The small talk and posturing continue for several minutes, just a bunch of crap on both our parts. I am buying time because I really don’t have a clue what to do next. I have no idea how much these drugs are worth, but I assume a lot. “I came here to make a deal, I already got your money, I want more. Another 200K and I give you the drugs. Then you never see me again.” Like any good attorney he offers a deal. “No way, too much money. I want the product, and I’ll give you 100k more. That’s the deal.” I smile, “You drive a hard bargain, but OK, deal.” I have no intention of giving him anything but I need time to think. He asks “Where is the product?” I point outside, “Trunk of my car parked right down the street. Where is the money?” He nods, “I have a safe, the money is in it.” Another bullshit statement, but I pretend to buy it. Then he makes a mistake, he reaches across the desk with both hands to retrieve the one drug bundle. I hit him as hard as I can with a right cross. The blow sends him sideways sprawling over the desk top. I grab the pistol, the shoes on the other foot now.
He staggers to his feet, blood pouring from the corner of his left eye. My hand hurts like hell; I can imagine how his eye feels. “Sit down you piece of shit.” He uprights his chair and sits. “Keep your fucking hands where I can see them.”
Now my dilemma, what to do? I would like to give him the same treatment I gave to Allen, but that would be much too noisy here. He wants to bargain. “Look, keep all the money and the drugs, just don’t hurt me.” He is scared shitless. I don’t blame him. I need to know if he is just a drug dealer or was also involved with the murder of my wife. “I know you and Allen killed those women. I know you took the pictures, I saw them.” He turns pale, now I know, he was there. I sit staring and numb, here is another animal who took my life away. I don’t know what to do. He makes the decision for me. He lunges toward me. His right leg hits the desk and he doesn’t make it all the way across. I hit him on the side of the head with the pistol as hard as I can swing it. He flies sideways across the desk and crashes on the floor. He is dazed and begins to get up. I hit him in back of the head with the pistol. He goes down hard and doesn’t move. I wait for him to try and get up, he doesn’t. I stare at his prone body for several moments. I reach down and feel his neck, no pulse. His head is twisted at an odd angle, neck broken. The piece of shit got the easy way out.
I stand there with a bundle of drugs, a pistol, and a dead body. I think I have a problem. I go around and put the drugs in his desk drawer. I wipe everything I think I may have touched. I wipe the gun and place it with the drugs in the drawer. I know I’m screwed anyway, someone surely saw me entering this building. But what else is can I do? I look at his desk calendar to make sure my name wasn’t written on it. It isn’t. I leave his office, lock both the office door and the main entrance and head for the elevator. I take the elevator to the lobby. No security guard in sight. I exit the building, walk to my car, and head home to wait for the police.
Chapter 7
I am driving home and think about the last 24 hours. I had taken 2 lives and accomplished what, probably just bought myself a world of trouble. I pull to the side of the road and reach in my pocket. I remove the driver’s licenses I had taken from Allen’s wallet. I look at the faces. DMV pictures are so awful, there has to be a training class in bad picture taking and the class must be mandatory. Three of the faces are familiar. One is my wife and the other two match the newspaper pictures of the victims. The other is the wild card, who is she? It looks like DMV broke their rule and actually took a good picture. The woman is beautiful, long red hair and a great smile. Her address is in the Lakeview area of the city. I probably should go home and wait for the cops to arrest me, but I need to see if this person is still alive, I assume not.
I drive past her address and the house is in darkness. The house is a modest single family home on a very small lot. It actually looks like every other house in this neighborhood. All built by the same contractor at roughly the same time, probably the 1960s. Newspapers are piled up on the small front lawn. It looks like no one has been home for some time. I park and walk up to the door and knock. No noise whatever from inside, I ring the doorbell, nothing. Mail is overflowing from the box. I take one letter and look at the name, Ms Jasmine Simmons. Another letter has the same, apparently there wasn’t a Mr. Simmons.
A chill moves up my spine, this poor beautiful woman is probably laying undiscovered somewhere in the batture. Fucking Allen, I should have made him suffer more.
I return to my car in a funk. I have gained nothing for these women, only satisfaction for myself. I drive home and wish I could do something. I have no idea if Jasmine Simmons has any family, or if she does do they even know she is gone? I am determined to find out more. Maybe I could bring closure to some relative or love one.
At home I get on the internet and do a search for the name Jasmine Simmons. I get a hit on several but one jumps out immediately. A website was created by someone offering a reward for information on her whereabouts. Relatives and friends are offering $5,000 if anyone knows where she is. They say she was last seen on July 21st leaving her work. What a coincidence, she worked in the One Shell Square building. Both Shuster and Allen’s offices are there. But now what? I read down the pages to find out more about her. She is 28 years old and originally from St. Louis. She moved to New Orleans in June because she had read about the city and wanted to experience it. She had taken a job as a receptionist for Allen Enterprises. That couldn’t be a coincidence. I guess she experienced the wrong side of New Orleans. I had to remind myself she could possibly be alive, but I didn’t think so. I had hit another dead end, there was nothing more I could do. The local PD and the Feds had found no trace, her missing persons case was listed as unsolved.
Chapter 8
I spend a restless night. I knew the door would be broken in at any moment, followed by a SWAT team. It doesn’t happen. I put on the TV news at 6 am. No murder in One Shell Square, plenty of murders in New Orleans, but no high priced attorney in One Shell Square. I guess they won’t find him until the office opens at 9 am. Nothing, the morning becomes afternoon then evening, still nothing.
6 PM my cell phone rings. I look at the number, blocked. I answer, a males voice tells me we must meet. I ask who this is, he says, “All in good time”. He tells me to come to Harry’s Hideaway in the 1600 block of Magazine St. at 9 PM. He tells me to sit at the bar and he would make contact. He sends a chill down my spine when he says “I know about Barry.” What else can I do, I agree to meet.
8:45 PM and I’m sitting in Harry’s Hideaway. I’m enjoying a cold Abita Amber. I may as well drink something I like if this meeting turns out badly. It only took me about fifteen minutes to drive and park. I stood down the block and surveyed the area. This part of Magazine St. is full of small shops, restaurants, and of course, Harry’s. All the shops are closed and the restaurants are closing down. New Orleans is an early dining city, especially on a week night. Harry’s is well lit, a large neon sign illuminates on and off. It has the look of a local pub, but on the fancy side. I’m not sure what I was looking for, probably police, but I didn’t see anything unusual. I strolled inside and here I sit. The bar in about half full, low music on the jukebox. Idle chatter around me, mostly men; but a few women. Everyone is well dressed and groomed. It’s an upscale place, which explains why I didn’t know about it. Nice decor well dressed patrons. Now what?
I sit for 20 minutes. At 9:05PM a well dressed man sits on the stool next to me. He appears to be about my age with a physical build much like mine, well groomed. His dress is impeccable. His suit is obviously worth more than my car. His hair is salt and pepper, short and neatly groomed. He orders a scotch up and specifies, “Port Askaig 25 year old single malt”. I’ve never heard of this, but it sounded expensive. He glances over at me and tells the bartender to make it 2. He is served 2 and pushes one in front of me. He says “The Port Askaig 25 has impeccable balance and vibrancy.” I really have no idea what he is talking about. I’m n
ot quite sure what to say, so I just thank him. I’m wondering if he is a gay man trying to pick me up or if he is the person I am here to meet. He settles that question, “I have to assume you are Mr. Carr, I’m Roger Buckle.” I am speechless. I just sit and stare at him. This is insane. I just killed his business partner and we are having drinks like two old friends.
We sip our scotch for the next fifteen minutes. Sorry, but this stuff taste like iodine which had an old sneaker soaking in it for three weeks. Finally, he breaks the ice. “I know what happened with Shuster. I don’t blame you for what you did.” Just then it hits me, I have his drugs and money. That can be the only explanation of why I’m not in jail. Apparently the expression on my face gave me away. He looks at me, nods and says “You know I had nothing to do with the women.” I really don’t know anything, but I need to let him talk. I guess being only a drug dealer is OK in his world. Now I really don’t know what to say. Where is this going? He looks at me “Let’s go sit at a table, a little more privacy.”
We settle on a booth in the rear of the place. The bartender brings us two more scotches. I need to take it easy, I need a clear head for what is about to come. Again, he breaks the ice. “In my business I need to record everything, so my partner and I video recorders our offices.” Oh shit, he is telling me killing Shuster is on video, great. What next, do I get to see myself on television? I’m trying to remember my conversation with Shuster. Did I confess to killing Allen? I know two things, one, he has me by the balls, and two, I have his money and drugs. That is the only thing keeping me out of jail. He smiles and sips his scotch. “You know, you created a couple of problems for me, but you also cleared up a problem for me. Shuster and Allen had a nasty habit, the women. I found out what they were up to just recently. I didn’t agree. Shuster was my business partner but Allen was a trouble shooter for us.” I had no idea what that meant, but he kept talking. “Allen tied up loose ends for me. He helped keep the competition to a minimum. I look at you and see you are lost, you have no idea what I am saying.” I nod. “OK in simple English, Allen handled the dirty work and the heavy lifting. He made the pickups and deliveries. He eliminated any problems.” Oh shit, the light came on again, Allen did more than rape and murder women, he killed for a living.
I was trying to sort this out, in addition to attorneys they were drug dealers. Allen was their mule and their muscle. So I had helped him by eliminating Shuster. Now the profits would be higher and the rape and murders wouldn’t bring unnecessary heat from the cops, but I had also removed his hired hand, Allen. I couldn’t wait for the punch line. Where was this taking me? I found out soon enough. “I do have an issue. Allen was about to handle a job for me. I’ll make a deal with you. You take care of my little problem you keep the money, I’ll give you the tape, I take back the product.”
I just sat speechless, he was on a roll and I couldn’t see any reason to stop him. I may have had his money, but, he had me by the ass and he knew it. Now was the time for him to go into detail, but before he did he needed to verify I wasn’t recording this conversation. The thought of doing that hadn’t even occurred to me, but we headed to the men’s room. I went into a stall and stripped
He checked my clothes and then made sure I had nothing taped to my body. After he was satisfied I dressed and we went back to our booth.
He explained “OK, from time to time Allen would eliminate a problem. Right now I have a problem in Philadelphia. There’s a guy that needs to be taken out of the picture. Since you had no problem with Allen and Shuster you should have no problem doing this.” He needed someone killed, and I was to do it. He also obviously had contacts that allowed him to see my service record. “I know what you did in the Army, you had two combat tours and were a Ranger. So this should be no problem for you.” If I was smart I would have told him to fuck himself and left then and there. But I would go to jail, he would walk free, and someone else would take care of the man in Philly. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but Buckle walking free wasn’t in the cards. I agreed. He took an envelope from his inside coat pocket. It contained a picture of Raymond James Dunn and a sheet with the other information I would need. Buckle laughed, “You already have my money, so you pay your own expenses. When you get back I’ll set up a meeting and. You can give me the product and I’ll give you the video.” Yea, fat chance that had of working, I would walk into either a hit or an arrest. No one would believe my story. I was in a major jam.
Chapter 9
I’m sitting in the Hampton Hotel Philadelphia Airport. I have just returned from eliminating Dunn. I didn’t know how to feel. I know I should be bothered by killing Dunn, but I’m not. I know somehow he is tied into the drug and murder trade and got what was coming to him. Maybe I’m just trying to justify my actions. I don’t know. Now my problem is what next? If I return and report, job complete, I’m either going to end up dead or in jail. I need some leverage. I could return and kill Buckle, but then what do I have? A pile of drugs I can’t and won’t move and $200,000, minus expenses of course, and he has the video.
I know Buckle is watching the news for the demise of Dunn. As soon as he is sure his problem is solved he’ll come down on me. I need to get back and do something, but what? If he covered up Shuster’s murder, how? How would he preserve a murder scene that he needed in the future? The office was no problem, just leave everything in place and keep everyone out, but the body would be getting ripe by now. What would he do with a body that needed to be kept fresh enough not to draw attention? Its winter in New Orleans and this has been an unusually cold and wet one. On a hunch I call his office and got a recording. The office was closed for a 2 week holiday vacation. Possible, it is the Christmas season, but an attorney closing for two weeks and missing all that revenue, not likely, that meant he wanted no one in there. Could he have just left Shuster right where I had left him? That had to be it. In two weeks he would return from ‘vacation’ and find Shuster’s body. He would call the police and give them the video. He would be in the clear since he hadn’t been in the office in two weeks. No doubt he had established a great alibi. I would be in jail with a ridiculous story about murder, drugs, and a crooked attorney.
The next morning I caught the earliest flight available to New Orleans and arrived before 10 am. I picked up my car and drove into downtown. Midday on Thursday, I parked in a lot and walked to One Shell Square. Very busy, I took the elevator to the 22nd floor. I look around the hall. No surveillance cameras. The office door is locked. Buckle and Shuster have the entire floor. I find a door with no glass. Probably a rear entrance or exit. The big shot attorneys wouldn’t want to walk through the waiting room. I just hope no one will hear. After about six hard kicks it opens. I wait for the security guard or the cops, no one arrives. I went in and wove my way through the halls. I find Shuster’s door, also locked. In for a penny in for a pound, I kick that one also. It swings open, and there is Shuster, right where I had left him. It had been four days and the heat was turned off. He wasn’t too ripe, yet. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to move the body. Good luck, middle of the day, downtown moving a body without being seen. On the floor in the office was a very nice rug, around 10 X 10. The body was no longer stiff. I had learned in Vietnam that after a couple of days amortizations subsides and body begins to decay. It also gets flexible again. I drag the body over to the rug and rolled it up. There is no blood, his broken neck is the only obvious sign of trauma. Great; now what? I go out and check the hall; in the Southeast corner is the service elevator. I press the button. When it arrived there was a furniture dolly on it. I just knew this wouldn’t work, but I was desperate. I take the dolly and strap the rug, complete with corpse on it. I roll the whole mess in the hall, and call the service elevator. It comes, I get on and press the lowest level. The door opens and thankfully no one is there. It’s the lower parking garage. I just know all this is being videoed. I don’t get off the elevator hoping no cameras can see inside. I decide I can’t get my car into th
e garage without a reason so I take the elevator up to the next level. The door opens onto a short hallway. I roll the bundle to the end and open the door. It is in a service alley. A lot of junk and a dumpster. I look around, I don’t see any surveillance cameras. I unstrapped the rug, unroll its contents and with a lot of huffing and puffing manage to dump the body in the dumpster. I put the rug back on the dolly and into the service elevator. I return the rug to Shuster’s office and place the dolly back on the service elevator. A temporary solution at best, but it might buy me some time.