House of the Rising Sun (32 page)

Next morning, Ray felt like shit. His ear had hurt so badly during the night he hardly slept. Jenny ordered a room service breakfast. When the food came, she spread it out on the small round table crammed into a corner next to the air conditioner. They sat opposite each other on thinly cushioned wooden chairs.

After two cups of coffee and three cigarettes, Ray started to
feel better. Munching on a piece of toast, he said, “I've got to go back to Tony's house.”

Jenny stopped chewing her melon slice. “Are you crazy?”

Besides his ear, there was another reason he hadn't been able to sleep. “Tony has the gun.”

“What gun?”

“The gun I had last night. The one I got from Dylan Sylvester's apartment. It's the one he tried to shoot me with at the House.”

“How'd you get his gun?”

“I took it from him.”

“Now Tony's got it, so what?” Jenny said.

“It's got my fingerprints on it.”

“Big deal!”

“I'm a convicted felon. My prints on that gun can send me back to prison.”

Jenny pushed her plate away. “It's not like Tony's going to turn it over to the police.”

“He knows the system. If he's trying to pin the robbery on me, all he's got to do is make sure that gun gets into the right hands. With a piece of evidence like that, Carl Landry can put me away.”

“Landry's straight. He doesn't have anything to do with Tony.”

Ray nodded. “Landry junior is a straight arrow, but he blames me for his old man going to prison, and he wouldn't pass up a chance to send me back. He'll deal with Tony if he has to.”

“That's a lot of trouble to go through just to catch a convicted felon with a gun.”

Ray stared across the table at her. “Sylvester is dead, and that's the gun that killed him.”

“What?”

Ray told her what had happened in the apartment.

When he finished, she was too shocked to speak.

“I've got to get that gun,” Ray said.

“How are you going to get it if it's in Tony's garage?”

“I've got to get into his house while he's at work.”

“You're trying to stay out of jail by breaking into someone's house, Tony Zello's house? Where you almost just got killed?”

“Jen, I've got no choice. I've got to get that gun. If Tony finds out he has that kind of leverage on me, he won't hesitate to use it.”

Jenny shook her head. She looked disgusted. “What about his wife?”

“Charlie Rabbit said she goes out almost every night.”

“I thought you were changing,” she whispered. There were tears in her eyes.

Ray picked up his pack of Lucky Strikes from the table and shook one out. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he raised his lighter and flicked it. Nothing happened, so he flicked it again, still nothing. He spun the wheel four more times but couldn't get the damn thing to light.

“They got any matches in here?” he asked.

“What if Tony comes home while you're there?”

Ray was getting jumpy. He held up his hand. “Hold on a second.” He stood up and scanned the room. On the nightstand, inside the hotel ashtray, he found a book of matches. He slid back into the chair and lit his cigarette, then breathed the smoke into his lungs. Another drag and the jumpy feeling started to fade.

He tossed the matches on the table. Jenny was staring at him, still waiting for her answer. Ray looked at her through the haze of smoke hanging between them. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“What if Tony comes home?”

“That's where you come in.”

Jenny arched her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Jenny got to the bar at a quarter to nine. Early enough so she could have a drink by herself. It would be easier with a drink or two in her. The Carousel Lounge at the Monteleone Hotel was crowded. There were a lot of expensive suits, beautiful dresses, and sparkling jewelry. The Monteleone was the oldest and classiest hotel in the French Quarter.

She had argued with Ray all morning, at one point telling him she was leaving him and going to California. He could straighten out his own damn life without her. But she hadn't left, and by early afternoon she had agreed to his plan.

Ray said, “Meet him in a bar. Have some drinks and keep him talking. One hour is all I need.”

“What do we talk about?” she asked. Ray didn't have any advice about that. Typical. But she had her own idea. “I'll tell him I've been thinking about him.”

Ray hadn't been so sure that was a line of conversation he liked. Jenny said tough shit. She would handle it her own way or not at all.

At nine o'clock on the dot, Tony strolled into the Carousel. He ran his fingertips along her back as he took the stool next to her at the Carousel's unique revolving bar. Her dress was low in the back, and his fingers on her skin gave her the creeps. She had bought the dress at Lakeside Mall in Metairie on her way into the city.

Tony was dressed in a silk suit, looking like he just stepped off the cover of
GQ
magazine, except for the bandage on his ear. He signaled to the bartender and ordered a drink. Then he said to Jenny, “You surprised me.”

She pointed to the bandage. “What happened?”

He waved a hand in the air. “It's nothing.”

“How did I surprise you?” she asked.

“Calling me. I thought you didn't like me anymore.”

Jenny shrugged. “I go back and forth.”

Tony grinned at her like a cat that had just swallowed a canary. When the bartender brought Tony his scotch and soda, Jenny noticed he didn't ask for money. Jenny ordered a refill—Jameson on the rocks—and glanced at the clock behind the bar. Ray said he needed one hour. Fifty-four minutes to go.

Tony turned to face her, his right arm propped on the bar. “So what's this about?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

“You haven't been at work.”

She shook her head. “I quit.”

“Really.” He seemed surprised. “What are you gonna do?”

The bartender set Jenny's drink in front of her, and again didn't ask for any money. She took a big sip to steady her nerves. “I don't have any plans yet,” she said.

With his left hand, Tony traced a circle on her bare shoulder. “Maybe I can help.”

“I'm thinking about leaving town,” she said.

He pulled his hand back. “Where you going?”

She shrugged. “I don't know that either.”

“You don't know much, do you?”

Jenny swallowed her first response, then said, “I know I'm going to need money.”

Tony swirled a finger in his glass, then took a sip. “Why are you telling me?”

“You still looking for Ray?”

“You mean your old boyfriend?”

She shook her head and took another gulp of whiskey.

“You know where he is?” Tony asked.

“I've got a friend, and she knows where he is.”

From the inside pocket of his suit coat, Tony pulled out a cell phone. He held it out to Jenny. “Call her.”

She made a show of looking at her watch. “She's not home.”

“How do you know she's not home?”

“She's a nurse. She works two to ten in the emergency room at Touro Hospital.”

Tony put the phone back in his pocket, then knocked back the rest of his drink. As he stood up, he took a pen out of his shirt pocket and wrote a phone number on a napkin. He handed the napkin to Jenny. “Call me when you get in touch with her.”

Tony probably wasn't going home, but Jenny couldn't be sure. Ray hadn't had his hour. They'd planned everything to start at nine. She swallowed hard and put a hand on Tony's arm. It felt like touching a snake. “How much do I get?”

“We'll see.”

He started to turn away from the bar, but she held his arm. “Do you have to leave? My friend will be home in an hour.”

Tony even smiled like a snake. “What are we going to do for an hour?”

Jenny's stomach turned, but she forced an inviting smile on her face. “Can you get us a room?”

Ray drove Jenny's Firebird around the cul-de-sac. Tony's Lincoln was gone, and so was Priscilla's Jag. The clock in the dash showed 9:05. If Charlie had been right, Mrs. Zello didn't spend many nights at home. Ray needed to get the Smith & Wesson, then somehow get to Carlos Messina and plead his case directly to the Old Man.

He parked a couple blocks away and walked toward Tony's house. Just a neighborhood guy out for a stroll. A sign in front of the Zello house warned that it was monitored by an alarm system. A lot of people used the signs as bluffs. Tony's house might be wired, it might not, but even if it was, the garage probably wasn't. Ray would still have to check, though. More time wasted. He crouched in the darkness on the side of the
garage and studied the window for electrical contacts. When he was pretty sure the window wasn't wired, he knocked out a pane of glass and sat down to wait.

He gave it fifteen minutes. If the garage was rigged, or if a neighbor had heard the glass break, the cops would show up within that time. When no police arrived, Ray reached through the broken window and unlocked it. He pushed it open and climbed through. Using a mini-LED flashlight he crossed the dark garage.

There were six drawers built into the lacquered wooden workbench, two rows of three, one on top of the other. All the drawers were filled with junk. Ray found playing cards, pieces of wire, loose tools, a long roll of coaxial cable . . .

Tony must be stealing cable from his neighbor just like me
.

But no gun.

Ray swept the rest of the garage with his flashlight. The gun wasn't lying on the coffee table or on the cabinet beside the TV. He checked the sofa, digging under the cushions. He searched everywhere a pistol could fit.

Nothing.

Ray glanced at the glowing numbers on his watch.

9:30
PM
.

Mounted on the wall next to the door that led from the garage to the laundry room was the control panel for the alarm system. The digital display said
READY
, and the red light under the word
ARMED
was off. Alarms can't protect your house if you don't set them. Ray had to get that gun. To do that he had to get inside Tony's house.

The metal door was hollow and carried a builder-grade lock. Sixty seconds' work with a heavy screwdriver scavenged from the workbench and Ray was inside. The alarm stayed silent. No beeps, no warning sirens. So far so good.

A couple of lights were on inside the house, but the master
bedroom was dark. Using his flashlight, Ray started with the dresser. He searched all the drawers but didn't find what he was looking for. Next, he checked the bed. He ran his hands under the pillows, looked beneath the frame, then felt between the mattress and box spring. Nothing.

The closet was a walk-in with clothes hanging on each side and wooden shelves on the back wall. One side was crammed with men's suits hanging from a high rod. From a lower rod hung pants and sport coats. On the floor were a half dozen pairs of shoes, mostly high-glossed leather loafers, arranged in a neat row.

On the other side of the closet was a single rod packed with dresses, under which had been tossed at least fifteen pairs of women's shoes, all different types—high heels, pumps, flats, mule backs, even a pair of red stiletto heels with straps.

A system, Ray knew from experience, was the key to a good search. He would work from the bottom up. On his knees, he reached into the space behind Tony's neatly arranged shoes. Close to the back corner his fingers pushed against something soft. Reaching farther, he felt a strap. He got his fingers around it and pulled.

It was a worn leather bag, two feet long with a zipper running its length. There were two rounded handles, and a shoulder strap hooked to a couple of D-rings on either end. The bag was a bit fancy for the gym, more like an overnight bag. A laminated luggage tag hanging from one of the D-rings identified the owner as Tony Zello and listed his home address and telephone number. In the event of loss, the tag promised an unspecified reward if it was returned to its owner.