Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel

by E. J. Findorff

  Vince was a solid-framed Italian and ruggedly so, not lacking in confidence. He had the bad-boy stubble and large hooked nose. His black T-shirt fit over a well distributed layer of fat on muscle, telling her that he was cock-strong. There were many like him in Manchac. He probably was a wealth of information, but she remembered the warnings about avoiding him

  “I did pretty good,” she said noncommittally.

  “You’re straight from the bayou aren’t you? We used to have a girl here with that Cajun accent. I dig that accent.”

  She pointed at the door. “I’m going to go.”

  Vince stopped her, but gently. “Let’s get a drink. I get off in fifteen.”

  “I’m not supposed to see you socially.”

  “What, are we in friggin’ Nazi Germany?”

  Cozy paused. She couldn’t help a grin. “I have to go to the Moon Walk.”

  “This late?”

  “It’s something I’ve been meaning to do. It’s personal.”

  “You can’t go alone. That place is deserted at night and it attracts creeps who’d love to get a hold of chick like you.”

  “I can take care of myself. Been doing it my whole life.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “So, I’m going.”

  “To the Moon Walk.” He stepped aside.

  “To the Moon Walk.” She gave him a second glance while straightening her Saints cap.

  Dressed in jeans, ratty K-Swiss, and a plain T-shirt, Cozy zipped through pockets of die-hard tourists under a near full moon until hitting St. Peter Street. She acquired a Lucky Dog on the corner, and devoured it while heading toward the river. The Jackson Square psychics and performers would be setting up for morning in a couple of hours. Stragglers and other service industry workers meandered in front of the St. Louis Cathedral. Cozy made it point to avoid cops or look anyone in the eyes.

  Once over Decatur, she journeyed around the side of the vacant stadium steps used for talented public performers and followed the sidewalk to the pay parking lot. A few feet further brought her to the decorative sign commemorating the Moon Walk, named for the ex-Mayor Moon Landrieu.

  The Moon Walk was deserted like Vince had said, not a soul in sight. The Crescent City Connection hung over the Mississippi with red and white lights flashing between beams. With clenched fists, she found the steps leading into the murky depths of the Mississippi, the place where the locals toss the ashes of loved ones at the end of the St. Anne’s Parade during Mardi Gras. Did that make it ironic or just appropriate that her sister ended up here? The black water moved with impossible momentum, shimmering and bubbling against the banks, just as Haley must have.

  “Quite a view,” a deep male voice said.

  Cozy turned as if a cold beer had been placed on her back. “Oh, God. Vince. You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Sorry.” His beefy hands came up in surrender, however, one held a bottle of Jack Daniels. “Right when you left, Tabitha let me off, so I lifted this bottle and tried to catch up. I’ll admit I did follow you for a few minutes ’cause you got one hell of an ass on you.”

  She faced the river as Vince warmed to her side, offering the bottle. His body seemed to take up the entire walkway. Already in a fuzz from the Tequila, she took a stiff belt from the bottle and handed it back. The pier felt like a cliff, high up over a gorge and she was just inches from falling. All it would take was a push… a tap. She wrapped her arms around her body, despite the warm night air.

  “Yep, nice view.”

  “This is what was so important you had to do? I don’t get it.” His fingers brushed her hair over her shoulder.

  “My Momma took me here when I was a little girl. I promised myself I’d come back and see it in her memory. After tonight, I was feeling particularly low and I wanted her with me in spirit. Now was the time.”

  “That’s deep. You know, this is right where that dancer’s body was found.”

  “Oh, yeah?” For the first time, Cozy thought her voice sounded different… like a woman’s. “What you know about that?”

  He took a pull from the bottle and passed it on. “I know she must have done something wrong to end up there.”

  “Why does it have to be her fault?”

  “Oh, no. I just mean being in the wrong place at the wrong time can be doing the wrong thing. I don’t mean she deserved it.”

  She carefully kept her face neutral. “I guess.”

  “Bodies turn up all the time. It’s so easy to do… Dump a body in the river.”

  “I was told about you and Haley.” She slipped her hand inside her jeans pocket to feel the end of the switchblade.

  “Let’s not talk about her.” Vince put his arm around her shoulder. His nose inhaled the scent of her hair and he pecked her cheek.

  “Vince. I can’t.”

  He turned Cozy to face him. “This is a romantic place, isn’t it?”

  “At the right time… With the right person.”

  “What? Something wrong with me? C’mon, you’re a stripper.”

  “So, that makes me easy?”

  “Easier, maybe.” He winked, showing his dimples.

  “Funny, asshole.”

  Vince stared at her with the same dead eyes see had seen on Tray the day she confronted him about the rape; the same eyes of her father as he stumbled through the house looking for Haley. She imagined jumping into the water, letting the current take her away without a fight. That, or bashing the bottle over his head.

  She pushed his arms away from her body. “Vince, I just swallowed and threw up the load of our special VIP and then replenished with Tequila and a Lucky Dog. You don’t want to kiss me and I don’t want to kiss you. At least not right now.”

  “When you put it that way.”

  She rested her hand on his shoulder, taking control. “Look, let’s go sit on that bench over there and talk and drink a bit.”

  Vince lit up. “Talk? What a novel idea.”

  They sat about a foot apart, each taking a swallow from the bottle. Despite this adventure, as Tabitha put it, she wouldn’t be around long enough for Vince to become abusive. He had that cat and the canary stare. If his forehead was a movie screen, it would be playing the two of them having sex. He took large drinks, completing each with some Italian phrase - Il buon volte roll - and a smile.

  Cozy copied him, phonetically repeating his phrase. “What does that mean?”

  “Let the good times roll.”

  “Ah, the Italian version. That’s cool.”

  “I forgot how nice it is out here.”

  She decided to push a little bit, see what reaction she could get. “It’s kind of creepy to know that girl was right over there… Having worked at the same place as us.”

  Vince played with the cap on the bottle, screwing it on and off. “Yeah. Nobody wants to talk about it at the club. Like it’s a jinx or something.”

  “Have the police been around asking questions? I’m not exactly good with them.”

  “No. Haley was what you might call an independent.”

  “So, there are no records of her working?”

  “Ray told us not to lie about it if asked, but not to volunteer anything, either.”

  “Tabitha said you dated her.”

  “Yeah, but we broke up like a year ago. When Ray started having her do the private parties, he didn’t want her with me and I understand that. It’s a business. Oops. Just burped up Jack. I think we need another bottle.”

  “Private parties?”

  “Yeah, big parties with political types. Just an excuse to have sex.” Vince inspected the remaining inch of whiskey in the moonlight. “What kind of trouble you in with the cops?”

  “Petty shit. I’m sure I’m on surveillance shoplifting and stuff like that. I’m broke. The cops chased me down Pirate’s Alley after I stole a beignet off a woman’s plate.”

  “That’s hysterical. You probably gave that woman a story to tell for the rest of her life. If you’re worried abo
ut cops, you should be aware that some come into Molly’s when they’re off- duty.”

  “I’m more or less in disguise at that point.”

  “True, dat.”

  “So, how do I get Ray to invite me to these parties? I need the cash.”

  “You blow me first, then I recommend you to Ray.” His cheeks inflated with a grin.

  “Right. I was warned about you.”

  He laughed. “I figured. But, I guess you like to live dangerously.”

  “Up to a point, Vince. Up to a point.” Cozy started to feel warm, but still in control. She waited until he spoke again.

  “Tabby’s protective of her girls. What’d she tell you about me?”

  “Something about you making one quit.”

  “Ms. Wheelhouse has a way with words, but it’s not always the truth. Sometimes that shit is two-sided. It takes two to tango, you get me? That dead Cajun chick…” He pointed at the river. “…She liked to argue and knew how to push my buttons.”

  “She asked for it, is that what you’re saying?” Cozy jerked away involuntarily. She didn’t want to give too much away, but at the same time she could feel her face blanching as the blood drained away in horror. Could he have done it? Could it be that simple?

  “No.” Vince let out a defeated breath. “Did I set out to hit her? Was it premeditated? No, of course not, but in the heat of it…” He clenched his fists up near his chest like he was belting out a song. “…In the moment, when words are flying back and forth… Hurtful words… It happened. That bitch said some things she shouldn’t have.”

  She recovered quickly, shrugging and looking into the black water. “Like some bitches do.”

  “You get it.” He slurred a bit. “I did like her, though. But, she could be mean, too. That is the honest truth.”

  “We are who we are, right?” Cozy asked.

  “Right. And we all regret something.”

  “What do you regret, Vince?”

  “Things.” His head dipped.

  Cozy thought he was right at the drunk-honesty threshold. “Are you sorry you hit women?”

  “Not women… wo-man. Just the one. Because she had a mouth. And yes, I’m sorry she made me hit her.”

  Bastard. “Did you kill that girl?” Her voice stayed light, teasing.

  “Like I’d tell you if I did. Am I sitting on the magical confession bench here?” A moment passed and then he laughed, building to a cackle. “No, I didn’t. Fuck, no. I can tell you some things, though. I can tell you just what she was into.”

  “I wish you would, because you’re two for two with scaring the shit out of me.”

  “Get real, Keri. We don’t work in no office with cubicles, making investments and crunching numbers before going home to a family and two-car garage. We’re types.”

  “Types? Like I’m a slut and you’re a bad-ass?”

  “We’re not nuns and priests.” He cackled.

  Cozy closed her eyes instead of joining Vince in his laughter. Vince could have killed Haley, but her instincts said not. Still, he had information she needed. For a flash of a moment she envisioned stabbing and pushing him in the river, but instead she quickly stood up. “Listen, I got in with an old guy for a place to stay because I had no other choice. Now, I can get a hotel room until I make rent money. You want to walk with me to get my shit?”

  “As long as I don’t have to walk a straight line, I’m with you. And you don’t need no hotel. You can stay at my place.”

  “Bad idea, Vince.”

  “Sleep on my sofa.” He belched and blew it out. “Crappity-crap-crap. That Jack just hit me.”

  “And the next thing you know, I’ll have a black eye.”

  Vince spun to face away from her. He head dipped below his shoulders. “Fuck.”

  “What, Vince?” Cozy circled to face him again.

  His cheeks were wet. “I can’t believe I hit her.” He wiped his eyes. “I hit a woman. My mom would disown me.”

  Cozy took him by the wrist and led him across a set of old streetcar tracks and back onto Decatur. He didn’t know how close he’d come to floating in the same spot as Haley.

  #

  The couple entered Sal’s dark, stale apartment in silence. Voices moved in a low bubble, but Cozy realized from the vibrating glow that it was the television. Sal didn’t percolate, so he must have been in the middle of his two hours of sleep.

  She was careful not to bump anything as she collected her possessions. Not a significant sound was made, but Sal’s radar was on. He stirred.

  “That you, Cozy?”

  “Cozy?” Vince asked, “Where do I know that name?”

  Shit, another stupid mistake. “I gave him a fake name. Just go with it.”

  “I swear I’ve heard that name before. Wait a friggin’ second. Haley’s sister was named Cozy!” Vince grabbed her by both arms, almost pulling her off the floor. Her biceps screamed with pain.

  Her knee shot into his groin. “Let me go.”

  “I’m getting my gun, you bastard.” Sal’s body shook with urgency.

  Vince pushed Cozy down. She landed on her knees on the floor while Vince checked to see what Sal was doing. “I came with the lying bitch, old man. I didn’t force my way in.”

  “Get the fuck out of my house.” Sal pointed a shaky gun at him. “I used to be a cop.”

  Vince laughed as he rushed Sal, knocking him to the ground. He slurred while sweeping his foot across the old man’s butt. “Don’t ever point a gun at me.”

  “Cozy, what’s going on?” Sal questioned.

  “What’r you doing with her, old man?” Vince knelt down and grabbed the collar of the pajamas. His fist reared back, but paused when Sal raised the gun to Vince’s nose and pulled the trigger.

  Vince’s head exploded and his limbs went stiff as he fell sideways off of Sal. She expected some kind of animated recoil from Sal, but like Vince, he wasn’t moving. With a gasp as if she had come back to life, she jumped to Sal’s side, but his mouth was open and his eyes were glassy. Did he have a heart attack or an aneurism? A stroke? She knew those blue pills fucked with blood pressure.

  “Oh, Sal. I’m sorry.” She inhaled until her lungs filled and ached.

  Her time as a free woman grew short, but she balled her fists hard, remembering that the situation was still hers to control. His neighbors had to have heard the shot, but hopefully just rolled over, thinking it a dream. The burner cell Sal had mentioned sat near the lamp on the end table. She pocketed it, already having the number, and then ran a rag over the bathroom faucets, reminding her of the Titus clean up. Her analytical approached scared her. All the death she had experienced in her life had left her desensitized. She couldn’t worry about her prints anywhere else, as an immediate exit was mandatory.

  Chapter 24

  Dobson’s call jolted me awake at 5:30 this morning. “Yeah?” I croaked into my cell. My dry mouth barely worked.

  “You got a homicide in the Quarter.” Dobson sounded sprite.

  “A second case? Great.”

  “Nope. It’s related to the Robicheaux case. Got a pen?”

  I rushed to the address where a uniform stood guard at the door. He let me in where I met the CSU team already in action. Salvador Santiago had killed an intruder, or so it seemed. At six in the morning, the tenacious Forensics team worked nearby as I flipped through four pictures of Cozy printed from one of those home printers. Her breasts were on display, as if exploited by someone in the flesh trade. Her name and date were scribbled on the back. Were these two deaths unrelated to the pictures? I put the photos down and stood by the bodies.

  Tara had told me to start without her, but her raspy voice and delayed responses told me she might’ve had a date last night, tied one on and gotten to bed very late. Good for her, she deserved it. Actually, I imagined the guy to still be with her.

  Dr. Jerry had pulled out the wallet of the gunshot victim, one Vincent Dean. I reenacted the scene in my head, considering there was n
o sign of break-in.

  “Did Mr. Santiago open the door for Mr. Dean?” I mused, thinking aloud, but internalized my thoughts when Dr. Jerry glanced at me. The old man used to be a cop, so they could have known each other. But he sported a Molly’s Girls shirt, which could have been bought as a souvenir, but he’s big enough to be one of their bouncers. Would he be stupid enough to try to rob someone’s house while identifying where he worked on his shirt? Or, old Salvador could have been a patron and Vincent walked him home. They argue, and Mr. Santiago gets in a scuffle he has no chance of winning. When Vince thought the old guy was out of commission, he got shot and the neighbor called the police.

  I paced around the room, taking it all in.

  Another scenario – Cozy tracked her sister to Molly’s Girls, which was ground zero for the trafficking ring.

  I walked the possible path they took, stopping by the recliner where Sal pulled the gun from the open drawer. Vince probably thought he could move quicker than Sal and that was a fatal mistake. Santiago shot him point blank, but what caused the old man’s death?

  “Looks like cardiac arrest.” Dr. Jerry looked up at me from his knees. “He was old. Went quick.”

  “He shot him and then had a heart attack,” I said, dismissing Cozy for a moment.

  “Seems that way.”

  Seems would translate into allegedly in court of law. I hated that.

  The spare bedroom looked to be used for storage and the occasional sleepover, due to the mattress and blankets on the floor. However the dust on the boxes and furniture had been disturbed. Mr. Santiago had a recent guest—either Cozy or Vincent. The Viagra on the coffee table came to mind and the pictures of Cozy would indicate that Sal wasn’t homosexual. My biggest question was if the crime scene had been staged by Cozy, or if she ran after the scene transpired.

  I rejoined the crew and put on a pair of latex gloves. “Jerry, can I get into his cell?”

  He glanced at my gloved hands like an afterthought. “Go ahead.”

  The cell sat atop his wallet, a thick leather tri-fold deal. A cell phone contained more info than a wallet ever could. The Samsung Galaxy came to life without needing a password. I checked his recent call history, but the last call was outgoing to his mother at two in the afternoon yesterday for forty-three minutes… a momma’s boy. The picture gallery contained many photos of women, some I would guess to be strippers, but some were just headshots. I scrolled through, stopping at the sixth girl – there she was. Haley Robicheaux.