12 Bullets
Page 16
“No identification on the bodies. Both carried Heckler & Koch MP5D fully automatic machineguns with noise suppressors. We located thirty spent 9mm casings, Sabot accelerator rounds, and six casings from the officer’s .357 magnum.”
Allison looks at Beau. “Running gun battle and they missed you with thirty shots and you hit them with four out of six. We found one of your rounds in the truck of your magnolia tree and the other struck your brick wall on the far side of the yard. Recent FBI study of police shootings revealed only 18% of shots hit their targets.”
Jessie squeezes Beau’s hand and he says, “I missed twice?”
Captain Land growls.
I know. This ain’t funny.
“This was an assassination attempt,” Allison adds. “They had Diltalators to disarm your alarm system, glass-cutters, lock picks and high-beam flashlights. Planning an entry to assassinate you while you sleep. Didn’t expect you to be out on your deck at 3 a.m.”
He closes his notebook.
Juanita asks, “Sabot rounds?”
Jordan answer quickly, “Sabots accelerate the velocity of the bullet. Pellet encased in a plastic flechette, increases the speed of the bullet, plastic leaves no striations or marking from the barrel. Hard to match bullet to barrel.”
Allison tells Esposito he’ll contact him after the autopsies and turns to leave. Esposito waits for Beau to look at him.
“You are either the luckiest man alive or you are that shadow warrior. The Brown Ravens fired 223 shots at you.”
“And hit me in the arm.”
“You killed all of them.” Esposito gives him a cold smile. “How did the Waco Kid put it in Blazing Saddles? ‘I killed more men than Cecil B. deMille’.”
Jessie sees it doesn’t register with Jordan so she says, “de Mille. Hollywood producer. Killed a lotta people in The Ten Commandments.”
Esposito stands. “We have two blacked-out SUVs outside. Orders from Mr. Madison. You are under FBI protection.” He stretches. “I’ll contact you after the postmortem.” He thanks Jessie for the coffee.
“You need a better alarm system. Perimeter alarms on the fence, in and around the house. I’m sure Mr. Madison will help with this.”
He and Beau shakes hands and Beau says, “My alarm system worked well enough tonight. I had a coon, a cat and a blue swan stopping the wind for me. I heard them in the sudden silence.”
Jessie sees he’s serious.
CAFÉ DEGAS does not open for breakfast so it’s the perfect place. Day Manager Freddie Corona greets them at the door and lets in all twelve of them.
Lizette, in a trim lavender skirt-suit, squeezes Corona’s hand in greeting as she steps in with her husband LaStanza wearing a gray T-shirt with printing I’LL BE BACK over black jeans. He takes off the ridiculously expensive sunglasses Lizette bought him – Eidgenosse Swiss made wrap-around sunglasses with Zeiss sunlens lenses, cost $475 dollars – and tucks an arm of the glasses into the front of his T-shirt. Next comes Jessie in a sea-foam green skirt-suit – skirts of both women short but not as short as they usually wear. Beau wears a black oxford shirt over olive green tactical trousers. Juanita wears a beige blouse over a short black 511 tactical skirt. She’s followed by Hillel Jordan in a light khaki 511 tactical shirt over black 511 tactical trousers.
Big, black and bad Felicity Jones wears a blue suit today with a dark red tie. The chief operative of Mystery, Inc., and LaStanza’s best friend, more like a brother, Fel nods at everyone and tries to look mean only Jessie bumps into him on purpose and whispers, “You still doing Lizette’s mother?”
He grimaces, whispers back, “Don’t tell everybody.”
“Everybody knows.”
Thomas James Madison wears a light gray suit. Same height as Beau at 6’2”, he’s in his fifties and thicker in the torso, his gray hair short, looks freshly cut. ASAC Esposito is next with SA Allison, both in dark gray suits. They are followed by two FBI men in navy blue suits who lock the door once they are inside and stand just within.
“We put three of our largest tables together,” explains Corona as he places sheets of white paper in front of each. “Our planned breakfast menu as we’re thinking of opening early soon.”
Two young waitresses, both African-American, looking like high-schoolers in white polo shirts and black slacks, bring fresh baguettes and silver coffee pots, filling cups without asking. Glasses of ice water already sweating in the early morning humidity.
“The usual French cuisine,” Lizette says, “has been augmented with Greek dishes, Mexican food, even Italian spaghetti and ravioli.”
The taller of the two waitress points to the menu in front of Beau and says, “You can’t pass up the crawfish mini-chimichangas. Light enough for breakfast.”
“The breakfast burritos are wonderful,” says the other waitress. “Chicken or beef or pork or lamb.”
Lizette catches manager Corona’s eye. “Why don’t you let your chef try out on us. Bring us samples of everything.”
“You’re the boss.” He steps away.
“You own this place as well?” asks Jordan.
Jessie answers, “Louvier, LLC, owns it.”
They munch on the hot baguettes.
Madison gets Esposito’s attention.
“You’ve identified the men?”
Esposito nods. “No IDs on them but they brought their fingerprints.”
He looks at Allison who says, “Racconto family. Gio Castle, AKA Crusher, real name Gioachino Loreto Caltalsennitta and Otto Santo, AKA Otter, real name Ottaviano Santo Mussomeli. Both with extensive arrests including armed robbery, extortion, attempt murder and rape. No convictions.”
“Looks like the Kansas City criminal justice system is as bad as ours,” Juanita says.
“They drove a dark green Subaru to your house. It was stolen in Algiers yesterday morning.” Allison holds up his iPhone to Beau and Jessie. “Just texted you all this information.”
Madison tells them, “We picked up on this new tactic of terrorist organizations. Instead of trying to sneak their assassins into the U.S., they hire American killers. This is the first time we’ve linked a La Cosa Nostra family to a terrorist organization.”
Madison looks from Lizette to LaStanza, “We’ve been thinking of Tariq separatists as an internal French problem. Their cause is to re-establish Moorish rule in Europe. They’re a small group around Bordeaux, France. Named after the Moor general Tariq ibn-Ziyad, they wish to avenge the Moors defeat at the Battle of Tours, also known as the Battle of Poitiers, in 732 a.d.
“Beau killed their two top operatives in Paris when they tried to assassinate several international bankers, including Jessie.”
Jordan cuts in with a big smile. “And became a hero of the French Republic.”
No one finds this funny and Jordan’s chin sinks.
“Why don’t you put on your earplugs?” Juanita says and he sticks his tongue out at her.
The waitresses bring platters of mini chimichangas and breakfast burritos.
Beau points to what looks like egg foo young, asks what it is.
“Cajun egg foo young.”
Jessie asks, “So, what do we do now?”
LaStanza finally talks. “Bodyguards. That’s why I brought smiley along today.” Nodding to Fel Jones.
After another bite of delicious egg foo young with slices of Cajun boudin sausage inside, Beau pulls out his iPhone and looks at the information Allison sent, reads the names aloud again, “Gioachino The Crusher Caltalsennitta and Ottaviano The Otter Santo Mussomeli. Mispronounces them on purposes.
Beau says, “Serious fuckin’ Wop names. Gotta have a moniker in the name like Charlie Lucky Luciano, Tommy Three-Fingers-Brown Luchese and Salvatore The Bull Gravano.”
“Wop names like my name and Jessie’s,” goes LaStanza.
“What are you? Dino The Killer LaStanza?
Beau gets the expressionless stare and gives it right back, struggling to keep from smiling.
In a slow sen
tence – “It’s Dino Francis LaStanza.”
Beau notices Fel Jones grinning and goes, “What?”
“It’s Dino The Leopard LaStanza. Moniker given by his father, the retired captain. Something about a leopard being ‘pound for pound’ nature’s most efficient killing machine.”
LaStanza turns to Fel. “And what the fuck are you? Felicity I-miss-most-of-the-time-when-I-shoot-at-people Jones?
Bigger smile. “No. I’m Felicity The Lover Jones.”
Lizette’s eyes bulge and LaStanza laughs, looks at Beau and with a bad French accent goes, “And you are Le Grande Boo-Boo.”
Fel adds, “Zee Grande Boo-Boo. Celebrated on two continents.”
“Fuck you.”
Jessie snickers and Beau says, “What? Jessie Maneater Carini.”
She sticks out her tongue.
Lizette looks amused so Beau catches her eye, “How are clutchy and backy pillows doing?”
She picks up her spoon and slaps her husband’s knuckles.
“Damn!” LaStanza glares at Beau.
Getting back on the subject, Esposito says the FBI will guard Jessie and Beau until they feel the crisis is over.
“It isn’t over?” Jessie asks. No smile now.
“Hey.” Jordan points to LaStanza’s I’LL BE BACK T-shirt. “That from The Terminator?”
“Beatles song. A Hard Day’s Night album.”
“Right. Your soundtrack. The Beatles and The Blues.” He looks at Madison. “Mine’s Motown. I’ll bet yours is Neil Diamond.”
BEAU GETS THE call from the FBI Monday morning, steps into the CIU squad room to tell the Js the Wells Fargo Bank on Royal Street just reported they have the extortion money.
Juanita and Jordan jump up, Jordan asking, “How much of it?”
“All of it. Serial numbers check out.”
They head out and Beau’s iPhone goes off. He stops, tells them it’s the chief.
“Y’all get over to the bank.”
Beau answers the iPhone, “Yes, ma’am.”
“The archbishop wants to see us.”
“Now?”
“Yes. I’ll ride with you.”
He tells her about the money.
“Good. You can tell him the news.
When the chief climbs into Beau’s SUV, he asks, “Is that Chanel?”
“Yes.” Chief Féroce wears a black skirt-suit. Beau’s in all black as well. Black tactical shirt over black rip-stop trousers, black Skechers running shoes.
“Your girlfriend wears Chanel?”
“No, ma’am. A different French perfume. Désir Foncé. Dark Desire. She got it when we went to Paris.”
“The fateful trip.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I apply mine lightly. Your hawk nose works well.”
Hawk nose? Cute, Janet.
When Beau parks by the archdiocese offices, the chief says, “You always drive this slow?”
“I just didn’t run any red lights.”
Bishop Eskine waits in the lobby and leads them to the archbishop’s office where Archbishop Peeyabo rises from behind his desk to allow the chief and Beau to kiss his ring, Beau thinking – Wonder what he’d do if I bit his finger? Not hard, just a nibble.
Eskine sits in the chair next to the desk after the archbishop sits behind his desk. The chief and Beau sits across from the archbishop. Beau opens his mouth to speak and the archbishop raises a hand.
“I have something to say first,” goes the archbishop. “When Bishop Eskine explained what happened, I asked him to repeat it three times.” Peeyabo focuses on Beau. “All those officers and …”
“Your man gave the money to a dog.”
Everyone freezes except Beau who looks around, “Where is Monsignor Idiot?”
A gasp from Eskine and a lighter one from the chief.
“We recovered your money, your Excellency. And we have a good shot at catching the extortionist.” Beau turns to Chief Féroce who’s trying to keep her face expressionless. He smiles. “You shoulda seen that dog run.”
WHEN BEAU’S FINALLY rid the chief, he calls Juanita on the radio.
“What it is?”
“We’re in route to Harrah’s. The casino turned in all 5K to the bank this morning.”
The casino. Beau can’t speak. Several heart-sinking moments later he manages to tell them he’ll meet them at the casino.
The casino.
The FBI distributed the serial numbers to every bank in Louisiana and Mississippi and the extortionist got rid of the money at a casino.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” he asks aloud. “Why didn’t I think of a dog? Is this guy that much smarter than me?”
Ten minutes later, after hitting the lights and siren to get around traffic and running a couple red lights, Beau parks in the police zone just behind Juanita’s SUV. He opens his coat to show his badge to the cop and security guards as he steps away from his SUV. He spots Jordan just inside the main entrance.
“We’re in the general manager’s office upstairs.”
Juanita stands inside an office big enough for the general manager’s voice to echo as he stands behind his desk talking on the phone. The CIUs gather in front of a desk bigger than the archbishop’s in an office with a wall of windows facing the riverfront, the other wall lined with photos of New Orleans – standard issue shots of Jackson Square, the Cathedral, Audubon Park, a streetcar, a brown pelican, a stack of boiled crawfish and grinning people in Mardi Gras regalia – huge headpieces and collar pieces adorned in gaudy colors, sequins and ostrich feathers.
Beau watches the general manager of Harrah’s nod and taps the top of his desk with the phone next to his ear. The man’s maybe forty, 6’ tall, thin, wearing a silver silk suit, white shirt and dark green tie, pinkish face – doesn’t get a lot of sunlight – and slick-back salt-and-pepper hair.
He hangs up and Juanita introduces Beau.
The man’s name is Sandford Applebaum, IV and he nods to the phone.
“The bank,” he says. “We sent the $5,000 to the bank in one of our Saturday bags.”
“Someone comes in, buys 5K in chips. You get their name?”
“Nothing under 10K. We deal in millions here.”
Beau says, “I’ll bet he didn’t gamble away the money. He bought chips and cashed them in for clean cash.”
“Most likely.”
“Any way your cameras picked him up?”
“I’m certain he’s on film. We have eighty-two cameras and twenty-seven locations to purchase and cash in chips. We had over 11,000 people through the casino Saturday and 19,000 Sunday. Do you have a picture of this man?”
“Do you allow people to bring in service dogs?”
“Of course. But they have to check in first.”
Beau looks at J&J. “You two stay here. Check the videos for the border collie. We know what it looks like fat least.”
Beau passes a business card to Applebaum and thanks him.
“You’re the man from Paris, aren’t you?”
“Cannes Bruleé. Little village in Vermilion Parish got wiped out by Hurricane Rita.”
Jordan cuts in – “Yeah. He’s the one from Paris.”
Juanita shakes her head.
Applebaum tells them he’ll take them to view the surveillance videos.
On their way out of the big office, Juanita eases next to Beau, asks, “Where are you going?”
“To get drunk.” He shakes his head. “So simple. This man keeps flying under the radar.”
“He has $5,000 in clean money. You think he’ll hit up the archdiocese again?”
“When he runs outta cash.”
Beau’s iPhone vibrates and he sees it’s a text from a number he doesn’t know. Wait. It’s the archdiocese number and it’s a group text to him and the chief. He opens it, sees it’s from Archbishop Peeyabo:
You are correct. He is Monsignor Idiot. Thanks for recovering our money.
Please let me know when you catch the culprit.<
br />
“Money’s still at the bank?” He asks Juanita.
“They’re gathering it together.”
“I’ll get it.”
JESSIE’S iPHONE GOES off at six p.m. Text message from James Leopold who’s outside on the front gallery even with an FBI SUVs parked on Saint Charles.
“Incoming. You gotta see this.”
Jessie puts the muffuletta she just warmed up atop the stove while Beau spoons Friskies ocean whitefish-and-sardines shreds from a can into Stella’s food dish, the little hairy girl rubbing her nose against his hand.
Stefi comes in straight for the muffuletta.
“That’s smells great.”
Jessie blinks twice, looks at Beau before looking back at her sister.
“Did you wear that on the streetcar?”
“No.” Stefi pulls three glasses from the cabinet. “My bodyguard Stan drove me over.”
Beau thinks – No warning from Stan-the-man. The Shithead’s outside laughing his ass off.
Jessie to Stefi, “You forgot your skirt.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You can’t wear that in public.”
“Why not? You do.”
“I do not.”
“You wear black leggings with white panties under that can been seen.”
“I cover most of my panties with a long shirt and I’m not fifteen.”
“Your shirt covers your ass until you reach for something or bend over.” Stefi looks at Beau. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“My outfit?”
“I’m trying not to look below your waist.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re fifteen.”
Jessie goes, “Those aren’t leggings. That’s pantyhose.”
“It has designs.”
Stefi’s suntan pantyhose has little white rosettes.
“I can see your white panties through it.”
“That’s the point. And you’re not my mother.”
Jessie to Beau – “Can you explain about child pornography to her? Again.”
Beau shakes his head. “Child pornography means nudity or sex acts.”
“I’m fully clothed,” says Stefi.