As he left the restaurant I had been standing on the corner of Iberville and Bourbon. My car was in a lot one half block down Iberville. As soon as he left the restaurant I headed for my car. I pulled out of the lot and headed for Canal Street. My timing worked out perfectly. As he crossed Canal St., I pulled up to the curb. He had never seen me before because I had never made it to court. I rolled down the passenger window and motioned to him, “Hey Mr. Allen let me give you a lift you’re getting all wet.” At first I thought he was just going to ignore me, but he turned and approached the car. He leaned in the window, “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you well.” I smiled “Hop in, it’s too damn cold out there, let me give you a lift. I’m Bill, from Accounting.” I didn’t even know if he had an Accounting Department but it didn’t seem to make any difference. He gladly accepted the ride. For all I knew, maybe there really was a Bill in Accounting. As I pulled away from the curb, and before he could even speak, I swung the nine inch ASP Tactical Baton I had in my right hand. As I swung it the metal ASP fully extended to it twenty six inch length and caught him in the forehead. His head bounced off the passenger side window and he fell across the front seat unconscious. Thankfully he hadn’t noticed the plastic I covered the seat with. Drunk, stupid or both, I didn’t care.
I drove to my warehouse on Tchoupitoulas St. I parked on the elevated ramp by the door. James Allen was an overweight 6’ 3” bulk. Unloading his limp body from the car was tough. A few times he slipped and fell to the concrete floor, but he never complained. Between the booze and knock on the head he was in no condition to do anything. The previous week I had anchored a chair in the middle of the warehouse. I had carefully drilled the old hard concrete floor and bolted down the metal chair I had purchased from a Salvation Army Store. Before I anchored the chair I had spread a ten by ten foot piece of clear plastic under the chair. I stripped Allen’s clothes off and securely tied and duck taped him to the chair. I checked my knots carefully. I placed a rag in his mouth and put duck tape over it. I couldn’t have him skipping out before I was finished. I had seen what the Vietnamese had done to some unlucky GIs and understood how to make him suffer. I just hoped my nerves were up to the task. I had a picture of my wife and newspaper clippings with pictures of the other two women Allen had tortured. I’m not sure if I had these to show him or to fuel my rage.
I went out, drove a few miles to a neighborhood restaurant, and grabbed a beer and poboy sandwich. When I returned I parked my car around the block. Leaving it parked at the entrance may have caused a police cruiser to stop and investigate since a large portion of these warehouses were abandoned.
Allen was just beginning to stir. I guess I hit him harder than I thought or maybe he bounced off the floor a few more times as I dragged him in. I squatted in front of him. He looked at me with no recognition in his eyes. “Don’t know me do you?” I waited and still nothing. He was now conscious and struggling at his bonds. I took the gag off. He yelled and screamed for help then he settled down. “What do you want, I’ll pay you, just let me go.” I let him yell till he couldn’t anymore. I took my wife’s picture from my pocket and held it in front of him. “You recognize this woman? You should you piece of shit, you raped, tortured and murdered her.”
I got the reaction I had hoped for, sheer panic in his eyes. He summoned strength through his panic and struggled even more. He wet himself and almost got me, I could smell his fear. At that moment I had no soul. He tried to lie his way out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I didn’t do anything.” I hated this creature and loved his helplessness. I explained his situation. “Let me explain this to you, you’re all alone. You can scream all you want, no one will hear you. You took my life away from me. She was helpless and you tortured her, now it’s your turn. I’m going to hurt you like you hurt her.”
He belonged to me. He tried with all his might to break free. He let his lunch and drinks go spewing them on the plastic covering the floor, I barely made it clear. I was enjoying this more than I should and I hadn’t even begun.
In Vietnam there was always a chance of being captured. Before deployment all newly minted Rangers attended training on how to handle yourself if captured. We were taught that the fear of torture was just as powerful as the act. I knew Allen had reached that point. His fear was physically painful. Just to make it even more real I removed a pair of pliers from my pocket and smiled. His bowels let go. Now we were having fun.
I let his situation sink in for awhile. Now that the time had come I almost felt sorry for him, but not quite. “So Mr. Allen, or may I call you James? You ready to have a little fun?” I could have shot him, or slit his throat, or any number of quick solutions, but I just couldn’t. I took the pictures of my wife and the others from my pocket and looked at them. I couldn’t believe she was gone. My rage flared and I hit him in the mouth with the pliers. Teeth and blood flew. He screamed again. “I have money, lots of money, please don’t hurt me. I’ll give you anything.”
I smiled at him, “Allen, there is only one thing you have that I want, your life.” I grabbed his scrotum with the pliers and squeezed as hard as I could. “You probably enjoyed using this thing on those women, how do you like it now James, does it hurt?” His hands were tied to the chair with his fingers extended. I grabbed his little finger and bent it back till it popped. The more he screamed the more it fueled my rage. I hit him in the nose with the pliers. Nose broken; blood flowing everywhere; as suddenly as my rage had peaked it subsided. I felt drained.
I walked out the warehouse to get some fresh air. I had intended for this to last for hours, but my rage had turned to sorrow. Not for him, but for what it had done to me. I had had enough. A few minutes later I reentered the warehouse and stood in front of Allen. He was shaking and bleeding. I just shook my head, “I wanted to make you pay, but look at you. You aren’t worth it you useless piece of crap. I hope you fucking rot in hell.” I took a K-Bar from its sheath in the small of my back, when he saw it he went into an even further panic. I slashed it right to left as hard as I could. The first swing caught him in the side of the head and slid across his face. His face was laid open. I recovered and swung again, left to right. This time it caught him in the throat. Between the weight of the K-Bar and the vicious swing it nearly decapitated him. He spasmed and tried to scream, but all that came out was blood. He died within minutes. Now it was me who was physically ill. My anger had left me exhausted and drained. I was bloodied and sick. I walked out of the warehouse leaving him tied to the chair. It was now dark and no one was around. I walked to my car in a daze. I don’t remember driving home but found myself in the shower trying to cleanse my soul.
Chapter 4
I slept the sleep of the dead. I awoke after 9 AM dazed and disoriented. Had it all been a dream? I stumbled out of bed and in the bathroom found my bloodied clothes. Not a dream, these were real. I showered again as if this would help cleanse me, it didn’t.
I went downstairs, made some coffee, and thought of the evening before. Was I the bad guy here? Had I really felt so good while doing this? Problem was, I was still unhappy and my wife was still gone. I hadn’t solved anything. James Allen was gone, but my heart was still empty. I didn’t want to have to face anyone with what I had done. I had to clean up my mess.
The weather was still miserable, cold and wet. The weather matched my mood. I drove to the warehouse and parked in front. The wharf rats had fed well that night. Allen was missing parts I hadn’t taken. The strong smell of blood permeated the warehouse. Allen was a sickening sight. His eyes were missing and some of his toes were gone. It was difficult not to be sick just looking at what was left. I wanted to make sure Allen wouldn’t float, I had seen many bodies in Vietnam floating in rivers. Using my knife I opened his belly to let any air out. I unbolted the chair from the floor and dragged it and Allen to the rear door of the warehouse. The large doors were used when ships were being unloaded. I opened the door and dragged my package to the river’s edge. I spotted a l
arge piece of pipe that had been abandoned on the wharf, tied it to the chair for extra weight, and dumped the load in the river. I knew the currents would carry it south but how far and for how long I didn’t know.
I went back inside and gathered up his clothing. For some reason before dumping the clothes I checked his pockets. In his wallet I found, $430.00 cash, a Buckle and Shuster Attorneys at Law business card, and 5 driver’s licenses. One of the licenses belonged to Allen, one belonged to my wife and the two belonged to the other two victims. One was from a woman I had never heard of, Jasmine Simmons. Who was this person? Was she some poor undiscovered victim? My heart stopped. That arrogant bastard had carried souvenirs of his kills. Now I felt justified, I had done the right thing. His pocket also contained his house keys and his driver’s license supplied his address. I knew instinctively I would find other souvenirs there. There was a real chance of getting caught but I had to go. I threw his clothes and shoes in the river, and pocketed his wallet. I cleaned up as much as possible by picking up the plastic sheet. I had dropped the pliers and K-Bar the day before. The K-Bar had been given to me in Vietnam by a friend. He and I had become close. I hoped he would approve of its use. I threw the pliers and plastic sheet and Allen’s clothing in the river, cleaned the K-Bar as best I could, locked up and left the warehouse forever.
I headed for his house. It was around noon when I passed in front of 2669 Broadway. Broadway is a beautiful old money neighborhood. The area is located adjacent to a beautiful park and is considered a premier location in New Orleans. Allen’s house fit right in, it sat back on the oak tree shaded street. Perfectly maintained landscape framed the pure white single story old New Orleans style home. A front porch with wrought iron handrails led to beautiful leaded glass front door. The house and surrounding area was magnificent. it reeked of money.
No one seemed to be around. No car in the driveway, no one on the sidewalks. I parked up the block and walked back. I stood under a towering oak across the street trying not to look to suspicious and watched for 10 minutes. No movement, nothing. I put on gloves and walked up the walkway, climbed the stairs to the porch and rang the doorbell. No noise from inside. I prayed there was no alarm system waiting for me. I held my breath, put the key in the lock and opened the front door. I stood and listened, no audible alarm, no barking dog, and no noise from within. Finally I took a step inside and closed the door. Allen was a neat freak. The living room was large with beautiful oil paintings on the wall. I know nothing about art, but these looked expensive. I looked for an alarm panel or some indication the house might be alarmed, but saw nothing. A large bookshelf on the right contained hundreds of books, all perfectly placed and in perfect order. I stood motionless for 5 minutes waiting to hear a police cruiser outside, nothing. I moved straight through the room and entered the kitchen. Once again everything was in perfect place. The kitchen was immaculate with all new and expensive looking appliances and cabinets. I came back into the living room and entered a hallway on my right. The first room to the right was a bathroom, small but modern, obviously the guest bath. Directly across the hall was a small bedroom, fairly neutral in color with only a bed, dresser, and chair, the guest bedroom. At the end of the hall was a closed and locked door. The other rooms had not been locked but for some reason this one was. I took a half step back and kicked the door near the lock, the frame splintered and the door swung open, the master bedroom.
I entered the bedroom. I had a feeling that if he had anything from the killings he would want them there. The bedside table contained nothing unusual, in the corner I spotted a roll top desk. Obviously an antique or wonderful reproduction. The desk was cherry wood with beautiful brass hardware. I tried the roll top, but it was locked. The drawers were also locked. I still had my K-Bar, this desk was so beautiful I hated to desecrate it, but I pried it open. In the bottom left hand draw I found women’s underwear. I recognized one pair as my wife’s. I presumed the other belonged to the other victims. I felt even more justified in what I had done. Now I wished I had it to do all over again. I put the underwear back where I had found them, hoping the cops may one day discover them. There was nothing of interest in any of the other drawers or under the roll top. As I turned to walk out I noticed the phone on the bedside table. The message light was blinking. More curious than anything I pressed the play button. The first message was from his secretary wondering why he hadn’t shown up at the office. The second was a hang-up, but the third was from Mr. Barry Shuster ESQ... He had missed Allen at the bar the night before and wondered where he had gone off too. I’ll never forget his exact words “Don’t tell me you got some other babe to party without me. I hope you at least bring me some pictures”. He laughed and hung up. I stood there stunned, could this mean what I thought? This piece of shit had known Allen was guilty even as he sprung him from jail. How could he, his attorney was part of it. The realization stuck me like a knife. Pictures, Shuster had said pictures, if there were picture they had to be here. I had to search more. I went back to the desk and opened every envelope and drawer. Back at the bedside table I rummaged through everything. There were condoms, lubricant, and sex toys. I noticed one of the drawers on the right side night stand wasn’t as deep as the other. I found a false bottom in the draw. An envelope contained pictures. My wife and the others nude and helplessly tied gagged and brutalized. There were several sets of pictures of women I couldn’t identify. Presumably one was Jasmine Simmons. Her driver’s license showed a woman with long red hair, I wasn’t able to see her face in the picture, but clearly one of the women had long red hair. Allen was in the pictures, nude and smiling. Someone else had taken the pictures, and I think I knew who it was.
I decided to have another look around. Maybe there were more false draw bottoms I had missed. The right bottom desk draw also proved to have a false bottom. When I opened it I was saw a large brown envelope. It was stuffed full. I looked inside and it contained several banded stacks of money. What was Allen into? I knew time wasn’t on my side, but I had to continue to look. Nothing else of interest in the desk or the night stands. I lifted the mattress from the bed. There I found the mother lode, 20 plastic wrapped packages of a white power. I didn’t have to be a detective to figure out what they were. Our boy Allen, in addition to a murder and rapist, was a drug dealer. I knew I should have just run, but I couldn’t. I took the sheet off the bed and wrapped the drugs and money in it. Time to get out of here. I checked for anyone outside, seeing no one I left. I made it back to my car without seeing anyone and headed for home. I had no idea what my next move was, but it was sure to involve Mr. Barry Shuster ESQ.
Chapter 5
At home I watched the news to see if anyone had found Allen, nothing. I opened the sheet on the kitchen table and counted the cash, ten bundles of cash. $200,000 dollars total, I guess the drug trade was profitable. Now I had the drugs to deal with and had no idea what to do. Then it hit me, Mr. Barry Shuster ESQ. probably also knew of Allen’s drug trade. I decided to find out. I took out the business card Allen had in his wallet and called the office of Buckle and Shuster Attorneys at Law. A female voice answered and I asked to speak with Mr. Shuster. I was told he wasn’t in, but would I like to leave a message? I gave her a false name and asked her to have Mr. Shuster call me. She asked what the call was pertaining to. I told her that Mr. Shuster and I had a mutual friend, Mr. Allen, and I had a message from him. Giving a false name was probably useless since he could check my phone number, but I was betting Shuster didn’t want any cops sniffing around.
At 5:33 PM my phone rang; it was Shuster. “Who are you and what do you want?” I laughed, “I’m Jessie Carr, that name mean anything to you?” He was silent for a moment, then. “No should it?” I laughed again, “OK, let’s try this one, Julie Carr.” That got his attention. “Your buddy James gave me a package for you. What do you want me to do with it?” I could tell he wasn’t buying it. He was quiet for several seconds trying to figure out what I knew or didn??
?t know. I broke the ice “I guess you don’t feel like talking. I’m the reason your buddy missed meeting you last night. Look, I got a package, I want to give it to you.” I could hear the nervousness in his voice, “OK, tomorrow I’ll call you and set something up.” I laughed again, “Bullshit, I’m coming over right now, thirty minutes.” I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but I knew I wanted to meet this man face to face. I was betting he was up to his ass in murder, rape and drugs.
Chapter 6
6:30PM a typical winter night in New Orleans. It was windy and starting to rain, a cold front is coming our way. I crossed the Mississippi River Bridge and took the first exit. My destination is One Shell Square, which is on Poydras Street. Shuster’s office is on the 22nd floor. It’s after hours and there is plenty of parking on the street. Parking Meters in New Orleans don’t have to be fed after 6 PM. I entered the still open building, there is a security guard in the lobby, but he is more interested in the women leaving then anyone coming in. I catch the elevator to the 22nd floor. I know this is probably the dumbest thing I have ever done. There must be security cameras all over this building. On 22 I find the door of Shuster’s office. Room 2217 has a glass door with Buckle and Shuster Attorneys at Law painted in gold on it. I try the door, it’s unlocked. I enter into the waiting room, no receptionist at the desk. A hall to my right, I call out Shuster’s name. The door at the end of the hall opens and Shuster is standing there. I know it’s him because I saw his picture on TV when he had sprung Allen. He is tall and lean, around 30 years old, but he looks like a kid. He is dressed in a charcoal gray suit. His red and gray tie is loose around his neck. He has a very concerned look on his face. I walk up to him “Well Mr. Shuster, I’m Jessie Carr.” We don’t shake hands but I notice his right hand is behind his back. I follow him into his office. A very large office, very fancy, mahogany desk, bookshelves, oil paintings on the walls. The office of a successful man. The view from the window is magnificent. Downtown New Orleans all lit up. He sat in his chair behind his desk; I notice both hands are below the desk and out of sight. I sat directly across from him. We just stare for several minutes. I break the spell “Your buddy said to says hi.” No response. I try again “So, Allen gave me something for you, no interest? I reach down into the bag I carried in and retrieve the single bundle of drugs I had brought with me. When I look up I am staring into the barrel of a semi-automatic pistol. From my angle it looks like a 2” pipe, but is probably a 9mm or 40 caliber; now what? I place the package on his desk. He looks shocked but doesn’t commit to anything. I guess it still my turn. “Look asshole, I have your money and your drugs, so how do you want to play this?” I am hoping a little bullshit goes a long way. He lays the pistol on the desk, but keeps his hands very close. “I have no idea what you are talking about, but what do you want?” He just proved to me he is involved up to his butt. I laugh, “Mr. Allen is out of the picture and you now have a new partner.” He tells me again he doesn’t know what I am talking about, I know just from the way he said it he is full of shit. “Look, I have your $200,000 and nineteen more of these. I could keep it all or share it with you, but I can’t move this much drugs. That’s why I’m here.” He says “I should just shoot you and call the cops.” I laugh again “Sure, that’s a great idea. The cops will tear this place apart and no doubt find more evidence. If you weren’t involved up to your neck I would already be dead.” Now he is hooked.