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.
