Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel (10 page)

Chapter 18

No curtains allowed any of the morning’s
light entry into the old man’s spare bedroom. A crack in the window meandered
up from the bottom left corner, its origin hidden behind wood with a spotty
paint job. After staring at the abandoned spider webs hanging raggedly off the
sill, Cozy wiped goo from her eyes, her mind paralyzed with uncertainty. Did she
expect to go kill Porter today? Just walk right up to him and blow his brains
out?

Why
not
?

Surrounded by Sal’s ancient, beat-to-hell
boxes, she peeked into a few hoping to find something of value, however musty
old clothes and magazines weren’t worth the effort to steal. In one box was a
stack of photos taken during Mardi
Gras
. Each picture
had Sal in full uniform posing with different females showing their boobs and
beads. She flipped through hundreds of photos like a deck of cards, eliciting a
full body shake. Some of the pictures dated back to the seventies.

She closed the box and surveyed the cramped
room. On the walls hung dusty plaques, award certificates and portraits of a
young, odd-looking cop with his entire life still ahead of him. He had a
triangle face with straight black lines for eyebrows and thin lips. Sal
definitely wasn’t ugly, but his looks had to match a woman’s particular tastes.
He had a huge grin in all the pictures, proving that Sal once seen far better
times.

Cozy fingered her eyes again, brushing
the residue off her face. Her rims burned and she had to piss something fierce.
The old man hadn’t imposed on her last night as she’d imagined he would. Seeing
her boobs for a few seconds apparently merited enough for a free overnight
stay. Maybe letting him take a picture to add to his collection would be enough
to get two days. She let a single laugh escape… It wasn’t like the locals had
never seen boobs before.

Sal had gone on most of the night about
how New Orleans’ glory days had long since passed and now it was nothing but
crime and tacky tourist shops and delusional residents. They had gotten drunk;
the
scrapes on her hands and forearms from falling off the
curb was
testimony to that. Thankfully, Sal was old and couldn’t walk
that far, especially intoxicated, so his favorite bar was right down the street
from his house.

Now she stood in wrinkled clothes that
stunk of alcohol. Her shoes by the door were caked with Bourbon Street filth.
In her bag between the dilapidated boxes, she found a clean pair of Haley’s shorts
and a tank top, tucking them under her arm. When she stood, something fluttered
to the floor from the shorts.
A business card.
She
picked it up, seeing in bright red letters: Molly’s Girls. It was a gentlemen’s
club.

Titus, you asshole
.

She put the card back in the pocket of
the shorts. She opened the door, and it creaked on rusted hinges.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” a gravelly
voice said from the front room.

Cozy detoured to the entrance of the den,
spotting the old man in his recliner still wearing pajamas. He was just elderly
enough to be non-threatening and just virile enough to be annoying. She was
certainly surprised to find him awake. “You’re up early.”

“I might be what you call a functioning
alcoholic. Been doing this for most of my life.”

“Even on the job?”

“I was a damn fine policeman.”

“Sal, I need to shower.” She backed away.

“You want to stay a while longer for
free?” he yelled.

She stopped, thinking she might have to.
“You want to take a picture this time?”

“Yeah, I think I’d like a picture. You
want some
lagniappe,
too?”

“Lagniappe… a little extra for free,
right? What you got?”

“Let me feel them and you get a few extra
days.”

She rolled her eyes,
then
turned to face him. “You got a set of balls on you.”

“At my age, I can’t dilly-dally or
apologize. Besides, I know desperation when I see it. You got nothing else.”

Her eyes found the stained, buckling
carpet. “How long?”

“A few minutes would be great.”

“No, how long will I get to stay?”

“Three days,” he said as if he thought it
through.

“You know I’m only seventeen, right?”

“That’s what I like about you… And the
fact that you don’t want to do it.”

“Ew. Give me a minute to think.”

“Think about this; I can get a whore off
the street to let me do it for twenty dollars. I’m offering you a deal.”

Cozy staggered to the refrigerator to
cool her face in the freezer and instead, excavated a chilled bottle of vodka
to help sort her moral dilemma, which couldn’t even compare to hiding a dead
body. Her mouth puckered at the first swish of Vodka. She had gotten used to
Moonshine, so this was nothing. But, she could never stop her eyes from
watering.

“Let’s go already.” He tapped his cane on
the hardwood.

She appeared again. “One week.”

“A week? You hear what I said about the
whore?”

“A whore ain’t
no
conquest.
You like me because I
don’t
want to do it.”

“Five days. And you have to let me feel
them until I’m done, if you know what I’m saying.” He picked up a packet of
blue pills and waved them at her.

Her empty stomach heaved. “Six days and
you aren’t touching me. I’ll let you watch me shower. What you do outside the
tub is your own business.”

“Watch you shower? Like, with no
curtain?” His face soured.

“You’re not putting your hands on me. I’d
rather leave.”

He fingered his pills. “Fine, but you
can’t turn your back to me and you have to keep showering until I say so.”

“You seriously have no shame.”

His shaking fingers secured a pill. “You
have to wait a half-hour.” He popped the pill into his mouth.

“I’ll be in the room.”

“I can still get a picture?” He asked
before she retreated.

“Yeah, Sal. You have quite a collection.”

“Oh, you found those? Some people collect
stamps or baseball cards. I collect boobs, so to speak. You’ll make a fine
addition.”

If Cozy didn’t look directly at him, she
could get over having someone watch her shower. It was worth it, to get the time
she needed.

Chapter 16

London was six hours ahead of New
Orleans. I found myself on the phone with a Mr. William Burrell, VP of sales
and distribution for the Almas Caviar; a very polite and cordial man with a
clean British accent, who I imagined wore an ascot and sipped brandy. Making me
feel linguistically inferior, he probably imagined me stuffing a Big Mac in my
mouth, wiping the sauce off with my sleeve. With a fine ‘cheerio,’ I had my pen
and paper at the ready while Tara caught up on neglected paperwork next to me.

He said, “No problem, Detective Peyroux.
I have to request the list of sales for the past year on my car and shooter.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, my computer.”

Gotta
love the British. “Take your time. I
know my car and shooter is slow as hell.”

Tara’s confused face turned to me.

“Right, these transactions are routed
through Switzerland, so bear with me. I’m narrowing down my search for New
Orleans, Louisiana, USA or ex-British Colonies as some hard-core Brits would
say. Yes, brilliant, here we are.”

“You have something?”

“I have a contract for a company called
Winning One Incorporated. The contact is one Mr. Harry Winslow, Esquire. The
last delivery was two weeks ago.
Delivery address
the
same. I would assume Mr. Winslow has adequate refrigeration at his company.”

“He must like to show off for clients. We
love our food.”

“Your city is world renowned for its food
among other things… I do so want to holiday there someday.”

“It’s unique. Let me know if you ever do.
So, can you email that or fax it over?”

“I’ll save everything in a PDF and send
you an email. How’s that?”

“Perfect.”

While I waited, I did an Internet search
of Winning One, Incorporated. There was no website, but from what I could
gather from miscellaneous web pages, it was a consulting firm. If it didn’t
advertise, then they must have clients in the upper crust. My friend the mayor
came to mind.

Chance wanted to dine at LaPlace on
Bourbon. I can ask him what he knows about Mr. Harry Winslow, plus I’ve heard
nothing but great things about the restaurant. It had opened nine months ago and
has been booked solid since its inception. In other words…
Impossible
to get into.

I printed out the email and filled Tara
in during the drive to Spring-Love Square located in the Central Business
District. I had been in this particular building on several occasions to
question witnesses, but didn’t remember this company name. The elevator hummed
to the fifth floor, releasing straight into a glass wall with Winning One, Inc.
etched
on the door. A bombshell receptionist greeted
us with professional courtesy, eye-candy for potential clients. She sat behind
a crescent shaped desk made of beveled glass. I guess all the glass meant to
show transparency. Behind her to the left and right were two hallways of
offices.

I tilted my badge on my belt. “I’m
Detective Peyroux and this is Detective Gray. You are?”

“Amy Schultz.” She tilted her nameplate
in the same manner with a smile. There wasn’t any
ditz
in her twinkling eyes.

“We need to speak to Mr. Harry Winslow.”

“Esquire,” Tara added under her breath.

“Harry’s in Washington D.C. with the
partners right now.”

“Mr. Esquire lets you call him Harry?”
Tara asked.

“Esquire was an inside joke when he was
in law school. Those who know him appreciate his good humor in keeping the
title. It’s really not meant to be pretentious, but just the opposite. He’s
very informal. He insists on being called Harry.”

I nodded. “Does Harry have an assistant
here now? A right hand man?” I rested my hands on the desk, but lifted them
quickly realizing I’d leave prints. As Tara made a tour of the surrounding
artwork on the walls, I conjured up the proper charm for a twenty-something.

“No. Office is cleared out. I’m just here
to answer the phone and be a physical presence.”

“Must be nice not to have the boss
around. What exactly does this company do?”

“We manage political careers, hold
fundraisers,
do
consultations. Harry gets people
elected to office from Texas to Florida.” She flipped her blonde hair back with
just the shake of her head.

“Ah, you guys are the man behind the man…
or woman, of course.”

“Yes, girl power.” She flexed her arm in
the air.

“When does Harry come back?”

“He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Did Harry throw a party about a week
ago?”

She bit her pen. “Are you investigating
something?” She asked with a high inflection. “Maybe I shouldn’t be talking to
you.”

I brushed it off with a laugh. “You’re
being paranoid. Why would Harry want to keep a party for a client secret?”

“Sometimes there are reasons.
Never criminal, mind you.
That’s why I’m telling you I don’t
know of any party recently. The last fundraiser Harry threw was about two
months ago. Senator Folsom… Held at the Hyatt.”

“So, you wouldn’t tell us even if you did
know.”

“No. Yes. You’re trying to bait me. We
only leak information when it suits us. Confidentiality. That’s a mantra around
here.”

“We just want to ask him about one of his
guests, so anything you can tell me about the riverboat cruise would be
helpful.”

“Riverboat
cruise
?
You
are
persistent.”

“We have to be. You seem like a loyal
employee.”

“I know what’s at stake here.”

“If you’re as smart as you are
attractive, then you should be in MENSA.”

“Smooth… But, we’re not in a bar. Sorry,
I can’t help you.”

I looked at Tara. “You were right, we
should have got the warrant.” Then turned back to the blonde. “Better get your
records in order, because we’re moving in for the next few days.”

She stood, her blouse form-fitted to her
thin waistline. “Look, just come back when Harry’s here, please. I’m sure he’ll
answer your questions.”

“Sure. But, I got one more question for
you,
then
I’ll let you get back to work. Do you know
if Harry imported special caviar for this party?”

Her mouth opened, then she shrugged.
“Harry does have an account for Almas Caviar to use at fundraisers and special
dinners, but that’s all I can say about that.”

I stood straight as if everything was
casual. “I understand. We’ll try back tomorrow.”

“What about leaving your card?”

I slipped one out of my back pocket like
a pro and she took her time pulling it from my fingers. “Just tell him not to
leave the office tomorrow or he’ll just have to do this at the station at our
convenience.”

Her pen scratched notes on paper as we
walked out.