reservation.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know,” Ray said. “I didn’t hear that part.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
A stripper walked past Ray on her way to the can. She tried to whisper in his ear, but he covered the mouthpiece and waved her away.
“Shane?” Landry said.
Ray uncovered the phone. “Earlier today you gave me some information that cleared up something I’ve been wondering about for years. I’m just trying to return the favor.”
“You’re trying to do me a favor?” Landry sounded skeptical.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Do you always keep tabs on Tony?”
“Only recently,” Ray said. “I don’t want him sneaking up on me.”
“When’s he leaving?”
“I don’t know. Must be soon, though. A little while ago I saw him come out of his office carrying a leather bag, like an airline carry-on. He headed outside, so I decided to take a stroll myself.”
“You followed him?”
“I wouldn’t call it that.”
“Bullshit.”
Ray didn’t say anything.
“What did you see?” Landry said.
“He put the bag in the trunk of his car, that big green Lincoln. Then he pulled a pistol out of his pants and tossed it in the trunk along with the bag, maybe inside the bag. I’m not sure.”
“What kind of pistol?”
“I was across the street,” Ray said. “All I know was that it was some kind of big automatic.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Hour, give or take. Why?”
“Where are you?”
“I left right after I saw him put that gun in his car,” Ray said. “I told you, he doesn’t like me. I see him acting weird and carrying a gun, it’s time for me to go home.”
“You’re not at home,” Landry said. “I hear music. Where are you, at a bar?”
“What’s going on, Carl?”
Ray heard a scraping sound in his ear, then muffled voices in the background. Landry had put his hand over the mouthpiece and was talking to someone. After a few seconds Ray said, “Landry, you still there?”
Landry’s hand came off the phone. “What did you say?”
“I asked if there was something going on. Maybe something I need to know about for my own protection.”
“Where exactly was Tony’s car?”
“That parking lot on Decatur, two blocks from the House.”
“Is it still there?”
“Far as I know.”
“How sure are you that it was a semiautomatic pistol you saw Tony put in the trunk of his car?”
“Positive,” Ray said. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Just police work,” Landry said. “Nothing that concerns you.” Then he hung up.
Ray looked at the phone in his hand. “What an asshole,” he said. Then he smiled.
Ten minutes after Landry hung up on Ray, a guy in a suit, who Ray recognized as an Eighth District detective, strolled past Shorty’s parking lot. He crossed the street and set up surveillance two doors down from the strip bar. Ray poked his head out the door and saw another detective standing by a lamppost a block and a half away.
Just past 3:00 AM, an unmarked police car stopped at the curb in front of the parking lot. From his table inside the strip bar, Ray saw two detectives get out. The other two who had been on surveillance walked over to the car and all the cops stood around talking. None of them seemed to be in a hurry to do anything. They ignored Tony’s car.
Fifteen minutes later another unmarked police car screeched to a stop beside the first. Carl Landry jumped out from behind the wheel and another detective climbed out of the passenger seat. They pulled Tony Zello out from the backseat. Ray noticed he wasn’t wearing handcuffs.
Landry handed Tony a legal-size sheet of paper. Ray recognized it as a search warrant. One of the detectives grabbed a set of keys from inside the booth. Then they all walked toward the back of the lot. Tony managed to look cocky despite his beat-to-shit face. He limped along with the cops.
Landry didn’t waste time. He started with the trunk. Even from across the street, Ray could see the detective’s face light up. He pulled the bag out of the trunk and opened it, the bag with a murder weapon and $50,000 cash inside it, the same bag that had Tony Zello’s name printed on the luggage tag.
Tony started backing away and shaking his head. Two detectives shoved him against his own car and handcuffed him behind his back. He kept shaking his head, yelling something Ray couldn’t make out.
Ray watched the cops photograph the car and the inside of the trunk. They put the Smith. 40 caliber into a plastic evidence bag, preserving it for prints. They bagged the cash, too. Landry was never far from the money, Ray noticed. He must be worried that some of it might disappear.
Ray waved to the bartender for another beer.
Half an hour later, Ray walked to Jenny’s apartment. Her car wasn’t parked on the street. He rang the buzzer anyway.
No answer.
He stuck a cigarette between his lips and walked away. Reaching for his lighter, he remembered he didn’t have one. He had been using Tony Zello’s gold-plated “Z” lighter, which was now no doubt in police custody.
Ray put the Lucky Strike back into the almost full pack and was just about to slip it into his pocket when he passed a trash can on the sidewalk. He stopped. A slogan painted on the side of the square trash can said DON’T TRASH NEW ORLEANS.
Ray looked at the pack of cigarettes in his hand. He looked at the trash can. Then he reread the slogan. He had been smoking since high school. What had it done for him? Jenny had said something important. Something Ray was sure was true.
People can change.
Ray threw the pack of Lucky Strikes into the garbage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Ray woke up at two o’clock the next afternoon. He was at the Doubletree, a high-rise hotel off Canal Street, a block from the casino. It was a big step up from the dump on Chef Menteur Highway. Here they put a free newspaper in front of your room in the morning and mints on your pillow at night.
The newspaper headline screamed: MOB BOSSES, BROTHERS, GUNNED DOWN! CARLOS AND VINCENT MESSINA KILLED. REPUTED MOB SOLDIER ARRESTED, CHARGED WITH MURDERS.
Ray switched on the TV. CNN and Fox News were running with the story. Updates linked the murders of the Messina brothers to two more bodies discovered in the New Orleans suburb of Kenner, where another reputed Messina soldier had been found dead, along with his wife.
Ray called Jenny a few times, but she didn’t answer.
He called Carl Landry.
“If you’re looking for a reward,” Landry said, “you’re not getting one.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
“In person.”
