Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel (14 page)

Chapter 22

Tara and I stood outside the door of
Porter’s apartment while CSU collected the scene. I had recounted my reunion
with Cozy and what led up to finding the landlord. His DNA would be tested
against the samples from the abandoned house, so we wouldn’t get results for a
week or two. I called Captain Dobson to have someone check the addresses of any
missing persons to see if they ever lived in the apartment complex and to find
out who owns the building.

“The way Porter killed himself,” I started,
“doesn’t sit right.”

“You wanted to get justice for Cozy for
so long, you don’t want it to end like this. He killed himself. That’s good.”

“But, consider Haley in all this. The
trafficking. I think these apartments could be a half-way house for these
girls.”

“But they’re free to come and go.” Tara
said.

“What I’m thinking is, they work as
strippers or escorts for someone who picks certain girls to sell at a hefty
price.
Quality over quantity.
They offer the apartment
at a discount or maybe for free and when the time comes, they just get taken
– like Haley in that video.”

“And Haley let someone know she had a
younger sister, maybe showed a picture, and then they set out to kidnap her. If
Haley was going to be sold, she must have really pissed someone off to be
killed.”

My cell rang, so I put it on speaker.
“Peyroux.”

“A Russian company owns the apartment building.”
Dobson blurted. “
Grom
Holdings. I
have the Feds looking into it.”

“So, dead end for now.”

 
Dobson’s voice crackled. “And Edgar Porter is not in the
system.”

“We have to find Cozy, Cap.”

“We’ve got all available on it. What’s
your next move?”

I looked at my partner. “Tara and I are
going to talk to Harry Winslow first. We’ll search for Cozy after that. Maybe
she’s gone back home.”

“Keep me posted.”

#

It finally sunk in that the kidnapper who
forced me to shoot Cozy was dead. I felt good about that, but unfulfilled that
I hadn’t caught him. At least Cozy and I would have closure and after our
little talk on the stoop, the clouds had parted. That twinge of anxiety while
holding my gun had left for good.

We made our second trip to see Harry
Winslow. Chance’s warning at LaPlace on Bourbon about irritating the wrong
people made me want to do it all the more. We stepped off the elevator toward
the glass walls of Winning One. This time the secretary, Amy Schultz, spoke into
her headset after spotting us. She announced our arrival with cheer as her wide
blue eyes locked on mine, reminding me of Alicia’s crush on Chance. Tara would
tease me about Amy’s flirting after our interview.

Ms. Schultz escorted us down a bright
hallway with a shiny cherry wood floor. Black-framed pictures of important men
and women spied on us with permanent smiles on their faces. Harry Winslow
naturally had the corner office. She tapped the door twice and opened it wide.
“Detectives Tara Gray and Lucas Peyroux.”

Mr. Winslow stood and extended his young
secretary a cursory glance before she shut the door. Their relationship
probably extended beyond the office. “Have a seat, Detectives, and call me
Harry.” He offered an animated smile as if he was always on.

We sat on thin, chrome, black-cushioned
chairs, and then he eased into his larger leather chair. Two potted plants
guarded each side of his desk and behind us were a sofa, three chairs and a
coffee table lit up with slivers of light from the window blinds.

I examined the surroundings. “Very nice
office. That painting… Is that a real Blue Dog or a print? And is he inside the
Dome?”

“It’s real. I commissioned this painting
a year before George died. Blue Dog in the nose bleeds of the Superdome; how
can you go wrong? So, how can I help you?” His hands were clasped on the desk
as if this was his interview, making a show of being relaxed.

Tara sat like a statue. Only her eyes and
mouth moved. “Last week, you hosted a private party somewhere close to the
banks of the Mississippi, right?”

“Last week? No. I hold fundraisers for
political figures and yes, the occasional party for my clients, but I don’t
know what you’re talking about.”

“All roads lead to you, Harry,” Tara
said. “You and your company, Winning One.”

“Roads? I can’t admit to a party I didn’t
host.”

“Cut the bullshit, Harry,” I said, chomping
at the bit to show him a picture of Haley. “We know you ordered Alma Caviar for
the party two weeks ago.”

“Almas,” he corrected.

“Almas. Excuse me. We know it was served
at the party and we know this dead girl was at that party.” I placed the
picture on the desk with a hard
thwak
.

He gave it a glance. “I served Almas two
months ago at a fundraiser for Senator Folsom. The order from two weeks ago was
for my own personal use with my own money. A bonus I pay myself, if you will.”
Harry licked his lips and glanced at the phone. His eyes returned to mine and
he exhaled.

I slid the picture toward him. “Do you
recognize her?”

“Pretty, but no.”

“Did you and her have a private party
with this personal order of Almas?”

“No.”

“Really? ’Cause you’re turning pale.”

“I’m on blood pressure medication. This
matter is making me nervous for the mere fact that you don’t believe me. Yes, I
order Almas caviar. You got me on that. I’ll show you the damn invoices.”

I pushed the picture an inch closer.
“This girl was found floating in the Mississippi River with Almas Caviar in her
stomach. You can deny it, but we know for a fact that it came from you.”

“Have you tossed around the hypothetical
that the Almas came from a different order out of state?”

“Sure, but we’ll follow the most likely
scenario first, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m a lawyer, detective. I know you’re
fishing. You can call my Blue Dog painting a Picasso all day, but it will never
be true.”

I nodded. “Having ordered the caviar
doesn’t mean you spoon-fed her, but you’re linked. Look again; see if it jogs
your memory.”

He didn’t look. “Sorry.”

“It’s just a matter of time before I
interview one of your guests who will place her there, so if you know
anything…”

“You don’t have guests to question if
there was no damned party.”

“What about your partners here? Would
they have taken some of your caviar and had their own party. An array of
appetizers was found in her stomach at various stages of digestion. It was a
real catered party, Harry.”

“No one here touched my caviar. But, ask
for yourselves.”

“We will. We’ll have a guest list once we
get our warrant.”

He laughed, and then stopped abruptly to
lean forward. “A warrant for what? You act as if there is a list to be had. The
most you got is that I pass around caviar.”

“So far.” Tara added.

“This is a waste of time. My company
caters to very powerful people, including the judges that sign your warrants.
Feel free to stick your noses where they don’t belong.”

“You hear that, Detective Gray? He’s
going to get us fired.”

“Are you that naïve?” Harry spun a
quarter turn in his chair, admiring his Blue Dog one more time.

“Are you that arrogant?” I shot back.
“Forget the guest list. Maybe we should start at the top of your client list
and work our way down.”

His pores opened as
a
sheen
of sweat took hold. “That would be a clear-cut case of harassment
and for that, I can sue.”

“Maybe we run into a few of your clients
at their favorite bistros. Maybe we chat about things. We don’t have to ask a
single question.”

“Do you know what it will do to our
credibility if you link a murder to this company when you’re not even sure
about the facts? Just the assumption…”

Tara let her folded arms drop. “I don’t
get what the big secret is. What the hell kind of party was this? You guys
wearing masks like Eyes Wide Shut, goats and shit?”

Harry scoffed at that with a sneer. “Is
there anything else, detectives?”

I stood and inspected the Blue Dog up
close, blocking his view. “Let’s say you’re innocent, Harry. What if I told you
this Blue Dog was painted on top of a Picasso? Would it be true then… that this
is a Picasso?”

“I’m not protecting anyone.” He was
quick-witted.

“Harry, we’re trying to wrap this up
right here in this room.” I returned to my seat. “You shut us down, and then we
have to go elsewhere for information. That will be when your clients start to
call you with their own questions.”

“Fine. Let’s do this. I want to help.”

“Your caviar gets shipped and stored here,
correct?”

Harry’s eyes glassed over. “I guess
you’ve done your homework.”

“Let us interview your employees today.
We’ll do it right here in the building.”

“I have no problem with that. I’ll set it
up.”

I looked at Tara with a nod. “Did you
take any of this personal order home? Did your wife or kids have any?”

“No. I can show you where I store the
caviar, but the refrigerator is empty at the moment.” He paused. “I suppose
you’re going to question my wife, too.”

“If we still have our jobs in the
morning,” Tara said.

Harry’s attitude took a dump. “On second
thought, my employees are really busy today, so unless someone is under arrest,
we’ll have to do this another time.”

“Fine. We can play this game.”

“Look at the time. It’s way past lunch
and I’m starving,” Harry poured his attention into his laptop. “I’m thinking
soft-shell crab at LaPlace on Bourbon. I have a standing reservation.” His eyes
darted to me for a split second.

Why
would he stress that
? I
pushed out of the chair. “Make sure you tell the mayor we were gentle.”

“You have a sack, I’ll give you that.”
Harry tapped away on the keyboard.

“I got nothing else. You, Tara?”

“Not a thing. Just know, Harry, that this
was the nice visit.”

He stood and walked to the door, making a
broad show for us to exit. “When you come back with your warrant, if you come
back, consider me, how do you say in cop-speak, lawyered up?”

We left Winning One knowing that Harry wasn’t
clean in this.
Dirty Harry
, I
chuckled to myself. Tara called Dobson to have the company’s financials opened
up. I only prayed that Chance was in the dark to his activities. I figured my
cell would be lighting up with Chance’s call at any moment.

Chapter 23

A platinum-blonde dancer showed Cozy to a
locker and a spot at the chipped Formica counter to put on makeup. They were
less catty than she imagined, but maybe that came from a perceived sisterhood,
or misery loves company. Just like high school, all the lockers had padlocks,
which Tabby hadn’t mentioned. She undressed and put her clothes on little hooks
near the top of her cubby, having to trust her stuff wouldn’t get stolen.

Cozy fiddled with her costume while pondering
Porter’s death. He had cleaned up the Titus mess. That could have been so he
could continue his sinister activities, knowing she wouldn’t say anything. And
then he kicked her out with no money, telling her she could keep the apartment
if she paid the rent. He had balls. But, did someone give him those orders.
They wanted her out on the street. And lastly, this job fell into her lap. She
didn’t believe in fate, but she did believe in manipulation.

She
held confidence that if they wanted her dead, she’d be dead.

Where did Haley keep all the money she had
made? Detective Peyroux would have mentioned a bank account. Haley wanted to
stay off the grid and if her sister was a top earner, then she stashed it
someplace. A secret place where there may be tens of thousands of dollars. It
certainly wasn’t in that dump of an apartment, unless the cops had found it.
Could Tabby be the one who had it? Would Haley have trusted her?

Could Ray know her real name? If he did,
the charade would continue as long as it had to. Keri Sullivan was the name of
her childhood best friend who had moved to Empire and pumped out a kid with a
fifty-year-old Denny’s cook that refused to marry her. If they tried to look
her up, at least there would a record of a female her age with that name.

The dancers checked out her body as she
squeezed into her bikini – or maybe they noticed her scars, the main ones
included a two-inch jagged line across her thigh from a close encounter with an
alligator, a four incher across the small of her back from when she crashed
into a bayou tree while knee-boarding, and a small vertical one on her stomach
from falling through a pier of an abandoned camp. Most guys liked the scars. The
bullet to her neck was the best one yet.

She finished dressing with a plaid skirt,
white blouse and double ponytails sprouting from the top of her head. Her
abdomen felt like she had done a hundred sit-ups and her nipples hurt. She had
eliminated a cancerous, drug-dealing drain on society, and yet she had to close
her eyes and take a deep breath, feeling light-headed in anticipation of her
stripping debut.

Several girls pranced around on stage,
which jetted out of the rear wall like a giant phallus. Portions of the lighted
platform expanded into a dancing circle at the base, middle, and tip, all
complete with a pole. Cozy was to do three ten minute sets an hour, but no
rotation on the floor for lap dances just yet. That suited her fine, as she
felt exhausted just watching.

#

The night went better than expected, even
with wearing the same outfit for every show. Initial count put her at three
hundred and twenty-two dollars. Her mind spun with the possibilities of
continuing this line of work. Her makeup-caked face looked slutty in the
backstage mirror, but that part of the package. Haley must have entertained the
same thoughts of getting rich quick.

Ray surprised Cozy as she wiped off her
glittered disguise, placing his large hands on her bare shoulders. The warmth
felt comforting in a decadent way.

“You did as well as any first-timer.
Congratulations.”

“It was so surreal, like I was somebody
else. And the money – wow.”

“How would you like to make a little more
before you leave?”

“What? Go back out again?” She tried to
turn to face him.

“No. We have a VIP in the audience, one
that was very taken with you.”

“Who is he?”

“A VIP, which means he’s a spender. Are
you up for the challenge?” His hands smoothed her hair back.

“Give him a dance?”

“Yes, but in the Emerald Room with total
privacy. The rules can be bent with this VIP. Do you know what that means?”

“He can touch my boobs?”

“Not exactly. In this case, what the
customer wants, the customer gets.” He took his hands off and spun the chair
around to face him. “I’m giving you an out. The girls that do this
extracurricular work… They want to. They’re experienced at it. I won’t hold it
against you if you decline. There have been girls that have refused. I’ve never
fired a girl for saying no. I promise you this.”

She waited a beat. One of these people
killed her sister and once she hesitated, she would be done. It was just sex.
It was just skin touching skin. The degradation and humiliation would be worth
it if she dealt out justice in the end. She swallowed hard and squinted at him.
“Morals are great for people with a bed and food. Can I do a couple of shots
before I go in? Tequila?”

He clenched his jaw in hesitation. “I’ll
have Diana send them back.”

“Thanks.”

“Five minutes,” he said before walking
away.

Moments later, Diana arrived with four
shots and a beer. She looked down at Cozy through her nose, holding out the
drinks for her to take. Her hand found the counter as if it kept her from
falling. “You’re the first girl who has ever been allowed to drink without a
customer at their side.”

“Is that a good thing?” Cozy imagined Ray
would pounce on her like a panther once she blinked.

#

The VIP wasn’t too horrible to look at,
but Cozy’s vision blurred with the shots of Tequila taken with the beer backer.
Her equilibrium started to falter as her head buzzed. The dim room closed in on
her, but she focused on the task at hand.

The
older gentleman’s casual attire still looked expensive. The dance in the
Emerald Room started normal enough with him watching through dim lighting as
her hands massaged her body to a fast Hip-hop song. But things changed when he
took her by the hips, pulling her G-string to her ankles without warning or
hesitation. A wave passed through her stomach and she fought not to throw up.
This was real
. She had put herself in
this situation.

His hands streaked up her thighs and
around her ass. She almost bit her tongue when his finger penetrated. It took several
minutes of clumsy foreplay before he suggested she return the favor with her
hand. If she could just get him to finish before anything else happened…

Two minutes into the hand job, she felt
something hard tap her head. She hadn’t noticed that he had pulled out a gun
and had it against her temple.

“What are you doing?”

“Does this scare you?” His hard
expression reminded her of a mad drill sergeant.

“You don’t need that. I’m doing what you
want.” Cozy’s head tilted with the pressure.

“Maybe you need incentive to do a good
job.”

“I’ll do a good job.”

“Maybe I want to blow your brains out as
I cum.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Good. I want you scared. I want you to
act like I’m forcing you. Are you a good actress?”

“Yes.”

“Then act like this gun has bullets. Act
like I just broke into your bedroom. Cry if you can.”

Cozy snapped into the character he wanted
and her eyes watered. She bit her lip and cringed at the sight of the gun. He
pulled her fingers away from his erection and smiled, commanding silently to go
down on him. His erection blurred and the room swayed.

“No, please. I’m a virgin.” This kind of
acting wasn’t a problem.

“That’s good,” he hissed.

With a small Tequila belch, she closed
her eyes and pictured Haley’s bloated corpse in the river. With that anger, she
found the strength to guide her lips to the target while leaving her own body
to join her sister back in the bayou. The tear that rolled down her cheek meant
nothing to her, but she sensed he was pleased.

The man clawed at her hair, bringing her
back into the room. He… It… Was smaller than Ashton, clean and manicured and
smelling of fresh soap. She thanked God for that. After ten minutes, he
finished in spasms like an epileptic, the gun pointing skyward. He collected
himself as if he had lost his dignity. Cozy held her lips tight while searching
for somewhere to spit. His hand found her shoulder.

“Swallow it.” The barrel of the gun
touched her nose.

She closed her eyes, already having built
up a pool of saliva. With a deep breath and a single flex of her esophagus, she
sent it down, hoping it wouldn’t come right back up with the Tequila. As her eyes
dried, she stood, but he caught her wrist.

“Wait. Open your mouth.”

“Why?”

“I want to make sure.”

“Okay…” Her mouth opened and the VIP used
his fingers to search inside, checking as closely as a dentist. Once satisfied,
he handed her a beer to drink as if a reward. He nodded and then pulled up his
pants, barely having smiled through any of it.

“I have to be careful about leaving
traces behind, you understand.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

The man finally cracked a grin and exited
without a farewell. Cozy entered the backstage bathroom to vomit with the
urgency of having a terrible case of diarrhea. Opening the stall door triggered
the upchuck
reflex and her stomach evacuated. She
flushed, pushed her hair from her face and then rinsed her mouth out with
Scope, coming to grips with the world she had entered.

She dressed like a sloth, placing her
stage clothes in her bag and left the other girls with flimsy goodbyes. It was
early morning and the main room was mostly cleared. She stopped at the bar.

“Tequila me again, please. Make it two.”

The bartender didn’t move. “Mr.
Corondelet?”

Ray stepped up to the bar. “Pour.”

Cozy turned to face him, wiping under her
eyes. “Am I fired?”

“Fired?”

“I don’t think he liked me.”

Ray kept eye contact for a moment, holding
out a fold of bills. “Keri, Keri, Keri. He loved you. Loved the tears. Makes
that kind of man feel powerful. This was a big test. Not all the girls pass. Do
your shot.”

“Test?” Cozy tilted the glass into her
mouth, welcoming the stinging effect. She slapped it down onto the bar and did
the second shot while staring Ray down. With her eyes watering again, she
flipped through the money.

“This is five hundred dollars.”

“You may have just invited yourself into
a higher income bracket.”

“He seemed… I just thought…”

Ray touched her chin and then returned to
his office.

She had over eight hundred dollars from
one night alone and she hadn’t even been on the main floor. Money was a great
incentive to hook these girls. Little do they know they’re being indoctrinated
to be
slaves.
She shouldered her bag and walked for
the exit where a bouncer stood guard. She kept a poker face, something she had
become adept at.

“Hi, I’m Vince.” He held his hand out.

Jesus.
Will this night ever end
?
“Hi, Vince.”
Tabby thinks you’re a dick
.

“Hell of a first night,” he said. “Going
in the Emerald Room with that guy. He doesn’t come in too often ’cause he likes
to see the new girls. A couple times he just walked in, took a look around and
just walked back out. He’s very picky. Might not be a coincidence he came in
tonight.”

Vince was a solid-framed Italian and
ruggedly so, not lacking in confidence. He had the bad-boy stubble and large
hooked nose. His black T-shirt fit over a
well distributed
layer of fat on muscle, telling her that he was cock-strong. There were many
like him in Manchac. He probably was a wealth of information, but she
remembered the warnings about avoiding him

“I did pretty good,” she said
noncommittally.

“You’re straight from the bayou aren’t
you? We used to have a girl here with that Cajun accent. I dig that accent.”

She pointed at the door. “I’m going to
go.”

Vince stopped her, but gently. “Let’s get
a drink. I get off in fifteen.”

“I’m not supposed to see you socially.”

“What, are we in friggin’ Nazi Germany?”

Cozy paused. She couldn’t help a grin. “I
have to go to the Moon Walk.”

“This late?”

“It’s something I’ve been meaning to do. It’s
personal.”

“You can’t go alone. That place is
deserted at night and it attracts creeps who’d love to get a hold of chick like
you.”

“I can take care of myself. Been doing it
my whole life.”

“I’ll bet.”

“So, I’m going.”

“To the Moon Walk.” He stepped aside.

“To the Moon Walk.” She gave him a second
glance while straightening her Saints cap.