Vieux Carré Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  The sound of Mario’s voice, “Test, 1, 2, 3,” came over Howard’s earpiece that transmitted into a recorder in his coat pocket. Mario slipped out as quickly and easy as going into the room. Before anyone noticed what happened, they were back at the bar sipping champagne with Olivia.

  “In case I die of a heart attack or get killed by your dragon woman friend,” Mario said taking a sip of his drink, then continued giving Howard the locations of the microphones.

  “Yeah,” Howard frowned. “Two mics are more important than a dead cop on a mafia kingpin’s yacht.”

  “Just saying,” Mario smiled.

  Howard waved his glass at the bartender for another. “Don’t worry, right after I call for backup, I’ll get the mics.”

  The music stopped, and Lorenzo stood in the center of the room with a man who appeared to be the captain of the yacht, based on the epaulets strapped to his jacket. He was first to speak and got everyone’s attention, then Lorenzo gave a fake smile and welcomed his guests. Lorenzo always put himself with many people when he wanted to have a meeting with key members of organized crime families. It made for better defense in court, if a city prosecutor asked why he was meeting with three known mafia family members on his yacht. It allowed him to say they were there with a hundred guests invited for an afternoon cruise. He always covered his ass like that when he met one on one or with a select group of thugs to plan for the next hit, shakedown, or a master plan to take down an armored car.

  Lorenzo ended with “Eat up and enjoy the cruise,” then peeled off with two of his bodyguards and headed down the steps to his office.

  Mario and Howard observed. From experience, within a few minutes, a bodyguard would walk up and select a person to follow him to meet with Lorenzo.

  “Did you have a warrant for the microphones?” Olivia asked. Mario turned away, and Howard gave an eye-piercing look, knowing the answer but letting Mario take the heat.

  Olivia let out a whisper. “Hello? Anyone listening?”

  “Didn’t need one,” Mario said.

  “Didn’t need or knew you couldn’t get a warrant?” Olivia shot back in a low voice.

  “Both,” Mario said.

  Howard knocked back another taste. “Just trying to stay ahead of the curve. Information is golden.”

  Standing, Olivia got in Mario’s face. “The information can’t be used in court.”

  “I doubt we’ll ever get to court. Perhaps that class wasn’t taught at Tulane University,” Mario said.

  Olivia hated when he used a college comment. “What class is that?”

  “At Loyola, we learned—catch the scumbag by any means.” Mario took her by the arm, pulling her closer. “Let’s have a drink.” The yacht shook, as the first of three engines fired, sending a vibration across the floor. “Feel that—we’ll push off soon. Let’s go out on deck and enjoy the smell as the engines stir up the stagnant water.”

  Olivia shook her head and took a deep breath. “This is why we don’t date.”

  Mario waltzed her to a door, leading out with a repulsive grin—one she hated.

  Her eyes said it all, but she wanted to be verbal. “You’re such an ass!”

  Howard stayed at the bar, sucked on a drink, and focused on a few vital guests mingling with casual smiles, making sure everyone in the room noticed them. Those were the people Lorenzo bought and paid for the event, prominent bankers, businessowners, and half the city council. They were all there for a reason. Some to show Lorenzo’s legitimate business side of the community and others he might use. There was an agenda for everyone he invited.

  One bodyguard resurfaced and strolled directly to Issac Garza, an international banker based in Panama whom the authorities pegged as Lorenzo’s primary banker. The legitimate businesses deposited money in local banks, and between the first and fifth of each month, the money moved to a Panama bank along with several million dollars of drug money where the laundryman, as Issac was called, washed all the money.

  It wasn’t long after Issac entered the office that Howard, through his earpiece, heard Lorenzo speak. “I understand we had a good month.”

  “Very good,” Issac said. “That building you purchased in Panama last year, we sold it again from one of your companies to another.”

  Lorenzo laughed. “How many times have we sold that building?”

  “This is the third within your umbrella of businesses. Each time we sell it to one of your companies, you wash a lot of cash and profit eight million,” Issac said, then let out a chuckle. “Legitimately, and you still own the building.”

  Lorenzo let out a roar. “Gotta love America, land of opportunity and tax deductions.”

  It was when they went into a whisper that Howard had to push the earpiece deeper and move to a corner away from the music. That’s when Lorenzo’s voice came through clear enough for him to confirm instructions for Issac Garza to transfer one hundred thousand dollars to Julie Wong’s account. With FBI help, it was a known fact to its investigation that Julie and Lorenzo used the same Panama bank and banker, neither were governed or cooperated with US banking laws.

  Moments later, Issac returned to the party. A waiter handed him a glass of champagne, as he joined his lady friend.

  Once again, the bodyguard appeared at the top of the stairway and sought Julie Wong. He followed her back to the office, like a puppy, where she received orders from Lorenzo.

  Lorenzo went in for a kiss on the lips to greet Julie; once again all he got was the side of her cheek. She caught his arm, stopping the forward motion as he attempted to wrap it around her tiny waist. Before talking business, he extended pleasantries to Julie, flattering her outfit, jewelry, and how great she looked. It was a one-sided fantasy.

  “I take it you have made the arrangements,” Julie said, taking a seat in front of the desk.

  “Your money will be transferred today,” Lorenzo said, sitting at the edge of his desk in front of her.

  They talked business, which piqued Howard’s interest, as he stood at the bar one deck above. Their voices were coming through clear, now that the band had taken a break. Howard’s concentration was shattered by a penetrating voice shouting his name from across the room. A man with eyes fixed on Howard staggered toward him. Apparently, one of the earliest guests to arrive, from the looks of his drunken stupor.

  “Boris!” he shouted, as he walked toward Howard. “It’s me, Stevie.”

  Howard’s eyes widened as the man got closer. It had been many years, but when you work undercover, there was always a chance that your past might show up unexpectedly.

  “Boris? It’s me, Steven Young.” The man grabbed Howard’s coat to steady himself.

  “Sorry, I’m not Boris.” It was a name that Howard had used in a sting, years earlier. He hoped he said it convincingly—he wasn’t so lucky.

  Stevie got louder. “I always wondered how I got twelve years and you didn’t serve a day in the crowbar hotel.”

  From the corner of his eye, Howard got a glimpse through the glass sliding door of Mario standing on the deck with Olivia. It didn’t take much for Mario to spring into action; he’d worked with Howard long enough to know what his eyes showed. Mario slid the door open, and Howard waltzed Stevie into Mario’s hands.

  With a tight grip on Stevie’s arm, Mario walked and talked on his radio to a nearby police unit. Mario made it to the bottom of the gangway, before the crew pushed the boat off. Handing Stevie to an officer, Mario clarified to lock up Stevie until he sobered, then tell him they found him wandering in the street.

  The officer gave a head nod and said, “Sure thing, Detective.”

  Mario returned to the bar, found Olivia, and ordered another drink. Howard tucked into a corner with his finger holding the earpiece tightly. The band returned; the music got louder and shook the floor, as the yacht cut through the lake waters.

  Howard motioned for Mario to follow him outside where he found a quiet spot away from the guests and the surround sound speakers. Olivia sta
yed at the bar as more of a distraction if one of Lorenzo’s thugs came snooping.

  He played the recording from the office of Lorenzo first telling Julie, “Make Tony Nazario and anyone who might know he’s alive disappear and destroy any evidence he had from the armored car robbery. It was my plan, and now it’s time for him to be dead, for sure this time.”

  It was more than enough to arrest Lorenzo for attempted murder on Olivia’s attack. Admission to the armored car robbery was a bonus.

  “This I wasn’t prepared for,” Howard said.

  The second recording was a heated conversation between Lorenzo and Chester Philips. “I’m beginning to wonder about you, Chester.”

  “No boss, I’m your guy.”

  “Well, why is this bitch Olivia still walking?”

  “You’re right, boss,” Chester said. “I was more than close enough to drop two bullets in her before the car submerged.”

  “You handle Olivia,” Lorenzo said loud and clear. “You’re supposed to be my best guy.”

  “I am. Don’t worry. Olivia is as good as dead,” Chester said, and the recorder stopped.

  Chapter 16

  Food and drinks were continuously passed during the cruise. Mario, Howard, and Olivia ate, drank, and waited patiently for the chief’s response to the task force, along with the Harbor Police to seize the yacht. On the water, the best move was with a Harbor Police captain, backed by SWAT team, to come aboard and arrest Lorenzo and Julie. That was a lot smoother than having the boat dock, causing chaos among the guests.

  They were now in the middle of the lake, where the reception was excellent from a new cell tower built above the Causeway Bridge. Mario waited for the chief to make contact, checking his radio for the third time. It was on, and no message had been left on his beeper.

  “Anything?” Mario asked Howard, who still listened in on the bug in Lorenzo’s office.

  “It’s been quiet,” he replied. Then he spotted the bodyguard surface from the deck below.

  “Heads-up,” Howard announced, watching the man walk toward them.

  “Mr. DeLuca,” he said. “Mr. Savino will see you now.” The bodyguard escorted Mario back down the steps, where he met Lorenzo in his office. Mario kept his hand near his gun until Lorenzo’s muscle left the room.

  Lorenzo quickly came out with the statement, “I need a favor.”

  Mario thought for a second. His first reaction was to take Lorenzo out with one bullet to the head, a second shot to the goon when he came back through the door. Howard could handle the rest of the crew, but it might not stop the hit already planned on Olivia. “Sure, that’s what you pay me for, Lorenzo,” he said, making sure there would be no confusion whom Mario was talking to when the conversation was played back in court.

  “That’s right,” Lorenzo said.

  Mario couldn’t believe he was incriminating himself that easily but also knew the recording was for his own personal reference.

  A faint voice came over his radio; it was the chief. Mario rubbed his face at the most unfortunate timing ever.

  “Mr. Savino, I have a call coming over my radio,” Mario said. “I need to take this.”

  “Not a problem,” Lorenzo said, and took a seat at his desk.

  With the earpiece buried in his ear and the volume low, so the sound couldn’t spread the room, Mario answered, “Go ahead, Truman,” knowing the chief would pick up on his situation.

  She talked fast. “No arrest today. Go as planned. We have a judge’s order for a wiretap and bug surveillance.”

  Mario’s stomach made flips several times. He had Lorenzo by the balls and planned to squeeze. He just needed to come up with a story. Something believable. “Sorry, Truman, I don’t have time for coffee today,” Mario said, then turned his radio off. “I’m sorry. My ex-partner wanted to meet for coffee.”

  Without saying a word, Lorenzo took two giant steps across the room and pulled the radio off Mario, then pitched it into the hall and slammed the door. “Don’t ever come to my office with a radio or any listening device.”

  “It’s a police radio,” Mario said, taking his best shot to calm the situation. “Lorenzo, I’m on your payroll. You think I want my conversation recorded?”

  “When you’re with me—you’re off the job. No fucking radios!”

  “No problem.” Mario’s mind wandered, but his eyes stayed focused on Lorenzo. Now, more than ever, he had to earn Lorenzo’s trust and sway him to talk. Anything that would incriminate him and seal the RICO case, murder case, or both.

  Lorenzo pulled a glass, rolling cart to the center of the room, poured two shots of Wild Turkey from a crystal decanter, and dropped in one cube of ice. “You want one?”

  “You’re buying—I’m drinking.” The atmosphere quickly changed. Lorenzo could fly off the handle one second, and once his rage passed, he wanted to be your buddy, like nothing happened. A peaceful look came over him, as he sipped Wild Turkey, known to be a truth serum when too much was consumed. Mario knew that from personal experience.

  Lorenzo handed Mario a crystal glass with two shots. Then he knocked back the rest of his whiskey. While Lorenzo poured himself another drink, Mario took a sip, held the ice cube, and poured Wild Turkey in a planter. Rattling the ice cube around the glass, he aimed it at the cart, “I’ll have another one.”

  Lorenzo was well on his way to a drunken state with Wild Turkey shots and whatever else he drank prior. “You get your envelope every week?” Lorenzo asked, with a slight slur to his talk.

  Mario couldn’t believe how easy he came around, “Sure thing, Mr. Savino, a grand every Friday.” He said it clearly, so there would be no discrepancy coming through on Howard’s recorder.

  “Please, if we’re going to drink together, call me Lorenzo.”

  “Sure thing, Lorenzo,” Mario said, taking a sip of the second drink, enough to wet his upper lip, then let the rest slip back into the goblet.

  “Are you ready to do me a little favor for the four Gs I give you each month?”

  Mario looked him in his eyes. “What do you need?”

  “I understand you have Gaspar Ricci in custody.”

  “The name doesn’t ring a bell,” Mario said, making a believable story. “He’s not at my precinct, maybe downtown.”

  “One thing for sure, he’s locked up, right?” Lorenzo asked, knocking back the rest of the second series of shots. “I need him out. Just for one day.”

  “Gaspar Ricci? I’ll see what I can do.” Then Mario threw something out in hopes he would bite. “How long do you need Gaspar out?”

  “An extra two grand to get him out. Don’t worry about how long. It’ll take a few days before the police find his body,” Lorenzo slurred.

  Mario’s eyes shifted, then he went in for the kill. “How much?” Hoping Lorenzo repeated the bribe amount for the tape. Twice is always better than once, if this ever got to court.

  Lorenzo stood, holding the back of a chair to stabilize himself. “Two thousand dollars,” he shouted with a smile. Then he stepped slowly toward the door, “Now, let’s go join the party.”

  With his back to the room, Lorenzo steadied himself by gripping the doorframe. Mario slipped the microphone from the bottom of the coffee table. “I’m right behind you, boss.” Then he reached for the second mic on top of the desk. “Let’s go party,” Mario said, and latched on to Lorenzo’s shoulder.

  When the two reached the top of the steps, Lorenzo was intercepted by his girlfriend and Mario connected eyes with Howard. Bellying up to the bar with Olivia at his side, he slipped Howard the two bugs from Lorenzo’s office.

  “You nailed him,” Howard said.

  Olivia patted Mario’s arm, “You can truly step in horse crap and come out smelling like a rose.”

  “What?” Mario said, with a slight smile.

  “The mics,” Olivia whispered.

  “The chief has psychic powers,” Mario said. “She knew I needed a judge to approve the listening device.”

&nb
sp; “But you planted them before—”

  “I don’t remember it that way,” Mario said. “I placed them after I got the approval.”

  “But?”

  “No buts,” Mario said. “You were not in the room, so you can’t confirm or deny when I placed the mics.”

  Olivia nodded her head up and down. “You’re right on that part.”

  Howard assured Mario every detail of his conversation with Lorenzo recorded correctly and the DA would not have a problem using it in court.

  “What about that other thing?” Mario asked Howard.

  Pointing to a door with a sign stating, Do Not Enter. Howard said. “The engine room is two flights down, no guards.”

  “Good,” Mario said. “You’re ready.”

  “Ready as ever.” Howard smiled. “This will be the best part of my day.”

  Together they strolled the buffet and waited for Brandon Asher, who Howard sought the second they arrived on the boat. Mario stood at the engine room door stairway. Brandon, with a plastic bin of dirty dishes, headed toward the kitchen with Howard step by step behind him.

  “Brandon?” Mario shouted over the loud music as he passed. Then he opened the door to the engine room, and Howard pushed him through. Dishes flew down the stairs, crashing to the floor. Mario and Howard had him by each arm and his feet glided the steps, barely touching the ground. The engine was loud with pistons working overtime but well-insulated and confined within four walls.

  “What the fuck, man?” Brandon shouted, trying to make himself heard.

  “I’m going to ask you once,” Mario said. “And you better give me the right answer. Who hired you to drop drugs into Olivia’s drink?”

  “Library Sports Bar,” Howard added.

  Brandon’s eyes rolled around his face pale. His legs were shaky.

  “Who hired you?!” Mario shouted.

  He did what most would try first—lie. “I’ve never been to that bar.”

  Mario landed a tight-fisted punch into Brandon’s gut. The force dropped him to his knees, and he banged his head on the iron railing.