House of the Rising Sun (19 page)

Tony stopped and grabbed the cop's tie, pulling them face-to-face. “You want to remember where you are, and who you're talking to. If you got a problem”—he pointed to the door—“you can carry your sorry ass back outside.”

LaGrange took a deep breath. “I don't have a problem.”

They walked on.

Vinnie Messina, dressed in a dark suit and tie, sat at a
table in the back of Fausto's. A couple of trifold rattan screens separated his table from the rest of the diners and provided an air of privacy. Rocco and a thug named Joey sat on either side of him.

Tony pointed to an empty chair opposite Vinnie and gave LaGrange a nudge. “Have a seat.” The detective sat down and Tony slid into the chair next to him. Baskets of garlic bread and two bottles of wine were already on the table. Tony poured himself a glass. He hoped the cop was smarter than he looked, hoped he would phrase everything just right. After a sip of wine, Tony looked at Vinnie. “Mr. Messina, I'd like to introduce you to somebody.” He nodded to the detective. “This is Detective Jimmy LaGrange.”

Vinnie stared at LaGrange. Then he glanced at Tony. “Is he clean?”

Tony nodded.

Vinnie gnawed a hunk of bread. He took his time, washing the bread down with a gulp of wine. Then he wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. When he finished, he tossed the napkin on the table. A waiter hovering nearby jumped in to pick it up and replaced it with a fresh folded one. As soon as the waiter had stepped out of the way, Vinnie said to LaGrange, “I hear you got something to tell me.”

The cop was sweating. “I have information about Ray Shane.”

“How do you know Shane?”

“We worked the Vieux Carré District together. Then later we were partners in Vice.”

“And you want to sell this information to me?”

LaGrange nodded.

“Why?” Vinnie asked.

The detective looked uncomfortable as he shot a glance at Tony. “I got bills to pay.”

Vinnie nodded. Then he bit off another hunk of bread. He chewed on it for a while, but there was still a tiny piece crawling around inside his mouth when he said, “You and Shane were partners, right?”

LaGrange nodded again.

“And now you're willing to sell him out,” Vinnie said.

Tony saw beads of sweat shinning like sequins on the detective's upper lip. For several seconds, no one at the table said a word. Tony could hear everything going on around him: the clink of rings on crystal glasses, forks scraping china, the thrum of indistinct conversation, a woman's high-pitched drunken laughter.

Then LaGrange said, “Ray Shane isn't my partner anymore. He's not even a cop. I don't owe him anything.”

Vinnie held up his hand, commanding silence. “No need to explain. I just wanted to find out where we stood with each other.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out a white envelope, and threw it on the table. “Say what you got to say and get the fuck out of here. They're about to bring my dinner.”

LaGrange glanced at Tony, who gave him a nod. Then the detective looked back at Vinnie. “Shane was desperate when he came to me. He had the names of two guys who he needed to put his hands on, so I agreed—”

Vinnie snatched his envelope off the table. He glared across the table at Tony. “This is something you could've told me. I don't need to hear this from him.”

Tony raised both hands, pleading for patience. “Just wait.” Then to the cop, “Tell him the rest.”

LaGrange nodded, then gulped down a couple swallows of air. “As I'm looking up the information Shane asked for, I see something strange.”

Vinnie laid the envelope on the table again and reached for his wineglass.

As the detective's eyes tracked the white envelope, he continued, “Both these mutts I'm looking up are guys Shane already knows, guys he has a history with.”

The glass was halfway to Vinnie's mouth. He brought it back to the table without taking a sip. “What do you mean, a history?”

“Shane arrested both of them a while back. Then later, when the feds arrested Shane, the two guys were in the parish prison at the same time Shane was. All three of them were in there together.”

Tony Zello couldn't help but grin. Although the detective had gotten off to a shaky start, he was hitting on all cylinders now.

Vinnie asked Tony, “You check this out?”

Tony nodded. “There's more.”

“What?” Vinnie asked.

LaGrange cleared his throat. “One of the guys Shane was looking for is now dead.”

Vinnie stared at Tony. “Is he saying Shane killed the guy?”

Tony shrugged. “If not, it's a hell of a coincidence, don't you think?”

Vinnie shook his head. “But it doesn't make sense. If Shane set this up, why did he need help from a cop to find these guys? He would already know how to get in touch with them.”

Tony knew from long experience, you had to let Vinnie believe he was on the cutting edge, or at least close to the cutting edge, even if he were miles away. So Tony took his time before he answered. When he did answer, he made sure to sound as if he were just getting a grip on the idea himself. “That's what I couldn't figure out. Then I got to thinking about it. Shane's a dumb fuck anyway. Say he gets these two guys . . .” Tony circled a finger at the cop, wanting him to supply the names.

LaGrange, taking the cue, said, “Michael Salazaar and Dylan Sylvester.”

“Salazaar and Sylvester,” Tony repeated. “Sounds like a law firm.” He took a sip of wine. “Okay, so Shane works out a plan with these two, then they either bring in two more guys, or Shane brings in two he already knows. Either way, Shane ends up with four shooters. Then he gets Hector out of the way, pays him, threatens him, maybe Hector doesn't even know what—”

Vinnie's eyes slashed at Tony. “Too bad we can't ask Hector about it.”

Tony shot a glance at the detective sitting next to him. Crooked or not, he was still a cop and Tony wasn't about to admit to a homicide in front of him. He also wasn't going to let the conversation get sidetracked. “Maybe after the robbery, these guys get greedy, or Shane gets greedy, or they get pissed at each other. Whatever happens, they have some kind of beef and all of a sudden Shane can't find them. Either that or he's just trying to play us. Acting stupid, like he can't do anything, and hoping his incompetence gets back to us.” Tony pointed at Vinnie. “Remember how he was when you told him you wanted him to find these guys?”

Vinnie nodded, then tilted his head back until he was staring at the ceiling. He stayed that way for almost a minute. Then he said to Tony, “Are you telling me Ray Shane is responsible for killing my son?”

Tony nodded, then realized Vinnie wasn't looking at him. “I think so.”

“I hired him,” Vinnie said, looking down, his voice thickening. “I brought him into the House. It was me who introduced him to Pete.”

“There's something else we need to discuss in private.” Tony nodded toward LaGrange.

Vinnie slid the envelope across the table to the detective.
Tony saw that at least the cop had the class not to count it. Silently, LaGrange slipped it into the inside pocket of his cheap, dime-store sport coat. Then he stood up and left without a word.

Vinnie told Rocco and Joey to make sure Detective LaGrange left the restaurant and then to stop by the bar and have a drink. He needed a minute with Tony.

When he was alone with Vinnie at the table, Tony said, “Shane is trying to set you up.”

Vinnie stared at him, but his eyes were glazed over. Tony could almost see Pete's reflection in them. When Vinnie finally focused on Tony, he said, “Why is Shane still here? Why didn't he take the money and run?”

“Where would he go? He's a federal convict on parole. He misses an appointment, his parole officer violates him and puts out a warrant for his arrest. But if he plays it cool, gets those other guys before they get him, he gets to keep all the money and stay straight with his P.O.”

“What do you mean he's setting me up?” Vinnie asked.

Tony downed the last of his wine, then reached for the bottle. As he refilled his glass, he said, “Shane's been asking a lot of questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Vinnie's voice sharpened.

“About the money.”

“What about it?”

“Same kind of thing he was asking before, how come we had so much cash in the counting room.”

“That wasn't my—”

Tony cut him off. “That's not all.”

“What else?”

“He asked about Pete's school.”

The sound was like a gunshot as Vinnie slammed his fat fist down on the table, rattling it so hard that Tony's glass almost
tumbled over the edge. Vinnie's words came out like a bark. “He asked about my son's fucking school.”

“He asked how much it cost.”

“What business is that of his?”

Tony shrugged.

Vinnie leaned forward. “What'd you tell him?”

Holding his hand up, Tony said, “I said he asked about it. I didn't say I told him anything.”

“What the hell is he up to?”

“I heard he was in the Hog's Breath talking to Charlie Rabbit.”

“He don't even know Charlie Rabbit.” For a few seconds Vinnie furrowed his forehead like he was trying to remember something. “Right in my office, I think that was the first time they ever said one word to each other.”

Tony shrugged. “Then it's funny them two being together, huh?”

Vinnie picked up his fresh napkin and wiped his face. “Maybe they were just having a drink.”

“Think about it. Shane talks to Charlie, convinces Charlie to go back and tell your brother he thinks you might have robbed the place yourself.”

Vinnie actually shook with rage. “He's trying to backdoor me with my own fucking brother?”

Tony nodded. “That's what I'm worried about. Way this went down . . . with nothing like this ever having happened before, and coming on our watch, so to speak, some people could say this makes us look bad. Some people might even lay the blame on us.”

Vinnie looked down at the table. “But if Shane set it up from the inside . . .” Vinnie was starting to warm to the idea. “There's no way we could have known about it. There's no way anybody could blame us. What we need to do—”

Tony raised a hand. “We've got to be careful. You don't want to make another mistake.” Wondering how that line was going to fly. But Vinnie didn't seem to notice. Tony pressed on. “Let's wait, just a little while, so I can check out some things.”

Vinnie sat hunched over, staring at the checkerboard pattern on the tablecloth. He was lost in his own thoughts, mumbling to himself. “I was good to him. It was me gave him a job, and this is how he repays me. It's always the ones you trust the most. He's a fucking Brutus.”

“Vinnie,” Tony said, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

The chair creaked as Vinnie looked up and shifted his weight. “You really think he's setting me up?”

Tony nodded.

The older man's lips compressed into a thin line. “I want you to find Shane and bring him to me.” He pointed toward the bar. “Take Rocco and Joey with you.”

Again, Tony raised the hand of patience. “Vinnie, I really think we should—”

Vinnie pounded the table again with his pudgy fist, this time toppling his own glass and spilling wine onto the tablecloth. “You bring that traitorous bastard to the House.”

Tony watched the red stain of Vinnie's wine spread out across the table as he thought about what Vinnie had just said. When his boss said things like that, it made Tony wonder if Vinnie had ever actually done any work when he was coming up, or if he had just ridden his brother's coattails. “Bringing him in ain't going to be that easy.”

“Why not?”

Tony cleared his throat. Like explaining something to a kid. “The guy's dumb, but he's not that dumb. When we find him, he's not going to jump in the car with us and go for a ride. Not voluntarily. You're talking about stuffing him in the trunk, driving him through the city, then sneaking him into the House—all without attracting attention.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I'm saying what if the feds are watching the House? What if they have it under surveillance or something? If we bring Shane in and he never comes out, next thing we know we got them going over the whole place with those black lights you see on TV, looking for traces of blood, matching DNA, all that shit.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Once we find him, it'd be easier if you came to us, instead of me bringing him to you.”

“How are you going to find him?”

“I'll wait for him at his place. Eventually everybody goes home.”

Vinnie nodded. “Call me as soon as you have him. I don't want you talking to him until I get there. I want to hear everything he has to say.”

Tony stood up. He was smiling.

Just past 11:00
PM
, Ray wobbled up the flight of wooden steps that led to his apartment above the boathouse. At the top of the stairs he was a little unsteady on his feet and breathing hard, so he lingered on his deck, one hand on the rail.

After almost a full day of driving through parking lots in New Orleans East—and not finding the blue Buick he was looking for—Ray had stopped uptown at Cooter Brown's to have a drink. One drink had turned into two, then three. There might have been a fourth.

Standing on his deck, Ray let go of the railing and dug out a cigarette and his Zippo. It took half a dozen flicks to get enough of a flame to light a Lucky Strike. As he took a long drag, a slight breeze drifted off the lake behind him. There was a chill in the air. The sky was clear. The stars were out.

Ray decided to grab a bottle of Jameson and a glass from inside. He would pour some whiskey over a couple of cubes of ice and sit on the deck and enjoy the night air.