City of Fear

by Larry Enmon

  “None of us deny you your right to defend your people and territory,” Bobo said. He eyed the others. “We’d do the same, but enough is enough. If you want to snuff this darkie in Dallas, so be it. But the problem we’re having is with Chicago. All this killing has interrupted their supply. The last thing we need is a war, especially over this.”

  Elation and relief washed over Palazzo. These guys wanted the same thing he did—to terminate Jesse’s contract. But one thing old Joe taught him was to never appear to give in too easily. Time for a little drama. Palazzo stared at the group and counted to himself slowly. When he reached fifteen, he asked, “So correct me if I’m wrong. But if I call off the enforcer in Dallas, you’ll give me your backing as the new Don?”

  Bobo and Armone said, “Yes,” at the same time. The other three also nodded.

  Palazzo had won his victory and it hadn’t cost him a dime. He’d send word to Jesse to whack Levern and end the contract. Everyone was a winner—especially him. He stood and raised his glass.

  “Consider it done.”

  30

  “Are you nuts?” Rob asked. Frank had come up with some weird theories in the past and most were right on target, but Rob couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was the guy having a breakdown?

  Frank slumped in the passenger seat and shrugged. “I laid it out for you. Make up your own mind.”

  “A witch? Tell me you’re joking.” Rob kept driving but eyed the photo from 1910 Frank held. “Sure, this looks a little like her, but I look like my uncle Jose too. He’s not me, and I’m not him.”

  “Okay, for the record, I never said she was a witch,” Frank said. “There’s just a lot of things that are hard to explain, that’s all. It’s not just the photo—it’s everything.” Frank slid it back into his folder.

  Frank had that look that said “I’m not backing down from this. No matter what you say.” Rob figured any argument he put up, Frank had a counterargument ready to knock it down. Best to humor him and see where it went.

  “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right. Where do you go with it? A priest, an exorcist, Edna?”

  Frank shot him the look again but didn’t reply. Then he turned and stared out the windshield. This only confirmed what Rob already knew. There was no place to go with it.

  Rob took a left into the parking lot of Levern’s restaurant. “Why are we here?”

  Frank opened the passenger door. “Levern wanted to see us.”

  “You mean he wants to see you?”

  “You rather sit in the car?”

  Rob didn’t fully understood why Frank got along with the punk. Probably went back to Frank saving Levern’s life when he was a kid. Rob put drug dealers just one notch below murders. He hated them all.

  “You’ll need someone to back up your skinny ass in that nest of vipers,” Rob said, sliding from behind the wheel. He caught a quick grin from Frank.

  When they entered the Cajun Crawdad, the big guy they’d met at their last meeting with Levern was waiting for them at the door.

  “Tabor, right?” Frank asked.

  “This way.” Tabor stepped around the corner into the elevator landing.

  They followed him into the elevator and he hit the up button. No one spoke. Rob hated this place. Good spot for a cop to disappear and never be heard from again. The elevator stopped with a jolt and the doors opened to Levern’s loft. None of the lights were on. Tabor didn’t get off but motioned for them to exit.

  Tiny slivers of light crept around thick black paper taped on all the windows. The place had a claustrophobic feel, as if the walls might collapse at any moment. Frank acted like he didn’t have a care in the world. Rob unsnapped his holster and kept his hand near his piece.

  “You need to have your partner relax, Frank.”

  They turned toward the voice. From the shadows, Levern limped into the small pool of light slashing from the elevator across the floor. It had been about a week since they’d last seen him. His hair looked like a dirty mop, and his eyes had sunken into their sockets, giving him a drugged out appearance. He wore no shirt and his pants sagged.

  Frank surveyed him. “You look like hell.”

  Levern raked his fingers through the hair and across his scruffy face. “Yeah, well I haven’t felt good lately.” He strolled closer, rubbing the back of his neck and stared at the floor. “Think I’d like to make a deal,” he mumbled.

  “What kind of deal?” Frank asked.

  Levern glanced at Rob. “I might be able to help the police with a few things.”

  Frank shook his head. “What kind of things?”

  Levern looked away into the darkness, shoving his hands in his pockets. He again lowered his head and said just above a whisper, “You know. Pass on some information.”

  With a bit of humor in his voice, Rob asked, “You want to be a snitch?”

  Levern’s mouth contorted like he eaten a pickle. “Naw … well, you know.”

  “What’s going on?” Frank asked.

  Levern became animated, waving his hands. His voice warbled. “I want to know what I’d have to do to get police protection.”

  “You’re scared,” Frank said.

  Rob almost felt sorry for Levern. Every day another gang leader had been whacked. One sitting in his car, one in his living room, and the last one standing in front of a strip joint. Always the same—a high-powered rifle, which no one heard. To say there was true terror in the gang community was an understatement. Everyone realized this wasn’t a local thug. This enforcer had been brought in for an express purpose.

  “Damn right I’m scared!” Levern shouted. “My people are dropping all over the place. You’d be scared too.”

  “You have more security than the governor,” Rob said.

  Levern talked fast, waving away Rob’s comment. “I’m alone up here except for Tabor.”

  “Why?” Frank asked.

  “Because the word is whoever’s whacking my boys has someone on the inside of my organization. Knows where they’ll be, knows the best way to get to them. I’ve cut almost all my bodyguards loose.”

  “You don’t trust your own criminals to protect you anymore?” Rob laughed.

  “You think something’s funny here?” Levern’s hands formed into tight fists.

  “Just relax,” Frank said. “If you have some information you’d like to pass on, I’ll send it up. But don’t expect a quid pro quo.”

  Levern’s brow furrowed. “Say what?”

  “They won’t protect you unless you have a lot to give up. You’d have to spill everything. If you have good enough stuff, we might get you into witness protection, but that’s the fed’s decision—not ours.”

  Levern limped to his desk chair and sat. Even in the shadows, Rob couldn’t help but see his eyes had misted. Levern put a finger against his lips and turned from their stares. In a quiet voice, laced with emotion, he asked, “When are you cops going to catch this guy? When the dude killed all your pals at the Black Lives Matter march, you had him in a couple of hours.”

  “Yeah, well, this one’s smarter. This one doesn’t have a death wish. A professional,” Frank said.

  Levern glared at Frank. “Of all the people in this city, I only trust you and Tabor.” Tears trickled down his cheeks.

  “Levern, you have lots of money,” Rob said. “Retire! Get the hell out of town. Take Tabor on an around-the-world cruise. This thing will blow over sooner or later. Once you’re no longer in charge, they’ll forget all about the hit. You won’t be in a position of power anymore.” He turned to Frank for support, but Frank remained silent.

  “Right, Frank?” Rob asked.

  A frown swept across Frank’s lips. “Maybe … maybe not. Never can tell about those Mafioso types. They have that honor thing. Gives them crazy ideas.”

  “So that’s it?” Levern asked.

  “Sorry, can’t make any promises without seeing the merchandise,” Frank said.

  “Thanks for nothin
g,” Levern mumbled under his breath, staring in the opposite direction.

  Frank turned and pushed the button on the wall. The grinding sound of the elevator filled the room.

  “Put together a list of what information you have and I’ll pass it up,” Frank said.

  When they got back to the car, Rob asked, “You really think New York would come after him if he made a run for it?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  31

  Alma rolled over, switched off the alarm clock, and lay staring into the darkness. Her life was routine—on autopilot. Up at five—coffee, news, and breakfast by six. Shower, hair, and make-up by seven. At her office between seven thirty and seven forty-five. When Clare was alive, her life had meaning. A new challenge each day—something to look forward to. Now the house had a cold, lonely feeling. A home of sad memories and a sweet little ghost.

  No one needed to tell Alma she was due for a change. Word came yesterday about her application to Dartmouth. The department head was elated and wanted her for the spring semester. The applicant interview was only a formality. Her credentials carried a lot of weight. Showing up pregnant, with no husband, wasn’t really what she’d planned, but the people in Hanover were a liberal, forgiving lot. She’d give her notice to SMU today. Dr. Plebe would be devastated, but Alma didn’t care. Every day in Dallas caused her sprits to sink a little lower.

  She’d already contacted a Celtic-based coven in Hanover, and being a third degree, she’d been accepted as the thirteenth member. At the moment, it was a cold comfort. Many in the Wicca religion believed their witchcraft got real results, but Alma understood they were probably just fooling themselves. Long ago, and after years of experimentation with spells, Alma resigned herself to being a witch in spirit and beliefs only. The practice helped her cope with things she couldn’t change. Some things were too difficult to face without some spiritual help. She covered her face with her hands. After a moment she slowly drew her hands down and rested them on her chest.

  Life would be so much easier if I were a real witch.

  There was much to do and little time. Give notice, travel to New Hampshire for the interview, and put the house on the market. Alma backed the car out of her drive and enjoyed the view of the lake as she drove to work. She would miss some things about Dallas. The mild winters, the Mexican food and barbecue, and her year-round garden. But the sad memories of her time there with her daughter outweighed all that. She took a right and glanced in her rear mirror as she made the turn. She thought she recognized the driver two cars back. Just a profile, but she was pretty sure.

  Frank Pierce, why are you following me?

  * * *

  Rob glared at Frank. “You’re fixating again. You actually followed her to work?”

  Frank slouched in his office chair, staring over the partition at Rob. He couldn’t blame him for the remark. He was fixating, but at least he realized it.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did she see you?”

  Frank shrugged. “Don’t think so … well, maybe.”

  “Don’t we have enough shit on our plates?” Rob leaned closer and lowered his voice. “First she’s a suspect, and then not a suspect. Then she’s a witch, and then she’s not a witch. Now you’re following her—you’re fixating. Stop it.”

  Frank turned back to his computer.

  Rob kept eying him like he expected an explanation.

  Frank didn’t answer.

  Rob shook his head and marched to the coffee bar for a refill. Frank needed to put the whole business of Alma behind him, but he’d become much more emotionally involved than he wanted. Something about her lured his concentration away from everything else. Rob was right. Frank needed to invest all his attention on Jesse. The gangster had probably just made a lucky guess and pointed to Alma in the photo lineup.

  Edna stalked out of her office and threw up her hands. “Well, the chief is barking mad. The feds have opened an investigation and the national press reports live each night from Dallas. They said it’s becoming a bigger murder capital than Chicago.”

  Everyone stared at her. No one uttered a word.

  Edna took in a couple of deep breaths and grimaced before a frown swept across her mouth. She swallowed, and after another glance around the squad room, retreated back to her office.

  The whole mess ate at Frank. He’d never been a social butterfly, but the last week he had become even more reclusive. He and Rob had gone to every gang-related homicide but still had no good leads. They’d sent emails and had canvassed all the hotels in the Dallas/Ft. Worth Metroplex in the hopes Jesse had registered under her own name.

  Frank’s frustration was reflected by the arrangement of his desk. A couple of dozen sticky-notes hung from the monitor and the sides of his cubicle. A link analysis chart, showing Ricardo’s murder at the top, had colored lines drawn every which way and looked like a demented spider’s web. Yeah, he was fixating again. But on the wrong person.

  Rob wanted Mexican food, so Frank agreed to go to South Oak Cliff. Go figure, a black neighborhood had Rob’s favorite Mexican restaurant. Rob ordered a plate of tacos and Frank just had a bowl of tortilla soup.

  When they got back to the police garage, Rob said, “Let me have your keys.” He held out his hand.

  “Huh?” Frank said.

  “I think I left a pair of sunglasses in your car a while back. Been looking for them everywhere.”

  Frank shrugged and tossed him the keys. He couldn’t even recall the last time Rob had been in his car.

  “I’ll see you upstairs,” Rob said.

  * * *

  Frank dropped into his chair and rubbed his eyes again. Damn allergies.

  Edna walked by on the way to Terry’s office. “You look awful.”

  “Grass pollen, again.”

  “Did those prescription gel tabs work the other day?”

  “Yeah, dried me right up.”

  Edna whirled back to her office. She soon returned and dropped two more on his desk. “Take them. Your eyes look like you’ve been on a three-day drunk.”

  She still had a pissed off look. Frank had come through for her so many times in the past he didn’t want her to think he’d lost his touch. She sat on the edge of his desk and eyed the notes and crazy spider web he’d created. A quick grin cracked the corners of her mouth.

  Never taking his eyes off her, Frank popped the tabs and washed them down with a swallow of water.

  Edna leaned in closer. Her scent filled his nostrils. In a whisper she asked, “Where are we on this, Frank?”

  He understood what she wanted. Some assurance he’d take care of it. That he would soon figure it out. That her position was secure with Higgins and the chief.

  More than one detective’s gaze fell on them. The lieutenant never strolled out and sat on a guy’s desk.

  Frank didn’t want to lie, but what should he tell her? None of his explanations would do anything but cause her more pain. He leaned closer on one arm and spoke in a quiet voice. “I’m almost there, Edna. Just a little more time. Waiting for a source to get back to me.” The heat from her body radiated around him, and his breathing and pulse increased.

  She pursed her lips and nodded. Her hand slipped to his arm and gave a squeeze. “Don’t wait too long, Frank. Fix this ASAP.”

  32

  Jesse finished lunch on her outside table of the Italian restaurant in Lower Greenville. The sun ducked behind the clouds every few minutes, making the wind a bit cooler. The sweet smell from the bakery down the street tempted her—chocolate chip cookies were her favorite. Could they make them as good as Aunt Janet? Crispy on the outside, chewy on the inside. Hers were the best.

  Jesse sipped her second latte while thumbing through The Stamp Collectors Bible. She couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept drifting, trying to think like Anthony Palazzo. She had no illusions—he wasn’t her biggest fan. Maybe he didn’t like women, or just women doing traditional men’s jobs. Either way, as the new Godfather, he’d decide h
ow long she’d remain in Dallas. She kinda enjoyed the place. The only problem—the targets were wise to her M.O. The days of picking them off like cherries from a tree were over.

  No one strolled or sauntered anymore. The cool shuffle had been replaced by the sprint. People ran to their cars, got behind their tinted windows, and drove crazy speeds to avoid being shot. The days of outside meetings had long passed. Sitting in a car and cutting up a deal might have deadly consequences. With everyone skittish, she needed a new way to get to them. When she got the go-ahead to take out Levern, he’d be the easiest. She’d already made a serious investment that was sure to pay off.

  No matter how it went down, Dallas was her last job. She’d saved enough to get out. Start a new life out west. Wyoming, Montana, or maybe Idaho. Buy a place and settle down. She could start a hunting guide business. Live in a cabin on a lake or beside a clear mountain stream. Were these real dreams or just fantasies? She didn’t know. She knew one thing for certain: what life she had left, she wasn’t going to live it like this.

  Jesse slept well at night with the ghosts of people she’d killed. They all needed killing. Her conscience was clear. She wasn’t afraid of facing God’s judgment. But when she died and saw her daddy again, what would he think about her life? She’d gone against every principle he’d lived by—broken every rule, every commandment. That’s what she regretted. That was her biggest fear. Facing the old man and explaining her life choices to him. A life of shame.

  If she’d never met Clive, she wouldn’t be in this situation. But at the time he seemed like the answer to all her prayers and dreams.

  * * *

  September 2012

  After being drummed out of the Air Force, Jesse went home. She’d put together an elaborate lie about how she’d been sent stateside to help out in recruiting. It felt good to be home. She needed a sense of family.

  Her dad made her retell the story of taking out the explosives truck every chance he got. But Jesse couldn’t look into her dad’s face every day and live the lie. The stress of the charade became heavier as time went on. Her salvation came when Clive called.