Charlie Hustmyre: House of the Rising Sun

Ray saw the picture holders and held up his hand. “I don’t want to see photos of your family. I told you I’m in a jam and need help.”

LaGrange stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. “Sure, Ray.” He took a deep breath. “What do you need?”

“The Pete Messina murder.”

“Oh, shit.” LaGrange’s shoulders sunk. “I heard you were working for them.”

“I needed a job.”

“Is it true they got taken off for a lot of dough?”

Ray nodded.

“The Eighth District report says it was an unsuccessful robbery, resulting in a homicide,” LaGrange said.

“That’s Tony Zello’s cover story.”

“How did he keep a lid on what was going on upstairs?”

“He didn’t let anybody go upstairs, not even the Homicide dicks. He claimed the robbery crew stayed downstairs the whole time. He said they were trying to rob the strip bar, but when one of them shot Pete, they got scared and took off.”

“None of the detectives even tried to go upstairs?”

Ray shook his head. “Tony said the second and third floors were nothing but storage and that the fourth floor was a private residence.”

LaGrange arched his eyebrows. “And that stopped them?”

“Tony put in a call to their captain.”

“How much did they get?”

“Three hundred large.”

LaGrange let out a low whistle. “How are you involved?”

“I’m supposed to find them.”

“The perps?”

Ray nodded.

“How are you supposed to do that?”

“Vinnie has this crazy idea that since I was a detective, I should be able to find four armed robbers.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“To a moron.”

They stared at each other.

“What do you need from me?” LaGrange said.

“A lead,” Ray said. “Somewhere to start.”

“I told you, I’m not a real detective anymore. I’m a paper pusher.”

“You’ve got access to all the reports, right?”

LaGrange nodded.

“Then get me copies of everything that’s been written on what went down at the House.”

“Jesus Christ,” LaGrange said. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

“I’m asking for your help, partner.”

LaGrange started to say something. Then he looked away. When he looked back, he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I need to find Hector,” Ray said.

Tony peered over the top of the newspaper he held in front of his face. “What?”

“I’ve been trying to track him down and can’t find him.” Tony stuck his hand out to his side, palm down, and held it three feet above the ground. “You talking about the little guy at the door?”

“Yeah,” Ray said. Hector wasn’t three feet tall, more like five five. He was Mexican or Central American, some kind of Latin, but he tried to act Italian. “He hasn’t been at work since the robbery,” Ray said. “I just came from his apartment and his girlfriend says she hasn’t seen him.”

Tony was stretched out in an overstuffed chair on the fourth floor of the House, in a sitting room just outside Vinnie’s office. Down the long hall was another sitting room and the door to Vinnie and Mrs. Vinnie’s penthouse apartment. Tony’s newspaper was folded to the sports page. “What do I care if his girlfriend doesn’t know where he is?” Tony said.

Ray hadn’t wanted to come back to the House. Tony had already made it clear that Ray didn’t have to work his regular shift. His new job was to find the four masked gunmen. Nothing else. Earlier, on the phone, Tony had said, “You weren’t worth a shit preventing the robbery. Let’s see if you’re any good at solving it.”

While waiting for Jimmy LaGrange to come up with copies of the police reports, Ray decided to do what he would have done were he still a detective. That meant interviewing witnesses. The first person he wanted to talk to was Hector, to find out why the little taco bender just happened to be AWOL at the exact moment the bad guys showed up. But Hector hadn’t shown up for work.

Hector lived uptown. When Ray got there, he found out the diminutive doorman’s apartment was inside a big two-story house off Magazine Street. The once-elegant home had been converted into a rooming house with five tiny efficiencies on each floor. Ray found Hector’s girlfriend but not Hector.

With no other leads, Ray had gone back to the House, but talking to Tony was making him regret that decision. “You understand what I’m saying?” Ray asked. “I haven’t seen Hector since he told me he was going take a piss and asked me to cover the door for him.”

“So what?” Tony said. “You know how unreliable beaners are. The whole damn city is filled with them. They’re the only ones who will even take a job, though. Trouble is, half the time they don’t show up.”

“I know you’re not that bright, Tony, so it’s probably good that Vinnie put me on this thing instead of you. But if you have any idea where Hector is-”

Tony tossed the newspaper aside and jumped to his feet. “You need to shut up while you have a chance, Ray. The way you’re acting, and the fact you’re still standing here instead of getting out on the street and really searching for the little wetback, you must think it’s just a coincidence that he’s disappeared?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Ray said.

Tony jerked his thumb toward the stairs. “Then why don’t you get your ass out there and find him?”

“Tony, has your hair gel seeped into your brain? Can you even understand what I’m telling you? Hector is missing. In my old business we used to call that a clue.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t fire back. Ray thought that was unusual. He wondered where Rocco was. Usually you didn’t see Tony without his big goon nearby. He thought about locking an arm around Tony’s neck and giving him a Chinese haircut. The kind you gave as a kid, raking your knuckles against another kid’s scalp until he screamed. Ray would bet money that Tony would scream like a little girl.

“What do you want, Shane?”

Ray pointed at the closed door to Vinnie’s office. “I want to talk to Vinnie, find out what he knows about Hector. It’s not like you guys keep personnel files, but somebody has to know the kid. Somebody hired him.”

“I’m not going to bother Vinnie with that crap.” Tony poked a finger into Ray’s chest. “You want to know where Hector is, go find him.”

Nodding at the closed door, Ray said, “What happened, Tony? Vinnie got tired of having your nose stuck up his ass? He sent you out to play all by yourself?”

Tony’s face flushed and his lips tightened into a thin line. He took a step forward.

Ray dropped his right foot back and brought his hands up. “Be careful, Tony. Your butt-boy isn’t here to protect you. It’s just you and me this time.”

Tony stopped. His eyes stared straight into Ray’s. His face had turned red, and a vein bulged in his forehead. But he didn’t swing. Instead, he spoke in a low hiss. “It’s just a matter of time, Shane.”

Ray grinned. “You’re right about that.”

It was the kind of place Ray hated. A coffee shop that didn’t sell real coffee. The yuppie and punk hangout on Canal Boulevard was part of a corporate chain that considered black coffee a special order. Cappuccinos, mochas, and lattes with sprinkles were the beverages of choice.

Ray saw Jimmy LaGrange sitting at a table against the back wall, next to the restrooms. The detective looked nervous as hell. Ray strolled through the shop, passing a couple of late-morning breakfasters and a geek with orange hair and a laptop. The geek looked like he was eating a granola biscuit.

When Ray reached LaGrange’s table, he dropped into a chair across from his former partner. “You got the reports?”