Murder In Louisiana Politics

by Jim Riley

  Paula fought to control the natural high and waited for her breathing to return to normal. At least, as normal as it would ever be right before a kill.

  She stepped to the side of the bed. With her hand as steady as it had ever been, she placed her finger on the trigger. She exhaled and squeezed. Then another. Then another. Only then did she stop shooting.

  Paula turned just as an enormous body barreled into her. The blow knocked her onto the bed, the Glock flying from her hands and landing on the carpet on the far side of the bed.

  The air gushed out of Paula's lungs at the impact. She fought to catch her breath, but the body on top of her was smothering. She tried to resist, but her attempts were futile.

  Then the lights came on. Paula felt someone else clamp a handcuff on her wrist. Then the monster on top of her twisted her other arm and it was also shackled.

  The bear of a man grinned when he hefted his enormous body off her.

  "I've still got it," Samson Mayeaux bragged.

  "You've still got a couple hundred pounds of lard you can knock down a little girl with," a feminine voice responded.

  When Paula looked through the bright light around Samson's body, she saw Niki Dupre standing in the doorway. Squeezing him behind her was the same doll-like girl who had interrupted her job at the ranch.

  When Paula shifted her gaze away from the door, she saw two uniformed police officers emerging from the closet, followed by the senator who she had been tasked to kill.

  "You are under arrest," Samson began.

  The young lady ignored the rest of the Miranda rights. She had no intention of speaking to the cops. She had no intention of asking for a public defender. She had no intention of going to jail.

  Paula realized Mayeaux was finished when he jerked her off the bed. She glanced back down at the soft manikin under the covers. The tape of the soft snoring still played.

  "That’s her, Samson," the strawberry blonde said. "She's the one who tried to kill us."

  "I agree," the doll said. "I recognize her. She stuck that needle in me."

  Paula stared at the petite young lady. She should have been dead within seconds of the injection.

  "You –?" She stuttered.

  "I'm still alive," Donna said defiantly. "No thanks to you."

  Paula's mind raced. How could this be? How could the girl still be alive? How could she have fallen for the set-up? How could her research have been so wrong?

  She was now facing a new challenge. Paula had never been in this situation before. But she had thought about it. She had even planned for it.

  "How does it feel?" Niki asked Paula.

  "Not bad," Paula lied. "This is just now getting interesting."

  "I'm not sure you'll find the rest of this journey interesting," Mayeaux grunted.

  "Now you owe me too, big man," Paula snarled.

  "Samson Mayeaux, Ma'am. You'll see how to spell my name on the arrest record."

  "I'll find you," she hissed. "There is no place on earth you and these other losers can hide where I can't find you."

  "You won't see any of us except at your trial," Mayeaux chuckled. "Unless we decide to witness your execution."

  "Who hired you?" Niki asked.

  "Wouldn't you like to know?" Paula was belligerent with her reply.

  "It might save your life if you cooperate," Samson said with a soothing voice.

  "I think I'd rather take the needle," Paula replied. "I've had a little bit of experience with one of those."

  "Did you kill Omar Philbin?" Samson asked.

  "I might have," Paula sneered, "but you will never live long enough to find out."

  "You're not in a good position to be making threats, young lady. I think you might consider taking your position more seriously." Samson said.

  "And I think you should blow it out of your big ass, Fatso." She responded.

  Mayeaux motioned to the two uniforms.

  "Take her out of here before I get sick. Much more this drivel and I'll have to throw up."

  "Don't worry," Paula yelled. "A couple of boxes of doughnuts should make you feel better. From the looks of you, I'd say you're used to eating at least that many."

  One uniform grabbed her by the elbow. He began to pull her out of the room.

  "You'd better check her," Niki advised.

  Oh, yeah," Samson mumbled. He motioned to a uniform.

  The policeman ran his hand down Paula's leg. He stopped when he felt a projection just above her ankle boots. When he pulled up her pants leg, he found a capped syringe.

  "Damn," Samson exclaimed. "We almost let her out of here with that. Someone would have died."

  "Someone is gonna die, you fat pig," Paula said through clenched teeth. "And that someone is you. But I'm going to take my time doing it."

  "I'll die of old age before you ever get out of jail." Samson said calmly. "That is, if you ever get out. I’d say the odds are against you."

  The pat down of Paula's other leg revealed a.22 Derringer, so small that it was not visible when the policeman closed his hand.

  "You were prepared," Samson whistled.

  "But you won't be the next time we meet, lard ass," Paula exhibited an evil grin.

  "Get her out of here," Mayeaux had enough of the insolence young lady.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Copper Mill

  Zachary's

  The two uniforms escorted Paula to the end of the driveway.

  "Can you handle her?" The taller one asked. "I have to go get the car."

  The squad car was parked two blocks away out of sight of the house.

  "I think I can handle one little gal in cuffs," the shorter cop replied. "Who knows? I might get lucky while you're gone."

  The taller cop stopped and eyed Paula’s body up and down.

  "I wouldn't mind getting a little lucky myself."

  "Nobody said we had to go straight back to the precinct. We may have to take a little tour."

  Both burst into laughter as if they had an inside joke. The taller man shook his head and struck out toward the hidden car.

  The short cop turned to Paula. "I'm not sure you were thoroughly patted down back there," he said. Then he ran his hand over her body. He squeezed her breast one at a time. Then he moved his hand down to her crotch and moved it back and forth.

  Paula was stone-faced. She showed no emotion at all while the cop was pawing her. Her body was not tense. Her breathing remained normal. But her hands cuffed behind her back were anything but quiet.

  She fished the handcuff key from the waistband of her jeans. Paula was more prepared than the big cop ever dreamed.

  The smaller cop was so engaged in the molestation of his prisoner he was unaware when her hands came free. She kept them behind her back.

  The taller man returned with the squad car. He jumped out anxiously when he saw what his partner was doing to Paula.

  "Hey, wait until we get her where the neighbors aren’t watching," he said.

  The shorter cop turned to him, leaving his back to Paula. The adrenaline rushed in like a high tide. She grabbed his gun and shot the taller policeman in one motion. The policeman grabbed his throat that was unprotected by the bullet-proof vest.

  The shorter cop gasped, frozen at the sight of blood pouring down the front of his partner. He barely had time to whirl around when Paula pressed the barrel of his own weapon against his crotch.

  "Feel this, little man," Paula hissed.

  She pulled the trigger and raced to the squad car. Leaping in, she took one glance at the short uniform writhing on the ground. She could not suppress the brief smile before she sped away in the police unit.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Zachary's

  With the second shot rang outside the house, Mayeaux cursed. Then he led the others outside only to see one officer dead and the other struggling in pain at the end of the driveway. Dalton was close behind the Chief of Homicide. Donna helped Niki out the door.

  Mayeaux brace
d his pistol at the fleeing car but knew it was of no use. The car was already turning on Highway 64.

  The big chief yelled into his radio. "Seven oh one. Officer down."

  He repeated the killed and gave the address. Then he put out an all-points-bulletin for the missing police car.

  Dalton knelt beside the cop. Samson joined him.

  "What happened, Murray?"

  "The bitch shot me," he whined. "Right in my balls."

  "How did she get a weapon? She didn't have one when she came out here."

  "She stole mine, Chief." Murray rolled in agony on the driveway. "I don't know how, but she got my gun."

  "How could she have taken your weapon?" Mayeaux asked.

  "I don't know, Chief. I was holding her elbow, and all of a sudden, she had my gun. Then she shot Bubba and then she shot me."

  "And you were holding onto her according to procedure?" Mayeaux’s tone skeptical.

  "Right by the book," the cop moaned. "Will they get here soon? I feel like my insides got blown up."

  An ambulance turned on the street as the small cop finished the sentence. With the siren blasting and lights flashing, it screeched to a halt at the end of the driveway.

  An EMT quickly checked the taller cop and shook his head. They were too late to help him. The other EMT was already kneeling by Murray.

  He cut the pants away, revealing a huge black hole. The exit wound in Murray's buttocks was even larger. The cop screamed in pain when the EMT touched the open wound.

  "Hold on, Sir," the EMT said, his voice calm. "The wound is not life-threatening as long as we stop the bleeding. It's currently painful and you'll have to make some adjustments, but you will survive."

  Other police cars rolled into the subdivision. Almost all of the houses now had lights on, and a few of the neighbors wandered outside.

  Dalton, Niki, and Donna retreated to the confines of the house while Samson directed the investigation teams outside. About every fourth word out of his mouth could not be repeated on radio or TV.

  To his dismay, a television crew pulled up. A pretty female reporter, still applying her lipstick, ran toward the melee at the same time. A large man struggled to keep up lugging a heavy camera.

  "Hold it right there," Mayeaux shouted at the pair.

  He might as well have been speaking in Cantonese. If anything, his command spurred the young reporter to a higher gear. She skidded to a stop in her high heels only a foot away from the massive chief.

  One glance at the cameraman from her and the green light appeared atop the camera.

  "This is Julie Hamilton reporting live from Copper Mill Subdivision in Zachary. I'm here with the Chief of Homicide, Samuel Mayeaux. Can you tell us what happened, Chief?"

  She thrust a microphone in his face. He glared at it as though considering which orifice to shove it in the reporter's body.

  "What can you tell us?" Julie pressed.

  "I can tell you we have an investigation going on here which you are in the middle of interfering. If you don't move back behind your van, you will be placed in the back of a squad car and given a free ride downtown."

  "We are trying to report the news, Chief. Surely, you want to let the citizens know why one of your own was shot. Will he survive?"

  Mayeaux realized the reporter had been monitoring the police scanner and was only aware a policeman was down. She did not know one was dead, and another was maimed for life.

  "In the course of an arrest, two officers have been injured. We will be giving more information at a press conference at the appropriate time. Now, I have to get back to the investigation."

  Mayeaux nodded at a uniform. The policeman took the reporter by her arm and led her back to their van.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  "What do you think happened?" Donna asked.

  "That girl is even more dangerous than we thought," Niki answered, glancing through the window from inside the house.

  "She must've taken the gun away from the policeman," Dalton added. "Now she has a gun and a car."

  "Did you see the look in her eyes?" Donna asked. "She is filled with pure hate."

  "And we know who she has a good reason to hate. Everybody in this room qualifies," Niki chuckled.

  "What do you think she'll do?" Fear crept into Donna's voice.

  "I don't think there's much doubt," Dalton responded. "She will try to kill all three of us and Mayeaux. I doubt if Drexel has a free pass either."

  "I forgot about him," Niki said. "We need to warn him."

  The strawberry blonde dialed his number but received no answer. Then she went through the hotel switchboard to his room and got the same result. When she hung up, a serious frown spread across her face.

  "I hope we’re not too late," she said.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Saturday night

  Hyatt Regency, New Orleans

  The door to Drexel’s hotel room opened slowly. Not the door to the hallway where a chain also protected against intrusion, but the locked door to the adjacent guest room. He had made sure it was locked before turning in for the night. But now, it was sliding open.

  A small figure slipped from one darkness to another. It was inside the room like a spirit wafting through the air, silently and fluid. The figure paused once inside next to the wall.

  After only sixty seconds, it moved to the side of the bed. A skinny arm lifted above its head.

  The lights flashed on. Drexel sat under the switch holding a revolver aimed directly at the quivering boy. It was one of the same boys who had followed him from the hotel down to Café Du Monde.

  “Lay the knife on the bed,” Drexel said. “I can’t miss at this distance, and you’re way too young to die.”

  The boy turned toward him, his eyes as wide as saucers. His mouth stuck open while his hand holding the knife remained above his head.

  “Listen to me, son. I really don’t want to shoot you, but I will. Do you really want to die tonight?”

  The boy froze in place. In all his dreams, this is not one of the scenarios he had developed. He was not prepared for the situation.

  “Son, you better decide in a hurry. I’m a lot older than you, and I can’t hold this gun forever,” Drexel grinned. “But before I put it down, I will pull the trigger unless you put that knife on the bed.”

  The stark reality finally overtook the boy.

  He cried. Then the kid placed the long knife on top of the covers. His legs shook. Then his whole body trembled.

  Drexel rose and retrieved the blade. He placed his revolver back in its holster.

  "Sit down,"Drexel pointed at the chair.

  The sobbing youngster obeyed without hesitation. Once seated, he cast a fearful look at the private investigator.

  "What you gonna do?" He asked.

  "We're about to have a little talk. What I do will depend on how our talk goes."

  "What you want to know?"

  "Your name. Tell me your name," Drexel's voice was firm, but not condescending.

  "Tyrell. I be Tyrell."

  "Okay, Tyrell. We both know why you're here tonight, don't we?"

  The boy nodded, his eyes still wide.

  "It didn't work. Who asked you to come here tonight?"

  "I ain't telling you that," the tears dried up.

  "You have to, Tyrell. If you don't, you’ll be going to jail for a long, long time. Do you want to go to jail?"

  The boy shook his head vigorously. If possible, his eyes grew even wider. The shaking in his body increased in intensity.

  "Tyrell, your future is in my hands. Do you realize that? With one phone call, you will be headed straight to jail, probably for the rest of your life." Drexel knew he was stretching the truth, but now was not the time to underplay his hand.

  The boy said nothing, but he curled up in a fetal position, a position of vulnerability.

  "Have you ever killed someone before?" Drexel asked.

  "No, Sir."

  "Why did you want to kill
me tonight?"

  "Miss Paula, she says I got to," the boy answered.

  "Did she say why I needed to die tonight?" The detective asked.

  "She say you crossed her. Miss Paula, she say you set her up."

  "She is right, Terrel. I did set her up. Do you want to know why?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Because Miss Paula tried to kill three friends of mine. Do you have friends, Tyrell?"

  "Just one," the boy held up one finger "Lebron, he be my friend."

  "Was Lebron the young man with you when you followed me this morning?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "How would you feel if someone hurt Lebron? How would you feel if someone killed him?"

  "I be pissed off, for sure. I be wanting to kill them."

  "That's how I felt when Miss Paula tried to kill my friends," Drexel placed a hand on the boy's arm. "Can you blame me for that?"

  "No, Sir. I reckon not."

  "Good. Do you live with your parents?"

  "No, Sir. They be dead. Long time ago, they got killed." There was little remorse in his tone, only a statement of fact.

  "Where do you stay?" Drexel asked.

  "Here and there," the boy answered vaguely.

  "Where is here and there?"

  "Sometimes, we stay at the center. But they got lots of old folks there. Me and Lebron, we don't fit in there."

  "Where else?"

  "Sometimes we just stay on the street. It ain't so bad."

  "And other times?"

  "We stay at Miss Paula's. She be the only one that really helps us."

  "Do you have any other family in New Orleans?"

  "No, Sir. Just Lebron and Miss Paula."

  "Where is Miss Paula's place?"

  "Apartment off of Carondelet. She likes the Quarter. She ain't leaving the Quarter."

  "Good, do you know the address?"

  "Yes, but I ain’t going there tonight after telling on her."