And So it Began (Delaney Book 1)

by Owen Mullen

  ‘And you could identify these guys, no problem?’

  ‘In our sleep.’

  ‘You said there’s more of you involved. How many more?’

  ‘Around a hundred.’

  I did the math: over a million dollars a year in this neighbourhood alone. Nice. If they operated in other places, very nice indeed.

  ‘So far, you’ve paid these guys and done nothing about it, all because of something they told you about themselves that might not be true. What if it’s a con? What if the whole scam depends on you believing them?’

  Silence.

  The coarse voice at the back spoke for all of them. ‘They’re cops. Dirty, with our money.’

  I didn’t dispute it.

  ‘I’m working for you now. But there’s a condition. I call my own shots.’

  Willard said, ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means I decide how to play it.’

  He spoke to himself. ‘You’re gonna involve the police, aren’t you? We’re telling you who these bastards are and you don’t believe us.’

  ‘I’m keeping our options open, that’s all.’

  He didn’t believe me, and neither did I.

  ‘Look, I worked for fifteen years with the NOPD. I know people in there. I’ll think on it before I do anything, but right now, my gut tells me to talk to a friend or two.’

  A murmur of discontent ran around the room. I guessed I was already challenging the most important condition of my employment.

  ‘This is our lives you’re gambling with, Mister.’ Willard again, he’d taken over from his wife. ‘We’re the ones in the firing-line.’

  It was a popular view. The noise of dissension swelled in the room. I sensed rebellion. Except my position wasn’t negotiable. How could I help without enlisting help myself?

  ‘Listen! Just listen! You want me to gather evidence against these guys, and I’ll do that. My way. So, in or out?’

  In or out, Mr Delaney?

  The brusque ultimatum restored silence and the balance of power. When they’d quietened down, I approached their objections more gently. Good cop, bad cop, all in one. I wondered if Willard Bartholomew had picked up on it.

  ‘Folks, I know how serious your situation is. The last thing I want to do is endanger anyone, trust me on that, but if what you believe is true – that no one on the NOPD is clean – then that begs the question: assuming I get evidence of this felony, where do you want me to take it? Not to the police. To a judge, maybe? What makes us think we can depend on that guy?’

  ‘Internal Affairs.’

  Someone watched too much television.

  ‘They don’t call them that these days, and they’re police officers, too. Different remit, that’s all. Still cops. So, who?’

  Cilla Bartholomew called time on my little circus. ‘We take your point, Mr Delaney.’

  She spoke with an austerity I guessed she reserved for bullies and assholes.

  ‘Then, tell me what to do?’

  She stroked her sculpted nose. ‘Can we have a few minutes? We need to talk.’

  ‘Of course. Take as long as you want.’

  ‘It’s a big decision.’

  ‘I understand. It’s a big decision for me, too.’

  ‘Can you come back in please, Mr Delaney?’

  Inside, things had changed. Cilla got straight to it.

  ‘We’ve talked, and I’ll be honest with you, it was a close-run thing. Maybe if we’d banished this thing at the start, showed them we couldn’t be scared so easily, we might have got the monkey off our backs. But maybes don’t matter. We are where we are. So, we’re going with you. Do as you see fit.’

  I thanked her with a nod.

  ‘I’ve got a couple more questions before I can get started. First, do these jokers always show up on the same day?’

  Gravel Voice answered. ‘Tuesdays or Wednesdays.’

  ‘Always on a Tuesday and Wednesday?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Second, anybody see the car they drive?’

  Nobody had.

  ‘All right, starting from tomorrow, I’m working for you. As for tactics, I haven’t decided yet. It’s more important to get a look at these guys, find out who they are, and what their connection might be. For the next while, when they come around, just pay them. Don’t cause any trouble. It won’t be for too much longer.’

  They filed out. Willard Bartholomew was one of the first to leave. That told me something. His wife stood at the back, shepherding the stragglers homeward. I fell into step with her. Out on the landing, a bottleneck had built up that was gradually sorting itself out. We stood for a moment, allowing the delegation to negotiate the steep incline down the wooden stairs. The street below was wet. New Orleans was in the middle of a week of thunderstorms. From somewhere, the smell of jasmine drifted on the clean air.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Delaney.’

  ‘Thank you for your faith in me. I got the impression Willard doesn’t share it.’

  She had nothing to say to that.

  We waited in silence, then she asked her question. ‘How high do you think it goes? You said they sounded organised, that extortion’s a serious crime. Surely somebody must be protecting these bullies, don’t you think?’

  I did think. That’s what I had to find out.

  ‘Who knows?’

  She offered her hand, bowed a little and half-smiled. ‘I’m leaving with something I didn’t have when I arrived.’

  ‘Really, what’s that?’

  ‘Hope. You’ve given me hope, and I thank you for that. Though we never did discuss money, did we?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll charge you something.’

  She turned away, satisfied, stepping carefully down the rickety stairs towards the others already walking up Dauphine. I looked at my watch – 5.30 p.m. On one hand, I was back working for my old boss, helping the police chase a psycho who’d left a trail of dead children across six states. On the other, I’d taken on a case where they were the probable perps.

  Lowell watched them go and looked at me.

  ‘I know, I know. I’m supposed to be out of this. Don’t nag.’

  13

  I spotted them at once, and Willard was right; even in suits, they looked like cops. They came strolling down the street, laughing and kidding around, stopping in at one store after another to make their Wednesday collection. A few minutes later, they’d be out again, hands in pockets, following passing girls with their eyes. Whatever they were saying to each other must’ve been awful funny, because they kept smiling all the way down the street: just a couple of extortionists, happy in their work. My camera whirred and clicked, recording their good mood. It wasn’t going to last much longer.

  Both were fair-haired, one more blond than the other. He was always a half-step ahead of his partner, which told me who was the boss. But the organiser of a big-money racket? I put them down as late-twenties, probably patrol cops with no rank. Could be they’d happened on a way to earn real money and were taking it. No operation. No Mr Big – nothing like that – just rogues on the make.

  They passed me, and I let them go, still clowning and joking. They were tall, and I had the impression of hours spent working out. One of them carried a training-bag with Nike on the side. Easy to appreciate how intimidating they would seem if they showed up in your store demanding money, grinning as they emptied the register.

  I moved the car in the direction they’d come. Sixty minutes later, they were back, still laughing. They say crime doesn’t pay. Going by these guys, not only did it pay, it was a hell of a lot of fun. At one point, the junior partner looked over to where I was. For a moment, I thought he’d made me, but no, laughing-boy joined with his pal in a new hoot. These guys believed they were invincible, systematically hitting on one trader after another and having a ball.

  And that was the thing.

  They were a couple of punks having a good time. I wondered where that level of confidence came from. Not b
othered about drawing attention to themselves, yet I was watching a felony in progress. How come? Could they really be that dumb?

  Of course they could. They’d probably smoked a joint or two before starting out and were still getting the benefits.

  Their last stop was a hardware shop. They were inside about three minutes. When they left, a man in overalls followed them to the door and watched them go. I didn’t recognise him; he was one of the faceless people I was representing. His hair was pulled back, his expression was grim. He stood, hands on hips, spat on the sidewalk and went back in. He didn’t know I was there. Even if he had, what difference would it have made? Another two hundred bucks had just said goodbye.

  When they made a left, I got out and followed them. Further on, they stopped at a muddy-brown ’04 Ford. They weren’t spending the money on wheels. I ducked into a doorway as they rolled by and got the licence plate.

  Before the day was out, I’d know who they were.

  ‘So, what do you need?’ Fitzpatrick’s mouth might have been programmed.

  ‘Just the ID.’

  ‘All right. Two hours.’

  I went back to the office to wait. My dog was there, and he needed a walk. After a promenade around Jackson Square, we settled down. I took a look at the Word Jumble, though to tell the truth, my heart wasn’t in it, so I stared at the walls instead. I may even have dozed off. Suddenly, there was a noise outside. Lowell’s ears went back. He growled; never a good sign. My first thought was Boutte. I opened the drawer as quietly as I could, took out the gun and crept towards my door. Surely those two apes hadn’t followed me here? I must be slipping. The click of the hammer cocking was loud as thunder. In one continuous movement, I turned the handle and pulled back the door.

  Nobody. But Lowell had growled.

  ‘You’re losing it, buddy. He’s probably a thousand miles away by now.’

  The gun went back in the drawer, Lowell went back to his basket, and I went back to waiting, the excitement over for now.

  Danny called. ‘Name’s Ryan Hill. Two-seventy-two Madeleine.’

  ‘Thanks, Fitz. Ever heard of this guy?’

  ‘I haven’t, no, but it’s funny you should ask.’

  I beat him to it. ‘Because he’s a cop.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Which district?’

  ‘Fifth.’

  ‘Thanks, buddy.’

  Because of Fitz, I now knew who the guy was, where he lived and what district he worked out of. Cal’s district. He’d know these guys.

  They were already on their way to jail.

  14

  ‘I don’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it.’

  ‘It’s true. Wish it wasn’t, but it is.’

  ‘Tell me again from the start.’

  It was three o’clock in the morning, and the air was warm. We were sitting beneath the green and white awning of Cafe Du Monde on Decatur, just us and a handful of people with nowhere to go killing time until the sun came up. Not far away, the Mississippi rolled in darkness to the Gulf, and in the black sky a lonesome night heron called to his mate. I took a sip from my café-au-lait; the chicory softened the harshness of the bean, adding an almost chocolate flavour: comforting. And tonight, I needed comfort. What I had to tell Cal Moreland wasn’t easy.

  He listened without interrupting as I explained how the traders’ delegation had come to me and their feelings about talking to the police. While I spoke, I watched him clench and unclench his fists, the colour draining from his face leaving it pale under the lights. When I finished, he said, ‘And this has been going on how long?’

  ‘A couple of months.’

  Cal exhaled so hard it was more like a snort. His hands gripped the edge of the table. ‘We’re talking real money here, Delaney. Real money.’

  He absently shredded a paper napkin, reacting exactly as I’d thought he would: disbelief, anger and shame in a predictable procession. His face was ravaged by lack of sleep: the corners of his eyes were marked, and the skin on his forehead was dry, flaking. He looked like a guy working too hard, worrying too much. I needed his help even more than Danny’s, because he was an insider. He could get closer than I ever could. I wasn’t using him: he wanted in.

  In or out?

  ‘Fuck!’ He swore quietly and viciously to himself; the coffee cup trembled in his hands when he lifted it to his mouth. I’d never seen him so angry.

  ‘Scum-sucking bastards. What do you need?’

  ‘Complete discretion. Anything else puts my clients in danger. They don’t want the police. “No police, we don’t trust them.” Their exact words.’

  ‘Who can blame them?’

  ‘The only ones who know what’s going on are the clients, me, and now you.’

  ‘And the perps.’

  ‘To answer your question about what I want. Two things: the name of the other guy and a quick end to the extortion.’

  ‘First one’s easy. You’ll know who he is later today.’

  ‘Good. After that, we need a plan. They do their rounds Tuesdays and Wednesdays. I want to be ready to strike.’

  I could tell what Cal was thinking. ‘You’ll be there?’

  ‘Wild horses,’ he said. ‘It’s gotta be.’

  We toyed with our coffee in silence for a while until Cal broke it.

  ‘This is bad, Delaney, really bad. We don’t need this shit.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  The frustration and disappointment bubbling inside him surfaced. ‘You’re out of it. Fuckers like these do more damage to their fellow-officers than anybody else. Yeah, even the victims. We have to work on after it all dies down, except it never does, not for us. No one wants to talk to us, help us. We become the enemy. People think it’s legitimate to feel that way because of rotten cops like these two.’

  He was wrong. I knew what it was like to be distrusted because you had a badge.

  Cal wasn’t finished.

  ‘Let me tell you what you don’t know. We’d been called to assist at a scene where some Caucasian crackhead had gone crazy, taking his wife and child hostage in his flat. Nobody could get near the guy. He warned us he was going to waste both of them. We waited for hours trying to talk him down.

  ‘There was something about that night. It had been a beautiful autumn day, crisp and clear with blue skies. A good-to-be-alive day. Winter was coming and that was okay. It meant Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year and on to Mardi Gras. It was easy to be optimistic.’

  He told his tale, and I watched him, noticing for the first time how old he looked. Everybody gets older; with my friend, it seemed to have happened right before my eyes at three-twenty-five a.m. in an all-night diner, the only witnesses me and two cups of cold coffee.

  ‘Anyway, the situation was critical, heading for only one outcome. By this time, a big crowd had gathered out in the street. We heard a single gunshot. Me and two other officers crept along the balcony, shot the door out and dived into the house. I’d never been so scared in all my life. It looked like Beirut in there: clothes, food, toys everywhere – and the smell.’

  Cal screwed up his face.

  ‘The body of the mother lay in the hall. She’d caught a bullet in the back trying to get to the door. The guy was screaming at us to get out, get away, waving his piece around, showering us with crazy talk about what we were making him do, all the time hugging a baby close to him. I didn’t stop to think it out. I shot him and raced forward. The gun fell from his hand, and he went down in slow-motion. I scooped the kid out of his arms before he hit the floor, dead. Then other officers appeared. The whole thing was a dream. I left the flat carrying the child in one arm. Didn’t even know I was still holding my gun in the other. In the street, a woman officer took the baby. I realised I still hadn’t holstered the gun. The beautiful day had turned into a night of flashing blue lights, loud noise and the sound of my heart exploding out of my chest.

  ‘The crowd knew what had gone down and
parted to let me get to my car. A black guy stepped in front of me. To tell the truth, my head was someplace else. I never even saw him coming. He looked at me for a couple of seconds, gathered spit in his mouth and fired it at me. It fell short. Some of it landed on my shoe. Nobody said or did anything. He walked away, and they let him go. The adrenaline pumping through me stopped. I was cold. I wanted to cry.’

  Recounting the incident added more years. His eyes glazed over. For a moment, I thought he was going to break down. Instead, he got a hold on himself and locked his eyes on mine, asking me to understand. I did. He’d just risked his life to save a child, yet was still despised. Still the one on the other side.

  ‘I lost something of myself that night. And I never found it again. Don’t expect I ever will. You learn to live without it, make some adjustments.’

  ‘Pick yourself up, brush yourself down?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  I knew guys who’d lost their soul trying to shore up the breaking dam. My surprise was that the confident, exuberant friend of my imagining had become a casualty, as much as the woman on the floor of the grubby flat with a bloody hole in her back.

  ‘These punks can’t be allowed to exist. The job’s already too hard. Whatever you’re planning, include me in.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that, but it’s good to hear.’

  I smiled. He smiled too.

  ‘Okay. When do we move? I aim to put an end to this thing.’

  ‘Wednesday. Let them get comfortable, get in their groove, then we hit. Catch them in the act. Eye-witnesses, evidence, the whole nine yards.’

  ‘Expect my call as soon as I’ve identified the other guy.’

  ‘Fine. Only a slip on our part can let these guys get away. Talk to nobody. Nobody.’

  I sounded like a paranoid asshole.

  ‘“No police, we don’t trust them,”’ he said, quoting what I’d told him, grinning without humour.