Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Elle Casey

  “Good.” Ozzie nods.

  “I heard a lot of the regular BS, people just shooting the breeze and messing around, but then there was some talk about a problem they were having that hadn’t been resolved yet.”

  “Did they say what it was?”

  “No, they just kept talking about Petit Rouge. That’s who or what their problem is. They talked about shutting it down.”

  Ozzie nods slowly, his eyes distant.

  “What does that mean?” I ask, mystified.

  “Gangs use code all the time for just about everything. Petit Rouge could be a shipment of drugs, illegal imports, a rival gang, an operation not paying protection money, a single person . . . until we can put it in context, we won’t know what it is.” Ozzie returns his focus to Toni. “Any luck with that?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I can tell you, though, that most of the talk about it came from one guy. I think he arrived late to the party. I got the impression it was a rival gang member or business they were talking about.”

  Ozzie’s eyes narrow. “What’s the time stamp the first time you heard his voice?”

  Toni scans the pages in front of her. She stops on the fourth page. “Eleven thirty-three p.m. or around then.”

  Ozzie looks to me. “Look up that time stamp in your notes. You see anyone coming in just before that?”

  My job was easier than Toni’s by the looks of our notes. I have less than half as many. “Only seven people went in, and four went out.” I look down the page, trying to find a time that matches up with Toni’s observations. “There were two people who came in before she heard that conversation.” I shuffle through my stack and find the two people I took screenshots of. “You can’t see their faces, just their heads and bodies. It was pretty dark.”

  I hand them over to Ozzie, who studies them carefully. When he gets to the second one, he frowns and turns it around, holding it up so I can see it. “Recognize this one?”

  All I can see is a hunched-over figure in a dark coat with a shiny head. His dome is reflecting the light coming from the street lamp nearby.

  “Not really.” I shrug, feeling like I should apologize. I didn’t realize there was going to be a quiz.

  Ozzie flips it around and stares at it a few more seconds. “I think this is Doucet.”

  Toni holds her hand out for it, and Ozzie slides it over the table to her.

  “Who’s Doucet?” I ask.

  Toni nods. “I agree. There are several points of likeness. Shoulder width, stature. Bald head, of course.”

  Ozzie sighs, looking at me with what appears to be regret. “David Doucet is the man who pulled the gun on us at the bar.”

  A shiver passes through my body and my mouth goes suddenly dry. “David Doucet is the shooter?” His very name strikes fear into my heart.

  “Yes. He’s the brother of Guy Doucet, the one who runs the show in this part of town.”

  “So you think he’s the one talking about Petit Rouge?” Toni asks.

  “Could be.” Ozzie gestures at Toni. “What else you got from him?”

  She shrugs. “I could go listen again. Maybe now that I know who the voice belongs to, some of the things he said will make more sense.”

  “Yeah, why don’t you do that. Tomorrow.” He looks at me. “What else do you have on arrivals and departures?”

  “Let’s see . . . I have these guys all coming in,”—I pass over my screenshots—“but only the first four came back out. The last ones to arrive stayed for as long as the tape ran.”

  “And when did the recording stop?”

  I look at my last page of notes. “Two-fourteen in the morning.”

  Ozzie turns his attention to Toni. “Pull more of the tape from the Parrot. I want to see until six in the morning.”

  “You got it.” She moves to stand.

  “Tomorrow. You’ve done enough today.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Toni sits back down.

  “Anything else I should know about?” He looks around the table.

  “Bought some tackle today,” Lucky says.

  “And?”

  “And things aren’t adding up over there, literally and figuratively.”

  “How so?”

  Lucky scratches his head. “I’m not exactly sure.” His expression is pained as he crosses his arms over his chest. “They have the typical expenses of a retail business that also has a service aspect to what they do.” He shrugs. “They sell products and they also repair marine engines, usually off site. They have contractors who do some jobs for them, both on and off site. They also pay for services done on and off site by other vendors as a result of the work done by the contractors. But if you run through their financial reports, you see they have an inordinate amount of money being spent in areas that should just be a minor percent of their total business expenses.”

  “Such as?” Ozzie has all his attention on Lucky, as do Toni and I.

  “Well, take, for example, their hazardous waste disposal. They have used oil they have to get rid of when they drain it from marine engines. Most places pay to have it picked up and treated. No big deal. So does Blue Marine. Problem is, that service should be less than one percent of their total expenses. For Blue Marine? It’s at almost ten percent.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Ozzie looks pissed.

  “I know. And there’s more. The janitorial service that’s supposed to be worth another ten percent? I went into the store. There’re dust bunnies everywhere. The bathrooms haven’t been touched in weeks. Employees who work in the store say that the garbage gets emptied and they see someone there at night once in a while, but for what they’re paying, everything should be sparkling. They could practically pay a person to be there full-time with what they’ve spent this year.”

  “What else?”

  “The list goes on and on. Re-machined parts, returns, one-off services—you name it; their numbers are whack.”

  “So what’s our next step?” Ozzie leans back in his chair.

  Lucky unfolds his arms and put his hands on the table, palms down. “I need to contact these providers and see what’s up. If it’s just a matter of a terrible business manager who doesn’t know how to shop around, then fine. We can fix that. But I’m afraid it’s something more.” He shakes his head with disappointment. “You know how hard it is to prove embezzlement without a confession.”

  “Well, Blue Marine is worried it’s something more too. That’s why they hired us. Talk to the service providers, and let me know what you find out. If we need a confession after all is said and done, we’ll get one. Just get me the evidence to bring to the conversation.”

  “You got it. You want me on this now?”

  “No, tomorrow. Everyone’s done for the day.” Ozzie stands. “You guys can take off. I’m sure Dev and Thibault will be at the hospital for at least a couple hours. We’ll pick this up tomorrow at eight.”

  All the chairs scrape back at the same time as we get to our feet.

  “You’re here with me tonight,” he says, looking at me. He’s talking like my boss, but the look in his eye is coming from my lover. I think Jenny was right; he has been thinking about having sex with me. A whole other kind of shiver is running through me now.

  “You mind if I talk to you in private for a minute?” Toni asks him. I get the impression she’s specifically not looking at me, even though she wants to. I’m immediately suspicious.

  “Sure. I’ll walk you out.”

  I pretend to be busy with paperwork as they all leave the kitchen together.

  Felix comes running through the kitchen and jumps up on my lap, trying to reach my chin for a lick attack.

  “Where have you been, you little rascal?”

  Sahara comes walking into the room behind him, ambling over to sit next to my chair. I scratch her behind the ears a little before I get up and put Felix on the floor. “So, what up, dogs?” I giggle at myself. Lame humor is my specialty. “Have a fun day today smelling each other’s b
utts and eating the same meal you eat every day?”

  They both look up at me with stars in their eyes.

  “I’m not giving you any treats. Don’t look at me like that.”

  Felix whines.

  “Okay, maybe a little treat.” I walk over to the pantry and step inside, searching the shelves. It’s kind of fascinating seeing inside the heart of Ozzie’s kitchen. Everything is lined up with labels pointing out. Canned goods are in one section, boxed goods in another, arranged so that dinner foods and cereals are not together.

  I hear noises outside the pantry door that I assume are the dogs messing around, but then I freeze when voices come too, entering the kitchen from the sword room.

  “Just let me grab this folder, and I’ll walk you out,” Ozzie says.

  “We might as well talk here,” says Toni, sounding frustrated. “The warehouse has too many ears.”

  “So talk. What’s on your mind?”

  “I just don’t want her in my business.”

  I’m guessing I’m the her she doesn’t want around.

  “I understand, but I want to assure you that you have nothing to worry about.”

  She snorts her disbelief. “Listen, I know you want to think you’re being third-party removed and all that, but you’re not. Everyone knows you’re into her.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Please. It’s obvious. You set her up on a ninety-day probation and the next day buy her a company car? You move her into your apartment? Jesus, Oz, why don’t you go buy a fucking ring and ask her to marry you already.”

  “That’s out of line.” Ozzie sounds angry.

  I take a small step deeper into the pantry. The door is slightly ajar, and I pray they can’t see inside it from where they’re standing. They’ll think I snooped on purpose.

  “What, I’m not allowed to speak my mind here anymore?”

  “You can speak your mind; I just don’t appreciate you getting involved in my personal life. Or what you think is my personal life.”

  “If it’s not your personal life, why don’t you explain why she’s getting all this special treatment?”

  I hate those words. Special treatment. I knew it would piss her off that everyone was coddling me so much. Dammit!

  “I don’t have to explain anything to you. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the boss here.”

  “There was a time when you shared everything with me, Ozzie. What happened to that? What happened to us? It was so good between us for a long time.”

  My heart collapses in on itself. He said they’d never had sex. He lied! What else could she possibly be talking about?

  Tears spring to my eyes. Horrible memories of my father come rushing into my brain. Visions of my mother, sobbing, drinking, trying to erase the pain he caused. His stories that were supposed to be believable. The suffering it brought to all of us. I’ll never be able to forget that part of my life, and now it feels like I’m reliving it, only this time I’m my mother and Ozzie is the liar.

  Of course Ozzie lied. He was too good to be true. I built him up to be this perfect specimen of a man, a superhero no less, but I should have known better; no man is perfect, including Ozzie. He’s just like the rest of them.

  I’m devastated. Shattered, just like I predicted I would be. Of course I thought it would take at least a few weeks for that reality to hit me like a ton of bricks, but whatever. It’s here now. Thanks a lot, asshole, for getting my hopes up and then slapping me down. Dammit, he was so cute! And fun! And we did have massive sex too. My heart literally aches.

  I can put up with a lot of crap, but lying is not one of those things. Not only was my father a lying cheat, but so was Jenny’s husband, Miles, which is why his butt got kicked to the curb last year. I hate that I’ve already slept with Ozzie. Twice. I can’t stay here tonight—no way. I’m busy planning my excuse for why I have to leave when he responds.

  “You moved on, Toni. You don’t need me that way anymore.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me. And you. You’re the one who pulled away, not me. And I think it was the right thing to do.”

  “Because she’s here.”

  “No, because it just is. It’s time to move on from the past. Look to the future.”

  “My past is my future.” Her words sound vicious, even way over here in the back of the pantry. The boots she’s wearing strike the floor hard as she walks away.

  “Only if you want it to be!” he shouts out after her.

  The door to the warehouse slams shut.

  “Goddammit.” Ozzie sounds totally defeated. His footsteps moving down the hall toward his bedroom fade away as I tiptoe up to the pantry door. I need to get out of here asap, before he has time to find out I’m not in his bedroom and that I was hiding in the pantry the whole time.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Thank god, I left my purse downstairs in a locker. I race down the stairs and sprint over to it, yanking it out of the metal space. Felix is struggling to get out of my arms, probably because I left Sahara upstairs.

  “Stop it, Fee. We have to go. I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” The tears want to pour out of my head, but I won’t let them. Not here. I’ll collapse in a soggy pity party later, when I’m home and drinking copious amounts of wine.

  I fish around in my bag for my keys and find them just as I’m getting to my Sonic. Less than a minute later, I’m pulling out of the warehouse, thankful that Toni left the door open. I didn’t realize how much Ozzie’s home could be like a prison until I remembered I don’t have a key fob to use to get in and out of the big door. I could have left through the small door, but that would have meant leaving my car behind, and no way am I taking that stupid minivan. I have to decide if I’m even going to come back to this place.

  As I drive down the highway, taking the fastest way home, my mind wanders. Can I work at Bourbon Street Boys if Ozzie and I are no longer together in a sexual way? Can we step back into the boss–employee relationship? I think I can. I want to, anyway. I’ll have to mourn the loss of that almost-relationship first, but it won’t take long, right? A couple months, tops? Thinking about going back to wedding photography is positively depressing. At Bourbon Street Boys, I felt like I had an exciting life, for once. People admired me for things that came naturally to me. Every minute of the day, there was something new happening. My muscles are sorer than sore, sure, but soon they’ll be strong, and then I’ll know how to protect myself out here in a world where things can get pretty damn crazy.

  I nod. Ozzie and I can do this. We can decide to be adults about it and acknowledge that things will be better if we’re not involved. Then he and Toni can get back together, and I can keep my job. She’ll stop hating me when she sees that I’m happy to give him up, and we can maybe even learn to be friends.

  I burst out in choking sobs. Why did he lie? Why didn’t he just tell the truth? I liked him sooooo much. I probably loved him already. Oh, how I hate myself right now. Why do I have to be so gullible? It makes me angry enough that the tears stop.

  Give Ozzie up? How am I going to do that? Can I pretend I never heard about his lie and make myself not care that he did it? When I try to imagine saying the words Good-bye forever or hearing the words Sorry, but it’s not going to work out, I want to bawl like a baby all over again. Why? Why, dammit? Why did he have to be so amazing and such a liar too? Why can’t the inside of a man match the outside, like, ever?

  I grip the steering really hard and shake it. It’s actually my body flying back and forth, but it feels good taking my rage out on the faux-leather cover. I yank the wheel hard to the right, driving up into my driveway way too fast.

  I have to slam on the brakes to keep from ramming my garage door. I’ve for sure left skid marks on the ground. Good. I’ll need something to keep me busy for a while after today. I’ll get down on my hands and knees and scrub that rubber off for the next week. I’ll have the cleanest driveway in New Orleans.

  My hair swi
ngs into my face with the force of my stop, and Felix flies off the seat and lands on the floor. When he gets his feet under him, he looks up at me, and I swear I can see disappointment there.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I’m just upset. You know I drive horribly when I’m in a bad mood.”

  He’s still glaring.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll see Sahara again. I’ll work it out . . .”—my voice catches on the last word—“somehow.”

  Walking up the front sidewalk with Felix under my arm, my feet are practically dragging. I don’t want to be here alone, but I don’t want to be at work. I can’t look at Ozzie right now. I need to calm down before he starts lying to my face. And I can’t go to my sister’s place. She’ll try too hard to cheer me up, and I’m not in the mood. I need to wallow in my pain for a little while. Own it. Live in it like a second skin so that when Ozzie begs for my forgiveness, I won’t cave in. I do that too easily. I need to toughen up. Something tells me Ozzie will have amazing powers of persuasion.

  I walk in the door and throw my stuff on the ground: my purse, the singlestick Dev told me to keep and practice with, and the folders I had at the table. Felix I lower to the ground gently, of course. He didn’t do anything wrong; he’s guilty of the same crime I am—loving too much, too fast, too easily.

  I don’t know why I grabbed all that stuff from work. I guess my heart wants to pretend I’m still working at Bourbon Street Boys, even though my brain is telling me to quit. Stupid heart. Trying to get itself trampled and not just massively bruised.

  I’ve got the wine out and glass of it halfway to my lips when Felix starts barking like a crazy fool.

  And then it hits me.

  The house alarm never went off when I walked in. What happened to the beeeep, beeeep, beeeep?

  I lower my glass very slowly to the counter, pricking my ears for any sounds that might explain Felix’s agitation. I hear nothing, but he is pissed for sure. If I didn’t know better, I’d surmise he’s looking out the front door windows that stretch from ceiling to floor. Usually he stands sentry there, so him barking at things like grass moving or a car driving by isn’t normally a big deal. It’s just that he’s so enthusiastic about it this time. He sounds mad, and Felix never sounds mad. And he usually gives up after three or four barks.