by Harper, Chap
“You only have two tits. Did you know that?”
“I must have miscounted,” she laughed. “Will I have time tonight to count your balls? I’m hoping for three.”
“You have all night!”
Chapter Nine
The only redeeming quality Spider Gambini found with Stick Hennessey was they had interlocking sex organs. It was unlikely they even kissed during the activity. Once this convenient pairing was over, she sent him on his way. Stick left with a smile on his face, and Angel, still undressed with her feet propped over an arm chair, smoked a long, brown, skinny cigar and longed for a likable lover.
She had liked Richie—no, she had loved Richie. They were parents of a son but didn’t have more kids because of his affairs. She confronted him, and they had violent arguments—physical arguments which produced no clear winners. Fed up with his less-than-discreet affair with one of the Asian hookers at the massage parlor, Spider moved out of their house. Most people thought that she ordered the hit on Richie, but that wasn’t the case. Richie had moved some of his dealers into a parish controlled by a weak underboss who had experienced infighting with his people. Richie thought he had taken over, but a bullet in the back of his skull proved otherwise. The fall-out wasn’t pretty. He was connected to several families, and almost all of them believed Spider was involved, and there was talk of a contract on her. She waved good-bye to the Big Easy about three years ago and headed to the wilds of Arkansas. New Orleans had not recovered much from Katrina and it was apparent it might never be the same. Later, the truth came out when the underboss admitted that Spider had nothing to do with the killing. The word finally got back to Richie’s family and they actually called Angel to say they were sorry to have blamed her. It all came too late to get rid of a nickname and too late to recall all of the money she had invested in Hot Springs.
Since she spent most summers in Hot Springs and usually a trip during the horse racing season, it seemed like a second home. LSU and the Saints were her favorites even in the land of the Razorbacks and Dallas Cowboys. She would always be torn between the two cities, but couldn’t believe her luck at starting her businesses in Arkansas. If just a few more things would go right, there would then be respect from the other bosses. Spider dreamed of sitting at the big table at Salvatore’s with all the other family heads as they listened with great interest to her success.
She had received a text from Lauren that Jody wanted to sell, and the price was better than she had hoped for. Now she had to put the ownership in the name of someone who didn’t have an Italian last name and had a spotless record so the liquor license transfer would go smoothly. Maybe Stick—maybe not—maybe there was no one else.
Angel Gambini missed her son. She called him every week now that he would accept her calls. After his dad died, he suspected his mother’s involvement and refused to speak to her for almost a year. He later learned she had nothing to do with the hit and warmed back up to his mom. She dialed the number of his cell. While the phone rang, she wondered what he would do for a living. Maybe she would let him have some of her business in Arkansas. He was only fifteen, so there were a few years to decide anything. Maybe he would make his own connections in New York City. Many of the crime bosses in New Orleans learned their trade in the Big Apple. She hoped his memories of Arkansas would sway his decision, and he would come to Hot Springs and bypass the mob.
“Hello, Mom. How are you?”
“Oh, Frankie, it’s so good to hear your voice.”
“You, too.”
“Tell me about your love life. Who’s the lucky girl this week?”
“Like I’m goin’ ta tell you that.”
“Have you thought any more about coming to New Orleans for Thanksgiving?”
“Mom, will you feel safe there? There may be some that don’t believe you didn’t help in Dad’s murder,” Frankie said.
“If they’re going to do anything to me, Hot Springs isn’t an insurmountable distance for them to drive. We can stay with my parents and things will be fine. Even Richie’s parents want to see us. My mother makes great oyster dressing and everything you like for dessert. You do remember her Key lime pie?” Angel said, a little shy of begging.
“Okay. It sounds fun, and I need to catch up with my friends there. Are you still coming out to visit next month?”
“Oh, yes. I have the tickets already. Make me a wish list on Amazon, and I’ll pick one or two of them for your birthday. Let’s see: it’s sometime in the first week of October…I’ll look it up.”
“Mother, you’re so humorous. Call me next week. Love you.”
“Love you too, Frankie,” Angel said as she wiped her eyes.
She thought about turning all her businesses over to something legitimate. What if she went to prison—what would happen to Frankie? If she had everything in someone else’s name, maybe that would help. New Orleans was the home of some of her other businesses that she and Richie had operated. Some she sold to come to Hot Springs, but she kept her massage parlors so she could move the girls around when there was a raid or when business was better in other areas. During racing season, many girls were added to her stables in the Spa City. She was so damn good at what she did and had no idea what kind of legitimate business she could run. They all seemed so boring. Then she thought about the things she liked. Mentally, she started listing them: sex, guns, money, jewelry, clothes, big houses, cool cars, spas, massages, shoes, airplanes, scuba, and boats. Boats – boats, she repeated to herself. She grabbed her phone book and looked for boat dealers. It was there, and she was upset. Someone already had the Sea Ray dealership. After reflection, Angel figured that larger boats would be too hard to move to and from Hot Springs. Real estate might be okay if she owned the properties; sales could be made without requiring a license. If she got a license, it would open up a whole new world. Maybe that would be something to check out tomorrow. She had to talk to Lauren anyway about the bait store. Soon she would quiz all her employees to find those with clean records. She didn’t hold much hope for spotless behavior.
It was early on Thursday, and Lester woke up and kissed Debi lightly on the lips, but she didn’t wake. He pulled the covers back and started kissing her breasts and down her stomach to her navel.
“Is this the way I will be awakened for the rest of my life?” Debi asked without opening her eyes.
“No, it’s the way I want to be awakened each morning for the rest of my life.”
“Can we take turns?” Debi asked.
“Sure. Look, I can cook your breakfast, and you can take a shower while I’m slaving away. I guess you have clients, so you’ll need to dress at your place. Eggs, bacon, oatmeal, toast, fruit, or pancakes?
“Lester, you can always cook my breakfast, and I can always cook yours, and I will. But we haven’t taken a shower together, and that’s what I want for breakfast.” Debi opened her eyes and pulled Lester next to her. She smiled and kissed him lightly. “Toothpaste and toothbrush? Can’t kiss you with road-kill breath.”
“They both await you in the bathroom. You go in and brush your teeth. There are about ten new toothbrushes in there, the toilet seat is down, and get the shower adjusted. Call me when you want me to join you.”
Debi appreciated the privacy. Brad would always come in and talk to her when she was drawers down in full stream. There should be some boundaries, and it appears that Lester respected them.
They took a shower together and made love again with Lester picking her up and letting her wrap her legs around him. Once they were done, they washed each other very slowly. Lester finally got that long look at Debi’s body and was amazed at how beautiful it was. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were shaped beautifully and certainly adequate. Her waist was small, and she had a perfect, flat stomach with a belly button that was set in a long concave area of the stomach that caused Lester to drool. Her long legs were smooth, tan, and beautiful all the way down to thin ankles. She was perfect, and Lester wondered how Victoria’s Secr
et modeling agency had missed signing her. They dried each other and talked about plans for the day.
Debi had to go over to her parents that night for dinner and would ask if Lester could come. Unless they had several other friends over, it should be all right. Introducing a new boyfriend at a bridge party or some special function might prove to be awkward, but Debi felt this was just family.
Debi dressed and kissed Lester as she left for her apartment. Her head was spinning. She was so excited about this relationship. Her feelings were getting to that tipping point of no return, and it was a little scary to be so exposed emotionally. The alternative was to be numb inside—she had been there and didn’t care for it. On the other hand, the mystery of having sex had been resolved, so now the work of building a relationship could begin in earnest. She would call her mom later to see if Lester could come with her for dinner tonight. There would be an uncomfortable conversation, but many of her talks with her mother required an antacid afterwards. Susan Green had a rough childhood and she reminded Debi of it every chance she got. Debi’s brother, Ray, escaped to California as soon as he was out of college and now came home only for special occasions. Debi missed her brother but kept in touch with him and his family on Facebook and by phone. He had two kids, so the grandchildren pressure wasn’t squarely on Debi’s shoulders.
Today would be busy, as she had two new clients on top of the three she picked up earlier in the week. The income was reaching the point where she could make payments to her dad and have some money left over. Things were working out, yet there was a nagging doubt about the outcome of Lester’s surgery, and it wasn’t even clear he would have it. She would call him after she talked to her mom.
Lester dressed and called the sheriff’s office to inform them he was going to Little Rock to talk to the FBI office there. One of the special investigators, Jim Webb, had some information on the infiltration and migration of crime specific to Katrina. Lester thought the FBI was great at collecting information but slow to act. He had an alternate plan to visit Cantrell Gardens which he had called earlier in the week. They had a few English roses.
Chapter Ten
Stick Hennessey had been called Stick since grade school, but his real name was Hunter. At six foot seven, he towered over everyone in school. When he played basketball at Cutter-Morningstar High School, shot blocking made him famous, but he never filled out his frame enough to play college ball. He didn’t really try, since a couple of stints in Afghanistan with the US Army took the place of higher education. On his last mission, he was wounded three times. One bullet tore through his midsection and out his lower back, barely missing his spine. Another round smashed a kneecap, and the last one landed dead center of his right hand. He filed for a service-related disability and received an award of seventy percent, giving him a little more than a thousand a month. To a twenty-year-old guy, it seemed like a lot of money, especially if he could supplement it with other work. However, most unskilled jobs such as high-paying construction work, required heavy lifting, and he found he couldn’t meet the qualifications for other unskilled positions.
But he could shoot. He could really shoot.
After he qualified at the expert level with every weapon he fired, his superiors shipped him off to a seven-week sniper course at Fort Benning, Georgia. He learned “detection by the enemy” meant a death sentence. Stick did well.
On his last mission in Afghanistan, his mountain patrol was ambushed. Two of Stick’s fellow soldiers were killed. Another died on the helicopter after he was medivaced. Stick, wounded severely and bleeding profusely, located the source of incoming fire and crawled to get in firing position. Once he found them in his scope, he killed six Taliban soldiers with six shots. After his collapse, the medics loaded him on a helicopter and started an IV. He died four times on the way to the hospital, but the crew kept bringing him back. They refused to give up on him. He was given a Silver Star for his action. He probably should have had the Medal of Honor.
The residual pain, coupled with a likely case of post-traumatic stress syndrome, caused Hunter Hennessey to struggle with civilian life. Some of his army friends had killed themselves. Stick had overdosed on pain killers, only to be saved at the last minute at a local hospital. Heavy drinking and drug abuse had led to some arrests. Because he was a war hero, all charges were reduced to misdemeanors and wiped from his record. He was going nowhere. When he answered a newspaper ad for a security guard with military experience, he was headed for serious trouble.
The S.G. Crystal facility was under construction. When Stick showed up for his interview, the front office had been framed. The sheet rock was up, but it had not been floated. A single wooden desk had been placed on the concrete floors, along with a couple of folding chairs. Behind the desk was the prettiest woman that Stick had ever seen. He quickly realized she was business—all business.
“Hunter, you have a good service record, and I like you’ve qualified with a lot of weapons. I checked your arrest record and it seemed pretty clean, but it seems you got away with some drug and alcohol arrests. You don’t need that shit—so stop it. What I need here is someone to guard this place, me, and my employees and not ask any questions. Can you do that?” Spider asked.
“Yes, ma’am! Can I ask what it pays? And I don’t know your name,” Stick said.
“My name is Angel Gambini and your pay is one thousand dollars a week. Vacation and all that shit—just ask, and I’ll see if I can do without you for a few days,” Spider said. She got up from the desk and had a bookkeeper take her chair to get Stick’s information for employment.
After working closely with Stick for a couple of years, she had periodically invited him to her condo for a drink, and seduced him so many times that he was now on call.
He wasn’t a bad-looking man, but he dressed with shirts that had the sleeves cut off in “wife beater” fashion. His face was chiseled, with a strong chin and muscular jaw, softened by bright blue eyes. Since being released from the army several years ago, it was unlikely that he had cut his hair, and that added to his shaggy appearance. However, he always took a shower before going to see Spider. He knew she wanted no part of a dirty, smelly redneck.
Stick didn’t think she was really his lover, but more like a beautiful woman with a scheduled maintenance need. Stick thought if Spider had a warranty book, he should be stamping it on each visit. Her beautiful body was all his for a while, but there was no hint of romance, and rarely did she kiss him unless it enhanced the moment of intense passion. He was treated much like an escort. That was fine by Stick.
“Thank you, Stick. I’ll see you tomorrow at S&G,” was her typical after-sex conversation.
Gradually, he had learned about her businesses, and it scared him. Not the prostitutes, not the guns, but the drugs worried him. The moral part wasn’t an issue, but dying over bad drug deals was a real fear. Angel paid him for referrals on hookers, gun sales, and dealers, loading his pockets with unimaginable cash. He refused to sell drugs, believing doing so would end badly. Hunter Hennessey was sucked into these enterprises without an avenue of escape. Afghanistan was dangerous, but at least he got out alive. This seemed to be a dead-end street.
Lester went through security at the West Little Rock FBI building. Since he was officially still under suspension, he didn’t carry his weapon anymore, so he avoided that hassle. He was directed down a long hallway to a small waiting room, where a security guard sat behind a curved counter. A clipboard with a form attached was extended to him. Lester handed it back to the guard and asked him to read what he wanted.
“You can’t read?”
“No, sir.”
The guard frowned as though he didn’t believe him. He read the questions anyway.
“Who you here to see?”
“Jim Webb.”
“Your name? Okay sign here. I’ll tell him you’re here,” the guard said. Lester scribbled gibberish he used as a signature.
Shortly, Jim came through the door. He put on h
is dark suit coat to match his dark pants. Jim had agreed to lunch if Lester paid. Lester knew FBI guys had expense accounts and hoped Jim would do the honors. Jim drove his agency car and laid a large manila envelope on the seat between them.
“Look in there,” Jim said. He pushed the envelope towards Lester.
“I hope there are a lot of pictures. I don’t read very well,” Lester said.
“Open it up to the diagram on the second page.”
Lester pulled out a report that was stapled at the left corner. After flipping over the cover sheet, there was a diagram of New Orleans and Hot Springs. There were several boxes with arrows pointing to other boxes in New Orleans, and further down, to boxes back to Hot Springs. Lester had his mirror out, working it feverishly back and forth between names and titles to each block. He did find S.G. Crystals pointing to five other boxes.
“What are these boxes? Do they represent criminals and their businesses in Hot Springs and New Orleans?”
“For someone that doesn’t read, you figured most of it out quite well,” Jim said. He parked his car in front of P.F. Chang’s restaurant.
They found a booth towards the back against the wall and ordered lunch. Making sure no one was near or within earshot, Jim began to explain the boxes.
“It appears that one crime family has moved into your lovely resort town and has started a little dynasty there, or at least she’s trying to.”
“You mean Spider Gambini?”
“Yes. Here’s what’s in some of her boxes so far. She bought two strip clubs—the Player’s Lounge and the Southern Exposure Men’s Club—but of course, not in her name. Here are their boxes. This box is for the Asian Spa. Notice the lines leading down to the Royal Street Asian Massage Parlor in New Orleans from all three. There’s an empty box next to them which we expect will be her yet-to-be-named escort service. She may own them now, but since they’re illegal, there’s no public record of the sale. They’re listed in the Hot Springs phone book by various names. Now, notice the S.G. Crystal box, where we both suspect drugs are made and distributed. There’s another empty box that has a line running down to Chalmette, Louisiana to Tony Evola’s gun operation. You picked up one big haul, but we feel sure they’ll reload.” Jim took a breath then started again. “I guess you know the guns used at the bait store shooting were sold to someone from his store in Chalmette?”