The Paramedic then turned and pointed to another body lying about thirty feet away on the ground. “We didn’t work him either, has a ten inch hole through and through his chest.” They all walked over to be body and Greyfield took a close look. “Wow, someone took the entire leadership of this bunch out in one night. That’s Rufus Jones, the chief, someone is making one hell of a power play here.”
So they had four dead, three already identified and no doubt in their minds the fourth would be another high ranking Calliope boy. Sixth District Captain Neil Holm arrived on the scene and approached Thibodeaux. Holm looked over the scene and looked to Thibodeaux for answers. “Lucky you Thibodeaux, you caught this cluster fuck. OK, what do you have so far?” Thibodeaux shook his head, “Well Captain we just got here a few minutes ago. We got four dead, we already know the names of three of them. This is the entire leadership of the Calliope Gang.” Holm looked a Thibodeaux and Greyfield with a worried expression. “This is gonna break out in a full scale gang war. We need to cut this off fast before we have bodies lying all over the city. Get on this and make sure it becomes your number one priority. I don’t care what other cases you got, this just moved to the head of the line. Get it done.” With that he walked away to make a call from his cell.
All Thibodeaux could say was “Fuck me”. He looked at Greyfield who was also shaking his head. “We are screwed partner, this mother fucker blows up and they gonna put it on us. Let’s see what we can find.” With that they began a search of the scene. They had uniform cops doing a canvass of the projects, but he knew that would turn up empty. No one here ever talks to the police. They found eight empty shotgun shells, and marked them with small cones. Then Greyfield found something unusual, it appeared to be a grenade pin. It was lying on the sidewalk near some spent shells. Just then Thibodeaux, who was searching the area around Rufus’s body found a grenade. At first he was startled. He noticed the pin and spoon were missing. He saw the spoon lying near the grenade and looking closely, realized it was a dummy. It appeared Rufus had had it in his hand when he was shot. Now he was really confused, what the hell did Rufus have a dummy grenade with him for? And why was he standing on the street thirty feet from his buddies in the car? The distance of the body from the curb indicated a vehicle could have been parked in front of their car and it was possible Rufus was in or near that car. All just speculation, but for now, it was all they had.
Eight hours later the bodies were removed and the scene cleared. They had collected all their evidence and sent it off to the lab for processing. The bodies were in the morgue and would be autopsied that day. All the shell casing were being analyzed for finger prints or other identifying marks. The texture of the dummy grenades made finger prints impossible to lift. As they suspected no witnesses had been found except for one older woman who said she saw a gray car parked on the street about ten minutes before the shooting started. She had no idea what type of car it was or how many people were in it. The bangers car was black so this could have been the shooters. When the shooting started she had run into her bathroom and never looked out again.
Every snitch in the city was being roused for any information they might have, but so far nothing. The Gang Unit was rounding up every known gang banger trying to get any piece of information they could. The Crime Lab Technician called and told them it appeared there were two shooters. One shooter on the sidewalk where the spent shells were, the other either standing in the street or sitting in a vehicle. Since there were no spent shells in the street the tech assumed it was another vehicle.
Thibodeaux and Greyfield were in the squad office talking and decided the only real lead they had was the grenade. They figured it would have been purchased from an army surplus store or stolen from one of the local reserve bases. They decided to start by calling military surplus stores. There were six of them within a one hour drive of New Orleans. They split the list and began calling, closest ones first. Greyfield hit pay dirt on his last call, and most distant call. Louie’s Military Salvage was located in Slidell about an hour north of the city. They headed there.
Louie turned out to be a middle age man named Marvin Williamson. He was behind the counter in an extremely cluttered room, dressed in fatigues and sporting a large automatic on his hip. They introduced themselves and showed their IDs. Thibodeaux asked, “Marvin, do you sell dummy grenades?” Marvin laughed, “You know what is strange. I can go a year and never sell one of those. But a couple of days ago I sold two of them to a guy.” Thibodeaux nodded, “Great, did he pay cash or credit card?” Marvin shook his head. “No luck there Detective, cash.” Thibodeaux nodded, “Figures, can you describe him to me?” Marvin nodded, “I can do that. White guy, about 5’10”, close cropped hair, blue jeans and a blue jacket with a hood.” This surprised the detectives because they expected them to have been purchased by a black man. Either Rufus or another gang member. Of course, this place had no security cameras, but Marvin said he had been called by the buyer an hour before to see if they carried them. The guy had showed up, and Marvin had looked out the front window and saw the guy in a light colored sedan. Maybe a Toyota or a Nissan, he didn’t get a plate, he had no reason to, the grenades were dummies. They thanked Marvin, gave him their contact information should he think of anything else or see the guy again. They called headquarters to get a copy of the phone records for Louie’ Military Surplus with the hope the call from the buyer would lead them to him.
On the way back to the city they discussed the possibility that the light colored sedan could be the same car the old lady saw before the shooting started. This was a stretch, but at the moment all they had. They would go back to headquarter and do a search on any stolen cars within a 200 mile radius and see if that would bring anything. As they exited the Twin Spans on I-10 on their way back they received a call from a marked unit that had stopped an Escalade with no plates. It turned out the car was being driven by a fourteen year old with his twelve year old brother in the passenger seat. Normally this wouldn’t warrant a call to homicide but when the uniforms searched the car they found spent shotgun shells on the front floor and seat. The car had the smell of cordite in it and the cop had been briefed on a shotgun being used in the Calliope.
Thibodeaux got their location and headed in that direction. They were on Desire Street in the 5th Police District. It took them about twenty minutes to meet the uniform, he had the two juveniles in the back of his marked cruiser. The kids had told him they found the car in the Desire Projects and the keys were in it. He had checked and sure enough the keys were there. The Escalade had no plate so he had run the VIN and come up with the owner being a used car lot on the North Shore, in Slidell. Cops don’t believe in coincidence and this would be too much of one. Both the grenades and the Escalade were purchased in Slidell. They told the uniform to close and seal the car, they would have the crime lab tow it in. The juveniles would be questioned further but it was unlikely they knew anymore. They turned their car around and headed back to Slidell.
They arrived at Norton’s Used Cars about 40 minutes later. A fat salesman by the name of William Benton greeted them. They badged him and identified themselves. “Mr. Benton, we are checking on a vehicle registered here, a purple Escalade. We don’t have a plate, but the VIN is registered here.” Suddenly William had a worried look on his face. They followed him into the office and he pulled a folder out of a file cabinet. The office was a gloomy trailer and smelled of cigar smoke. He sat across from them at an old beat up wooden desk. “Here is the paper work, it was purchased by a Sammy Perroni, this is a photocopy of his driver’s license. Here is the bill of sale, right here is Perroni’s signature. The guy came in right before closing two days ago. He was in a hurry so he was going to have the paper work chance over the next day.” William was sweating because he knew he should never have let the car leave the lot without the titles being changed. Thoreau looked at the copy of the driver’s license. “OK William, this is the guy that purchased the car?” He hesitated, “Well i
t’s not a great picture, and it was kind of dark, he looked a lot like that.”
That could mean anything, so they pressed him on it. He finally admitted “Well, the guy who bought it was black, a small guy. I mean, I needed to make the sale. He came in here late with fifteen thousand cash. I hadn’t made a sale in two weeks. Thibodeaux was shaking his head in disbelief. “ So you sold a car to someone who had a driver’s license from another state and wasn’t even the person on the license.” Benton was sweating profusely now, his hands were shaking. “The guy had fifteen thousand cash man, hundred dollar bills, he needed the car right away. I needed to move that ugly fucking thing, it’s been sitting on the lot for three months, hey what I did ain’t illegal, is it?”
Both detectives had been cops for many years, but honestly, they had no idea what the law concerning automobile sales was and this wasn’t within their jurisdiction, this was St. Tammany Parish and someone else’s headache. They told Benton they would let the local cops know what went on, they would deal with him. They had him give them a copy of the driver’s license and registration for the Escalade. They wanted to take the original hoping to pull a finger print, but Marvin said the man had worn gloves the entire time. Thibodeaux just looked at him, “The guy doesn’t have his own ID, he has fifteen thousand cash, and he wears gloves the entire time. This didn’t ring any kind o bell?” Marvin just looked down. Thibodeaux continued, “You need to come down to headquarters and look at some pictures, and I don’t mean next week. You close up and come now. If you don’t I’m going to have you picked up and taken there, do I make myself clear?” Benton nodded in agreement. They left and headed back to headquarters. They needed to see what Sammy Perroni had to say for himself, whoever he was.
One hour and twenty minutes later they had their answer. Sammy Perroni wouldn’t be answering any questions. Sammy Perroni had been killed in what was believed to be a drug deal gone wrong. The Richmond Police had very little information. Perroni and another individual had been killed by persons unknown in a Richmond, VA park. He was a known drug dealer from New Jersey but all known associates there had alibis. Perroni had fired his 9mm Beretta once before he was shot though the side with a 5.56 caliber rifle, probably an assault rifle. All they had was two shell casing from the rifle, no prints or DNA. There investigation had stalled there. Thibodeaux hung up the phone and looked at his partner and shook his head, now what.
They were both tired and ready to call it a day when a uniform walked in and asked if they were interested in a burned out sedan with a dummy grenade in it. They both perked up instantly. This had to be the second car used in the Calliope. The car was actually being towed at that moment. Thibodeaux told the cop to have the car towed to the crime lab immediately. The uniform told them he would but not to expect much, the car had been torched and the Fire Department had put tons of water on it.
Ten minutes later they had a call from downstairs, the car had arrived. They went downstairs and one look told them they were going to get nothing from the interior. It had been torched and burned for so long the metal was warped. A crime lab technician gave them the VIN number and the license plate number. They walked back to their office and ran the numbers. The car was registered to a Walter Harris who lived in Slidell. Another Slidell connection, they called the phone number listed for Walter Harris and he answered. After identifying himself Thibodeaux asked “Mr. Harris, do you own a 2000 Nissan Sedan?” Walter Harris answered immediately “Yes sir, well at least I did, I sold that car two days ago.” Thibodeaux though, here we go again. “Mr. Harris, since the car is still registered to you, did you not get the titles changed to the new owner?” Harris now sounded worried, “Well officer, the man purchased it late at night and needed it right away, I got his name and address and he signed the bill of sale.” Greyfield was listening on an extension and just shook his head. Thibodeaux asked, “Mr. Harris, can you describe the man you sold your car to?” Harris answered, “Sure, white guy, average height I guess about 5’ 10” short hair cut, seemed like a really nice guy. I have his information right here. Let’s see, his name is Leon Russell, is address is 12700 River Rd, Harahan, LA.” Thibodeaux had no doubt this was fake and he also had no doubt this was the same guy that purchased the dummy grenades. “OK Mr. Harris, what else can you tell me about Mr. Russell, did you get a copy of his driver’s license or some other form of id?” Harris was starting to get worried now. “No, I didn’t think I had too, he paid in cash the full amount I asked, can you tell me what this is all about?” Greyfield shaking his head answered “Well sir, this is Detective Greyfield, we need you to come down to police headquarters tomorrow and look through some photo albums and also to work with a police sketch artist.” Harris was now genuinely concerned “I need to work I really don’t have the time.” Greyfield cut him off, “Sir, that wasn’t a request, you need to come here or we will send a unit to pick you up.” Harris replied, “OK, OK, I’ll be there tomorrow, what time do you want me?” After telling him the time and the address they hung up. They both knew this was going to end up in another dead end, but at least it was something.
Greyfield was still shaking his head. “What does a white guy in Slidell buying dummy grenades and a car, a black guy in Slidell buying a purple Escalade, a known drug dealer in Richmond that got himself killed, and a street gang in New Orleans have in common? The only logical answer was drugs, it had to be. Any ideas” Thibodeaux shrugged and said “I have no fucking idea, we keep catching shit like this and we will both be writing traffic tickets in the projects.” Greyfield had to laugh, what else could he do?
Chapter 35
Three weeks passed and nothing more occurred. Life became almost normal, dining, shopping, partying. I felt almost normal, Rachael and I made love almost every night, and life was good. The Calliope and Florida gangs went at it for a few weeks. It produced a few more dead, but in the end nothing changed. Gang leadership changed. I assumed they were looking for a new supplier. It wasn’t going to be me. The police found my name in Buckle’s Rolodex and came to talk to me. No mention was made of a video being found. I was starting to wonder if one ever existed. I went to the bank, told them I lost my safety deposit box key. They replaced it and I retrieved the recorder. It went in the river. Shelby purchased a house on the Mississippi coast. He and Jasmine had moved there. We spent time there and at my home. I was thinking my life was settling down. But, once again, life threw me a curveball.
Shelby and I were out fishing when my cell phone rang. I knew I shouldn’t answer it since the caller id was blocked. The voice on the other end was a mans. “Jessie Carr, we need to meet.” I hesitated, “OK, who is this?” He chuckled, “We met one before, in New Jersey. This is Dominic Perroni.” Hadn’t this all started much the same way? He continued, “I have a business proposition I want to talk to you about.” I was shaking my head, “I’m not interested.” He responded, “Look Jessie, just meet with me. I have something I need to give you. I have this videotape you should have. Just listen to what I have to say. If you aren’t interested that’s OK. You have a nice dinner, a few drinks, and I give you the tape. No strings. I’m coming to New Orleans on business. You and Shelby meet me for dinner.” He knew about Shelby, I had hoped to keep him out of this. I agreed to meet the following week at a restaurant in the French Quarter. I didn’t know what he wanted, but if he really had the video I had no choice.
The following Tuesday evening we met at Arnaud’s Restaurant. He looked every bit the prosperous business man. A three thousand dollar suit and shoes that cost as much as my car. We shook hands and I introduced him to Shelby. “Shelby it’s a pleasure meeting you. I’m very familiar with your reputation, and of course your work.” He reached into his pocket and handed me a small video cassette. “Jessie, your friend Buckle sent this to me for safe keeping. I looked at it, very interesting. This is the only copy. I gain nothing if you go to jail, so it’s yours no matter the outcome of this meeting. I’ve been keeping track of all the events down h
ere. Really something about that gang “ He had figured it out. Putting all the pieces together he understood how really successful we were.
I should have just left then and there. But the truth be told, I was looking for some excitement in my life. Shelby and I had moved at a very fast pace for over two years. Our life was now good, I loved Rachael, but I missed the rush. We had all the money we would ever need, but nothing to really get our juices flowing. I guess that was why I stuck around to hear what Perroni had to say.
We were led to our table and after ordering another round of drinks and appetizers he began. “Guys I have a proposition. I guess you all did well in the last couple of years. You were the most successful operation I have ever had. Nobody, and I mean nobody would mess with you. Every month I move millions of dollars of product through a port in the northeast. I have no problem with the law, I have that covered. My problem is security. You know, I can put all the men and guns I want to protect my product. But I have no idea who I can trust. I have had several employees try and take me off. People just get greedy. That’s where you guys would come in. You guys are smart and trustworthy. You’re not gang bangers or users. I need reliability, that’s what I think you guys can give me. Your job would be to supply security from the port to the warehouse. That’s it, once it’s in the warehouse you clear out. You never touch the product. You just supply security and cover. Don’t worry about the cops. If the cops show up you split. Under no circumstances do we engage to police. I would rather lose a shipment than cause bad blood with the cops or the Feds.” As much as I hated to admit it, the proposition intrigued me. He knew money wouldn’t be the determining factor, but he told us our take would be fifteen percent of the net profits. He told us last year that would amount to sixteen million dollars. I looked at Shelby, he hadn’t said anything. I needed to speak to him in private. I asked Perroni if he would excuse us for a few minutes. He understood and went to the restroom.