“When do you want to leave?”
“It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive, so let’s get moving.”
“Give me thirty minutes to make a few phone calls. I think I can grease the skids a little.”
The time was well spent. It turned out that Toodles Shima was on federal probation for credit card fraud. Better still, he was on thin ice with his probation. Hotchkiss had spoken with his supervising officer, and she was willing to go with us to question him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lake Charles is a refinery and port city of some seventy thousand inhabitants on the Calcasieu River about thirty miles inland from the Gulf of Mexico and the same distance from the Texas border. Back in the 1920s, it was opened to oceangoing ships when a deep water channel was dredged up from the Gulf. Hurricane Rita had done the place a considerable amount of damage, but signs of rebuilding were everywhere. The town’s lone skyscraper, the twenty-one-story Capital One Tower, could be seen for miles across the flat coastal plain of South Louisiana.
On the way over, Hotchkiss asked me about the bookie I’d told him about earlier. “When are we taking him?”
“A couple of days.”
“What’s the story on the guy?”
“His name is Lloyd Quinn, and he came out of Houston originally. The man was a pretty successful poker player until a couple of heavies caught him using a holdout table and beat the ever-loving hell out of him. Really broke him up. See, he was managing a bowling alley and running his poker game in a back room. One of the guys he’s been cheating used a bowling pin on him, and the experience more or less broke his spirit. Since then he’s been nickel-and-diming and writing a little book. My information is that he’s working for an old character over at Fillmore named Sam Weyland, who is the guy I’m really after. Twice before I’ve busted his people, but they wouldn’t roll over on him.”
“Mack said you didn’t fool with gambling much.”
I sighed. “I don’t mess with the nighttime craps games that go on in deserted buildings out in the country. Nor do I get upset about some guy running a little poker out of his den on weekends. I don’t like it, but I have too much to do to chase after that kind of penny-ante crap. But gambling with bookies in this part of the country is done mostly by phone, and that means it’s really gambling on credit. Which means people sometimes get in over their heads, and you know what that leads to.”
“Right. Strong-arm collections.”
“You got it. And I won’t tolerate that kind of thing in my county.”
“Why do you think this guy is booking for Weyland?”
“That’s what my informants say. He hasn’t got two nickels to rub together, so he has to have somebody bankrolling him.”
When the agent spoke there was bitterness in his voice. “I’m ready whenever you’re ready. My dad gambled away damn near every dollar he ever made, so I have no patience with the practice. You give the word and we’ll bring the full weight of the federal government down on this Mr. Quinn’s testicles.”
* * *
I’d been to Lake Charles several times before and had no trouble finding the café a couple of blocks off Interstate 10 where we were to meet Shima’s probation officer.
She turned out to be a white Creole named Camille DeMour. Tall, slim, and about fifty, she had short silver hair and an elegant face with high cheekbones and warm brown eyes. We introduced ourselves and I asked if she could give us enough time to have a piece of pie since neither of us had eaten breakfast.
“Sure, but if you want something more substantial this place always has seafood gumbo ready to serve, and it’s very good.”
Hotchkiss and I each ordered a bowl of gumbo, and while we waited for our food I filled her in on Arno and the background of the two killings. “I know he didn’t do the Raynes boy,” I said. “He was in jail when it happened. Supposedly he has an alibi for the Twiller shooting, but considering that his alibi witness is a hooker, and the receipt comes from a motel owned by a man known to be connected to organized crime, you can see why I needed to check this out.”
“Indeed I do, and Toodles Shima will cooperate or I’ll have him up before a revocation hearing. I’m just looking for an excuse, anyway.”
“Ma’am, that’s pretty strong,” I said. “I didn’t come down here to cause you any trouble.”
“You won’t. It’s my prerogative. Toodles is scum, and his father and grandfather were scum before him. I hate these people. My dad and my grandfather were both captains in the Louisiana State Police. The syndicate was a nickel-and-dime affair until Huey Long’s day. He gave them free rein in South Louisiana in return for their support. Granddad knew him well, and said he was the most ambitious man to infest this planet since Napoléon. He wanted to be president, you know.”
“Do you know anything about this Lavonne Avante?” I asked.
“She’s a whore. What else is there to know? Her real name is Joan Fulmer, and she’s North Louisiana white trash. At one time she was a stripper, but she wanted better things. I suppose she serviced the right people enough times, and as a consequence wound up running this fancy escort business here in town. I’ve heard that she invests wisely, and they say she’s a millionaire several times over.”
“That’s rare for a hooker,” I said. “Most of them wind up broke and living in ratty trailer houses somewhere.”
She gave me a cold smile. “She’s not your average whore. You’ll see what I mean.”
Our gumbo came. Hotchkiss and I were both starving, and we bolted it down. When we finished, I lingered inside to pay the check, then joined my companions outside.
The South Winds turned out to be a sturdily built, woodsy place of dark brick and weathered cedar. Besides about fifty rooms in two wings that curved around a large pool, it consisted of a central building that housed the offices, a restaurant, and a nightclub. It was only a block off I-10 on the edge of an upscale suburb, but occupancy seemed low.
“It doesn’t look like they’re very busy,” I said.
“They’ve been hurting since gambling became legal,” Ms. DeMour said as we stepped from the Suburban. “This town has too many hotels because of the casino industry. Several of the casinos have their own hotels, and they rent their rooms very cheaply as a draw and make their money on the gambling. Toodles would love to get a gaming license, but his felony conviction prevents it. This place is not his only means of support, and the land alone is worth more than the replacement cost of the buildings. I expect it to burn down some night.”
Camille DeMour seemed to know her way around the South Winds. She led us right on past the protesting desk clerk and down a short corridor. At its end stood an imposing walnut door with fancy brass hardware. She didn’t hesitate and she didn’t knock. Instead, she reached down and turned the knob and walked right in with us behind her. The office held two men and a young woman, and they were all laughing like George Carlin was there giving them a personal performance.
One of the men was thickset and prosperous-looking and about sixty. The other man sat behind the desk in a tall leather executive’s chair. He was slim with dark hair and sharp, ratty eyes that no doubt were in the habit of seeing things they weren’t meant to see. He wore a peppermint-striped cotton dress shirt, a red tie, and a pair of fancy red suspenders.
The girl looked like a cocktail waitress. She was in her twenties, with short blond hair, a short skirt, a short frilly apron, and probably a severe shortage of brains. She kept giggling several seconds after her companions stopped, then she turned around and saw us, and her mouth fell open.
“Who the hell are you people?” the thickset man asked.
Hotchkiss stuck his ID about six inches from the guy’s nose and said, “I’m Special Agent Don Hotchkiss of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and that’s all you need to know. Unless, of course, you’d like for me to start poking around in your business. Or maybe you’d prefer to leave?”
The man didn’t answer. He just flashed a quick sm
ile, sprang to his feet, and after treating Toodles to a two-finger salute, he strode briskly out of the room. The girl rose gracefully and slid her hand across the desk toward Shima. “Tonight after work?” she asked.
He closed his eyes and seemed to wish he were somewhere else. Then he gave her a faint nod without touching her hand.
As she left, she glanced at each of us in turn with a smug little smile on her face that was meant to let us know that she had something going with the big boss. As if that weren’t already obvious.
“To what do I owe this visit?” Shima asked Camille. “I was trying to have a business conference here, you know.”
“I’m the man you need to talk to,” Hotchkiss said.
“Huh?”
Hotchkiss pointed at DeMour. “She writes you up for violating the terms of your probation, which specifically forbid you from consorting with known organized crime figures. I arrest you right here and now, and within the hour your ass is firmly lodged in the Calcasieu Parrish Jail. Tomorrow morning bright and early we haul you down to the federal courthouse where we ask for an expedited revocation hearing, which we will get and which you will lose. By tomorrow afternoon you are on your way to federal prison. Now, how does that sound to you?”
“What organized crime figures?”
“Big Paul Arno,” I said.
He seemed confused. “Paul Arno?… Just who in the hell are you?”
“I’m Sheriff Handel from over in Caddo County, Texas, and I’m here working a murder case.”
“I don’t understand,” Shima said. “I’ve never been there.”
“No, but Arno has,” I said. “I beat the crap out of him and threw him in jail a few days ago.”
This seemed to impress him. “You beat the crap out of Paul Arno?”
“So you admit knowing him?” Ms. DeMour asked.
“I know who he is. I try to stay away from him as much as possible. He’s nuts and he’s dangerous.”
“Your father didn’t find him too nuts to make use of his services on at least one occasion,” she said.
“I don’t believe that,” he said without much conviction. “And I resent it.”
They stared at each other for a few seconds. “Why have you got it in for me?” he asked. “Look, I admit to a little credit card fraud. Hell, I pled out so there’s no way I can deny it. Minor stuff, and that’s all it’s ever been with me. I’m just a little guy trying to get by in a tough old world, and a few times in the past I’ve trimmed the edges a little. You know, cut a few corners. But I don’t run with people like Paul Arno. Besides, I’m trying to do all the right things now.”
“Sure you are,” Camille said. “And I just got elected to the College of Cardinals.”
He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Maybe if you tell me what this is all about…”
Hotchkiss laid a photocopy of the hotel receipt on Shima’s desk. “A woman named Amanda Twiller was killed up in Sequoya a few nights ago,” he said. “Two days later, Sheriff Handel arrested Arno for assaulting a female reporter in front of a local restaurant. So we have a possible murder for hire, and we have a known hit man in town at approximately the same time. The only problem is that Arno claims that he was here at your motel with a hooker named Lavonne Avante when the killing took place, and he has this receipt to back him up.”
“Let me see that,” Shima said and reached across the desk. “Hmm … Are we off the record here?”
“What do you mean?” Hotchkiss asked.
“Is Arno ever going to know I helped you?”
“We’ll never tell him,” I said. “He may put two and two together, but he won’t hear it from us.”
“And that’s the best deal you’re going to get,” Ms. DeMour said.
“Okay,” Shima said. “Just please don’t rat me out. Arno hasn’t been here in a couple of months.”
“How would you know?” Hotchkiss asked.
“My people always tell me when he comes by because he’s a pain in the ass. Besides, he never fails to drop by the office so I can see how important he is.”
“What does he do?” I asked. “Rent a room to meet some woman?”
“Rent? You gotta be kidding me. Big Paul doesn’t rent things. He takes them. He never pays a nickel, always runs up a big bar bill, eats like a hog in the restaurant. But no, he usually doesn’t fool around with girls while he’s here. He just checks in when he needs a place to stay while he’s in town on business.”
“What kind of business?” Hotchkiss asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve heard he’s got some street-level scams going here in Lake Charles.”
“How about this receipt?” I asked, pushing the paper across the desk toward him.
He examined it carefully. “The desk clerk who was on duty at this time and date is a straight-up girl. She wouldn’t fake a record of any kind even if I asked her to do it. My guess would be that he got Willie Day to cut this thing before he even left for your town.”
“Who’s Willie Day?” I asked.
“The guy who handles all of our computer stuff. He’s a weird little geek. Skinny, jumpy, wears all that 1960s Beatles stuff. Turtlenecks, bandy-legged pants, that kind of crap.”
“Is he your employee?”
He shook his head. “Private contractor. He’s got a bunch of other clients.”
“Could he make the computer print a bogus date on the thing?” I asked.
“This kid could change the dates on coins coming out of the Denver mint. You can’t believe what he can do with a computer. He’s the best there is, but he’d pimp his own mother down to Rio if there was fifty bucks in it for him.”
“We need to talk to him,” Hotchkiss said.
Shima shrugged. “Until he gets back from vacation, you can’t. Not unless you want to fly to Bermuda. We got a letter two days ago saying he was leaving and giving the name and number of the guy who would be handling his accounts while he’s gone.”
Just then Camille DeMour’s cell phone beeped. After listening for a few seconds, she said, “We’re having a party. You just come right on back. Toodles will be very happy to see you.”
Shima held up his hands in supplication. “What now? I was trying to get some work done here, you know.”
“An old friend of yours has come calling,” she said.
The door opened and a man who appeared to be in his midforties in a rumpled seersucker suit stepped into the room. He was of medium height with a bit of a potbelly, a hard, homely face, and happy eyes.
“Meet my cousin, Roland DeMour,” she said. “Roland is a lieutenant with the state police. Works organized crime. He and Toodles go way back.”
Roland DeMour gave Shima a little wave. “Hi, Toodles baby. Been missing seeing you around.”
“Ahhh, God…” Shima groaned. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“What about Lavonne Avante?” Hotchkiss asked.
“I don’t think she’s been by here in months,” Shima said. “That cherry red Mercedes of hers is hard to miss. It’s the only one in town.”
“Does she meet some of her tricks here?” I asked.
“Oh, hell no,” he said. “Our walls aren’t thick enough to stifle the screams.”
I looked around, puzzled. “Screams?”
“Lavonne is a dominatrix,” Camille DeMour said. “Whips and leather and high-heeled boots. She no longer takes straight calls. Instead she specializes in high-priced floggings for the carriage trade. You know, lifestyles of the rich and needlessly angst ridden.”
“I don’t think we have to worry much about that up in Sequoya,” I said.
“It’s a right-wing thing, dearie,” she said. “On the other side of the spectrum, you have the guilt-obsessed rich liberals who’ve inherited fortunes that came from screwing the public and polluting the environment. They throw themselves into every trendy cause that comes along, no matter how idiotic. The rich righties hire whores like Lavonne to give them a good thrashing so they can purge their g
uilt and then go right on screwing the public and polluting the environment.”
Even Shima laughed.
“If you want, I’ll go with you to see Lavonne,” Roland DeMour said. “That’s why Camille called me.”
“Sure,” I said. “We’d be obliged to you.”
As we rose to leave, Shima said, “Just don’t rat me out to Arno.”
“That will be our little secret,” Hotchkiss said. “At least it will be as long as you keep giving me information when I need it.”
“Awww, shit,” Shima groaned. “I thought this was one of them quid pro quo deals.”
“Nope,” Hotchkiss said. “It’s one of those permanent deals.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Expedited hearing?” Camille DeMour said to Hotchkiss once we were out in the hall. “That’s a new one on me. I didn’t know that federal revocation procedures allowed such a thing.”
He shrugged. “I’m learning some really creative law enforcement techniques from Sheriff Handel.”
We drove her back to the café to get her car. She took her leave of us, and took our professions of profound gratitude along with her. It was Roland DeMour’s day off and he had come in his personal vehicle. He left it at the South Winds and rode with us, first to the café to drop Camille off, then he directed us across town to a shady, upscale suburb where the houses would have averaged a quarter million dollars or more.
“This escort deal has a small office downtown,” he said. “Lavonne has a couple of girls covering it, but mostly she works out of her house.”
“You know her pretty well?” I asked.
“Sure. Hookers are some of the best snitches a lawman can have. But I’m sure you know that as well as I do.”
“Only in theory. We’ve had very few cases of prostitution in my county over the years, and they’ve all been outsiders just passing through.”
“What’s Avante like?” Hotchkiss asked.
“Thirty-five years old and looks ten years younger. Smart, classy, fluent in both French and Spanish, has all the social graces. And she’s learned it all on her own. Her old man was a drunken plumber. He beat her mother to death when she was about fifteen, and she’s been peddling her ass in one way or another ever since. That part I could kinda admire if that was as far as it went. I mean, we all do what we have to, and it’s to her credit that she didn’t let the world beat her down. But at one time she was a blackmailer, and I know of a couple of guys she ruined just because it amused her to destroy their lives.”
Nights of the Red Moon Page 14