Charlie Hustmyre - House of the Rising Sun

Milo shook his head as he walked back toward the booth. “Man, you making me miss my show.”

Ray stopped beside a blue Mercury parked two spaces down from Tony’s car and sneaked a glance at Milo. The kid stood outside the booth watching him. Ray set the leather bag on the Mercury’s trunk and made a show of searching for something in his pockets.

Milo lost interest and crawled back inside his booth to watch TV.

Ray opened the Lincoln’s trunk and tossed Tony’s leather bag inside. Fifty grand in the trunk of a car sure made it look like someone was about to run. The pistol was linked to four homicides: Dylan Sylvester, Carlos and Vinnie Messina, and Tony’s wife. Plus, it had been fired during the robbery at the House. Fired at Ray, which cleared Ray of any connection to it.

Ray walked back to the booth. Milo’s face was buried in the glow of his television. He jumped when Ray knocked on the glass. “Man, what are you doing sneaking up on me like that again?”

Ray used his forearm to nudge Milo out of the way. Then he reached behind the kid’s back and hooked Tony’s keys back onto peg number fifteen. “I forgot something,” Ray said, “I’ll be back for my car in a little while.”

“Customers aren’t allowed to touch the key rack. In fact, no one is allowed inside the booth except me.”

Ray backed away. He held up both hands. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

Milo turned and looked at the Peg-Board. “What hook did you put your keys on? I want to make sure you did it right.”

Ray turned and walked away, calling over his shoulder, “My usual spot.”

“Yeah, but which one is that?” Milo yelled after him.

Directly across Decatur from the parking lot was a hole-inthe-wall skank strip bar called Rhapsody’s. Ray crossed the street and strolled down the dark sidewalk past the strip bar to the next intersection. He turned the corner and circled the block. He didn’t want Milo to see where he went. The walk also gave him time to think.

By the time Ray made it back around, Milo’s face was once again glued to his tiny television screen. Ray ducked inside the strip joint.

Behind the bar was a narrow stage on which a skinny white girl danced. The floor beneath the bar was sticky. Ray ordered a Budweiser. When it came, he gave the barman five bucks, then moved to a table where he could see out the door.

Tony’s car was still in the parking lot.

A skank in too-high heels traipsed over to Ray’s table. She pulled an empty chair up real close to Ray and dropped into it. She rubbed her hand along his thigh and asked if he was interested in a private dance in the back. Ray told her no thanks.

It was 2:00 AM when Ray finished his beer. He found a pay phone by the men’s room. He dropped in some change and called the Eighth District station. The deskman rang him through to the detective office.

Like every detective squad, the one in the Eighth District handled the usual assortment of rapes, robberies, and murders, but the Eighth District squad, because of its location in that sea of vice known as the French Quarter, also worked a lot of organized-crime cases. And organized crime was Detective Carl Landry’s passion, because it was through organized crime that he got to dirty cops.

Landry was still working nights.

“What do you want, Shane?” Landry barked into the phone.

“Is anybody looking for Tony Zello?”

“Why?”

“Just a hunch.”

“Cops have hunches,” Landry said. “What you have is probably gas.”

“Forget it, Carl.”

“Wait!” Landry said. “What’s the hunch?”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Shane. You called me, remember?”

Ray waited, letting the silence build.

“Well?” Landry said.

“I think Tony is about to blow town,” Ray said.

“Why do you think that?” Landry sounded very interested. Ray guessed he had already heard a preliminary report about the bodies out at Lake Catherine.

“Tony is acting weird and it makes me jumpy,” Ray said. “There’s bad blood between us, has been for a while, and I’m just worried he might try to settle our account before he leaves.”

“I know all about the girlfriend and the bad blood, but what makes you think he’s trying to get out of town?”

“He’s been acting real strange the last couple of hours.”

“Strange how?”

“Like he was nervous. Then I overheard him talking on the phone to somebody about an airline reservation.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know,” Ray said. “I didn’t hear that part.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

A stripper walked past Ray on her way to the can. She tried to whisper in his ear, but he covered the mouthpiece and waved her away.

“Shane?” Landry said.

Ray uncovered the phone. “Earlier today you gave me some information that cleared up something I’ve been wondering about for years. I’m just trying to return the favor.”

“You’re trying to do me a favor?” Landry sounded skeptical.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you always keep tabs on Tony?”

“Only recently,” Ray said. “I don’t want him sneaking up on me.”

“When’s he leaving?”

“I don’t know. Must be soon, though. A little while ago I saw him come out of his office carrying a leather bag, like an airline carry-on. He headed outside, so I decided to take a stroll myself.”

“You followed him?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Bullshit.”

Ray didn’t say anything.

“What did you see?” Landry said.

“He put the bag in the trunk of his car, that big green Lincoln. Then he pulled a pistol out of his pants and tossed it in the trunk along with the bag, maybe inside the bag. I’m not sure.”

“What kind of pistol?”

“I was across the street,” Ray said. “All I know was that it was some kind of big automatic.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Hour, give or take. Why?”

“Where are you?”

“I left right after I saw him put that gun in his car,” Ray said. “I told you, he doesn’t like me. I see him acting weird and carrying a gun, it’s time for me to go home.”

“You’re not at home,” Landry said. “I hear music. Where are you, at a bar?”

“What’s going on, Carl?”

Ray heard a scraping sound in his ear, then muffled voices in the background. Landry had put his hand over the mouthpiece and was talking to someone. After a few seconds Ray said, “Landry, you still there?”

Landry’s hand came off the phone. “What did you say?”

“I asked if there was something going on. Maybe something I need to know about for my own protection.”

“Where exactly was Tony’s car?”

“That parking lot on Decatur, two blocks from the House.”

“Is it still there?”

“Far as I know.”

“How sure are you that it was a semiautomatic pistol you saw Tony put in the trunk of his car?”

“Positive,” Ray said. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Just police work,” Landry said. “Nothing that concerns you.” Then he hung up.

Ray looked at the phone in his hand. “What an asshole,” he said. Then he smiled.

Ten minutes after Landry hung up on Ray, a guy in a suit, who Ray recognized as an Eighth District detective, strolled past Shorty’s parking lot. He crossed the street and set up surveillance two doors down from the strip bar. Ray poked his head out the door and saw another detective standing by a lamppost a block and a half away.

Just past 3:00 AM, an unmarked police car stopped at the curb in front of the parking lot. From his table inside the strip bar, Ray saw two detectives get out. The other two who had been on surveillance walked over to the car and all the cops stood around talking. None of them seemed to be in a hurry to do anything. They ignored Tony’s car.