the traps and pitfalls associated with The Gallop and its clientele. I knew that indictments against Cliff, Ritmo, and Tanzini were being drawn up as we spoke. The Gallop would probably be padlocked within days and she wouldn’t have the second job. But I couldn’t tell her that.
“Stay with your day job, Cheri. Go back to school, at night if you have to. Get away from Ritmo and the rest of those assholes.”
“Assholes? They’re your pals, not mine. I just work there.”
She was right. It felt good knowing that she thought that way. Before I could go further with my little speech, she stopped me in my tracks. She leaned forward and said in a soft voice, “I can’t see you anymore, Tony.”
I sat back in surprise and let her continue.
“I meet a lot of guys, especially in the club. I’ve stayed away from all of them. I was making an exception for you. But I’ve been told you’re bad news and to stay away from you.”
I looked closely into her eyes and for the first time I sensed fear in them. There were still flashes of kindness and interest, but the fear came through.
“Don’t listen to Cliff and Ritmo,” I told her. “Cliff and Ritmo?” she laughed. “They love you.”
“Then who warned you?”
“Uncle Frank.”
“Uncle Frank?”
“Duplessis. The horse trainer. He’s the serious one in the family and when he speaks, we listen. He warned me, told me you’re an ex-con. I had already figured that out for myself and it didn’t bother me. Then he told me that you’re a killer.” She stopped talking and waited for a reply - a denial, a laugh, any kind of response.
I was stunned. The whole time that I had been working to gain enough confidence from Duplessis to give me the murder contract, I was befriending his niece. Any slip around her would have been disastrous in more ways than one. “He hardly knows me. What else did he tell you about me?”
“Nothing. He’s a man of few words. But he’s looked out for me since I was a teenager, when my dad died. He’s not my real uncle, he’s my parrain, my Godfather. He was my dad’s best friend.” She put her head down. “I can’t see you anymore. But I wanted us to have tonight.” She looked up at me with a question in her eyes that now brightened. She once again wanted me to spend the night with her. A one time, parting fling. But her sudden revel
ation was my way out, my way to break it off with her.
I tried to sound convincing.
“Tonight’s already history,” I told her. “I’m not good enough for a long haul but okay for a farewell fuck. I guess you come down as just another bitch along life’s path. I’m taking you home.”
We drove back to her house in silence, except for her low sobs. This innocent girl’s feelings were hurt, another casualty left in the wake of my investigation. Did she cry from the insult, or from ending a relationship that never really began? Before she went inside we kissed, this time for several minutes. Then she pushed me away and was gone.
Lyle had warned me months ago that most of the half-million Cajuns in Louisiana were related in some kind of way, if not by blood, then by marriage or social setting. I had no idea Cheri was related to any of the subjects of our investigation, much less Duplessis.
In a few days, when the arrests were made and I was far away out of the cold, she would know the truth. I wouldn’t be Tony, the low-life killer. But I would be Tony the rat, Tony the fink, Tony the fed. Tony, the guy who put the uncle who tried to protect her in the slammer. She would also know that the insults I gave her were scripted. At least, I hoped so.
* * *
CHAPTER 27
Lyle and I sat in a corner of Jean Lafitte’s. The nightclub was named for the most infamous pirate of the south Louisiana bayous and was a popular watering hole. The richly grained mahogany bar was built around a scale model of Lafitte’s pirate ship, complete with the skull and crossbones of the Jolly Roger. The cavernous place was darkly lit in keeping with the pirate motif. I told Lyle some of the conversation I had with Cheri just hours earlier. He took a large swallow from a longneck beer. “Ah, the old Coon-ass connection. I warned you about that. If I looked hard enough I might be related to Duplessis myself,” he laughed.
“Did you find Cabbage Boy’s syringe? What drug was in it?”
“We found it all right. We had the waste company tow the dumpster you described to the middle of a rice field and empty it. Then three other agents and myself picked through two tons of horse shit, handful by handful. One of our federal shit diggers was a rookie, hasn’t even been to T-school yet, just sworn in last week. His first assignment in a big-time federal case was sifting through a bin of horse shit.”
I smiled and slapped at the table. “Helluva letdown for the kid after being pumped up about his importance from the recruiting films.”
“Don’t laugh. Do you have any idea how many flies hover around two tons of horse shit? Not your average housefly, but those big, green, nasty bastards that sting – horseflies. Not to mention the smell.”
“Did you send the syringe to the lab?”
“Sure did, shipped it to Washington this morning.” Lyle looked down and said in a softer voice, “Along with the five other needles and syringes we found in the bin.”
“You mean there were six needle and syringe outfits in that bin?”
“Affirmative. That dumpster is emptied twice a week, so imagine how much of that crap is out there. And, there’s more than fifty of them on the backstretch, we only emptied one of them. Do you think some of those outfits are legitimate, throwaways from veterinarians?”
“No way. The vets collect their sharps, they don’t throw them into shit bins.” I slumped in the chair, disappointed at the news. No matter what the ATF lab found in those syringes, the evidence was useless. There was no way to single out one of the six outfits found in a large dumpster, and pin it on Cabbage Boy. No competent prosecutor would present a case on my testimony alone without credible physical evidence to corroborate. With no case on Cabbage Boy, there was no drug or race fixing case on Phil Tanzini. And of course, linking Luke Trombatore was a total pipe dream.
Our attention turned to the matter at hand, and Lyle gave me the background on Duplessis’ intended victims. Antoine Broussard was the largest cattle rancher in the area. He lived in the mansion-styled home in Crowley, but owned hundreds of acres of cattle land and rice fields. More important to his source of wealth were the oil and gas leases on his land, a lucrative commodity in southwest Louisiana. Broussard was on the board of directors of a local bank, owned majority interest in a supermarket, and was well respected in the community. He was a civic-minded poll inspector, was chairman of the Democratic party for Acadia Parish, and a member of the state central committee of that party. He was a widower whose daughter was a student at LSU, attending a summer study program in Europe.
Danielle Duplessis had been a faithful wife to Frank for over twenty years. She had taught elementary school in their early years together but gave it up at Frank’s insistence. They had no children, and she had put all her effort into caring for him and their home. She had lived a quiet life except for the occasional beatings administered by her husband. Despite the abuse, she had never left him. But one night several months earlier, she seized the opportunity when he threw her clothes into the front yard of their house in a fit of rage. She moved in with her elderly parents, and shortly afterward began dating Broussard. They had been sweethearts in high school but eventually married other people. The relationship rekindled after Broussard learned of Danielle’s separation from Frank. She had recently updated her teaching certificate and was set to begin a new life. Like Antoine Broussard, Danielle had no idea of Frank’s scheme.
I told Lyle of my plan to convince Duplessis at our meeting the following night that I had carried out his murder contract. “The sheriff in Acadia Parish is a standup guy, right?” I asked.
“That’s right. Elton Arceneaux has been sheriff for a long time and we’ve worked closely with him for years. We’ve never detected corruption in his department. The same goes for the District Attorney’s office.”
“Longtime sheriff . . . that means he should know a man of Broussard’s stature quite well.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Good. Here’s the plan. We need a surveillance team on Broussard and Danielle all day tomorrow.”
“They’re already in place,” Lyle interrupted. “The boys in D.C. had a shit fit when they found out about Broussard’s political clout. They wanted him tailed for protection in case Frank got anxious and jumped the gun.”
“Okay, so that’s in place. Put a team on Danielle also. About an hour before my scheduled meeting with Frank, you and Sheriff Arceneaux intercept them. Explain the situation and get Broussard’s wallet, his identification, and his wristwatch. Also, get me a personal item from Danielle. Turn them over to me, and I’ll deliver them to Frank as proof I killed him and beat her up. After he pays me, you can close in.”
“I think it’ll work. The only problem may be resistance from Broussard. He’ll be a busy guy and eager to get to his party headquarters after the polls close.”
“Resistance? He’s got no choice. Put his ass in protective custody if you have to.”
“Calm down, will you? Between the sheriff and me I’m sure we can get him to cooperate.”
“What about the indictments on Cliff and the gang?”
“The grand jury handed down sealed indictments on Cliff, Ritmo, and Tanzini. We’re holding their warrants until this is over. We’ll pick them up after we bust Frank.”
Election morning was a hectic one for Antoine Broussard. He met with his precinct captains an hour before the polls opened at six o’clock. He had a balancing act to perform. He coordinated the effort to get out the Cajun vote that had been populist in nature since the days of Huey Long. He also worked as an unbiased poll inspector. He bustled to and from the various voting precincts, assuring that no problems occurred and that election laws were carried out. He did so all day long, oblivious to the ATF agents who followed his every move.
I spent part of that afternoon at The Gallop. Ritmo was still crowing about his new Mercedes Bentz and wanted my opinion on his putting spoke wire wheels on the car. “Sure, Ritmo. Why not? Then it will look like a real pimpmobile.” He sneered at me from under his off-center toupee’. At thi
s point, I really didn’t care if I insulted him or pissed him off.
“Why are you busting my balls, Tony?”
“Forget it. You said Cliff wanted to see me?”
He walked to the spot behind the bar where the buzzer to Cliff Dubroc’s office was located, and pushed the button. Within a minute, Cliff appeared in the office doorway and viewed the club in his usual manner. He wore gray pleated pants and a starched, light blue shirt. His demeanor again reminded me that he could be dropped into a college classroom and be mistaken for a lecturer on Roman civilization. I also knew that within hours he and Ritmo would be in custody and transported to a more exclusive institution, at least until he made bail.
Cliff went behind the bar and poured himself a shot of Black Jack, then leaned over toward me. “Are you interested in some more swag? If so, come back tonight,” he said.
“You know the answer to that . . . it all depends.” We had all we needed on Cliff, but I had to maintain the role and hoped to get more information on Phil Tanzini and the long-shot possibility of linking his boss, Luke Trombatore, to the securities case.
“I haven’t seen the Ice Pick lately. Is he in town or back in New Orleans?”
He laughed and looked at me from his eyes above the small glasses now set far down on the bridge of his nose.
“He’s waaaaaaaay out of town. England, I heard.”
“England?” I couldn’t hide the surprise in my voice.
“Yeah. Go figure. I guess he’s cooling out from who-knows-what.”
Ritmo joined us, and the rest of the conversation was small talk about the election. This was the last time they would know me as Tony Parrino. Before I left, I couldn’t resist a parting shot at them both. “Hey, Cliff, why don’t you get off a dime and give Ritmo a raise so he can replace that cheap fucking muskrat on his head?”
Election Tuesday...
Assassin Hunter Page 19