by Mike Dennis
She resumed her snuggling, parking her breasts on his side again. She could feel him softening as she lowered her voice.
“I’ll always look out for you,” she said. “Just like I did the other day in Houston when Val was gonna come blow you away.”
He took it all in and looked it over. It checked out pretty good.
“I’ll never cross you, honey,” she added. “Never …” And she reached up and kissed him gently on the mouth.
After the kiss, their lips remained very close. So close, her natural scent filled his nostrils. It was a sweet scent, hinting of her own fragrant body oils and a tinge of her sweat, subtle as a trace of rain in a Texas summer, yet more powerful than the cheapest street-whore cologne. It was a scent he wanted to follow.
Anywhere.
As she whispered something else to him, he followed her straight into the bedroom.
26
The two Mexicans crept up to the second floor. A light bulb dangled naked from the ceiling, casting their long shadows up the staircase. About halfway up, they saw the door to Eddie Ryan’s room at the other end of the dim hall.
As if on cue, they simultaneously reached inside their topcoats, each hand emerging with a .22 semiautomatic pistol, the weapon of choice for this kind of job. Then from their pockets came the silencers.
They remained stone-calm as they attached the metal cylinders to their gun barrels. Neither broke a sweat. But a certain tingle did crawl over each of them, like it always did at this point in their job. A certain rush — no, more like a stimulus, a mental goosing they had to give themselves in order to lock into the right mode, in order to do violent murder. It only took a second or two, but each in his own way, had to remind himself of why this guy deserved to be blown away, and how if they didn’t do it, someone else would.
And of course, how it was all strictly business.
It’s already been decided that this guy’s got it coming, so somebody’s gonna have to give it to him. Besides, we’re doing it up right here. Professionally. It’s not like some of these crazy assholes who get hold of a gun, they start shooting up street corners, mowing down innocent bystanders and shit.
So for the moment, they were inanimate. They were merely robots, “business” agents setting the world straight, carrying out divine orders, from which there would be no turning back.
Now they were ready.
Without making a sound, they reached the end of the hall outside Eddie’s door. Vega tried the knob. To his surprise, it turned and clicked. A slight push and it was open.
They rushed in, weapons flashing, although they weren’t going to do any killing until they had Chico’s money, as well as the whereabouts of this Val Borden guy. But the room was empty and still, the only motion being the eerie glow of the incessant on-and-off greasy spoon neon just outside the window. The bed was disheveled, the closet door wide open.
Then they spotted the empty gray metal suitcase, open on the floor. Vega bent down to inspect it. It had been jimmied, and there was duct tape around it. Right next to the electronic combination lock, an ornate engraving of a capital S.
Vega was not happy. He removed the silencer, then placed the cannon back in his pocket.
“Downstairs. Let’s go.”
They left the room, door open, and headed back downstairs into the diner just below. A few questions here and there, and yes, they knew Eddie, he ate there from time to time. No, they hadn’t seen him in a couple of days, but they did notice his car parked illegally out front — was it last night?
No, the night before. Thursday, that’s right. What kind of car? Why, it’s one of those Japanese cars, a Toyota, I think. An older one. Bright orange. Okay, you’re welcome.
Back in their car, Tomás asked, “What now, Ese?”
“We start again tomorrow. We find him.”
27
The young detective opened the office door, then stuck his head in.
“Car’s ready, Lieutenant. So’s the black and white.”
Joe Dunlap swung his bulky frame out of the swivel chair. “Awright, showtime,” he said, as he threw on his cheap topcoat.
The two men went downstairs to the police garage. There, an unmarked white Dodge with no trim and blackwall tires waited, along with a regulation squad car and two uniformed officers. Pushing the passenger seat all the way back, Dunlap finally got comfortable. He gave a hand signal, and the two-car convoy pulled up the ramp and into the dark street.
Downtown was empty that hour of the night. They motored easily over to the East Freeway, then headed south on the 610 Loop toward the Gulf Freeway and the Ship Channel. All the way, Dunlap complained about the cold.
“Sorry,” said the young detective, who was driving. He put a hand in front of the dashboard vent. “The heater’s on full blast, but I guess it’s not working very well. Just blowing cold air.” After a few seconds of silence, he added, “At least there’s no traffic.”
Dunlap checked his watch. Four-thirty. He hated getting up so early, unless it was to make a pickup from one of his protected dealers.
“Hmph! Yeah, the only time when there’s no fuckin’ traffic. You can have this fuckin’ graveyard shift.”
“Then why’re we doing this at this hour? Why don’t we at least wait until the sun comes up?”
Staring straight ahead, Dunlap shifted his voice to a professorial tone, gesturing with large hands. “`Cause when you do this kind of thing, y’see, you wanta make sure the guy is not too alert. So it’s best to wake him up from a sound sleep. If we went any earlier, like two or three, he might not’ve gone to bed yet. Any later, he might’ve already gotten up. But now …” He turned to the young detective and said through a mean smile. “ …now he’s dead to the fuckin’ world. Right where we want him.”
Soon they exited the freeway for Galena Park and drove straight to suburbia. Moderately-priced one-story homes all over the place, laid out in a confusing glot of look-alike streets and cul-de-sacs. But Dunlap knew exactly where he was going. He gave precise directions.
“This is it. Pull up here.”
It was just another house in the slumbering suburb, but all four cops went up to the door in full business mode. Dunlap made a motion, as one of the uniformed officers rapped with his nightstick. Dunlap repeated the gesture, and the officer rapped again. The message was sent.
“Who is it?” a voice finally shouted through the door.
“Police officers,” came the reply. “Open up!”
≈≈≈
Raymond Cannetta slid the gun into a drawer in the hall table, then opened the door. He stood there bleary-eyed in his pajamas.
“G’morning, Raymond,” Dunlap said. “How’re you this fine day?” He and the others walked in, nudging him out of the doorway.
“Shit, Dunlap. What the fuck are you doing here? It’s still dark out. Since when’re you working this shift?”
“Raymond, you should know that your police department never sleeps. Protecting our citizens is a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. Sometimes I even work all night myself. Especially when I’m accumulating evidence to put your slimy ass away.”
Cannetta trundled to the kitchen, where he started to make coffee. When it was ready, he poured some, while fitting himself into a kitchen chair. The four men followed.
“What do you mean, put my ass away? I haven’t done anything. I’m a law-abiding citizen. My lawyer’s gonna hear about this. And another thing, you can’t come in here at this hour harassing me and threatening —”
“Shut the fuck up, you dago cocksucker!” Dunlap got right in his face. “Don’t you tell me what I can’t do. I deal with the likes of you any way I fucking please.”
Cannetta sank back into the chair and drank some coffee. His lawyer could fix this later, but right now, just let this ape have his way.
“Okay, what do you want?”
Dunlap straightened up, loosening his tone. “Well now, that’s more like it, Raymond. That’s the way we like it. Nice and c
ooperative.” He took a seat across the table. “You see, Raymond, you cooperate with me, and I’ll cooperate with you. See how it works?” Cannetta nodded, while still looking at his coffee cup. “Now, it just so happens that we’ve been following you around these last few weeks, and what do you suppose we discovered?” He waited for a response, but of course none came. “Raymond,” he said with mock surprise, “it seems you are engaging in illegal loan practices within the Houston city limits. That’s against the law, Raymond. You’re not supposed to do that.”
“Bullshit, Dunlap! You got nothing on me. I don’t loan nobody money. I’m a real estate salesman.”
“Oh yes, Raymond, we know you’re a real estate salesman, don’t we?” He smiled and turned around to the other three cops. They all chuckled in unison. “But the real estate business maybe hasn’t been so good lately, so perhaps you’ve had to moonlight a little. There’s nothing wrong with a little moonlighting, is there, boys?” They all shook their heads.
“Like I said, you got nothing on me.”
“Now, Raymond, don’t jump to hasty conclusions. Let’s go in the living room for just a minute, okay?”
He pulled Cannetta to his feet, half-dragging him into the other room.
They stood by the television set. Dunlap snapped his fingers and one of the uniformed officers produced a DVD.
“Raymond, let’s watch a little TV for awhile. Would you be so kind as to put this in your DVD player?”
Cannetta shoved the silver disc into the machine. Within moments there was a picture.
A blue Lincoln pulls into a parking lot and parks about two spaces away from where the camera is. There is also sound with this picture. Cannetta is clearly visible, as he gets out of the car and walks away. The camera follows him as he walks into Denny’s. Soon, he comes out with another man, returning to the Lincoln, where he retrieves a briefcase from the trunk. The two men sit in the front seat.
Watching this unfold in his living room, Cannetta’s spirits gave way. He saw himself count out a wad of money and give it to the other man.
“Remember, Eddie,” he heard himself saying. “One grand every Friday plus another grand interest. No excuses, no bullshit.”
Dunlap switched off the DVD player. “Isn’t it amazing, the technology available to law enforcement these days?”
Cannetta dropped onto the couch and sighed.
“Just cut the shit, Dunlap. What’s your angle?”
“Angle?” Dunlap’s voice was still full of fake surprise. “Angle? Why, Raymond, there’s no angle. Like I said, I’m just here to enforce the law. I come in the spirit of cooperation. I want to cooperate. Do you?”
He came over to the couch and sat down next to Cannetta. The cushions groaned under his weight.
“Awright, awright,” Cannetta said. “What is it?”
“I haven’t heard you say you want to cooperate, Raymond. Do you?”
“Awright, yes! Yes, I want to cooperate.”
He certainly did. Dunlap had a reputation throughout the Ship Channel area, and it wasn’t for protecting the civil rights of criminals.
“That’s good, Raymond. That’s very good.” He gestured to the other three. “Why don’t you boys go out to the kitchen and have some coffee. Raymond and I are going to clear this whole thing up.”
The three men retired to the kitchen. Dunlap growled, “Now, motherfucker, it’s gonna cost you fifty large to add this DVD to your collection. Plus a thousand a week from now on.”
“Hey, what the fuck — what makes you think I got that kind of money?”
“Don’t play games with me, asshole. I know what kind of action you’re takin’ down out there. You prob’ly got fifty grand right here in your hall closet. A dime a week ain’t even walking around money for you. So don’t gimme any of your poor-boy shit!”
“Why you coming after me? What’ve I ever done to you?”
“You’ve been working my district, making a ton of bread without payin’ your way. Free ride’s over, shithead. Pay up.”
“I can beat this thing in court, you know. My lawyer’ll —”
“Your lawyer ain’t gonna be able to do shit except suck the judge’s dick in return for a lighter sentence. This tape nails your ass, pal. Loan sharking, extortion, racketeering, we could prob’ly find an unregistered weapon or two around here in a legal search — those’re all felonies, Raymond. I’d say you’re lookin’ at ten years minimum, maybe more. Huntsville, of course.”
Cannetta knew Dunlap had his balls in a vise. He had in fact been on a free ride for quite a while now, and had considered himself lucky. This kind of payment was generally regarded as part of the cost of doing business. It was true that fifty dimes would be no problem for him to dig up. At least several times that much sat in his wall safe. The thousand a week would hurt, but it wasn’t out of the question.
The real hitch was Dunlap’s greed. This DVD was undoubtedly a copy, so how long would it be before he put the squeeze on even tighter? Two grand a week?
Was that next? Then three? Where would it stop?
“C’mon, you guinea prick,” Dunlap hissed. “I ain’t got all night.”
“Look, Lieutenant Dunlap, can’t we talk about these figures. I mean, that’s a lotta money —”
Dunlap reached over and slapped him backhanded across the mouth. A ring on the cop’s finger caught Cannetta’s lip, slicing it open. Blood flowed down his chin onto his pajamas. He grabbed a Kleenex from the table.
“I said I ain’t got all night. Now give.”
Cannetta’s mind raced. Dunlap was fast becoming unhinged and he needed — wait a minute. Wait a minute!
“Wait a minute,” Cannetta said. “I think I have something you might want more.”
The cop momentarily halted. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I think I can give you the guy who hit Chico Salazar.”
“What? Salazar?”
”That’s right. You know the word on the street is whoever did it boosted over a million bucks in cash off him. A haul like that, he ain’t gonna invest it in mutual funds. He’s probably still got it with him. In cash.”
Dunlap thought about it, but not for too long. His salivaries were cranking up, as the sun rose over the possibility of this new arrangement with Raymond Cannetta.
“Who is it?” he asked.
Cannetta held both hands in front of him in a hold-on motion. “I give him to you, we got a deal?”
A million in sweet sugar? Sure! Why not? “Okay,’ Dunlap said. “We got a deal. But you better be giving it to me straight.”
“It’s straight all right. He’s your guy. But first, you gotta give me the DVD? With no more copies to come? Forget about the bust? And no payoffs?”
“Okay, okay. It’s a deal. Now who was it?”
“A nickel-dime East End bookie. Name of Eddie Ryan. He’s the guy on the DVD.”
28
Vega and Tomás had been on the phone all morning. Finally, at around two in the afternoon, they had something they could grab onto.
“Rafael!” Tomas called, cupping the mouthpiece with his hand. “It’s Silvio, my wife’s cousin. He thinks he can help us.”
Vega came in from the next room and took the phone. “Digame, Silvio.”
Silvio told of how he and his friend were out cruising in his lemon-yellow van the other day, and had helped some Anglo change a tire out on the East Freeway.
“I heard you were looking for a guy in an old orange Toyota, Don Rafael. This might have been him … it was out a little ways past the Baytown exit … yes, he was heading east. He had a girl with him — she looked Mexican. There was a big suitcase in the trunk he didn’t want me to touch.”
“Muy bien, Silvio,” said Vega in appreciation. “¿Hay más que me puedes decir?”
“No, there’s nothing more I can tell you, except that we saw them get off the freeway at the next exit. Like they were headed for the old Beaumont highway.”
“
Muchisimas gracias, amigo,” Vega told him. “We won’t forget your help.” He hung up, and Silvio brimmed with pride that he could help someone so important as Don Rafael Vega.
≈≈≈
Eddie was freezing. He and Felina stood out in the used car lot listening to the salesman’s line of bullshit. The north wind had strengthened over New Orleans during the day, so that now in the late afternoon, it slashed right through him. Even his new winter coat didn’t help. The salesman was only wearing a light sweater over his shirt and tie, but he seemed perfectly comfortable. Eddie couldn’t figure it out.
They stood in front of a low mileage PT Cruiser that was going for fifty-five hundred, while the salesman assured them it was the cherriest thing on the lot. Eddie hated it, but he was about to buy it anyway — his second car purchase in three days! This was the third lot they’d been to today. He was ready to buy a go-cart, just to go get warm someplace.
He shivered. “What do you think, Felina? It’ll get us where we want to go. Let’s —”
“No, wait,” she interrupted. “Wait a second, honey. Look over there.”
He looked where she was pointing, but saw only dark clouds in the distance, threatening rain. Just great.
Felina gestured toward a small cargo van, sitting at the end of the row.
The salesman jumped in with, “Ooh, that’s a nice one. Only a few years old. Just got it in yesterday. A Chevy. They make the best vans, you know.”
“Can we see it?” she asked.
“Why, you bet, young lady.”
He led them slowly down the row, hyping the van the whole way. Overhead, colorful streamers fluttered in the high wind against a blackening sky.
Eddie mumbled through chattering teeth, “What the hell we doin’ this for? We don’t need no van.”
“Ssshh, wait,” she whispered. “I just want to see something.”
There was a little bit of body wear, the usual scratches and dings. One tire looked pretty bad; otherwise, it appeared in good shape on the outside.