“Yeah,” Ray said. Hector wasn’t three feet tall, more like five five. He was Mexican or Central American, some kind of Latin, but he tried to act Italian. “He hasn’t been at work since the robbery,” Ray said. “I just came from his apartment and his girlfriend says she hasn’t seen him.”
Tony was stretched out in an overstuffed chair on the fourth floor of the House, in a sitting room just outside Vinnie’s office. Down the long hall was another sitting room and the door to Vinnie and Mrs. Vinnie’s penthouse apartment. Tony’s newspaper was folded to the sports page. “What do I care if his girlfriend doesn’t know where he is?” Tony said.
Ray hadn’t wanted to come back to the House. Tony had already made it clear that Ray didn’t have to work his regular shift. His new job was to find the four masked gunmen. Nothing else. Earlier, on the phone, Tony had said, “You weren’t worth a shit preventing the robbery. Let’s see if you’re any good at solving it.”
While waiting for Jimmy LaGrange to come up with copies of the police reports, Ray decided to do what he would have done were he still a detective. That meant interviewing witnesses. The first person he wanted to talk to was Hector, to find out why the little taco bender just happened to be AWOL at the exact moment the bad guys showed up. But Hector hadn’t shown up for work.
Hector lived uptown. When Ray got there, he found out the diminutive doorman’s apartment was inside a big two-story house off Magazine Street. The once-elegant home had been converted into a rooming house with five tiny efficiencies on each floor. Ray found Hector’s girlfriend but not Hector.
With no other leads, Ray had gone back to the House, but talking to Tony was making him regret that decision. “You understand what I’m saying?” Ray asked. “I haven’t seen Hector since he told me he was going take a piss and asked me to cover the door for him.”
“So what?” Tony said. “You know how unreliable beaners are. The whole damn city is filled with them. They’re the only ones who will even take a job, though. Trouble is, half the time they don’t show up.”
“I know you’re not that bright, Tony, so it’s probably good that Vinnie put me on this thing instead of you. But if you have any idea where Hector is-”
Tony tossed the newspaper aside and jumped to his feet. “You need to shut up while you have a chance, Ray. The way you’re acting, and the fact you’re still standing here instead of getting out on the street and really searching for the little wetback, you must think it’s just a coincidence that he’s disappeared?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Ray said.
Tony jerked his thumb toward the stairs. “Then why don’t you get your ass out there and find him?”
“Tony, has your hair gel seeped into your brain? Can you even understand what I’m telling you? Hector is missing. In my old business we used to call that a clue.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t fire back. Ray thought that was unusual. He wondered where Rocco was. Usually you didn’t see Tony without his big goon nearby. He thought about locking an arm around Tony’s neck and giving him a Chinese haircut. The kind you gave as a kid, raking your knuckles against another kid’s scalp until he screamed. Ray would bet money that Tony would scream like a little girl.
“What do you want, Shane?”
Ray pointed at the closed door to Vinnie’s office. “I want to talk to Vinnie, find out what he knows about Hector. It’s not like you guys keep personnel files, but somebody has to know the kid. Somebody hired him.”
“I’m not going to bother Vinnie with that crap.” Tony poked a finger into Ray’s chest. “You want to know where Hector is, go find him.”
Nodding at the closed door, Ray said, “What happened, Tony? Vinnie got tired of having your nose stuck up his ass? He sent you out to play all by yourself?”
Tony’s face flushed and his lips tightened into a thin line. He took a step forward.
Ray dropped his right foot back and brought his hands up. “Be careful, Tony. Your butt-boy isn’t here to protect you. It’s just you and me this time.”
Tony stopped. His eyes stared straight into Ray’s. His face had turned red, and a vein bulged in his forehead. But he didn’t swing. Instead, he spoke in a low hiss. “It’s just a matter of time, Shane.”
Ray grinned. “You’re right about that.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was the kind of place Ray hated. A coffee shop that didn’t sell real coffee. The yuppie and punk hangout on Canal Boulevard was part of a corporate chain that considered black coffee a special order. Cappuccinos, mochas, and lattes with sprinkles were the beverages of choice.
Ray saw Jimmy LaGrange sitting at a table against the back wall, next to the restrooms. The detective looked nervous as hell. Ray strolled through the shop, passing a couple of late-morning breakfasters and a geek with orange hair and a laptop. The geek looked like he was eating a granola biscuit.
When Ray reached LaGrange’s table, he dropped into a chair across from his former partner. “You got the reports?”
LaGrange glanced past Ray’s shoulder toward the door. “I shouldn’t be seen talking to you.”
“You picked this place, not me.”
The detective looked around some more. “I’ve got to be careful. Someone might be following me.”
Maybe it was a lack of coffee, maybe it was Jimmy LaGrange acting like a dick, maybe it was the geek with the laptop-what kind of man dyes his hair orange and eats granola biscuits?-but after only a few seconds inside this joint, Ray was already angry. “Cut the cloak-and-dagger bullshit, Jimmy. You weren’t worried about being followed back in the day when you were stuffing Vinnie’s envelopes into your pocket.”
LaGrange’s eyes popped open. He leaned across the table and spoke in a harsh whisper. “Hold your goddamn voice down. I don’t do that anymore. I told you I got a new wife and a new…” His eyes darted around the yuppie coffee shop once more, then focused on Ray. “That stuff’s over.” LaGrange made a short cutting motion with his hand. “Finished.”
Ray wanted to ask his old partner how, if he really was clean, he could afford a new family while he was still paying for his old one-an ex-wife and two kids. But he didn’t ask. He needed LaGrange’s help. “What did you find out?”
A waitress came by, a big smile plastered on her face. She interrupted them and introduced herself as Brandy and said she would be their server. She was cute, Ray thought, in a wholesome, well-scrubbed, perky sort of way. He figured she had to be a college student. Real people weren’t that happy. He ordered the closest thing they had to black coffee. LaGrange ordered an espresso and a bran muffin.
“A bran muffin?” Ray asked after the waitress left.
“My cholesterol,” LaGrange said. He looked embarrassed.
A few minutes later the perky waitress brought their order.
When they were alone again, LaGrange leaned back, looking a little more relaxed now that he had his espresso and bran muffin. “You’re lucky, you know that?” he said.
Ray didn’t feel lucky. “Why?”
“This case is on the fast track.”
Ray raised his eyebrows. “How come?”
“Landry’s on it.”
“Why?”
“You know how he is,” LaGrange said. “He’s got it in for the Messina family. My guess is he wants to spin this off into another investigation of dirty cops.”
“He told me he isn’t with PIB anymore.”
LaGrange looked surprised. “You talked to him?”
“Sort of,” Ray said. “He slugged me.”
The detective sat up. “He did what?”
“I mentioned his dad.”
LaGrange nodded. “Then I’m not surprised. Even as much of a tight-ass as Landry is, he goes ape-shit if anybody brings up his old man.”
“Screw Landry.”
LaGrange drummed his fingers on the table. “How’s his dad doing?”
Ray took a sip of coffee. It tasted like warm shit. “He got sick about a year before I got out. They transferred him to the medical prison at Springfield. I haven’t heard from him since.”