Vieux Carré Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  “I put Joey on the farm at your request.” Cameron moved his head up and down. “I can put him back at your request.” He adjusted his glasses, then took them off and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “You understand if I put him back in the prison population, there is a good chance he’ll get shanked within a few days.” He put his glasses back on his face. “Prisoners don’t take kindly to privileged people coming back into their world.”

  “I understand,” Mario said. “It’s my call if he gets killed—I can live with that.”

  Mario asked to talk to Joey alone, and Cameron agreed. Mario was one of few people he trusted on the outside world. A few years earlier, the two detectives broke open an undercover drug investigation that spread from New Orleans all the way into the Louisiana State Prison.

  Felipe Cruz, from inside prison, supplied cocaine to half the inmate population. Mario could have broken the story and made a name for himself, maybe even a promotion, but instead, he went to Cameron. At a press conference, the warden became the hero, announcing a drug ring he’d been following for six months. State officials praised the job that Warden Leblanc did and got him a lot of good press and interviews.

  Mario and Howard met Joey Savino in a small room used to store household cleaning machines and furniture not in use. The area was suggested by Cameron. It didn’t have cameras—one of the few places in the house that weren’t under surveillance by the prison guards.

  “Joey, you don’t look happy to see me,” Mario said. “Did you think I was dead?”

  “What are you talking about?” Joey said, trying to stay in motion in the small room.

  “Sit down,” Howard said, jamming a chair to the back of his knees.

  Joey spoke, then Mario jumped in his face. “Shut the fuck up, asshole. Your aunt gave you up and your cousin, Victor, is dead.”

  “I killed him,” Howard boasted. “You want to kill us—don’t send an amateur.”

  Joey looked down—with a blank expression on his face. “You killed my Uncle Lorenzo.”

  “That would be me, Joey,” Howard said. “I killed that scumbag. Look at me.” Howard pulled him by the chin. “Read my lips. I killed your uncle and your cousin. You got a beef, it’s with me.”

  If not for standing in Warden Leblanc’s house on a prison ground, Mario wouldn’t fret putting a bullet or two in Joey. He’d justify the kill. But he took the high road and would let someone else do the dirty work. “You’re going back to prison life, Joey.”

  Joey stood, pointing his finger at Mario, shouting in a panic. “I did you a solid—had Felipe Cruz killed.”

  “That’s right. I was willing to continue our arrangement,” Mario said softly, then screamed in his face. “Until you tried to kill me!”

  Howard opened the door, and Mario reminded Joey the next visit from Sofia would be through a wire separation—no more touchy-feely and ass grabbing with his wife—painting a picture that his life was about to change dramatically for the worse. Mario added a little more worry by telling him his wife might get in a fatal accident on the way up to visit.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Joey,” Mario said, and pushed him into the hallway.

  Mario gave Cameron a head nod, and he directed two guards to take Joey back to his original cell block. He didn’t go without a struggle, clinging and begging Warden Leblanc. Joey’s last view of Mario was his grin that went into a broad smile and a hand wave of goodbye.

  Chapter 34

  Howard and Mario met at Roxy Blum’s house for tea. She carried a tray of cups to a table, complaining how noon was entirely too early to be wakened. Mario made small talk, asking about the club and the performance the night before. That made her forget about the lack of sleep, and she talked about how people were lined up out the door waiting to get in the place. She was in full animation, telling the detectives how the show started ten minutes late getting everyone seated and the room quiet before she entered.

  Mario looked at his watch when Glenn’s car pulled into the drive. With a few copies of the Big Easy Voice in hand, he apologized for being late. Mario read the front-page headlines and got to the part that was most interesting. A smile on Mario’s face got more prominent as he finished the article.

  “I take it you like what I wrote?” Glenn said.

  Howard dropped the paper on the table. “A Panama banker actually admitted Issac skimmed money from Lorenzo’s account.”

  “Not in so many words,” Glenn said. “I did talk to a representative at the bank in Panama.”

  Roxy poured a cup of tea and placed it in front of Glenn. “Here, honey,” she said. “He works so hard on his little newspaper.”

  He took a sip. “I’m a journalist. I ask a question and form my own opinion of what I heard or read between the lines of the lies the banker told me.”

  Howard blinked several times. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “That my friend means. The banker didn’t give me jack shit. But I sold the article to a major newspaper, and it’s on the news tonight.”

  Mario smiled. “Journalists don’t have to give up their confidential source. He could go to jail if the Panama bank presses charges, and he refuses to name names.”

  “Right now, the Panama bank is more worried about its reputation,” Glenn said, “not coming after me.”

  “They admitted a dead man’s money disappeared. Lorenzo could have transferred it before he caught a few bullets or Issac stole the money.” Mario and Howard locked eyes. “Either way, the bank’s not out a dime. Just a bruised ego.”

  Mario congratulated Glenn on the article and Roxy on a great show the night before. Hugs and kisses were exchanged with Roxy. Glenn left it with a firm handshake.

  “You make a good couple,” Mario said. “I wish you all the luck in the world.”

  Glenn, overcome with emotion, held Roxy’s hand. “Thank you, Detective.”

  Mario and Howard called ahead for a sit-down with the chief. She gave them fifteen minutes when they arrived. Mario talked about cases, dodging the one he wanted to discuss. It was important that she brought up Lorenzo’s money disappearing, and she did.

  “If Issac emptied Lorenzo’s bank account that morning,” Chief Parks said, flipping her pen with that annoying sound, “why was he at his office?”

  Mario shifted his legs. “Chief, I can only speculate.” Mario paused for a second, thinking how it went down. “I think the plan was to kill Lorenzo that morning.”

  “The big bodyguard must have flipped on Lorenzo,” Howard, giving Mario a side look, took over. “Issac pulled a gun on Lorenzo, but the first shot fired hit Issac. Lorenzo was just quicker to shoot. I think Mario is right.” Howard held his breath, hoping she bought the lies.

  “Those two are so full of bullets from so many angles,” the chief said, rapping the pen on the glass top faster. “It’s not worth the time to investigate who shot him or what gun the bullets came from.”

  “They’re all dead anyway,” Mario said, with a keen eye on her.

  The chief nodded her head in agreement, then spilled her guts unnecessarily, telling them the FBI wasn’t concerned that Lorenzo’s money was missing. They didn’t think they could have found the money anyway and were too busy gloating about the takedown of a mafia kingpin. The case was referred to the attorney general’s office. Their team of attorneys reviewed the file and stamped it—case closed.

  Mario agreed there was no reason to spend taxpayers’ money prosecuting a mafia kingpin and his crew, with such overwhelming proof of guilt.

  The pen stopped clicking against the glass. The chief sat up in her chair. “There is one thing, Detectives.”

  Mario was a little suspicious of her timing, because they were about to leave. He stood motionless, anticipating her asking about Lorenzo’s money.

  “Little Pete Gallo has been released and will not be charged,” Chief Parks said. “The sister-in-law and Gustavo Martino too.”

  Mario exhaled with a long, deep breath. Disappointed they were
released, but thrilled it wasn’t about the money. “Little Pete, Lena, and Gustavo Martino get a free pass—wow!”

  Howard, looking at the floor in disgust, said, “As fast as we arrest them, good old Gustavo Martino gets them out.”

  “Is he that good?” Mario asked. “Or does he just know the right people to pay off?”

  “I believe we’re finished here, Detectives,” Chief Parks said, standing. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear your statement.”

  Mario had the chief where he wanted her. She was off track and not the least bit concerned about Lorenzo’s missing money. They wished her a good day and headed out.

  Chapter 35

  On the way to Big Gabe Chmura’s place, Mario had Howard stop at Watson Bakery on Broadway and pick up some pastries. He got more than enough for three people, but you always needed extra as a gift for Big Gabe. People didn’t call him Big Gabe for nothing.

  Mario’s car parked on the side of the AAA Car Wash, another business Big Gabe and Ben Stein started years earlier. Little Gabe greeted the men. He was only six foot four and tipped the scales at three hundred and fifty pounds—a smaller man next to his father, Big Gabe, but he still towered over most people. He offered Mario a car wash, one of the few people who Mario trusted with his police vehicle. Mario agreed, as long as he didn’t clean the inside.

  Mario, with the box of pastries, stepped into the waiting area. Howard followed after the car disappeared into the soapy water through the wash tunnel. They walked out the back door, down a path to a rear house, known as Big Gabe’s hideout. That time of day, he could be found either napping or making afternoon coffee.

  Big Gabe, a multimillionaire helped by Ben Stein, never moved from his roots. His office was in the same location as when he started in business. The only difference now was that he owned most of the block and kept his office in an old shotgun house. He was a person who didn’t like change. It was only in recent years that Ben Stein had talked him into a condo that came available in his building at One River Place.

  Big Gabe bought a unit overlooking the river but only stayed there a few nights a week. Mario heard Little Gabe partied at the condo on weekends, through some complaints that came into the station house. When people pay upward of a half million dollars for a condo, they don’t expect parties going on all night with loud music bouncing off the walls.

  The two men followed the smell of coffee brewing coming from a window of the shotgun house that Big Gabe called headquarters. He was easily seen in the kitchen; the screen door was unlocked.

  “Well, well. I was wondering what I might snack on with my coffee,” Gabe said, as Mario handed him the box of pastries. Looking inside, he remarked, “You guys not eating?” with a deadpan face, then gave his usual, deep belly laugh.

  They had coffee and pastry and more than enough left for Gabe’s nightly snack. The cups were picked up and placed in the sink, when Gabe asked, “So what’s the visit about? I know you didn’t come all the way over here because you had a sweet tooth.”

  Mario let Howard do the talking. Gabe never looked at Howard as a cop. He knew him as Ben’s strong arm. When he joined the police force, that just gave him a badge, which was good for Ben and Gabe’s business.

  “Gabe, if someone came into a lot of money,” Howard cautiously said, “how would you invest it, so as not to cause alarm to the authorities but be allowed to enjoy?”

  Gabe washed cups for a second, then turned around, chewing on the inside of his mouth, as he often did. “So you boys won the Louisiana Lottery. If so, pay the tax and spend the money at will.”

  “That’s not the case,” Howard said.

  “Is the money hot?” Gabe asked, trying to get a feel of what he was dealing with.

  Howard nodded his head. “No.”

  “Anyone looking for the money?”

  He hesitated, then said, “No,” again giving a one-word answer.

  “Come on, give me some help,” Gabe said, sitting on the sofa across from them. “You talking one or two hundred grand?”

  Howard motioned upward with his thumb.

  “A few million dollars!” Gabe’s eyebrows moved.

  The direction of Howard’s thumb stayed up.

  “Look, anything over five million dollars is going to take some time to convert but, in the end, the reward will be enormous.”

  “Bingo, that’s the answer my friend is looking for,” Howard said.

  Gabe went into an unnecessary story, they thought, but as he spoke, they listened. He explained that when he came to this country, he was broke. With Ben Stein’s help and Gabe’s loyalty and trust, Ben made him millions. What he learned from Ben, people didn’t teach at those expensive colleges on St. Charles Avenue.

  “My fee is ten percent,” Gabe said. “Supply the money and trust me, I’ll make you both very rich.”

  “Make my friend very rich,” Howard said.

  Gabe gave a wink of his eye. “Yes. Your friend.”

  “Can I ask one question?” Mario broke his silence. “Why?”

  Gabe hit back by saying, “Why not?”

  “You have more money then you and your son could ever spend,” Mario questioned. “Why take the risk?”

  Gabe gave an exhale and shook his head in a downward position. “When you go to the University of Ben Stein, there is no risk,” Big Gabe stood. “Besides, you never have too much money or too many pastries.” He placed the box on the counter. “Your friend, he in or out?”

  Howard gave a wrinkled nose look at Mario. “I think my friend will agree,” Howard said, “we’ll be in touch.”

  During the drive back to the station house, Mario said little. Howard was selling Big Gabe’s ability from stories he’d heard from Ben over the years.

  Mario’s eyes never left the road while driving at the speed limit. That was unusual and meant his mind was someplace else.

  “I’m exhausted. Risking my life on these lowlife thugs. Bringing them to justice,” breaking his silence, he glanced at Howard. “Only for a two-thousand-dollar, suit-wearing lawyer with connections who gets them off.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  Mario nodded his head up and down. “Do you know his plan?”

  “I only know Ben was good, and if Gabe learned half of what Ben knew,” Howard paused, “we’re going to be rich and untraceable.”

  Chapter 36

  Three weeks later, things were back to normal for a homicide division. Mario oversaw six detectives at the Eighth Police District, and with crime rapidly growing in the city, their workload was full.

  A watch commander, who sat on a raised platform on the main floor, took phone calls and greeted walk-ins looking for police assistance. A woman, a beauty he called her when the flirtatious woman asked to see Detective Mario DeLuca, left him speechless for seconds. He pulled himself together and rang Mario’s phone, telling him that a real looker asked to see him.

  Mario, not the least bit intrigued by the officer’s description, invited her up, providing she had information on a crime. Otherwise, the desk should handle her like any other walk-in. The woman insisted on seeing Mario, so, the officer escorted the woman proudly through the squad room, grinning as he passed other cops. Entering Mario’s office, the officer pushed a chair in front of the desk. Wide-eyed and smiling, the officer backed out the office, closing the door.

  The woman sat in front of the desk, dressed like she walked out of a store not on Canal Street but out of a New York boutique, she was beautiful to boot. The commander was correct—she was a knockout. Mario couldn’t place her nationality but defiantly a head turner.

  She introduced herself as Helena Acosta and knew Mario by name.

  “Do I know you?” Mario asked.

  She ignored him. “I have a crime to report.”

  “What’s the crime?” Mario asked, shuffling papers on his desk.

  Pulling two pictures from her purse, she laid them on the desk face down. “Two men walked into a building.” She turned the first
picture over and slipped it in front of Mario. “Do you know them?”

  Mario carefully looked at the picture. “What else do you have?”

  The second picture was revealed and pushed across the desk. Mario took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He gawked at the woman, who showed no emotion.

  “I didn’t know the city library had cameras,” she said. “Did you?”

  “So?” Mario pushed the pictures back to her.

  Raising one picture, she asked, “Is that not you and Howard Blitz walking into the library?” Then she raised the other picture. “You and Howard at a computer.”

  “My partner and I research on library computers,” Mario’s face wrinkled. “So what?”

  Helena gathered the pictures and placed them in her handbag. “The IP address of that computer was traced to a Panama bank. Millions of dollars were transferred; we just don’t know where.”

  “Get out of my office.”

  The woman stood tall, placed both hands on the desk, and leaned into Mario. “My client wants his money.”

  Mario watched the flawless face of the woman, her eyes piercing through him.

  “Ten million dollars of that money was for drugs that Lorenzo had received,” she said. “You killed him before he could wire the money out.”

  “You people don’t read the newspapers?” Mario smiled, staying cool, he handled her like any other perp he’d interrogate. “Issac Garza ripped you off.”

  “My client will stop at nothing to get his money back.” She backed up, opened the door, gave a smile, and said, “You’ve been put on notice.”

  The End

  A Big Thank You for choosing to read my book. I appreciate all feedback and would love for you to leave a four or five star rating on Amazon or Goodreads. It will only take a second to leave an honest review.

  Please click to leave a review.