Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel Page 9

“I might be what you call a functioning alcoholic. Been doing this for most of my life.”

  “Even on the job?”

  “I was a damn fine policeman.”

  “Sal, I need to shower.” She backed away.

  “You want to stay a while longer for free?” he yelled.

  She stopped, thinking she might have to. “You want to take a picture this time?”

  “Yeah, I think I’d like a picture. You want some lagniappe, too?”

  “Lagniappe… a little extra for free, right? What you got?”

  “Let me feel them and you get a few extra days.”

  She rolled her eyes, then turned to face him. “You got a set of balls on you.”

  “At my age, I can’t dilly-dally or apologize. Besides, I know desperation when I see it. You got nothing else.”

  Her eyes found the stained, buckling carpet. “How long?”

  “A few minutes would be great.”

  “No, how long will I get to stay?”

  “Three days,” he said as if he thought it through.

  “You know I’m only seventeen, right?”

  “That’s what I like about you… And the fact that you don’t want to do it.”

  “Ew. Give me a minute to think.”

  “Think about this; I can get a whore off the street to let me do it for twenty dollars. I’m offering you a deal.”

  Cozy staggered to the refrigerator to cool her face in the freezer and instead, excavated a chilled bottle of vodka to help sort her moral dilemma, which couldn’t even compare to hiding a dead body. Her mouth puckered at the first swish of Vodka. She had gotten used to Moonshine, so this was nothing. But, she could never stop her eyes from watering.

  “Let’s go already.” He tapped his cane on the hardwood.

  She appeared again. “One week.”

  “A week? You hear what I said about the whore?”

  “A whore ain’t no conquest. You like me because I don’t want to do it.”

  “Five days. And you have to let me feel them until I’m done, if you know what I’m saying.” He picked up a packet of blue pills and waved them at her.

  Her empty stomach heaved. “Six days and you aren’t touching me. I’ll let you watch me shower. What you do outside the tub is your own business.”

  “Watch you shower? Like, with no curtain?” His face soured.

  “You’re not putting your hands on me. I’d rather leave.”

  He fingered his pills. “Fine, but you can’t turn your back to me and you have to keep showering until I say so.”

  “You seriously have no shame.”

  His shaking fingers secured a pill. “You have to wait a half-hour.” He popped the pill into his mouth.

  “I’ll be in the room.”

  “I can still get a picture?” He asked before she retreated.

  “Yeah, Sal. You have quite a collection.”

  “Oh, you found those? Some people collect stamps or baseball cards. I collect boobs, so to speak. You’ll make a fine addition.”

  If Cozy didn’t look directly at him, she could get over having someone watch her shower. It was worth it, to get the time she needed.

  Chapter 16

  London was six hours ahead of New Orleans. I found myself on the phone with a Mr. William Burrell, VP of sales and distribution for the Almas Caviar; a very polite and cordial man with a clean British accent, who I imagined wore an ascot and sipped brandy. Making me feel linguistically inferior, he probably imagined me stuffing a Big Mac in my mouth, wiping the sauce off with my sleeve. With a fine ‘cheerio,’ I had my pen and paper at the ready while Tara caught up on neglected paperwork next to me.

  He said, “No problem, Detective Peyroux. I have to request the list of sales for the past year on my car and shooter.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, my computer.”

  Gotta love the British. “Take your time. I know my car and shooter is slow as hell.”

  Tara’s confused face turned to me.

  “Right, these transactions are routed through Switzerland, so bear with me. I’m narrowing down my search for New Orleans, Louisiana, USA or ex-British Colonies as some hard-core Brits would say. Yes, brilliant, here we are.”

  “You have something?”

  “I have a contract for a company called Winning One Incorporated. The contact is one Mr. Harry Winslow, Esquire. The last delivery was two weeks ago. Delivery address the same. I would assume Mr. Winslow has adequate refrigeration at his company.”

  “He must like to show off for clients. We love our food.”

  “Your city is world renowned for its food among other things… I do so want to holiday there someday.”

  “It’s unique. Let me know if you ever do. So, can you email that or fax it over?”

  “I’ll save everything in a PDF and send you an email. How’s that?”

  “Perfect.”

  While I waited, I did an Internet search of Winning One, Incorporated. There was no website, but from what I could gather from miscellaneous web pages, it was a consulting firm. If it didn’t advertise, then they must have clients in the upper crust. My friend the mayor came to mind.

  Chance wanted to dine at LaPlace on Bourbon. I can ask him what he knows about Mr. Harry Winslow, plus I’ve heard nothing but great things about the restaurant. It had opened nine months ago and has been booked solid since its inception. In other words… Impossible to get into.

  I printed out the email and filled Tara in during the drive to Spring-Love Square located in the Central Business District. I had been in this particular building on several occasions to question witnesses, but didn’t remember this company name. The elevator hummed to the fifth floor, releasing straight into a glass wall with Winning One, Inc. etched on the door. A bombshell receptionist greeted us with professional courtesy, eye-candy for potential clients. She sat behind a crescent shaped desk made of beveled glass. I guess all the glass meant to show transparency. Behind her to the left and right were two hallways of offices.

  I tilted my badge on my belt. “I’m Detective Peyroux and this is Detective Gray. You are?”

  “Amy Schultz.” She tilted her nameplate in the same manner with a smile. There wasn’t any ditz in her twinkling eyes.

  “We need to speak to Mr. Harry Winslow.”

  “Esquire,” Tara added under her breath.

  “Harry’s in Washington D.C. with the partners right now.”

  “Mr. Esquire lets you call him Harry?” Tara asked.

  “Esquire was an inside joke when he was in law school. Those who know him appreciate his good humor in keeping the title. It’s really not meant to be pretentious, but just the opposite. He’s very informal. He insists on being called Harry.”

  I nodded. “Does Harry have an assistant here now? A right hand man?” I rested my hands on the desk, but lifted them quickly realizing I’d leave prints. As Tara made a tour of the surrounding artwork on the walls, I conjured up the proper charm for a twenty-something.

  “No. Office is cleared out. I’m just here to answer the phone and be a physical presence.”

  “Must be nice not to have the boss around. What exactly does this company do?”

  “We manage political careers, hold fundraisers, do consultations. Harry gets people elected to office from Texas to Florida.” She flipped her blonde hair back with just the shake of her head.

  “Ah, you guys are the man behind the man… or woman, of course.”

  “Yes, girl power.” She flexed her arm in the air.

  “When does Harry come back?”

  “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Did Harry throw a party about a week ago?”

  She bit her pen. “Are you investigating something?” She asked with a high inflection. “Maybe I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  I brushed it off with a laugh. “You’re being paranoid. Why would Harry want to keep a party for a client secret?”

  “Sometimes there are reasons.
Never criminal, mind you. That’s why I’m telling you I don’t know of any party recently. The last fundraiser Harry threw was about two months ago. Senator Folsom… Held at the Hyatt.”

  “So, you wouldn’t tell us even if you did know.”

  “No. Yes. You’re trying to bait me. We only leak information when it suits us. Confidentiality. That’s a mantra around here.”

  “We just want to ask him about one of his guests, so anything you can tell me about the riverboat cruise would be helpful.”

  “Riverboat cruise? You are persistent.”

  “We have to be. You seem like a loyal employee.”

  “I know what’s at stake here.”

  “If you’re as smart as you are attractive, then you should be in MENSA.”

  “Smooth… But, we’re not in a bar. Sorry, I can’t help you.”

  I looked at Tara. “You were right, we should have got the warrant.” Then turned back to the blonde. “Better get your records in order, because we’re moving in for the next few days.”

  She stood, her blouse form-fitted to her thin waistline. “Look, just come back when Harry’s here, please. I’m sure he’ll answer your questions.”

  “Sure. But, I got one more question for you, then I’ll let you get back to work. Do you know if Harry imported special caviar for this party?”

  Her mouth opened, then she shrugged. “Harry does have an account for Almas Caviar to use at fundraisers and special dinners, but that’s all I can say about that.”

  I stood straight as if everything was casual. “I understand. We’ll try back tomorrow.”

  “What about leaving your card?”

  I slipped one out of my back pocket like a pro and she took her time pulling it from my fingers. “Just tell him not to leave the office tomorrow or he’ll just have to do this at the station at our convenience.”

  Her pen scratched notes on paper as we walked out.

  Chapter 17

  The bathroom mirror had fogged, but Cozy cleared a drippy path with her hand. Watching the girl in the mirror, she combed her hair, feeling its cold, damp tips on her shoulder blades. She had just earned six days stay in the old man’s spare bedroom; all for letting a voyeur get his shriveled rocks off. Her eyes had been kept closed for most of the shower, only catching a curious glimpse of what a seventy-year-old dick looks like. Instead of her feeling repulsed, Sal had actually gained her pity.

  The alligator pendant went on first. An inverted tattoo on her left breast of a tiny crawfish with its claws extended reflected back. It was close enough to her areola to be hidden under bras and bikinis. It was the one secret she’d ever kept from Haley. The swelling in her cheek had gone down enough for her to appear normal. Ash was probably wondering why she didn’t just ask him to come along on this adventure. Why? Because Ash didn’t need to get ass-raped in prison. First, she would kill Porter - if he weren’t already on the run – second, she would check out Molly’s Girls unless the cops found her beforehand.

  She pulled light pink shorts up her sore legs. Her red tank top fit snug over a black push-up bra that excelled at its job. More of her father’s drunken worldly advice was to show the cleavage, you never know when it will get you out of a jam. Haley had never shown her assets. Just the opposite, she always wore baggy clothes, especially when hanging around the house. Maybe not so strange, after all, how the asshole only went after Haley.

  She hoped Sal had fallen asleep after his eventful morning, but she wasn’t that fortunate.

  “Where are you off to?” he asked from the den as she stepped into the hallway. “Just curious.” The CIA must have made the man’s hearing aid.

  “To look for someone.” She clutched the purse that held Titus’ gun.

  “What’s the name? Most lifers here in the Quarter are familiar with each other.”

  Cozy stepped into his line of sight. His eyes scanned her like airport security. “I’m looking for someone that owes me something.”

  “If you gotta go out looking for them…” The old man picked up the remote and shot it at the television. “…Maybe they shouldn’t be found.”

  She shrugged. “Can I use your washing machine?”

  “Leave your stuff right there. I’ll throw them in with mine.”

  “Thanks. Can I make a sandwich or something?”

  “Sorry, sweetheart. My groceries are regulated to feed me a week at a time. I’m bare bones and if you noticed, I ain’t got a lot to begin with.” He gummed a smile. “You got money, right?”

  “Right. Yeah, I’m good. Okay.” She started for the door.

  “Wait a minute, dahlin’. I know you see me as a dirty old man and that’s fine, but you… Look. You made me feel young again… Alive. One day if you get to be my age and end up alone, you might understand.” He picked up a note pad and wrote something down, and then held it up for her to take. “This is the number to a burner phone a cop friend got for me.”

  “Burner phone?”

  Sal held it up. “Can’t be traced. Call if you find yourself in trouble and I’ll know it’s you, ’cause no one ever calls me on it. I still have connections, and can maybe help you out of a jam.”

  She took the paper and folded it up. “Cool.”

  She walked out the front door, down three steps and turned onto Dauphine Street. She meandered into different sections of shade, lightheaded from hunger. After spending all her money on alcohol that first night with Sal, buying his drinks because he looked so sad sipping at his watered-down cocktails, her options for food were shoplifting, the dine and dash, or garbage picking. She wasn’t going to do an O.J. and stupidly get busted for burglary after getting away with murder. She’d be too easy to describe if she ran out of a restaurant without paying. Garbage picking and dumpster diving was the only option. If gutter punks can do it, so could she.

  Two blocks into the journey, she spotted a McGriddle wrapper, like a diamond sitting on a pile of coal. She casually snagged it as she passed, happily feeling the roundish form of a partially eaten breakfast sandwich inside. What did she care about what went inside her body? She stopped in front of LaPlace on Bourbon’s and gazed through the window at all the beautiful place settings waiting for the lunch crowd. It would be nice to eat there one day, dressed to the nines.

  Out on the Bayou she had consumed unusual, wild game to fuel her active lifestyle. Besides seafood and gators, she had eaten deep-fried snakes, live bugs, and even the beaver-like rats known as nutria. A discarded breakfast sandwich held no challenge. She devoured the stale breakfast in four bites, but it would only satisfy her for a couple hours and she didn’t even know how long it would take to spot Porter coming or going from the apartment complex.

  Chapter 18

  While staring at the file of a woman who had disappeared two years ago, my thoughts turned to the firing range and the cluster I had created earlier with Tara. The session ended with one of my shots hitting the target, but the other five ended up to the left, next to the ear. It was progress, at least according to Tara.

  My cell rang and Chance’s name lit the screen. He spoke immediately. “I pulled some strings and got us a table at LaPlace tonight.”

  I pushed away from my desk and rubbed my face. “You suck.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Heather and Alicia are going to the movies tonight. I told them I was working late.”

  “That’s fine. I was thinking just you and me. I’ve had yes-men yapping in my ear all day and I need someone to tell me how much I suck.”

  “I’m your man. What time?”

  “Leave now, I’ll be there in a few.”

  “I’m in jeans, but I do have my dress Nikes on.”

  “It’s fine. I know the owner. We’ll be tucked away in a corner – and don’t say that stupid movie line or the dinner’s off.”

  “Nobody gives Baby an ultimatum.” I tapped my pen on the desk as my buddy chuckled. Tara had already left along with most of the day shift. “What the hell? See you ther
e.”

  #

  The stained glass double doors opened to a simple, gold-plated oak podium where a sophisticated high-school girl in a black bow tie and white shirt stood by a computer screen. She took inventory of my wardrobe through bloated, black-framed glasses and smiled.

  “You must be Detective Peyroux, the Mayor’s guest?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “This way, please.”

  She led me to a smaller side room, meant for privacy. I felt like a peasant worker that had been invited into the royal palace. Brilliant white tablecloths hung low to the tiled, marble floor, but the dim lighting made it hard to tell if it was real or laminate. Chance was already seated at the back table, the lone patron.

  The hostess backed away and was replaced by our waiter, a sturdy young man with a thick jaw.

  “Bring us a couple of Abita Ambers, will you, Darren?”

  “Of course, Mr. Mayor.”

  I sat in front of a small, white plate and a glass of ice water. Purple flowers in a tiny vase were centered perfectly. Chance waited for me to make one of my smart-ass remarks about the swank accommodations.

  “Nice,” I said, letting him down.

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What am I thinking?”

  “You’ll get a half-dollar sized medallion of steak for fifty bucks. No. Good sized portions. Fantastic blackened redfish. Or maybe the seared scallops… Unbelievable.”

  “I think the experience here is a little lost on me tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Part of the excitement of coming out to place like this is the anticipation, and the getting ready with a shower and nice clothes and not having to wind down from a stressful day at work. This just feels awkward.”

  “That’s why we’ll partake in their finest mead and ambrosia first and take our time.”

  Darren and our beers came right on cue and after a perfect pour by our waiter, we toasted. It would just be a matter of time before Chance laid the cards on the table.

  #

  Chance let me unwind by talking Saint’s football through the savory crab cake appetizers. I stayed away from grilling him about Harry Winslow and why he chose this restaurant, and he stayed away from asking about my brother Brent. And after catching up on each other’s lives and the mandatory small talk, our dinner came. That’s when I brought up an issue that had been bugging me: the way that my daughter always went goggle-eyed when he was around.