City of Fear

by Larry Enmon

  “Well, Levern claims to be an illegitimate grandson. Kind of resembles the old boy, but who knows? He tells a different story about his family every year or so.”

  “Why him?” Edna asked.

  “Think that toy we recovered from Ricardo’s might be a Voodoo doll.”

  Edna crossed her legs. Her skirt rode up, revealing a little thigh. Her olive complexion and perfect white teeth took Frank back to his one and only trip abroad. That Mediterranean cruise to Italy and Greece—prettiest women in the world.

  “Is Levern into that kind of thing?”

  “Yeah. He supposedly has some kind of Voodoo connection in the drug community. Claims his grandma was a Voodoo priestess back in Haiti, or something. Probably just another BS story to give him extra street creds.”

  Edna rocked back a little more. Frank’s stare shifted from her eyes, back to her legs and thigh. He quickly recovered from his Pavolvian response, but she’d caught him. Her smirk and lifted eyebrow was confirmation.

  Why does she have to be my lieutenant and married?

  She took another sip before asking, “Find out anything from him?”

  Frank cleared his throat and shifted his stance, keeping his eyes on hers. “Not sure. He claims not to know anything about it. Not certain I believe him.”

  “Interesting,” Edna said.

  Frank turned for the door.

  “Hey.”

  He looked back.

  Edna winked. “Thanks for the java.”

  * * *

  Rob sauntered in a few minutes before nine wearing a new cowboy cut suit. Poor Rob. Born a hundred and fifty years too late. Would have made a great Texas lawman in the mid to late eighteen hundreds. A while back he tried wearing a cowboy hat into the office. That lasted until lunch when Terry slipped up beside him and whispered, “Rodeo’s over—lose the hat.”

  “Morning,” Rob said as he draped his jacket over the back of the chair.

  Frank kept typing, but mumbled something he hoped Rob would interpret as good morning. Rob hummed a country and western song under his breath while he busied himself powering up his computer and organizing his desk.

  Frank stopped typing and took a long patient breath. He’d mentioned once or twice about Rob’s humming—a serious distraction. Rob forgot stuff like that. Never a bad thing to remind him.

  Frank scanned the websites until he found what he wanted. Rob snatched up his cup and headed to the coffee bar in the corner. Frank reached over the top of the low cubicle and turned the volume to the max on Rob’s computer speakers. Then he attached the link to the email and hit send. Rob flopped back into his chair a moment later, still humming, and opened his emails.

  “Hey, what’s this?”

  Frank stopped typing. “Huh?”

  “You send me a link?”

  “Yeah, something you’ll like.”

  Rob lifted the cup to his lips as he clicked the link. Freddie Hart’s voice boomed through the squad area. EASY LOVING … SO SEXY LOOKING! Rob jerked the cup, sprinkling his freshly starched khaki pants with coffee. As every head turned, he clawed for the volume knob. Edna gawked at him, and Terry’s eyes bore down from his glass office.

  Rob wiped his pants. “Carmen’s going to kill me. Just got these from the cleaners.”

  Now Frank felt bad. Not for playing the joke, but for making poor Rob face Carmen with his newly cleaned pants stained. Girl wouldn’t tolerate nasty clothes on Rob.

  Edna stood at her door and motioned with her head for Frank. She reclaimed her executive leather chair as he strolled in.

  “I had an idea.” She opened her notebook and removed a business card. “Since the chief’s office wants us working this Ricardo business with Homicide, we should get a good handle on this Voodoo thing.”

  Christ. Frank hated when she had ideas. It usually meant him doing twice the work for half the benefit. “Oh, yeah, what’s that?”

  She passed him the card. “I made an appointment for you and Rob to see a pal of mine.”

  Frank looked at the card. “A professor at SMU?”

  “Met him at a luncheon. Would love to take his comparative religion class, but my schedule’s too full this semester.”

  The best Frank could tell, Edna had been continually in school since she entered the first grade. Prior to joining the department, she’d earned her undergraduate degree from Texas A&M. Got a master’s after becoming a cop, and now had her eye on an executive management degree from SMU.

  “He might be able to shed some light on this business,” Edna said. “Knows a lot about religion and things like that. You’ll like him. Nice old guy.”

  Frank’s promise to Terry still echoed in his ears, I’ll just say, yes, ma’am. He bit back a sarcastic comment.

  “Yes, ma’am.” There, playing nice.

  Back at his desk, Frank examined the card. Doctor Jonathan Plebe, Dedman College of Humanities and Sciences. Frank finished typing up yesterday’s interview with Levern and sent an electronic copy to Terry and Edna.

  Rob had his ear buds in, attached to the surreptitious iPod he hid under his notebook. As he typed, his lips moved and his head bobbed in time with another country-western tune. Rob had about a thousand songs on that iPod.

  “We have a new mission,” Frank announced. He made it a point to smile as he passed the business card over the top of the cubicle.

  Rob slipped an ear bud out and read the card. “What?”

  “Saddle up, cowboy. We’re riding to SMU.”

  9

  When Rob and Frank ambled into Dr. Plebe’s office, an older man with bright, intelligent eyes stood and warmly greeted them. He fit Rob’s expectation of a college professor. Tall and thin with an aquiline nose. The herringbone jacket and green striped bowtie added a flash of style to what otherwise would be an ordinary looking man. If Mr. Rogers had a twin, they’d just found him.

  After inviting them to take a seat, he leaned on the desk and clasped his fingers. “Gentlemen, Edna tells me you have some questions about Voodoo.” A quick grin swept across Plebe’s lips as if he had a secret but wasn’t about to share it. “Used to teach those classes myself until we got our new associate professor—expert in ancient religions and the occult.”

  “You, or the new professor?” Rob asked.

  Plebe’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth, but caught what he was about to say. “What? Oh, yes. The new professor, I mean. Sorry. Dr. Hawkins really isn’t new. Came to us years ago, but I continued teaching the ancient religion courses until recently.”

  Rob wanted to be anywhere else. What a waste of time. To make matters worse, they were doing this just to appease Edna. “We had a couple of questions. Do you have time to help us?”

  Rob glanced over at Frank. From his expression it was clear he also thought this a wasted effort. After shaking hands with Plebe and sitting down, Frank hadn’t said a word. He played with his jacket button while Rob made conversation.

  “I’m sorry, but I should defer Voodoo questions to the true expert,” Plebe said. “Much better versed in that sort of thing than I.” He flashed an apologetic smile.

  Rob shifted in the chair. Christ! Why can’t he just give us some BS answers to our BS questions and let us get out of here?

  Frank still hadn’t spoken. He had that zoned-out look he showed when something didn’t interest him. Or he already knew the answer and was listening just to be polite. Intellectuals never impressed Frank. Probably because he was one. Of all the guys in the department, Rob never figured he’d end up partnering with someone like Frank. A guy who owned more books than fishing lures.

  Plebe cleared his throat and stood. “Let’s take a walk down the hall. I’ll introduce you.” He stood, opened the door for them, and they followed.

  Rob already had his mind on dinner. Carmen promised beef tips and gravy tonight—his favorite. The sooner they could ask a few stupid questions and get out, the better. Edna would be happy and they could claim victory.

  As they
followed the professor down the hall, photographs of distinguished looking men and women in university caps and gowns hung on the wall. Probably previous heads of the department. Having gone into the Marines right out of high school, Rob never received any higher education—unless you counted being in combat and fifteen years in the PD an education. Plebe stopped at a closed door and knocked. A female voice said, “Come.”

  Plebe swung the door open and they walked in. She sat at her desk with the phone pressed to her ear, her long red hair covering the receiver. She stared at them and held up one finger.

  Frank touched Rob’s shoulder, but he ignored him, keeping his eyes on the beauty. Best looking professor he’d ever seen.

  Frank leaned his mouth to Rob’s ear and whispered. “It’s her, the red-haired woman from Ricardo’s.”

  * * *

  Antoine Levern stared at himself in the mirror. Shaving lather sagged from his chin as he dragged the razor down his cheek. He made sure not to get too close to his soul patch. The ladies loved that thing.

  Levern never saw himself as a crook. More of a businessman. His business just happened to have a criminal slant, but supplying a demand was a very capitalist idea. Besides, he helped fund the American dream. He employed lots of people. That helped the economy, right? He finished shaving and wiped his face with a warm cloth. He smoothed the small tuft of hair just under his lip.

  Frank’s visit yesterday still disturbed him. Ricardo getting whacked simplified Levern’s business but could complicate his life. Would New York and Chicago ask questions, or just accept it as the cost of doing business? While the Voodoo doll was a nice touch, Levern really didn’t give a rat’s ass about Voodoo. He’d used it before though, as device to keep his street people in line and frightened. The snake handling trick he’d learned from his grandmother. The old woman used to live on a half-rotten houseboat way back on the Tangipahoa River. He’d spent several summers there as a kid.

  But being given credit for Ricardo’s hit came with consequences. While it gave him standing, it also drew unwanted attention—could put a target on his back. Ricardo’s friends and family, and also his New York associates, might be a problem. The New York associates had enforcers to handle disruptions in their supply chain. Might be a good idea to bring in a few more of his boys as guards for a while.

  Levern splashed on aftershave and donned a black shirt. The only problem with bringing on more guys as guards—trust. Most of these characters were two-bit thugs—hired guns who’d sell you out in a minute. He needed more people he could trust, like Tabor.

  Levern finished buttoning his shirt and opened the bedroom door. Tabor was waiting when Levern strolled out.

  “What’s on for today, boss?” Tabor asked.

  Tabor had been with him since he’d arrived in Dallas. Loyal as a dog, needing only his basic needs met. He liked women and dope. Levern made sure he got all he could handle. Having one loyal man around in a business like his was worth any price.

  Levern’s knee always stiffened up in the mornings. He rubbed it. “Put together a list. About three or four of our best guys. Thinking about adding a few extra security people.”

  Tabor gnawed the shredded toothpick and nodded. “You got problems, boss?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” But Levern wasn’t so sure. Until he saw which way the wind blew, he’d have to be extra careful for a while. Lot of game pieces in play. Hard to keep track of all the moving parts. Let one piece fall and.…

  * * *

  Frank may as well have told Rob he’d seen a unicorn in the room. Rob’s brow creased and he frowned just as the lady hung up the phone.

  “Alma, these are the gentlemen I told you about,” Plebe said.

  The woman stood. She was about thirty-five, nice figure, and intense green eyes to complement the flowing red hair. She extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Alma Hawkins.”

  Frank introduced himself and shook hands, his skin tingling as if little shocks of electricity had run up and down his back. He held her handshake a second too long and searched her eyes for something. He got nothing.

  She shot a concerned look at Plebe. “Bad news,” she pointed at the phone. “That was Professor Webb. His wife’s been in a car accident. She’s okay, but he’s helping her out. He was wondering if I could cover his class—just monitoring an open book exam.”

  Plebe stammered apologies to Rob and Frank.

  “That’s not a problem. We understand,” Frank said. “Perhaps I could give you a call later this afternoon?”

  Dr. Hawkins smiled the kind of smile you get from a woman in a bar after asking for her phone number. “Of course.” She handed him a business card from her desk. “Should finish my last class by three. Be in my office after that until six.” She eyed Plebe while gathering up a notebook and some loose papers from the desk. “I must run if I’m going to make it.”

  Ten minutes later on their way to lunch, Rob said, “So that’s it. You’ve finally lost your ever loving mind.”

  Frank remained silent. Sometimes just giving Rob room to rant was the best course of action.

  “Let me see if I got this straight,” Rob said. “You’re convinced that the person responsible for Ricardo’s hit wasn’t another gang leader who has an army of thugs working for him. Oh, no! It’s a female college professor in religious studies at SMU? Does that just about cover it?”

  Rob loved to simplify things. Boil them down to their basic elements.

  Frank slouched in the seat with his eyes closed. “That’s not what I said.”

  “Well, what you said means the same thing.”

  Frank turned and pulled the sunglasses down on his nose with his index finger. “I said the professor has more to do with Ricardo’s death than Levern.”

  “You’re always quoting statistical probabilities. What do ya’ think they are here? Huh?” Before Frank could open his mouth, Rob answered his own question. “About as close to zero as it gets. You’re fixating again, Charlie Brown. Edna tells you to go find the little red-haired girl, and you identify the first one you see as the suspect. What’cha going to do?”

  “Interview her.”

  “When?” Rob asked.

  “When she gets off work—after six.”

  “Hey, remember I have that dental thing. I might not be out till later.”

  Frank pushed the glasses back up and closed his eyes. “No problem, I’ll handle it.”

  “You serious? Really going to interview her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I want to be there when you tell Edna.” Rob snickered. “Promise you’ll let me know before you walk into her office and say, ‘Yes, lieutenant, I’ve located the missing woman. Guess what? She was hiding in plain sight all the time. And you’ll never guess where. At the very place you sent us—SMU. A professor no less! Who would have thunk?’ ”

  Rob glanced Frank’s way for a reaction. Frank ignored him. The more he pushed this Dr. Hawkins thing, the more untethered from reality he appeared. Rob was right. He’d probably just put two and two together and gotten six. No way is Dr. Hawkins the woman at the house. Still, she was attractive. If someone had to interview an attractive university professor to satisfy Edna’s Voodoo obsession, might as well be him. Since she wore no wedding ring, the game was fair.

  Something still felt wrong. Frank never believed in coincidences—no cop could afford to. But every now and then, about once in a blue moon, there was a major coincidence in a case. Something happened that made you ask if the investigative fairies had floated over and dropped it square in your lap. Is that what this is?

  Rob laughed. “Can’t wait for you to tell Edna. She’s going to have a cat.”

  “That’s good,” Frank replied, “she likes animals.”

  10

  Alonzo Salazar took another drag from the joint and passed it from the backseat up to Loro in front. They’d parked but kept the old Chrysler running at the corner of Beckley and Illinois—waiting for the call.

  Ri
cardo should have listened when Alonzo warned him. But Ricardo, being Ricardo, let his machismo get in the way of common sense. Alonzo had loved his big brother. Their mother had become so distraught at the news of his death she had to be sedated.

  Well, time to put things right.

  Alonzo didn’t need some stupid cop telling him who killed his brother. He already knew. Only one man hated Ricardo that much—Billy Henderson. Ever since the deal between them went south last year, Billy had been making threatening noises about what he’d do to Ricardo if he got the chance. That’s all the proof Alonzo needed. Time for the biker redneck to pay up.

  Ricardo’s death had put a kink in the business. Alonzo’s brother had always played his cards close to the vest and kept the contacts to himself—his insurance against New York trying to cut him out. It would be difficult rebuilding the network and getting supply back up. But by taking care of Billy, Alonzo could avenge his brother and get points with old man Gambizi in New York.

  Alonzo gazed at the traffic passing through the light, and Loro changed the radio station. Jay-Z’s “Renegade” boomed through the car. Where was Henderson? He always took this way home. Alonzo glanced at his phone’s clock just as it began ringing.

  “Hey, turn that down.”

  Loro turned down the music and stared at Alonzo.

  “He’s coming,” the voice on the other end said. “Just made the turn on Beckley.”

  Alonzo hung up and tapped Loro on the shoulder. “Billy’s turning. Let’s go.”

  They coasted down the street, and Alonzo let the rear passenger window down. The cool breeze felt good on his face and helped sober him up. Ahead, Billy Henderson completed the turn astride his vintage ’66 hog, only about fifty yards in front of them. His long brown hair and beard danced in the wind.

  Alonzo tapped Loro on the shoulder again. “Get closer or you’ll lose him at the next light.”

  Loro closed the distance. The light changed from green to yellow as Billy made the left turn. Loro slid through just before it went to red. The clopping sound of Henderson’s bike drifted in through the window, and Alonzo wiped his hands on his jeans and readied himself.