by Mike Dennis
She felt him slipping from her protective grasp, into the waiting arms of a Mexican siren, whose motives were questionable at best. Even when he was in Houston, she still could protect him. He would call her when he needed her, and her arms would reach out across Louisiana and East Texas, where they would wrap around him, shielding him from the pitfalls and double-crosses of life. But she knew now that, once he left New Orleans, he would be lost to her forever.
Through her window, she saw them turn down Burgundy Street. A taxicab honked at the intersection of Burgundy and St Louis, behind a stalled pickup truck. Off in the distance, she heard the joyful cry of a steam calliope drifting off the deck of a big paddlewheeler, just arriving from somewhere upriver.
22
Rafael Vega cursed the traffic. It wasn’t supposed to be heavy like this, coming back into town in the late afternoon. But a stalled eighteen-wheeler and a minor fender-bender had caused a major pileup, turning the Washburn Tunnel into a parking lot.
“What do you think’s gonna happen with Chico?” Tomás asked.
“You heard the doc. He ain’t never gonna walk again.”
“No, I mean with the business. The organization.”
Vega looked at Tomás with wary eyes and turned defensive. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know. The business. If Chico can’t run it, then you’re probably the one who —”
Vega’s coal-chunk eyes narrowed into thin, dark lines.
“Listen to me, Ese. As long as Chico’s breathing, he’s running the business. I work for him and so do you. And don’t you forget it.”
“Hey, man, I didn’t mean nothing by it. It’s just, you know, that if Chico’s laid up pretty bad, well, we all know that you’re his number one man, and this could be your opportunity …”
“Opportunity for what?”
“Hey, you know, Ese. The opportunity to take over. I mean, we’d all work for you and everything, because we want —”
Vega slapped his face. The resounding crack startled Tomas, and Vega could see it stung.
“I don’t give a fuck what you pendejos want. Chico’s in charge. I don’t care if he can’t even sit up. He’s still the fucking boss!” He slapped him again, harder. “If I hear you talking that shit again.”
He pulled his nine millimeeter semi-automatic from under his cashmere topcoat, then held it hard to Tomás’ forehead.
“If I even think you’re talking that shit again,” he said, “you die. ¿Me entendés?” Vega could see the chilly fear slinking into Tomás’ eyes, even though he knew that Tomás was not easily cowed.
The reply came. “Y-yeah, Ese. I understand, man. I understand.”
Tomás quaked in the passenger seat under the cold steel against his flesh, while Vega growled more threats. He pressed the heavy weapon tighter against Tomás, forcing his head back into the passenger side window. The gun looked dangerously large in Vega’s small hand, like he wasn’t really up to handling it. It also looked like it could go off any second, spreading Tomás’ brains all over the snowy interior of the new Cadillac.
The thing was, Vega had more than enough backbone to use it, and he knew Tomás had gotten the picture.
Vega seemed the natural choice as a successor in the organization. Chico had fostered his rise up the ladder, and Vega owed him. He had sided Chico all the way, and he wasn’t going to dump Chico overboard now. Vega wasn’t that kind of man.
Beneath the threats, however, he knew all too well what Tomás meant. The word on Chico’s condition would eventually get out, leading to fast-spreading talk among certain ranking members of his organization. The general consensus would undoubtedly be that, while they all wished Chico a speedy recovery, no one wanted to work for half a man.
It was that simple.
23
As they stepped out of the department store onto Canal Street, blustery winds bit into Eddie and Felina, causing the shopping bags to nearly blow out of their hands. They linked arms, then forged headfirst into the fierce gusts. In the fading daylight, the mercury had dropped off the table, but neither one cared as they buttoned up their new warm coats just before turning the corner onto Bourbon Street.
The street had changed its clothes, its quaint daytime persona retiring for the evening. The afternoon version, lit by the sun, begged to be seen. Obliging tourists wandered around aimlessly, looking at everything. With every T-shirt purchase, they acquired just a little more of the Big Easy to take home with them. The daytime Dixieland bars served up costly drinks, with only the promise of the livelier action sundown would bring. Early-shift barkers, pledging untold delights in the strip joints, were only loosening up their spiels for the really big show later on.
Night on the street was something else altogether. Neon-lit and fueled by whiskey, it begged to be touched, to be felt, to have strange hands softly slide their way up its bare leg. It offered a quick sniff of perfumed hair, along with the tantalizing promise of sin away from home. Raunchy bars seemed to explode out of quiet cafés. Even the T-shirt shops turned profane, their doorway displays now straddling the cusp of indecency.
A couple of blocks up the street, Felina said, “Hey, isn’t this where we were last night?”
Eddie looked up. The understated sign said, Louis Philippe Hotel.
“Damned if it ain’t. That sure was a top-drawer spot. What I c’n remember of it, anyway.”
“Didn’t Garner say he was staying there, too?”
“Come to think of it, he sure did. Hey, whaddya say we get a room? Right here in this fancy joint.”
“No baby, that’s not a good idea.”
“Come on,” he cooed, slipping his arms around her waist. “We c’n take up where we left off a while ago.”
She pulled away from him. “No, Eddie.”
“Hey, why not? I’m Garner now. He was s’posed to be staying here. Maybe they even kept his room for him.”
Felina pulled him away from the doorway.
“Look, you got Garner’s ID. You kind of look like him now with the mustache and everything, but we can’t go in there. We can’t take the risk. Maybe Garner was really well-known in there, we don’t know. Remember, he told us he knew all about this place, knew the owner and everything. He probably was fucking one of those whores in there on a regular basis. If you try to pass for him, who knows what would happen. Somebody who really knows him might come up to you. You wouldn’t know what to say if we ran into someone like that.”
She flicked a quick glance around her to make sure no one nearby was listening. “Shit, you don’t even talk like him. They’d spot you right away. We can’t afford even one slipup. Then she added “We’re out on the edge already.”
He gave her half a nod, his shoulders sagging a little. She put her palms on his chest, fondling his new Italian linen shirt.
She said, “I’ve been trying to tell you, this is our chance. Our one chance to get away clean with more money than we’ll ever see in our lives. We can’t screw around right now.”
“Yeah, I guess … I guess you’re right.”
“Now let’s get on back to Linda’s and lay low. We don’t know who might be out here.”
She guided him into the oblivion of Bienville Street, heading toward Linda’s apartment. Too bad, because he was heating up at the thought of Felina coming to him in a classy hotel room. But it all subsided the farther away they got from the quickening Bourbon Street night action.
24
T & T’s was pretty full, even for a Saturday night. The vinyl booths along the wall were all taken. Only one stool stood vacant at the bar. The TV played the Rockets game. Few watched.
In the back, regulars crowded around the pool table, hypnotized by the click of the heavy balls. Video games chattered, while the jukebox hadn’t stopped all night. The bartender fired off the drinks nonstop, raking in the dough.
Amid this barroom baroque, the two topcoated Mexicans entered unnoticed.
They elbowed their way into the single
empty space at the bar. There was a “Hey, watch it!” from the guy Tomás shoved, but a chilly glare silenced him. Shortly, the bartender came over to them.
“What’ll it be?”
“We want information,” said Vega. He had to raise his voice a little to be heard.
“Information? What are you lookin’ for?”
”Did Tony Chávez ever shoot pool in here?”
”Tony who?”
”Chávez. Tony Chávez!”
”Chávez? I dunno. We get a lotta guys in here playin’ pool.”
Vega looked around. This wasn’t Jimbo’s. No point in creating a scene in this crowd. He pulled out his money clip.
“Well, try to remember this guy,” Vega said, sliding a twenty across the bar. “Good-lookin’ Mexican guy, about twenny-fi’, black hair. Maybe hung aroun’ a guy named Val.”
The bartender palmed the bill. “Oh, now I gotcha. Val. Yeah, you bet. Tony came in here every so often. Too bad about what happened to him and Chico. Chico used to drop in here, too, you know. Back when he was on his way up. Matter of fact, he was raised right around here, in this neighborhood.”
“You know this Val?”
“Aw sure. I been knowin’ Val a long time.” He looked over his shoulder at a customer a couple of stools down, crying for another draft.
“What’s his las’ name? Where can I find him?”
The bartender discreetly maneuvered the twenty between his fingers. Vega coughed up another one.
“Val Borden. Pool hustler. He shoots in here a lot. Maybe three, four nights a week.”
The waitress impatiently hollered out drink orders, cursing the bartender for wasting time.
“What if I wanna find him right now?”
The bartender eyed Vega carefully. Cops didn’t wear cashmere. This was no social call. It was obvious that Val was in very deep shit.
“You the cops?”
“Just answer the fucking question. Where can I find him?”
“Well, I think he lives over around McCarty someplace. Can’t say for sure. But he hangs out with a guy — a good friend of his — who lives right down the street here.”
“Good frien’ o’ his?”
“Yeah. Guy by the name of Eddie Ryan.”
25
Linda was incredulous. “You were gonna do what?”
“Check into Garner’s room at that hotel where you play,” Eddie replied.
“Why’n the hell would you wanna do a damn fool thing like that?”
“What do you mean, damn fool thing? Besides, we didn’t do it. I told you. We came straight back here.”
“This sounds like it mighta been one of your bright ideas, señorita,” she spewed to Felina.
“Kiss my ass, bitch! Eddie, you gonna let her talk to me like that?”
No, he wasn’t. “Linda, you’re outta line. Now chill out.”
“I’ll say any fucking thing I want. She’s getting you into more shit —”
“No, she’s not! I’m telling you, nothing happened. It was my idea, and it was Felina who said we shouldn’t do it. Now let’s not lose it among ourselves here. Come on! Chill.”
“All right, all right.” Linda was still furious. She went out to the kitchen for a root beer. “But listen to me. You got to start thinking about leaving. Where you’re gonna go. What you’re gonna do.”
Her eyes demanded an answer.
“We can go anywhere,” Eddie said. “We can do anything. We just gotta decide.”
“So start deciding.”
“Well, we’re gonna need a car. Like I said, we’re gonna get one tomorrow.” Eddie leaned back into the sofa and allowed himself a smile. “Maybe a nice Caddy.” He looked over at Felina. “How’d you like to leave this town in style, sweetheart?”
Before Felina could reply, Linda said, “Oh yeah, that’s it. That’s right. Yeah. Just waltz on in to some Cadillac dealer and buy a new Coupe de Ville — what do they cost? About seventy grand? — and pay for it with cash money? Sure, peel off the goddam C-notes. Ha! That’s guaranteed not to raise any eyebrows. Like the fucking IRS wouldn’t be over there in about two seconds flat.”
“Oh shit, what’s wrong with wanting nice things?” He started over. “It’s just that there’s nothing wrong with wanting a nice car, now that we can afford one, is there? I’m just tired of driving around in clunkers.”
“Well, you better learn to live with it for a while longer, `cause you can’t make any big buys with that cash. Not while you got the bloodhounds on your trail.”
“She’s right, Eddie,” Felina said. “We don’t want to attract attention. We still gotta lay low.”
“Aw, I guess you’re right. Yeah, you’re right. It’s just that … I mean, shit, I got all this money. When do I get to be rich?”
Linda sat back and swigged on her root beer. “Rich ain’t drug money in a garbage bag, little brother.”
No one said anything. Outside, a couple of drunks did their best version of a serenade, whooping it up down St Louis Street.
“Okay, so we get a used car.” He looked over at Felina sitting next to him, eyeing her smooth legs. “Where d’you wanna go?”
“Well, maybe we could —”
“No,” interrupted Linda, “it’s where do you want to go, Eddie?”
“Hey, you know, I got something to say about this,” Felina said. “It’s my future, too!”
“Yeah. Your future and his money. Pretty good setup.”
Felina was too tired to argue any more. She waved it off, letting it go. Instead, Eddie spoke.
“Look, Sis, we’ll figure out where we’re gonna go and we’ll be gone by tomorrow, okay?”
Linda rose from the couch. “Suit yourselves.”
Without looking at them, she went to bed.
As Linda shut her bedroom door, Felina cuddled up next to Eddie, slipping under his arm. He still wasn’t used to this kind of thing, having a package like her always available, her switch always in the “on” position.
“So where can we go, Eddie?” she said. It was practically a whisper. She continued to adjust her breasts until they were rubbing just right against his side. He loved it.
“I been giving it a lot o’ thought. Once we get the car, we can go just about anywhere.”
“What about Acapulco?”
”Acapulco? That’s Mexico, ain’t it?”
”Oh, Eddie, it’s wonderful there. I mean, I’ve never been there, but I’ve seen pictures. It’s —”
He shook his head.
“Uh-uh. Mexico’s out.”
“But why? It’s so beautiful.”
“I said no. They got customs and shit down there, ready to search your bags. And if they find that dough … baby, that’s where the story ends.”
“Yeah, if they find it. But we don’t go there with the money in the suitcase. We hide it somewhere in the car and go in looking like tourists. They won’t suspect a thing.”
Eddie shook his head again. “Too risky.”
“Oh baby, will you just think about it?” She ground her breasts farther into his side. “Acapulco is like paradise. You won’t regret it.”
There it was again. That smile.
“Okay, I’ll think about it. An’ while I’m thinking about Acapulco, you think about Vegas. That’s what I’ve been thinking about.”
She frowned. “Oh no. Eddie, Las Vegas? God no, not there.”
“Why not? It’s s’posed to be a great place. Lots of action, lots to do. I could set up my bookmaking business there and be legal. All the gambling —”
“That’s just it — the gambling. You know we can’t go there with this money. You’d lose it in twenty-four hours. Then where would we be?”
“Aw hey, I wouldn’t lose it. I wouldn’t even gamble too much. I’d set a limit for myself. I’d —”
“No, Eddie. We’re not going to Las Vegas. Period.”
”Shit, now you’re beginning to sound like Linda,” Eddie said.
”No, I
’m not. Because Linda would want you to stay here where she can keep an eye on you. Where she can keep you under her thumb.” She took a deep breath, then added, “Where she can get to the money.”
“Hey, no. Baby, that’s not Linda. That’s not her style.”
“The hell it isn’t,” Felina said.
”You heard her yourself. She wants us to leave town.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said, but I know what she meant. She wants me to leave town and you to stay here, or come right back after you dump me.”
“Dump you? Hey, I wouldn’t never —”
Felina jerked herself away from him. “What’s the matter, you blind? She hates me. You hear the way she talks to me. She’d do anything to split us up.”
“Naw, that show don’t play, darlin’.”
“Hey, this plays: she wants to control your life like she always has. And she wants me out.”
Eddie waved it off. “I’ve already told her what you done for me. What you meant to me. What reason would she have for wantin’ you out?”
“There’s a million reasons sitting in that garbage bag out there,” Felina whispered.
The corners of his mouth turned down as his head slowly moved from side to side. “Off the mark, baby. Way off.”
She pulled back from him. “For cryin’ out loud, Eddie, hit your brights. She figures you owe her. You know, for raising you and everything. For being the brains of the family. For telling you what to do your whole life.”
“I’m not buying it. She wouldn’t do me out of that money. She’s my sister, and she looks out for me. She always has.” A spasm attacked his gut. Not a big one, but enough to put him on edge.
“Sure, when you were a kid, maybe. But how often have you seen her lately? Huh? Once every few years? Eddie, I’m gonna be with you every day and night from now on. For keeps!”