“Next thing I know I hear a shot. I duck and aim my light and my gun toward the back of the alley. I see the guy trying to go over the fence into the backyard. There’s a dog back there on the ground just on the other side of the fence. The guy has shot the dog and is trying to climb over the fence. I take a shot at him but my hand’s shaking so bad I miss. Doesn’t matter, though, the guy hears the shot, he throws down his gun, puts his hands up, and surrenders.
“I hear my partner screaming from the street, but he doesn’t come down the alley because he’s scared. I cuff the perp, pick up his gun, and walk back to the car.”
Ray was quiet for a few seconds, staring down at the floor. “I never felt so good in my life.”
She reached across the space between them and laid a hand on his leg, not a sexual gesture, just one of reassurance. “Why did you tell me that story, Ray?”
He took a deep breath. “Everything was simple then. I was the good guy. The man in that alley, he was the bad guy. A week later my FTO and I respond to a house burglary. The owner was out jogging and somebody broke in. Owner stays outside while we go in to check the residence, make sure whoever did it is gone. Upstairs in the bedroom my partner finds the owner’s wallet. It’s obvious the burglar didn’t get upstairs, nothing’s moved around, no sign the place has been tossed. My partner slips the guy’s wallet into his pocket. End of the shift he hands me sixty bucks, says it’s my cut.”
“What did you do?”
He looked at her. “Put it in my pocket.”
A frown crossed her face. “You kept it?”
Ray shrugged. “He was my FTO. He wrote my evaluations. On my way home that night I felt bad about it. I was stopped at the light at Tulane and Jeff Davis and I see this bum sitting on the neutral ground. He had one of those signs, handwritten on cardboard with a piece of string looped around his neck. Sign said ‘help a Vietnam vet,’ or ‘will work for food,’ something like that. I rolled down my window, wadded up the money, and threw it at him.”
Jenny reached behind him and rubbed his back. “You serious about changing?”
“It’s too late,” he said.
She asked him again, “Are you serious about changing?”
Silence. Then he nodded. “I want to.”
“Wanting to is not enough. You’ve got to do it.” But talk was cheap. She was stuck in the same trap as Ray. She wanted to change, wanted to change so badly it hurt, but she didn’t have the strength. Until now. She had never verbalized it like she was doing right now. Hearing her own words as they bounced off Ray and came back. She could do it, and she could help him do it.
Ray snapped his fingers. “Just like that?”
Jenny pulled her hand away and shook her head, feeling a new strength. “What did I tell you that you had to do first?”
Ray didn’t answer.
“You have to admit it’s your fault.”
“What’s my fault?”
“Everything.”
“Everything’s my fault?” he said, sounding defensive.
She wasn’t going to back down, wasn’t going to let him off the hook. This was going to be painful, but necessary. “Being a crooked cop and a thief was your fault, Ray, no one else’s.”
He started to stand, but she grabbed his arm and held him down. “Just like it’s my fault I’m a whore.”
Ray turned to her. “At least you had a reason.”
Jenny shook her head. “My mom getting sick isn’t a reason. I could have done something different, but I chose not to. I chose to become a whore and fuck for money.” She felt the tears spill over and run down her cheeks. “I let any man who can afford it stick his dick in me, stick it anywhere he wants.”
“Shut up.” Ray had his eyes closed like he was in pain.
She went on. “Don’t sugarcoat it. You might be a crook and a thief, but at least you paid for what you did. Me, I’m still doing it, and I’m nothing but a-”
He spun toward her, grabbed her shoulders with both hands, and shook her. “Stop it!”
But she didn’t stop. “What you did was your fault. Just like what I did was my fault. But neither one of us ever has to make the same mistake again.” She took a deep breath. “I’m finished at the House. I’ll give up whatever I have to, this apartment, my car, everything, but I’m finished.”
He leaned over and hugged her. “Me, too.”
They were too early, so Tony told Joey to stop at Rickabono’s Cafe on Panola Street. Tony took his time. He ate a big breakfast, two jumbo waffles, a glass of juice, and three cups of coffee. At first Joey tried to ask questions, but Tony told him to shut up and eat.
The muscle head wasn’t happy about the menu-too much fat, too many carbohydrates, and not enough protein. Still, he managed to stuff down a pile of pancakes after drowning them in a pool of maple syrup deep enough to float a small boat in; then he stuffed down enough scrambled eggs to choke a horse.
After breakfast they headed downtown. Joey parked the car where Tony told him. The big man looked surprised as he looked at the building. “This is where the boss has his office?”
Tony nodded.
“You want me to come in with you?” Joey asked, sounding hopeful.
“Stay in the fucking car,” Tony said. “Don’t go anywhere, don’t talk to anybody.”
The muscle head nodded.
“Where’s your cell phone?” Tony asked.
“Huh?”
“Your cell phone, let me see it,” Tony demanded. He didn’t need Joey reporting in to Vinnie as soon as he was out of the car.
Joey pulled his phone out of his pocket.
Tony snatched it from his hand.
“Hey…”
Tony glared at him. “Hey, what?”
With a shrug, Joey said, “Nothing. You can borrow it if you need it.”
“Thanks,” Tony said, lacing the word with sarcasm.
Inside the faded blue building, Tony tried to breeze past Connie. .. Karen, whatever the fuck her name was, and go straight in to see the Old Man. But she stopped him. He didn’t have an appointment. The boss didn’t like surprise visitors. That’s why he had a secretary.
Tony sat in a small chair across the reception room from Connie or Karen, imaging her naked, bent over her desk. He got hard thinking about it. He had to wait fifteen minutes. Then she let him in to see the boss.
In the Old Man’s office, Tony dropped into the same chair he had sat in before. Carlos Messina looked impatient. “I’m surprised to see you here again.” Translation: this better be important.
“You mentioned you wanted me to keep an eye on things and let you know what was happening,” Tony said. More nervous than he thought he would be.
“That’s why I got a phone.”
Tony took a deep breath, hoping this wasn’t a gigantic mistake. “There’s something I thought I should tell you in person.”
Carlos Messina motioned with his fingers for Tony to hurry up.
“Ray Shane was the inside man. He set up the whole thing.”
The Old Man’s face didn’t change. It was his eyes. Suddenly they were different, radiating a coldness that made Tony shiver. “You sure about that?”
Tony licked his lips. His throat was dry. “I got it from a cop.”
“A cop told you Ray killed my nephew?”
Tony repeated what LaGrange had told him.
After Tony finished, Old Man Carlos was quiet for a while. Finally, he said, “This cop who gave you this, is he reliable? Do we know him?”
Tony nodded. Here in the man’s office it was time. Time for the big play. Either Tony was going to move up, or talk himself into a shallow grave. Maybe a dump job in the river, or worse, the swamp, become alligator food. “But Shane’s not smart enough to have done it on his own.”
Carlos Messina leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. Tony wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard the man sigh. After a minute, the Old Man said, “What are you saying?”
“Shane had help.”
Mr. Messina leaned across his desk, propping himself up on his elbows and looking straight at Tony. His face looked like it had been carved from stone. “Say it,” he snapped.