Not Dead Enough Page 23

  “But you don’t have any.”

  “He doesn’t know that. We might be dead before he realizes that.”

  “I’m so sorry. We never thought it would come to this.”

  “How do you know the tall, beer-bellied, dirty blond drug dealer on Rampart?”

  That caught her off guard. Phones aren’t good for questions like this, no body language, no expression. “I…don’t know him.”

  “Saw you on a security videotape. He handed you something and you gave him something in return.”

  A pause, then, “Oh, him. What a scumbag. I didn’t want to do it but felt I couldn’t refuse. Elbert, Ellis’s grandson, thought a woman wouldn’t arouse suspicion. They think the cops view women the way they do. Not up to much besides baking and babies. He asked me to give him a payment. Elbert is expanding our territory here.”

  “What did he give you in return?”

  “I don’t know. A thick envelope. I didn’t open it. I didn’t want to know. Just handed it to Elbert. And then washed my hands thoroughly.” She added, “Until I’m out of the family, I have to play along. Refusing tasks could be suspicious. It’s not just me, but several younger women as well. I can’t risk them.”

  “Understood. But back to our original problem. Unwelcome attendance at your meeting and them coming after me and Karen when no one is there.”

  “We…didn’t plan for something this stupid.”

  “Most people don’t.”

  “I have no way of contacting some of the people.”

  “You can’t warn them?” I wondered if Andrea was one of them.

  “No. To avoid risk, we’ve kept communication at a minimum.”

  “No burner cell phones? Anonymous emails?”

  “We didn’t think it was needed,” she said slowly, digesting the enormity of the problem. Then quickly as if thinking out loud, “We had to be very discreet; our priority was to not let them know we were doing anything out of the ordinary. Only passing messages when we saw each other in our usual routine. Ellis gives us all our phones, so we couldn’t use them.”

  “There are other phone stores in the Atlanta area,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, but he also reviews our credit cards. He’d notice another phone.”

  I thought of pointing out what Anmar and I had done, take a cash advance, but it wasn’t helpful now and far too late. We needed to think about what to do, not criticize what hadn’t been done.

  “Are the others coming here by plane? Driving?”

  “Driving, I think. We left it open, but again credit cards and plane tickets aren’t wise.”

  No place to potentially catch anyone. New Orleans is surrounded by water, but even so, there are a lot of roads in and out.

  “So, at least some of the people will show up and be met by a vengeful Ellis?”

  “It’s possible,” she said, hesitation in her voice as if she didn’t want to admit the cost of their blunder.

  “Possible? What’s to prevent it?”

  “I don’t know. I need to think.”

  “Where is the meeting? I can contact my police friends and have them be there.”

  “No! Please don’t do that. That would only make it worse.”

  “How? The police can stop the killing.”

  “Or be killed. Ellis is old. He has nothing to lose. He’s willing to go out in a blaze of glory. If the police are there, it will only make sure guns are fired. It’ll be bad if anyone is hurt, but if a cop is shot or killed, this will never be over. We’ll all be hunted.”

  I backed off. From the vehemence in her voice, Salve wouldn’t give me the address, and we were no closer than looking at all the C roads in the area—and that wasn’t very close at all.

  “I know,” she said, a change in her voice. “I can go there, claim to have found out about the plot. Give Ellis back some of the accounts and say that’s all we can find. I’ll pretend to be a good little Brande woman, doing service for her men.”

  “Will he buy it?”

  “If he gets enough of the money back.”

  “What will happen to you?”

  “I’ll probably survive,” she answered tersely. “Spend some time with Donnie to prove I’m really loyal to the family.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Yes, but I will survive. And maybe get away in a year or two. At least some of us will be free.”

  “I’m sorry. Think about it. I can get the police there.”

  “It will protect you and Karen. Ellis will have no reason to come after you.”

  I might have to be satisfied with that.

  “Where are the accounts now? Do you have them?”

  “No, I don’t. I’ve been here in New Orleans, pretending to work with Elbert. They’ll be here soon.”

  “Before the meeting?”

  “Yes, but close to it. Again, we have little contact. They can’t know we’re together. They think the women…are only loyal to their men.”

  “How many are you?”

  “Too many. Around ten total.”

  “All meeting today?”

  “Most, but not all.”

  I wanted to ask if Andrea Brande was one of them, but that would out Anmar as my source. “Ten people could get killed today!” I stated.

  “I need to plan this,” she said. “I can’t talk anymore.”

  The line went dead.

  Because I could think of nothing better to do, I called Karen. Salve said we would be okay. If she did what she was proposing to. On the phone she sounded like she meant it. But a few months of Uncle Donnie’s attention might change anyone’s mind. I wanted to make sure Karen was still in Pensacola.

  Voice mail. “Micky. Call me when you get this.”

  I stared at the walls of the beige room.

  “Goddamn it, Anmar, how many mimosas can you drink? It’s lunch time. Brunch should be over. At least run to the bathroom and give me a quick text.”

  The walls ignored me.

  I couldn’t just sit here and wait. The future is not ours to see—but I could see some of the paths the next few hours would take. Salve carries out her plan—and acquiesces to letting Donnie rape her for a few months—and Ellis goes along with it.

  Or Ellis doesn’t go along with it, demands all the accounts back, and does things to Salve that make her talk.

  I could still call the police on them.

  I just didn’t know where to send them.

  Salve backs out. Something else happens and she isn’t there. The accounts aren’t there.

  Ellis comes after me and Karen.

  The future is not ours to see.

  “This is a shit show,” I muttered. I glanced at my watch. Just past noon. Past one in Atlanta. Brunch should be well over.

  The chime of a text.

  Anmar. Maybe Constance or Coliseum? Co something sounds like it.

  Thanks, I texted back. That’s helpful. Not much. They are both long streets, going from the lower Garden District all the way up to Audubon Park. I wanted to scream at Salve about being so stupid as to write down the meeting place, shove it in a pocket, take it to the ambush, and then leave it there. And at Anmar for not catching the most crucial piece of information.

  I was angry and agitated. I couldn’t fix any of this now, and my anger wasn’t going to help.

  Anmar texted back. Sorry to take so long. Aunt Vera watched me like a hawk. With Andrea gone, they assume I’m in it with her. She insists we go shopping. Told her I needed to run to the room for the bathroom.

  I phoned. “Can you call Halley and get the address again?” I asked.

  She was breathless when she answered. “I’ll try. Being watched. It might be hard. Aunt Vera is a bulldog. She’s not going to let me out of her sight. I had to claim I needed to take a big shit for her to let me come back here.”

  “Constance or Coliseum? Can you take a guess which one?”

  “No, I can’t. I’m…sorry.”

  “Numbers? A one or a nine?”r />
  “Halley was rattling it off so fast. I couldn’t seem too interested. I think she was testing me. If anyone is working for Ellis, it’s her.”

  “Got it.”

  “Damn, Vera is knocking.” A toilet flushed. She called loudly, “Just a second,” mercifully moving the phone away from her mouth. “Have to go.” I heard half a toilet flush again before the line went dead.

  I called Joanne. “Constance or Coliseum,” was my greeting.

  She sighed. “That does help.”

  “Still a lot of blocks.”

  “Yeah, but not spread all over the city. Anything to narrow it down.” Then she added, “You’re still at the hotel, right?”

  “Yes, damn it,” I groused.

  “Good, stay there.” She was gone.

  Because I’m contrary, I left the hotel—not that I had any place to go. I checked out—I might be back here, but it might be better to keep my options open, maybe go to another hotel. I put my bags in my car, a small one of essentials like underwear and my toothbrush. A larger one of my gear, cameras, disguises. My gun.

  As I left, I decided I could pretend this was about lunch. I wasn’t really hungry, but I couldn’t stare at the beige room anymore. I left my car parked but kept my hand in my pocket on my phone, as if it were a lifeline.

  The area wasn’t designed for walking, with no real sidewalks. I settled on a gas station convenience store not too far away. Snacks and drinks. Nothing healthy, but chocolate was more important than well-being at times like this.

  Not wanting to sit in my car, I returned to the hotel. There was a breakfast area on the mezzanine that was empty now. I could hang out there, using my recent guest status. I’d claim my flight had been delayed.

  Back in the hotel the same family (or do they all look alike?) was clogging the lobby, kids jumping around, taking up space and parents oblivious to other people who might want to get past their progeny. I tried to walk past one kid twice, but he kept moving in my way.

  I’m a big dyke and if I touch your kid, he will be infected and start wanting fashion dolls and sequins. No, I didn’t say it. Grandma came to the rescue just in time to pull him out of my way. I let them file (slowly, so so slowly) onto the first elevator that came.

  The second one was blessedly empty.

  Just as I was winding my way through the tables, my phone rang. I jerked it out of my pocket, juggling the bag.

  “Hello.”

  “You called me.” Karen.

  “Are you still in Pensacola?”

  “No, I just got back. Traffic was horrible in Alabama. I’m late and rushed.”

  “Didn’t Joanne tell you to stay longer?”

  “Yes, but I have a major showing this afternoon and need to be here. She didn’t offer to replace my income,” Karen huffed. From the sounds I heard, she was unloading her car. “I’m in a rush. What’s so important?”

  How do I say this in twenty-five words or less? “Be very careful. There is shit going down, and it may blow back on you.”

  “Well, that’s helpful,” she said, slamming a car door.

  “The dead woman. Her crime family kin are in town and looking for answers.”

  “I don’t have any. I can’t even say for sure she was the same woman in my office.”

  “These aren’t the kind of people who listen to reason.”

  “Micky, have you lost it? This is sounding like a badly written TV show. I think this whole thing is some stupid coincidence and you’re both blowing it out of proportion.”

  “There is a dead woman in the morgue.”

  “Who just happens to sort of resemble a woman who hired you and was interested in a house from me. We don’t know if they’re the same woman or not. We don’t know for sure it’s related. And now you’re telling me she was part of a crime family and because someone who might not even be her spent a few hours looking at houses with me, they’re coming after me?”

  “I’m not saying they’re coming after you. It’s about money. One faction of the family has stolen from the others. Supposedly the rebel side is meeting somewhere here in the city. The other side found out about it. They fight each other, we’re out of it. But if it’s a trick, the other side might come after us as the only link to the thieving side of the family.”

  “Yeah, right.” I heard keys jangling and a door opening. “Holly thinks this is loony and I have to say I agree with her. She thinks it’s about you keeping in contact with me—”

  “No—” I cut in.

  “Because I’m Cordelia’s cousin and you either want to keep track of her or get into my pants to piss her off,” Karen overrode me. A suitcase was dropped on a wooden floor.

  “What? That’s even crazier than what I just said.”

  “No, it’s not. You’ve warned me, thank you.”

  “Where is Holly? Can I talk to her?”

  “She’s not here. She had to leave, some social work emergency. I had to rent a car and fucking drive back by myself and now need to unload everything and get to my showing in about an hour.”

  “Goddamn it, I don’t give a fuck about you or a fuck about Cordelia. This is serious and your life might be in danger. I’m only trying to keep you from getting killed.”

  “Yeah, right. I have to go.”

  Getting pissy with Karen—as tempting as it was—wasn’t useful. “Humor me. Reschedule your showing and stay home. Just for today. You can read about it in the paper tomorrow.”

  “No way. I’ve already rearranged things to be here for this. The buyer is only in town today and is very interested. If it’ll make you happy, I’m too tired to do much else. Holly and I didn’t catch up on our sleep these past few days. I’ll come back here right after.”

  “Just stay away from Constance and Coliseum Streets.”

  Water was running in the background. “What? Really? My showing is on Coliseum, just off the Square.”

  “At three o’clock?” I asked.

  “No, two thirty. I have to go. Holly is calling.”

  She hung up.

  I stared at my phone.

  Coliseum is a long street, with a nice section of it in the Garden District, the area Karen did real estate in.

  The time wasn’t right. It was three, not two thirty.

  The Rebel Brandes wouldn’t meet to divvy up the loot at a house showing.

  Not if this truly was their meeting place.

  What if Salve lied? After decades of living with the male Brandes, she would be practiced at it. Good enough to fool most people, especially over the phone.

  Karen arrives at two thirty, opens the house for the showing. Client is late. She’ll wait. Ellis and his troops show up at three. Karen, who they know was involved, is there. They assume she’s part of it. She’s alone with them in an empty house.

  Her last thought will be that I was right.

  Satisfying, but not helpful.

  What if I was? Could I leave it? Call Joanne and tell her to detain Karen?

  I glanced at my watch. Just after one thirty.

  What if I was wrong? I’d look like an idiot.

  Well, I’d done that before.

  What if? What if? What if?

  I called Joanne. Voice mail.

  I stuffed the barely nibbled chocolate back in the bag.

  I stared at the walls, beige down here as well, the empty tables, voices from the lobby below.

  What if I’m right and Karen is walking into a trap?

  What if I’m wrong and, like the proverbial butterfly flapping its wings, my interfering will prevent the Brande women from escaping?

  What fucking if?

  Joanne returned my call.

  “Karen is back in town and has a house showing on Coliseum,” I said.

  “And you think it’s related?” Sensible, of course.

  “It could be. Big coincidence if it’s not.”

  “What time is her showing?”

  “Two thirty. Which means she’ll likely still be there at thr
ee.”

  “Maybe. And it could have nothing to do with it. You haven’t gotten any more info on the address, have you? To even be sure it’s those two streets?”

  I had to admit I hadn’t. Now I was pissed at Aunt Vera and I didn’t even know her.

  “Okay, I’ll call…around. Get to Karen, tell her I’m meeting her at three if she’s still there.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, understanding her code. Karen wouldn’t answer if it was Joanne, so Joanne would call Cordelia, who would call Karen.

  “It’s far-fetched, but better careful than not,” was Joanne’s verdict.

  “Thanks.” But she was gone before I’d finished.

  I headed downstairs. I couldn’t sit still any longer.

  I got in my car, cranked up the AC, but didn’t go anywhere. On my phone I looked up Karen’s real estate page, found the listing for Coliseum Square. Nice house, one of the old Greek Revivals, with the front columns and second-story balcony. A large lot. Described as elegant and quiet.

  One sultry summer night Cordelia and I had walked there, hand in hand. Admiring the houses, admitting even in those less gentrified days we couldn’t afford them. Coliseum Square is not really a square, about four blocks of a long narrow park, just wide enough to show a vista of green to the houses bordering it. We had gone out to eat—I couldn’t even remember where—and didn’t want to rush home, so had taken advantage of the night, moon full, to be together in one of those lulls of life, no “be” or “do” hurtling at you. Just our hands, slightly sticky from sweat, but enjoying the contact too much to care.

  Why was I thinking of that now?

  Because the house Karen was showing was the one we stopped in front of, admitted we might buy it if we could afford it. I said something like, “I’d get it for you if I could.”

  She had lifted my hand and kissed it, and replied, “We have each other. We’ll always have each other. That’s more than enough.” She gently kissed me on the lips. She wasn’t one for public displays; maybe it was the wine, maybe the night, maybe the moment. Held the kiss until the moon reappeared from a scudding cloud.

  “We’ll have always until we don’t.” I looked out the car window at the glaring light, sun beating down hard, the day brittle with heat. Damn it. You are not getting my house. Your nurse girlfriend can get a good job, probably making more than I do, and between that and your doctor’s salary, you can afford something like this. You have a cousin in real estate who owes you.