Charlie Hustmyre - House of the Rising Sun

“Figure it out for yourself,” the cop said. “You’re a mobster, I’m a detective. I know the feds are watching the Rising Sun, so I’m pretty sure they’re listening to your phones. I don’t want to end up on any government tapes.”

Tony drummed his fingers on the table. “I don’t give a shit about the FB-fucking-I. They got to do something to justify their budget, so they’re always hanging around, taking pictures, watching people, and yeah, probably listening to my phones, but the bottom line is, they can’t make a case to save their fucking lives. Believe me, the FBI is the last thing on my mind.”

The waitress came and set their drinks down.

Tony looked at his watch. “Your minute’s almost up.”

The cop wrapped his hand around his glass and took a sip. Then he said, “I know Shane is working for you, and I know who he’s trying to find.”

Tony got uncomfortable. He didn’t know anything about this asshole, yet this asshole seemed to know a lot about him. Tony eyed the guy’s sport coat. “What is this, some kind of amateur-hour shakedown? You wearing a wire, Detective?”

The cop laughed. “You want to go into the can and feel my balls? ’Cause that’s where we put wires, you know? Right under our balls so homophobes like you won’t find them.”

Tony jumped to his feet.

“Sit down, douche bag.” The cop looked around like he was embarrassed for Tony. He sure sounded like a cop. Had that cocky cop confidence.

Tony glanced around. Then he took his seat.

I should have brought Rocco.

Rocco could drag this arrogant prick outside and tune him up. At worst, Rocco would do a year in the parish prison. Tony would take care of him, make sure he got paid, look after that hot little Spanish girlfriend of his.

Tony took a sip of his drink. He needed time to figure out how to get the upper hand on this guy.

“I got some information about Ray Shane I thought might interest you,” the cop said.

“Ray Shane…” Tony rubbed a hand across his chin. “That’s that cop who went to prison, right?”

“Don’t pull my dick, Tony,” the cop said. “I know you got held up by a four-man crew, and I know you’ve got Shane trying to chase them down.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I got two names for you.”

Tony stared across the table. “What names?”

The cop shook his head. “Not so fast.”

“So here’s the catch?”

The cop nodded.

Tony downed some more scotch. How much did this flatfoot know? “What do you want?”

The cop held up two fingers.

“What’s that mean? Two what?”

“Two things. That’s all. Just two things.”

“Spill it,” Tony said.

“The first is money. Two names, two grand.”

“If you’re wearing a wire, this is entrapment. You’re trying to solicit a bribe. I intend to report you to the proper authorities.”

“I’m not wearing a wire, dipshit, and your little jailhouse lawyer legal tricks don’t hold up in court anyway.”

Tony sighed. Sometimes he just got tired of all the bullshit. “You said two things. What else?”

“I want Ray Shane out of my fucking life.”

Tony stared at him. Dude looked serious. “We used to pay you what, a hundred bucks a week? Now you’re trying to sell me a couple of names for two dimes?”

“So you do remember me.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I remember the kid who delivers pizza to my house, too. And I even remember his name.”

“You’re still an asshole, Tony. You know that?”

Tony smiled. “Two G’s is a lot of money. How do I know those names are real?”

“You’ll have to trust me.”

“Trust a dirty cop?”

“I got more.”

“More names?” Tony asked. “The phone book is full of names.”

“More than just names.”

“Like what?” Tony asked.

The cop stared at him. “Do we have a deal?”

As soon as Tony nodded, the cop slid a hand inside his sport coat. Tony stiffened, expecting maybe he was about to be arrested, the victim of some crude sting, but instead the cop pulled out a plain white envelope. He laid it on the table, his hand still covering it. “I got the two names and their rap sheets right here.”

He pulled it away as soon as Tony reached for it.

Tony eyed him hard.

“Not until I get paid,” the cop said.

“You think I carry that kind of cash in my pocket?”

“You can get it.”

Just as he was about to tell this idiot to fuck off, a lightbulb went off in Tony’s head, seeing a way to kill two birds with one stone. “I got a better idea.”

The cop shook his head. “No better ideas, this is the way it’s got to be.”

“You know my boss, the guy who runs the House?”

A nod. “Yeah, I know Vin-”

Tony’s hand shot up. “No names.”

“I know him.”

“I’ll give you half now. The other half after you do me a favor.”

“I’m listening,” the cop said.

Tony told him what he wanted.

The cop stared at him for several seconds, mulling it over. Tony could almost see the wheels turning inside his head, could almost see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes. Finally, the cop nodded.

Tony pulled a cell phone from his suit coat.

“Use mine,” the cop said. He slid a phone across the table. “Somebody is probably listening to yours.”

Tony picked up the detective’s phone. “How do I know somebody’s not listening to yours?”

The cop grinned. “I work in the Crime Analysis Section. Who wants to listen to my phone?”

Thirty minutes later Rocco showed up with ten one-hundred-dollar bills sealed inside a letter envelope. Tony tried to hand the envelope to LaGrange, but the cop was too nervous to take the cash where anyone might see him.

Tony followed the cop into the men’s room. The bathroom was small, a sink, a single stall, and a stainless-steel urinal half-filled with ice and just wide enough for two men to stand shoulder to shoulder.

“It stinks in here,” Tony said. “Let’s get this over with.”

The cop made a show of checking the stall before he snatched the envelope from Tony’s hand. It was only after he had ripped it open and counted the money, then made it disappear inside his coat pocket, that he handed over his own envelope.

Inside, Tony found two folded computer printouts, each several pages long and stapled together. They were the criminal histories of Michael Salazaar and Dylan Sylvester.

“Did you give these to Shane?” Tony asked.

The cop nodded.

Tony flipped through the printouts. “You give him anything else?”

“No, but he gave me something.”

Tony looked up. “What?”

Jimmy LaGrange leaned against the sink. “Shane knows both those guys.”

“Go on.”

“He arrested them, years back,” the cop said. “Salazaar is dead. Got himself killed in a drive-by shooting outside his apartment a few nights ago.”

“What about the other one?”

“Shane’s looking for him right now.”

“Does Shane know where he is?”

LaGrange shrugged. “This afternoon he came back to me looking for another address on the guy. I gave him what I had, but I don’t know if he found the guy or not.”

“What address did you give him?”

“Sylvester filed a report about his car being broken into. I gave Shane the address off the report.”

The bathroom door pushed open. Someone was trying to get in to use the can. Tony shoved it closed. From the other side of the door someone said, “What’s going on in there?”

“Wait your fucking turn,” Tony shouted.

“Weird, isn’t it?” the cop said.

“What?”

“Shane just happens to have a past with two of the guys who robbed you.”