House of the Rising Sun

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Jenny’s words hit Ray like a punch in the gut.

He had to take a deep breath before he could speak. When he did, he heard his voice shaking. “You did what?”

Not that he wanted her to repeat the story. He had heard it quite clearly the first time. She had fucked Tony Zello-again.

In their hotel room, Jenny stood at the sink and looked at Ray through the mirror, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t repeat the story. Saying it out loud just once was bad enough. But she did try to justify her actions. “He was leaving,” she said. “It was only nine fifteen and you said you needed an hour.”

Ray stood across the room by the door. “So you decided to hop in the sack with him.”

She pounded her small fists on the edge of the sink as she leaned closer to the mirror, like she was leaning closer to him, coming nose to nose with his reflected image. “I had to do something,” she screamed. “He was walking away!”

Ray was over the shock, but the hurt was starting to set in. He needed to focus on something positive, like anger. What he wanted to do was hurt her back, not physically-he would never do that-but emotionally, like she had done to him. He locked eyes with her in the mirror. “Once a whore, always a whore, is that it?”

She looked away, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.

Just like last time, Ray thought. As soon as he left her alone she was screwing somebody else. Last time he left for five years, but this time, two fucking hours, and she does the same thing. With the same guy!

Ray bent over and picked up Tony’s leather bag from the floor. When he stood up, he felt dizzy. He must be hungry. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Forget about Jenny Porter, he told himself. There were plenty of other things to worry about besides her.

The bag felt like it weighed a ton.

Ray pulled Jenny’s keys out of his pocket and tossed them on the bed. He did the same thing with the room key. They stared at each other’s reflections in the bathroom mirror for a few seconds longer. Finally, Ray broke it off. He opened the door and walked out, slamming it shut behind him.

The cab dropped Ray off at a seafood restaurant a quarter mile from his apartment.

It was midnight.

At the far side of West End Boulevard, on the edge of Lake Pontchartrain, sat a parking lot ringed by boarded-up bars and out-of-business restaurants. Once a hot spot on the lakefront, it was now nothing but a ghost town. Only one restaurant was still in business, but it closed every night at ten, so even the cleanup crew was gone. Ray stuffed Tony’s bag beneath the Dumpster behind the restaurant. If Tony or some of his goons were waiting for him inside his apartment, he would need something to bargain with. Maybe he could trade the money for his life.

Hiding in the shadows thrown by the streetlights, Ray eased across West End Park and took a seat at a picnic table across from his apartment. His Mustang was still parked at the curb. He needed that car. So he waited and he watched. After half an hour he was pretty sure no one else was watching his apartment or his car.

He went in the way he had last gone out, through the back window. His landlord had taped a sheet of plastic over the window and picked up most of the broken glass. Ray peeled back one corner of the plastic and slipped through.

Inside the apartment he didn’t waste any time. It was possible someone really good was watching, someone he hadn’t spotted. A couple of hard-asses could be creeping up the steps right now. Ray needed to leave. His car keys were on the floor, just where he had dropped them. Ray stuffed them into his pocket and climbed back out the window.

In the old days, back when Ray was with Vice, he knew he wouldn’t have given it a thought. If he had somehow managed to get his hands on three hundred grand, there would not have been any question what he would have done. He would have packed his shit and left, left his job, left town, left the state. Florida maybe. Get a job on the beach renting out Jet Skis, or open a bar.

Now he was too scared to run. Having the money was more dangerous than not having it, because whoever had it would be the one to catch the blame for ripping off the House and killing Pete Messina. And now Ray had the money.

Tony, that motherfucker. It was all starting to come together, like looking at one of those pictures you had to stare at for ten minutes before you could see the image. Ray had been staring at this picture for a long time, and he was finally seeing it. Hector asking him to cover the front door, something the kid had never done before. Using guys Ray had arrested as part of the robbery crew. Tony blowing a couple of holes in Hector. Dylan Sylvester’s story about the inside man. The rest of the crew-Scooby, Wop, Eddie-all dead. None of it was a coincidence. Now he understood. It was all part of the plan for him to take the fall.

After fleeing his apartment for a second time, Ray had checked into a dump on Chef Menteur Highway. At two o’clock in the morning, he lay in bed in the dark, smoking a cigarette and staring at Tony Zello’s “Z” lighter glinting in his hand.

For a second he had considered the possibility that the money he had found in Tony’s closet was from something else-bookmaking, loan-sharking, his daughter selling Girl Scout cookies. Except Tony didn’t have a daughter, Girl Scout or otherwise. Ray knew exactly where the money had come from. Loose bills, every denomination from ones to hundreds, just like in the counting room at the House.

This was a shit sandwich, and Ray had just taken a big bite.

The question he had been going over in his mind since checking into the room was what to do with the cash. He could take the money and run, just like that old song said. Then he could spend the rest of his life running, always looking over his shoulder. The Messina family had a long reach. Or he could give it back.

Why not? He had done what they asked him to do. He had found the stickup crew, two members at least, even killed one of them. He had identified Tony Zello as the inside man. He had even recovered the money. If life were fair, he would get a pat on the back and a reward for a job well done. But life wasn’t fair and Ray knew it.

What the fuck was Tony thinking? Anyone else Ray could understand. Robbing the House was full of risk, but three hundred large was a lot of money. But Tony was a made man on his way up, and made men didn’t rob the family. And what about Vinnie insisting that Ray find the people who murdered his son? How did that fit with Tony setting up this whole job? Unless they were in it together. But what about Pete getting his face blown off? Whose idea was that?

Ray had a lot of questions but few answers. One thing he was pretty sure about was Hector. He was the bait, the goat tied to the stake, waiting for the tiger. Give Hector a few bucks, tell him to take a break at three o’clock and to make sure Ray covered the door for him. Hector didn’t need to know any more than that, certainly not that a robbery was about to go down.

Once the robbery happened, Hector must have gotten scared and hid out after realizing he had been used, that he was expendable. Turns out Hector had been a lot sharper than Ray. The pimply faced kid had seen it coming and had tried to get away.

All that money. Tony Zello was going to go nuts once he discovered it was missing. He probably already had. Ray hoped Jenny stayed at the hotel. If she went back home and Tony even suspected she had helped Ray, he would kill her for sure.

There was only one way out of this jam, and that was to turn over the money. The only person Ray was sure wasn’t involved was Old Man Carlos. But without going through Tony or Vinnie, something Ray obviously couldn’t do, he would never be allowed to see the Old Man. Then again, maybe he didn’t need to be allowed.

Charlie Rabbit’s words came back to him, Once a week he gets dressed up and drives himself out there. No driver, no guards. He doesn’t want anybody else around.

Two more days until Carlos’s date night.

They were probably the longest two days of Ray’s life. Even longer than his first two days in prison.

It rained the entire time, so he stayed in his room drinking Jameson, smoking Lucky Strikes, and watching TV. He couldn’t keep Jenny out of his thoughts. In prison there had been distractions. Just trying to stay alive had kept him busy. As he waited for the days to tick by, Ray found himself calling room service and asking questions about the menu just so he could hear another live voice. He got so bored he was actually glad he had to go see his parole officer.

He put his Mustang in a pay lot on Poydras, just down from the federal building. The bag with the money and the Smith amp; Wesson were in the trunk. Like always, the meeting with his parole officer was short, less than half an hour.

“You still working, Raymond?”

“I go by Ray.”

“Well, Ray, are you still working?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any contact with the police since our last meeting?”

“No, sir.”

“Been associating with any known felons?”

“No, sir.”

After the meeting, in the lobby downstairs, Ray nodded to the guard as he passed through the security checkpoint. There was a covered breezeway between the federal office complex and the federal courthouse. The break area set up in the middle of the breezeway had a couple of cement benches, some concrete planters, and a decorative cigarette butt can half-filled with sand.

Ray stepped out of the office building and was cutting through the breezeway when he came face-to-face with Detective Carl Landry. Aside from Tony Zello, Landry was probably the last person on earth Ray wanted to see.

“What are you doing here?” Landry asked.

“It’s a public building,” Ray said. “I’m sightseeing.”

The cop smiled. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He jerked his thumb toward the courthouse. “I just booked a fugitive, wanted for two counts of bank robbery. He’s a scumbag thief, maybe you know him?”

“I got nothing to say to you, Carl.” Ray tried to shoulder past the detective, but Landry’s elbow bumped him in the solar plexus. Not very hard, nothing anyone would notice, but Ray wasn’t ready for it, and it knocked the wind out of him.

While Ray took a couple of deep breaths, Landry said, “You know how I caught him? The bank robber, I mean. A snitch gave him up for fifty bucks.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Got me thinking…”

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Ray tried to walk away again, but the detective grabbed his arm.

“All that time you spent in prison,” Landry said, “did you ever wonder who it was who gave you up?”

“The feds used a wiretap.”

The detective nodded. “But who put them onto you? They had to have something to base the affidavit on.”

“Are you trying to make a point, or do you just like hearing yourself talk?”

“I heard you’ve been hanging around with your old running buddy.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“I heard you and Jimmy LaGrange kissed and made up.” Landry grinned. “Let me give you a tip. You want to have a covert meeting, don’t have it in the police garage.”

Ray shrugged and walked away.

This time the detective didn’t interfere, but when Ray was a good twenty feet away, Landry called out to him, “If you’re going to kill him, do it in my district. I want to work the case.”

Ray just kept walking.

“You’d be doing me a favor by getting rid of him,” Landry shouted.

This time Ray turned around. “You hate him that much?”

Landry nodded. “He’s a dirty cop and a snitch.”

A snitch.

“How’s it feel,” Landry yelled, “knowing your partner gave you up and sent you to prison?”

Ray shook his head, thinking, not Jimmy. He might be a stuffy little prick now, but back then, back in the day, he was solid. He broke his hand and was off for two months. That’s the only reason he didn’t get caught up in the FBI wiretap. Injury leave for two months. .. the time coinciding almost perfectly with the sixty-day wiretap. .. just a coincidence… but Ray didn’t believe…

He felt his guts twist so hard it staggered him.

Landry motioned him over and pointed to one of the cement benches. “Have a seat, Ray.”

Ray sat down and listened to the cop’s story. A whore had called PIB, claiming LaGrange beat her up in a motel on Tulane Avenue.

“She was beat up,” Landry said. “But that’s not why she called. Turns out Landry wouldn’t pay her. She said she didn’t mind giving him a couple of freebies not to hassle her, but after a while it got to be every day, and it was cutting into her work time.”

So she decided to set him up for PIB.

“We wired her room at the Rose Motel,” Landry said, “and got him on video fucking her, then threatening her when she asked him to pay for it.”

According to Landry, LaGrange had been eager to make a deal. He promised to give up the Vice Squad in exchange for his job and total immunity. Carl Landry Sr. was on the Vice Squad. Because of the conflict of interest, Landry Jr. called in the FBI. The U.S. Attorney inked a deal with LaGrange’s lawyer. Then LaGrange started talking. Based on what he said, the feds got a court-ordered wiretap. Sixty days was all it took, sixty days to wrap up everyone on the squad, everyone except Detective Jimmy LaGrange.

“And you let him stay on the job?” Ray said.

Landry shrugged. “That wasn’t my decision.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

The detective shrugged. “I just thought you should know.”

That wasn’t the reason. Landry wouldn’t piss on Ray’s head if his hair were on fire. Something else was driving the man. Ray thought about something Landry had said that night at the House. “Why did you leave PIB?”

Landry’s face tightened. “I wanted a change.”

Ray shook his head. “Tell me the real reason.”

The detective stared at Ray for several long seconds before he answered. “If your father is a crooked cop doing federal time, they don’t need you in PIB.”

Still not the whole story. Ray said, “It bother you that Jimmy LaGrange is still on the job?”

Landry looked down at his tie. He used both hands to tighten the knot, then smoothed it out with his fingertips. When he looked up at Ray, he had a death’s-head grin on his face. “It doesn’t bother me at all.” Then he stood and walked away, leaving Ray sitting alone on the bench.

Now Ray understood. Landry couldn’t stand the idea that Jimmy LaGrange was still a cop. By telling him that LaGrange had been the government’s snitch, Landry was turning up the heat, trying to bring things to a boil and hoping Ray would strike back at LaGrange. Ray knew the game, and he wasn’t going to play.

At least not by Landry’s rules.