House of the Rising Sun

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“You got balls interrupting my fucking supper,” Carlos Messina said. The mouthful of half-chewed calzone made his words hard to understand, but Tony had no trouble understanding his tone. The Old Man was at a booth in the back of Carmine’s, sitting across from a thirtysomething redhead showing a lot of cleavage. His two bodyguards slurped spaghetti at a nearby table.

If it weren’t urgent, Tony never would have come. The boss liked his privacy, especially when he was entertaining one of his girlfriends. Looking at the two of them-Mr. Messina and the redhead-Tony wondered what kind of woman wanted to go to bed with such a fat old man, even a powerful fat old man.

Shane had disappeared, but Tony had one lead. A degenerate gambler who spent all of his nongambling time hanging out at bars in and around the French Quarter had called him, which is why Tony needed to see the Old Man right away.

Carlos swallowed a chunk of calzone, then said, “What do you want?”

Tony fidgeted beside the booth. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Messina,” he said as he glanced down at the redhead’s tits, “but it’s business.” Using the code, saying they needed privacy.

Carlos nodded to the woman. “Go powder your nose.”

The redhead glared at Tony. “I don’t need to powder my nose.”

The Old Man fixed her with one of his looks, a look that didn’t invite argument. “Take a piss, go to the bar, whatever you want to do, but give us a minute.”

She made a sound through her nose, sort of a “hmmff,” but she got up and walked to the bar. Tony watched her ass as she left, wishing he’d gotten her name. No way the boss could keep a woman like that satisfied.

“You finished looking?” the Old Man said.

Tony turned back to the booth. He could feel his cheeks burning. “I was just making sure-”

“Tell me what’s so fucking important.”

“Shane’s disappeared.”

The Old Man threw his napkin on the table. “That’s what you came here to tell me?”

Tony shook his head. “No, sir.”

“What else?”

“A guy called me, said he saw him in Hobnobber’s yesterday.”

“So find him. You ain’t got to tell me how you do it.”

Tony lowered his voice so the bodyguards couldn’t hear. “He was in there with Charlie Rabbit.”

Carlos Messina took a deep breath. For a second-just a second-Tony saw pain on his face, the pain of betrayal. Then it was gone. The Old Man raised his napkin and wiped his mouth. Then he took a sip of wine. “Who was it said that about Charlie?”

“Guy who’s into me for five grand.”

“How’s he know Shane and the Rabbit?”

“He’s an old-” The boss was old. “He’s been around the Quarter a long time. I put it out I was looking for Shane, and he must have heard. Probably thinks I’ll give him a break on some of what he owes if he helps me out.”

“Will you?”

“Maybe.”

“You believe him?”

Tony nodded. “I sent Joey over there. The bartender knows Charlie and verified it.”

The Old Man was quiet for a moment. Finally, he said, “Charlie’s worked for me a long time.”

Tony nodded again.

Carlos Messina took another sip of wine.

Tony never liked Charlie. The Rabbit acted like he was better than Tony. Both of them were made men, but Tony ran the motherfucking House. Vinnie was there, but it was Tony who ran the day-to-day. The House was a huge moneymaker, and it was Tony who had made it that way. Charlie had whacked a few people, served some time, but that was all. He didn’t bring in any money; he was just a hired gun. That was old-school. When Tony ran things, everybody was going to have to pull their own weight; everybody was going to have to produce the green.

Tony said, “You think maybe they’re working together?”

The Old Man-he seemed to have aged ten years right in front of Tony’s eyes-looked up at the ceiling. “There’s no reason for Charlie to be talking to Shane.”

“So what do we do?”

“You know where Charlie lives?”

Tony said, “No, sir.”

Mr. Messina pulled a pen out of his pocket and drew a map on his cloth napkin. He handed it to Tony. “I don’t know the address, but this’ll get you there. You go ask the Rabbit what he was doing with Shane. Tell him I want to know.”

Tony glanced at the map, saw it was out in Kenner, then slipped the napkin into his jacket pocket.

Carlos said, “You taking Joey with you?”

“Him and Rocco.”

“Call me and tell me what Charlie says.”

Tony turned and glanced at the bar. The redhead was there, looking pissy, sucking a fruity drink through a straw. Tony turned back to the Old Man. “You going to be near a phone?”

Carlos looked toward the bar, then back at Tony. “I’ll be at home. I lost my appetite.”

Charlie Rabbit was old but he was hard. It wasn’t going to be easy. Tony needed clarification. He couldn’t afford a mistake. “What if he doesn’t cooperate?”

Carlos wiped a hand across his face. He almost looked like he was about to cry. “Do what you got to do, but I want answers.”

That gave Tony a free hand.

“Why are you going to see him?” Jenny asked.

They were in the hotel room in Metairie. Ray sat on the dresser, his back against the mirror. “Because he’s the only one who’s not trying to kill me.”

Jenny sat at the foot of the bed, facing him. “He’s still one of them.”

“But I think he can help me. Help us.”

“How?”

Ray wasn’t sure. He had called Charlie’s cell. “Not on the phone,” Charlie told him. He gave Ray his address and said, “Come over around seven. We’ll figure out what to do.”

Looking at Jenny, Ray said, “He can talk to Old Man Carlos for me, maybe straighten this out.”

“Will he do that?”

He shrugged. “I hope so.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Ray scooped the car keys off the dresser and walked to the door. “No,” he said over his shoulder.

“I’m not staying here by myself.”

He flipped the night latch open, then turned to look at her. “No one knows we’re here.”

“It’s not that. If I stay here, all I’m going to do is worry. If I go with you, at least I’ll know what’s going on.”

Ray shook his head. “No way.”

She folded her hands across her chest. “It’s my car.”

He felt like telling her tough shit. He needed her car, he had the keys, and he was going to use it, but he didn’t say that. They had been getting along so well, and he didn’t want to spoil it. “Jenny, I’ve got to use the car. I’ll be back in a little while.” He turned and opened the door.

“I’ll report it stolen.”

He looked at her again. “No you won’t.”

She stepped toward the phone. “Try me.”

Ray stared at her as the tension between them mounted. She was a tough girl, not given to idle threats. He wouldn’t get very far if she called the police and told them he had just stolen her car.

He grinned, and she grinned back. The tension evaporated. Jenny grabbed her purse. “Plus, I’m hungry.”

Ray pointed a finger at her. “You’re staying in the car.”

She nodded. “After you talk to Charlie, we’ll get something to eat. You can tell me what he said, and we’ll figure out what we’re going to do next.”

He only had about eight bucks on him. “Who’s buying?”

Jenny grabbed her purse off the dresser. “I’ve got money. My old job paid pretty good.”

He stared at her. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Sorry. Sometimes I’ve got to make a joke to keep from crying. Besides, I said my old job.”

Tony had to give the old guy credit. He was tough. The Rabbit had been watching TV while Mrs. Rabbit cleaned up the kitchen. Charlie had answered the door, surprise showing on his face when he’d seen Tony. He must have known it wasn’t a social call because he tried to slam the door, but Tony stiff-armed it open and rushed inside, Joey and the freshly bandaged Rocco following behind.

Now Charlie sat in a dining room chair, wrists and ankles taped to the armrests and legs, a dishrag jammed in his mouth. Mrs. Liuzza was on the kitchen floor, dead, a lamp cord looped around her neck.

Tony hit Charlie again. More blood from the Rabbit’s already pulverized face spewed onto Tony’s shirt.

After they were inside the house and had gotten everyone settled down, Tony had hung his jacket and silk tie on the coat rack by the door, but his starched white shirt with the French cuffs was ruined. His knuckles were sore and he needed a break, so he said again, “Tell me what you were doing at Hobnobber’s with Ray Shane.”

Charlie’s eyes were a sea of blood from the burst capillaries, but still the answer in them was clear. He wasn’t going to talk.

Tony slugged him once more, this time an uppercut to the body, and was rewarded with the unmistakable feel of bone on bone as Charlie’s cracked ribs grated against each other. The Rabbit groaned through the rag and slumped forward.

They had started out easy. After they got the Rabbit tied into the chair, Joey had dragged his wife into the dining room, and Tony had smacked Charlie a couple of times. He asked him why he had been with Shane and where Shane was now. But the old guy wouldn’t talk, so Tony had to get rougher, laying in solid punches, splitting an eyebrow and knocking out two teeth.

Still the Rabbit wouldn’t say anything. A nod from Tony, and Joey pushed Mrs. Rabbit down on top of the dinner table. Shoving his hand up her dress had got her screaming. It also got Charlie screaming. He was threatening and cursing so loudly that Tony had to stuff a rag into his mouth to keep the neighbors from hearing him.

Joey wound some duct tape around the old girl’s head to shut her up, then pulled her off the table and dragged her into the kitchen. The Rabbit wrenched his arms and legs, trying to tear himself loose from the chair. Tears streamed down his face as the sounds came out of the kitchen, bodies flopping on the linoleum floor, fabric tearing, heavy grunting.

Through the five minutes that it lasted, Tony kept saying that Charlie could stop it all with one word. All he had to do was tell Tony where Shane was hiding. But Charlie didn’t tell. He just cried and tore at his bonds. Then there were new sounds from the kitchen, a dish shattering, muffled screams, feet kicking at the floor. Then silence.

Joey walked back in with his clothes all fucked up and blood splattered across the front of his pants. Tony hadn’t known the muscle head was such a freak. Mrs. Rabbit had to be at least sixty.

When he saw Joey, Charlie started sobbing so much that Tony had to thumb the rag deeper into his mouth. Tony could see that the Rabbit was a broken man. Now he would talk.

Only he wasn’t broken and he didn’t talk. No matter how much Tony pounded on him, Charlie would not say a thing. All Tony could figure was that as soon as Charlie saw who it was at the door, he knew both he and his wife were dead. And when Joey took his wife into the kitchen, the only thing the Rabbit had left was his pride, that and his iron toughness.

The old bastard was hard as nails. Tony massaged the knuckles of his right hand and looked up at Rocco. “Give me something to hit him with.”

“Like what?” Rocco asked.

“I don’t know, a table leg, anything.”

Rocco scanned the room, then his gaze settled on the fireplace. He hobbled over to it and grabbed a poker from a small rack. “How about this?”

Tony nodded.

Holding the charred, pointed end of the fireplace tool inches from Charlie’s eyes, Tony said, “Tell me where Shane is and I’ll make it fast, old man, or I’ll heat this up and shove it up your ass.”

Tony stared at the Rabbit for a long time; then Charlie’s bloody eyes blinked and he nodded. Relieved that he could end this soon, Tony said, “You’ll tell me?”

Charlie nodded again.

Tony yanked the dishrag out of Charlie’s mouth. The old-timer said something but it came out as just a dry croak. “What?” Tony said, proud he’d finally broken the legendary killer.

Charlie’s voice sounded like sandpaper scraped against rough wood. “Shane…” He tilted his head back and made a painful sound in his throat.

“Speak up, goddamn it.” Tony leaned over, putting his ear next to the Rabbit’s lips. “Where is Shane?”

Charlie “The Rabbit” Liuzza leaned forward and chomped down on Tony’s ear.

Tony dropped the fire poker and screamed as he tried to jerk his head away, but the old man wouldn’t let go. His teeth were locked down like a pit bull’s. Tony’s feet got tangled and he fell backward, pulling Charlie and the chair down on top of him.

“Pull over right here,” Ray said. This time he rode shotgun in Jenny’s Firebird. She had driven him to the 3600 block of Delaware Avenue in Kenner, a suburb five miles outside New Orleans. Kenner’s twin claims to fame were being home to the New Orleans International Airport and a riverboat casino. It was also a popular home for New Orleans mobsters.

“Is this it?” Jenny asked.

“Just stop.”

She pulled the car against the curb. “Where’s he live?”

“Not far.” Charlie’s house was two blocks up, but Ray didn’t want Jenny or her car anywhere near the house.

“Then why are we stopping?”

“I’m walking the rest of the way,” Ray said. “You wait here.”

He could tell by her face that she was going to argue, but she must have changed her mind at the last minute. Instead she said, “You got a pen?”

“Why?”

She shifted the car into park, then reached down between her feet and slipped a hand into her purse lying on the floorboard. She pulled out a cell phone and laid it on the console. “Write down my number. When you’re done talking to Charlie, call me and I’ll pick you up.”

“My phone-”

“Oh, shit, I forgot. It’s ruined.”

Ray smiled. “I don’t have a pen anyway.”

She dug in her purse until she found one. “Ask Charlie if you can use his phone.”

“How about I just step outside and wave at you?”

Jenny grabbed Ray’s hand and scrawled her number on his palm. “Just in case.”

He nodded. Then he pulled Dylan Sylvester’s. 40-caliber Smith amp; Wesson out from under the passenger seat.

“What’s that?” Jenny asked as Ray slipped the pistol into the waistband of his jeans and covered it with his shirt.

He turned to her. “What’s it look like?”

“Why do you have a gun?” She looked scared.

“Charlie’s a killer,” he said. “As far as I know he’s trying to help me, but like you said, he’s one of them. If this is some kind of setup, I don’t want to go in empty-handed.”

“If you think this is a setup, then let’s just leave.” She dropped her hand to the gearshift.

Ray shook his head. “It’ll be all right.”

“You sure?”

He just nodded as he opened the door.

The fire poker made a wet THUNK as it caved in Charlie Liuzza’s skull. He lay on his side on the floor, still taped to the chair, a hunk of Tony’s ear clamped between his teeth.

After Charlie bit Tony’s ear and the two of them toppled to the floor, Tony had scrambled out from under Charlie and the chair. He snatched up the poker. Charlie was helpless. Tony loomed over him, screaming, “Fuck you!” as he brought the fire poker down onto the side of the older man’s head.

Tony dropped the poker and ran into the bathroom. He looked at the side of his head in the mirror. A piece of his fucking right ear was gone. Blood streamed down the side of his face, soaking his shoulder. He jerked a hand towel from a ring mounted to the wall and pressed it to his shredded ear.

“What do we do now, Tony?” Rocco stood in the bathroom doorway. “The old guy didn’t tell us shit.”

Tony spun on him. “How the fuck do I know?” With both hands jamming the towel against his head, Tony started kicking the bathroom door and shouting, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Rocco just backed away.

After Tony’s tantrum subsided, he walked back into the living room, still holding the towel against his ear, and looked at the overturned chair and at Charlie’s bloody body. He was going to have to answer for this. The Rabbit was the boss’s man-his fixer-and Tony had just killed him. Beaten him to death with a fire poker after Joey raped and strangled his sixtysomething-year-old wife.

How the fuck am I going to explain this?

Old Man Carlos had said to do whatever he had to do, but Tony was pretty sure he hadn’t meant it was okay to kill Charlie. And Tony was positive the boss hadn’t meant Joey could rape and strangle Charlie’s wife.

Tony stepped into the kitchen doorway. Mrs. Liuzza’s body lay on the linoleum floor. The floor was smeared with her blood. The old lady’s face was blue and her eyes bulged from their sockets. Around her neck were bright red ligature marks from the lamp cord. The blue print dress she wore was bunched around her hips, and a pair of ripped cotton panties lay three feet away. Her crotch was smeared with blood.

This was going to get Tony killed.

He had no idea what to do.

Someone knocked on the front door.

Tony spun and stared at the door. The pain he felt from his torn ear was instantly washed away by another feeling-panic.

Ray saw two cars in the driveway, a black Cadillac-mob guys love their Cadillacs-and a Toyota Camry that probably belonged to Charlie’s wife. As he passed between them he touched the front grille on each. Both were cool.

The Rabbit’s house was a 1970s ranch-style with a two-car garage. The garage door was closed so Ray couldn’t see what the Rabbit kept inside that was so important he kept his cars outside. Probably set up as a workshop; old-timers loved their woodworking.

From the top of the driveway Ray stepped onto the railed porch and walked past a couple of wooden rockers sitting in front of three big windows. He knocked on the door.

No answer. He knocked again. The light shining behind the curtains of the three big windows suddenly went out. Usually when you knocked on someone’s door the lights came on. Maybe Charlie was just extra cautious, but maybe something else was going-

The door flew open. A dark shadow loomed there for just a second; then hands grabbed Ray and yanked him through the door. He stumbled over the threshold and almost fell, but the hands held him up. Something hit him in the ribs. Then something else cracked against his left ear. Inside his head, Ray heard something go pop. Then he felt a piercing pain, like an ice pick shoved into his ear. Behind him the door slammed shut. Hands pulled him up straight. Then someone slugged him in the stomach.

The Smith amp; Wesson thunked against the hard tile floor of the foyer.

“He’s got a gun,” someone shouted.

“Pick it up.” It was Tony Zello’s voice.

Metal scraped against the tile. “I got it.”

“Get the light.”

“Huh?”

“The fucking light, you moron. Turn it on.”

From behind, an arm clamped around Ray’s neck, pulling him backward, arching his spine.

The lights came on.

Ray blinked as he found himself looking at Tony Zello and Joey. Tony held a bloody towel to the side of his head. Ray clawed at the arm around his throat, the arm that was squeezing off his air supply. It was thick and hard, hairless like a bodybuilder’s. A bodybuilder like Rocco.

Tony grinned. “I been looking for you, Ray.” He held up the stainless-steel pistol. “What were you going to do with this?”

Ray wheezed as his vision started to fade.

“Don’t kill him,” Tony said. “Not yet.”

The pressure on Ray’s windpipe eased, and he managed to suck in some air. Tony Z. stepped aside, then turned and pointed with the gun to the living room floor. Ray looked down and his stomach heaved, kicking up bile into the back of his throat. Charlie was on the floor, taped to an overturned chair, his face a lump of hamburger. The side of his skull was cracked enough so that through the bloody hair Ray could see the soft pink of Charlie’s brain.

Tony turned back to Ray. “I was just talking to your friend Charlie. He said he didn’t know where you were.”

Ray wasn’t looking at Tony. He couldn’t take his eyes off the bloody thing on the floor. Charlie’s head rested on the carpet, his face white with that pasty look of death that Ray had seen so many times before, on the street and at autopsies, but it was different when it was someone you knew. The carpet had soaked up most of the blood, leaving a red halo around Charlie’s head.

Joey held out a roll of duct tape to Tony. “We need to get out of here.”

Tony stuffed the pistol into the back of his pants, then grabbed the roll of tape. “Get the car.”