The Take (16 page)

“G’morning,
Raymond,” Dunlap said. “How’re you this fine day?” He and the others walked in,
nudging him out of the doorway.

“Shit,
Dunlap. What the fuck are you doing here? It’s still dark out. Since when’re
you working this shift?”

“Raymond,
you should know that your police department never sleeps. Protecting our citizens
is a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. Sometimes I even work all night myself.
Especially when I’m accumulating evidence to put your slimy ass away.”

Cannetta
trundled to the kitchen, where he started to make coffee. When it was ready, he
poured some, while fitting himself into a kitchen chair. The four men followed.

“What
do you mean, put my ass away? I haven’t done anything. I’m a law-abiding
citizen. My lawyer’s gonna hear about this. And another thing, you can’t come
in here at this hour harassing me and threatening —”

“Shut
the fuck up, you dago cocksucker!” Dunlap got right in his face. “Don’t you
tell me what I can’t do. I deal with the likes of you any way I fucking please.”

Cannetta
sank back into the chair and drank some coffee. His lawyer could fix this
later, but right now, just let this ape have his way.

“Okay,
what do you want?”

Dunlap
straightened up, loosening his tone. “Well now, that’s more like it, Raymond.
That’s the way we like it. Nice and cooperative.” He took a seat across the
table. “You see, Raymond, you cooperate with me, and I’ll cooperate with you.
See how it works?” Cannetta nodded, while still looking at his coffee cup. “Now,
it just so happens that we’ve been following you around these last few weeks,
and what do you suppose we discovered?” He waited for a response, but of course
none came. “Raymond,” he said with mock surprise, “it seems you
are engaging in illegal loan practices
within the Houston city limits. That’s against the law, Raymond. You’re not
supposed to do that.”

“Bullshit,
Dunlap! You got nothing on me. I don’t loan nobody money. I’m a real estate
salesman.”

“Oh
yes, Raymond, we know you’re a real estate salesman, don’t we?” He smiled and
turned around to the other three cops. They all chuckled in unison. “But the
real estate business maybe hasn’t been so good lately, so perhaps you’ve had to
moonlight a little. There’s nothing wrong with a little moonlighting, is there,
boys?” They all shook their heads.

“Like I
said, you got nothing on me.”

“Now,
Raymond, don’t jump to hasty conclusions. Let’s go in the living room for just
a minute, okay?”

He
pulled Cannetta to his feet, half-dragging him into the other room.

They stood
by the television set. Dunlap snapped his fingers and one of the uniformed
officers produced a DVD.

“Raymond,
let’s watch a little TV for awhile. Would you be so kind as to put this in your
DVD player?”

Cannetta
shoved the silver disc into the machine. Within moments there was a picture.

A blue
Lincoln pulls into a parking lot and parks about two spaces away from where the
camera is. There is also sound with this picture. Cannetta is clearly visible,
as he gets out of the car and walks away. The camera follows him as he walks
into Denny’s. Soon, he comes out with another man, returning to the Lincoln,
where he retrieves a briefcase from the trunk. The two men sit in the front
seat.

Watching
this unfold in his living room, Cannetta’s
spirits gave way. He saw himself count out a wad of money and give it
to the other man.

“Remember,
Eddie,” he heard himself saying. “One grand every Friday plus another grand
interest. No excuses, no bullshit.”

Dunlap
switched off the DVD player. “Isn’t it amazing, the technology available to law
enforcement these days?”

Cannetta
dropped onto the couch and sighed.

“Just
cut the shit, Dunlap. What’s your angle?”

“Angle?”
Dunlap’s voice was still full of fake surprise. “Angle? Why, Raymond, there’s
no angle. Like I said, I’m just here to enforce the law. I come in the spirit
of cooperation. I want to cooperate. Do you?”

He came
over to the couch and sat down next to Cannetta. The cushions groaned under his
weight.

“Awright,
awright,” Cannetta said. “What is it?”

“I
haven’t heard you say you want to cooperate, Raymond. Do you?”

“Awright,
yes! Yes, I want to cooperate.”

He
certainly did. Dunlap had a reputation throughout the Ship Channel area, and it
wasn’t for protecting the civil rights of criminals.

“That’s
good, Raymond. That’s very good.” He gestured to the other three. “Why don’t
you boys go out to the kitchen and have some coffee. Raymond and I are going to
clear this whole thing up.”

The
three men retired to the kitchen. Dunlap growled, “Now, motherfucker, it’s
gonna cost you fifty large to add this DVD to your collection. Plus a thousand
a week from now on.”

“Hey,
what the fuck — what makes you think I got that kind of money?”

“Don’t
play games with me, asshole. I know what kind of action you’re takin’ down out
there. You prob’ly got fifty grand right here in your hall closet. A dime a
week ain’t even walking around money for you. So don’t gimme any of your
poor-boy shit!”

“Why you
coming after me? What’ve I ever done to you?”

“You’ve
been working my district, making a ton of bread without payin’ your way. Free
ride’s over, shithead. Pay up.”

“I can
beat this thing in court, you know. My lawyer’ll —”

“Your
lawyer ain’t gonna be able to do shit except suck the judge’s dick in return
for a lighter sentence. This tape nails your ass, pal. Loan sharking,
extortion, racketeering, we could prob’ly find an unregistered weapon or two
around here in a legal search — those’re all felonies, Raymond. I’d say
you’re lookin’ at ten years minimum, maybe more. Huntsville, of course.”

Cannetta
knew Dunlap had his balls in a vise. He had in fact been on a free ride for
quite a while now, and had considered himself lucky. This kind of payment was
generally regarded as part of the cost of doing business. It was true that
fifty dimes would be no problem for him to dig up. At least several times that
much sat in his wall safe. The thousand a week would hurt, but it wasn’t out of
the question.

The
real hitch was Dunlap’s greed. This DVD was undoubtedly a copy, so how long
would it be before he put the squeeze on even tighter? Two grand a week?

Was
that next? Then three? Where would it stop?

“C’mon,
you guinea prick,” Dunlap hissed. “I ain’t got all night.”

“Look,
Lieutenant Dunlap, can’t we talk about these figures. I mean, that’s a lotta
money —”

Dunlap
reached over and slapped him backhanded across the mouth. A ring on the cop’s
finger caught Cannetta’s lip, slicing it open. Blood flowed down his chin onto
his pajamas. He grabbed a Kleenex from the table.

“I said
I ain’t got all night. Now give.”

Cannetta’s
mind raced. Dunlap was fast becoming unhinged and he needed —
wait a minute. Wait a minute!

“Wait a
minute,” Cannetta said. “I think I have something you might want more.”

The cop
momentarily halted. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I
think I can give you the guy who hit Chico Salazar.”

“What?
Salazar?”

”That’s
right. You know the word on the street is whoever
did it boosted over a million bucks in
cash off him. A haul like that, he ain’t gonna invest it in mutual funds. He’s
probably still got it with him. In cash.”

Dunlap
thought about it, but not for too long. His salivaries were cranking up, as the
sun rose over the possibility of this new arrangement with Raymond Cannetta.

“Who is
it?” he asked.

Cannetta
held both hands in front of him in a hold-on motion. “I give him to you, we got
a deal?”

A
million in sweet sugar? Sure! Why not? “Okay,’ Dunlap said. “We got a deal. But
you better be giving it to me straight.”

 
“It’s straight all right. He’s your guy.
But first, you gotta give me the DVD? With no more copies to come? Forget about
the bust? And no payoffs?”

“Okay,
okay. It’s a deal. Now who was it?”

“A
nickel-dime East End bookie. Name of Eddie Ryan. He’s the guy on the DVD.”

V
ega and Tomás
had been on the phone all morning. Finally, at around two in the afternoon,
they had something they could grab onto.

“Rafael!”
Tomas called, cupping the mouthpiece with his hand. “It’s Silvio, my wife’s
cousin. He thinks he can help us.”

Vega
came in from the next room and took the phone. “Digame, Silvio.”

Silvio
told of how he and his friend were out cruising in his lemon-yellow van the
other day, and had helped some Anglo change a tire out on the East Freeway.

“I
heard you were looking for a guy in an old orange Toyota, Don Rafael. This
might have been him … it was out a little ways past the Baytown exit … yes, he
was heading east. He had a girl with him — she looked Mexican. There was
a big suitcase in the trunk he didn’t want me to touch.”

“
Muy bien
, Silvio,” said Vega in
appreciation. “
¿Hay más que me puedes
decir?
”

“No,
there’s nothing more I can tell you, except that we saw them get off the
freeway at the next exit. Like they were headed for the old Beaumont highway.”

“
Muchisimas gracias, amigo
,” Vega told
him. “We won’t forget your help.” He hung up, and Silvio brimmed with pride
that he could help someone so important as Don Rafael Vega.

≈≈≈

Eddie was freezing. He and Felina stood out in the used car lot
listening to the salesman’s line of bullshit. The north wind had strengthened
over New Orleans during the day, so that now in the late afternoon, it slashed
right through him. Even his new winter coat didn’t help. The salesman was only
wearing a light sweater over his shirt and tie, but he seemed perfectly
comfortable. Eddie couldn’t figure it out.

They
stood in front of a low mileage PT Cruiser that was going for fifty-five
hundred, while the salesman assured them it was the cherriest thing on the lot.
Eddie hated it, but he was about to buy it anyway — his second car
purchase in three days! This was the third lot they’d been to today. He was
ready to buy a go-cart, just to go get warm someplace.

He
shivered. “What do you think, Felina? It’ll get us where we want to go. Let’s —”

“No,
wait,” she interrupted. “Wait a second, honey. Look over there.”

He
looked where she was pointing, but saw only dark clouds in the distance,
threatening rain. Just great.

Felina
gestured toward a small cargo van, sitting at the end of the row.

The
salesman jumped in with, “Ooh, that’s a nice one. Only a few years old. Just
got it in yesterday. A Chevy. They make the best vans, you know.”

“Can we
see it?” she asked.

“Why,
you bet, young lady.”

He led
them slowly down the row, hyping the van the whole way. Overhead, colorful
streamers fluttered in the high wind against a blackening sky.

Eddie
mumbled through chattering teeth, “What the hell we doin’ this for? We don’t
need no van.”

“Ssshh,
wait,” she whispered. “I just want to see something.”

There
was a little bit of body wear, the usual scratches and dings. One tire looked
pretty bad; otherwise, it appeared in good shape on the outside.

“Could
you open the rear doors?” asked Felina.

”Sure.”

The
salesman flung them open.

”This
is it,” she said.

They
looked inside. The vehicle was totally
carpeted — floor, walls, ceiling — all the way up to, and
including, the front. Right out of the greatest hits of the seventies.

“Oh,
you like that customizing, do you?” asked the salesman.

“We
sure do, don’t we, honey?” she said, nudging Eddie. He grunted something that
the salesman took as a yes.

The
salesman said, “Well, let me tell you, I’ve seen a lot of custom vans come
through here, and most of them are pretty sloppy. You know, do-it-yourself jobs
that look old-fashioned. But this one here, this one’s a newer model, but with
a professional customizing job. It’s tip-top.”

“How
much?” she asked.

“Wel-l-ll,
let’s see here … this one here …” He checked the tag on the window. “Thirty-eight
fifty. `Course if that’s a little more than you folks might be willing to go …”

“We’ll
take it,” said Felina.