Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel (8 page)

Chapter 11

The sliding sound of Heather’s slippers filled
the hallway as I ate my cereal at the kitchen table. Her thick, brunette hair
teased her face in a way that stopped my heart. She crossed behind me, but I
could still feel her stare. Her hands slid over my shoulders and ran down both
sides of my chest as she bent to kiss my neck. Her right hand went even further
south into the hole of my boxers, pulling it out. The sensation was so intense
that if a nail were driven through my foot, I wouldn’t have felt it.

“Out here? Really?” I whispered.
“Alicia?”

“No, we’re not going to do it out here. I
just want to do this for you. It’ll be quick. Alicia will sleep to ten at
least.”

“That feels too good to argue.”

“Just relax. You need this. Your hard-on
in record speed makes that obvious.”

I put the spoon back into the bowl and
stood, signaling the bathroom door slamming in the back the house. I laughed in
frustration as Heather kept hold of my erection as if on pause.

“I forgot.” Her bottom lip curled under.
“I’m taking her to soccer practice this morning. This will be going on all
summer.”

“Of course.”

“You know she always showers before breakfast.”
She squeezed. “We can shoot for virgin speed.”

Alicia yelled from the bathroom. “Mom!
Can you come here a second?”

“Damn,” Heather said, and shouted back, “Give
me a minute.”

“You’ve been patient with me. Thank you. I
think I’m ready.”
Flex
.

“It’s good to have you back.”
Squeeze
. My wife didn’t want to let go.
She gave it a final tug. “Till we meet again.”

She left me standing alone as my man
pointed north. I pulled the hole of my boxers back around my erection and
returned to my soggy cereal, enjoying the fading sensation with disappointment.
Then, my phone rang. It was the medical examiner. “Peyroux here.”

“You with Detective Gray?”

“Not yet.”

“You at the station?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t matter. I have some info on Ms.
Robicheaux.”

“Is it the caviar?” I took a spoonful of
soggy cereal.

“You’re incredible.”

“I do have superpowers, you know. My
other senses have been heightened ever since I lost the sense of sex.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Go ahead.”

“It’s Almas Caviar.”

“How do you know that?” My spoon hovered
between my mouth and the bowl.

“Process of elimination. I actually did
some of your legwork on this one last night. I shot a close up and sent it to
Chef Chagnard at Naquin’s.
Friend of mine.
Once he got
over the fact that it came out of a dead woman’s stomach, he was quite
helpful.”

“So, Almas Caviar? There must be lots of
restaurants and caterers that have it.”

“No, they don’t. It’s the most expensive
caviar in the universe.”

“Really? There’s caviar on other planets?”

“Anyway, Chagnard says it comes from Iran
and distributed through England. There’s a website you can order it from.”

“Something that rare and expensive should
be easy to trace.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll take a case of
Abita Amber – cold.”

“I’ll send Gray right to the Winn Dixie.
I’ll even throw in some moon pies.”

I took my cereal to the laptop in the
living room and searched for Almas Caviar on the Internet. Almas meant ‘diamond.’
It came from the Beluga Sturgeon fish, common to the Caspian Sea. The Caviar
House & Prunier in London’s Picadilly was the sole outlet, selling a kilo
for over $27,000 a pop. Plus, according to the Caviar House website, the only
restaurant that served it was the Seafood Bar at the JFK Airport, of all
places.
No US distributors.
However, you could order
online and they shipped anywhere.

Once we found the person who ordered the
caviar, we’d find out what party Haley had attended. And once we found the
guest list, we’d find the killer, who was possibly involved in a trafficking
ring. How this bayou chick from Manchac ended up eating the most expensive
caviar in the universe was certainly an intriguing puzzle.

Chapter 12

Titus had bankrolled the cover-up of his
own murder. The items on her list were easy enough to locate at the Walgreens
and Ace Hardware. It felt like everyone was watching her –
everyone knew
. She arrived back to Haley’s
apartment building just before noon, spotting a man in the window of an
apartment near the entrance. Did the landlord know Haley well? She smiled and
continued on as if she belonged there.

The strong aroma of something she
couldn’t place filled the apartment, and her nose led to Titus being ground zero.
Decomposition had started the second she punctured his heart. She opened all
the windows,
then
lit up another joint needed for this
project. After a few tokes, she slipped on latex gloves, closed her eyes and
pulled the knife out of his chest with a grunt and little sympathy. Titus
wasn’t in the human classification. This was a predator.

First thing before cleanup was to handle
the smell, and he was already in a container of sorts… it just needed a lid. The
cellophane edge of the first roll was taped onto the rim of the tub and wrapped
around its belly, which hovered above the floor on four ornate claws. She
continued this process with three rolls until Titus was sealed in airtight,
like a bowl of fruit salad. She drew the shower curtain, inhaling like a
bloodhound to be certain that no funk would escape.

It made no sense to clean everything if
she wasn’t going to dispose of the body, but she planned on staying there for a
while. A generous spreading of the bleach quickly overpowered the room. In
between deep breaths at the window, Cozy took the bathroom to task.

Two
hours later, she found herself on the sofa with her head in her hands, her one puffy
cheek stinging a bit. Her eyes burned, lungs struggled to take air, and her
elbows and knees were spent. Her strong fingers were swollen and tingly, but
her heart and stomach had settled. The crime scene was no longer an obvious one.

Having rested long enough, she stretched her
sore muscles and inspected the entire bathroom with satisfaction. The living
room was bare, except for the junkyard furniture. Then Cozy took three more
ibuprofen. Her headache was almost gone, but Titus would be with her for a
while.

Once dressed, a thought crossed her mind;
Lucas would be getting a frantic phone call from Manchac if she didn’t check
in. Despite wanting to have a friendship with him, she’d rather not have him in
her hair just now. She left the apartment, planning to drive home to show her
face and then come back in the evening when the bleach smell had cleared.
However, when she stepped out the gate, she saw an empty spot where her car had
been. Shit. Stolen? Towed? It didn’t matter. It was gone and she couldn’t
report it.

She rang her momma at the corner bar to
say that she was taking care of Haley’s release papers, but she would instead
spend the rest of the day scouring the Quarter for Molly. The next time her
momma would see her would probably be on the news.

Chapter 13

The morning’s erection wouldn’t leave my
mind as I drove into work. My wife thought it silly to refer to it as
morning wood
or my
breakfast burrito
, but I enjoyed annoying her. Every time I
replayed the scene, it grew all over again. The police therapist would probably
say that was a sign of healing, to be free of this anchor of guilt keeping me
down. However, I probably just needed to stop being so selfish. My wife
deserved better. Luckily, it didn’t take long to reach the station where other
distractions would abound.

Tara accosted me as soon as I hit my
desk, laying down a stack of files. “These are unsolved murders of women, some
prostitutes.”

“You think there might be similar autopsy
reports?”

“What if Haley Robicheaux isn’t the
first? Charles cleaned up that video the best he could and emailed it to me. It
sucks. His team’s been going over it, but he says it’s way too low res…
Too grainy to blow up.
I know
I
can’t see anything. But one thing is for certain, there are other
women in that video.”

“Mind if I look at it?”

After examining the seventeen-second
video to no avail, I moved on to the cold case homicides. Tara sat beside me
catching up on paperwork and her eBay sales. When I grew tired of getting
nowhere, I meandered to my Captain’s office.

“What can I do for you, Lucas?” She
didn’t look up.

“You mind calling the FBI field office to
see if they can initiate contact with the proper officials
across the pond
?”

“The Picadilly caviar?” Dobson finally
looked up.

I leaned against the doorjamb. “Sure.
Making a British contact should facilitate a dialog with the local magistrate
who could get a list of the caviar purchases delivered to New Orleans.” My
eyebrows popped up several times at her.

“Wow. You know your shit. You got it.”

While Dobson handled that, I accosted
Tara back at her desk. “I got a hunch.”

“Well, then you better get that looked
at.”

“Ha ha. The landlord Porter mentioned a
black male that had been with Haley a few times. It just so happens I know the dealer
who owns that territory. Titus is a hard name to forget.”

“So, have a uniform pick him up.” Tara’s
eyes stayed glued on the laptop.

“C’mon, princess. We can both use some
air. Some nice humid afternoon air.”

She reluctantly stood, looking around her
desk. “Okay. It wouldn’t hurt to see if this was our guy, or at least question
him about her comings and goings.”

Tara and I drove around asking business
owners the whereabouts of Titus, but they hadn’t seen him since the day before,
which was strange because he always made an appearance, as regular as a street
performer. “If he couldn’t make the corner for any reason such as jail, he’d
have a replacement at the ready,” Tara put in, fanning herself in thought. “We’re
wasting time.” She kept her eyes peeled as I drove down Burgundy Street. “Let’s
just get some uniforms to keep an eye out for him.”

“Give me one more shot.” I turned a
corner. “Let’s go to the Marigny.”

“You want to start canvassing the
neighborhoods outside the Quarter?”

I pointed. “It’s right down there.
There’s a guy I know.”

We criss-crossed inside the crumbling
streets and broken down homes of the Marigny until seeing a BMW pull to the
side of the road. A slouched black man drew to the driver’s side and took money
in exchange for a small packet. I let the Beamer escape,
then
crept up to the dealer with my grill lights flashing. His came over to us in frayed
jeans too baggy for his frame, and his white T-shirt had all the stains of a
short order cook.

“I know this guy,” I told her. “Just back
me up and let me lead on this, okay?”

“It’s your show.”

When the car halted, he stomped his foot
and put his hands behind his head as if on reflex. I casually got out of my car
and pushed him against the fender. His hands slapped down on the sizzling hood
in excessive drama. Tara smiled through the windshield and saluted while I
patted him down.

“Nice of you not to run, Percy.”

“You should be arresting the bitches
buying that shit, yo.”

“You telling me how to do my job? You
should try out for the academy.”

“You just watched my last bag drive away,
cop. What you gonna arrest me for?”

I held the gun from his waistband in
front of his unshaven, oily face. “Got a permit?”

“Damn, bra. The gun I found in the ditch?
I was just about to turn that in. Thought maybe there was a ree-ward.”

“Shut up, stupid mother fucker.” I
slapped his head and cuffed his wrists before shoving him into my back seat.
Curtains moved in the nearby houses, but no one came outside. An Audi crept
towards us, then turned left before reaching this block. Business was good out
here. I got in the car and made a show of kicking up rocks as we left.

“What up, sweets?” Percy greeted Tara.

“Well, aren’t you
husband
material.” Tara kept her eyes forward. “I think you’d have a better wardrobe,
being so enterprising.”

“My shit gets invested. Ain’t going to do
this shit forever, dig?”

“You wanna tour Esplanade?” I asked
Percy.

“Sure, Peyroux. Whatever. Where you been?
Ain’t seen you in months.” His razor bumps stood out like mountains when his
face hit the sunlight.

“
How’s
your
Mom an ’nem
?” I asked.

“Don’t fuck with me. What you need?”

The car started to smell like ripe armpit
and bologna. I pulled over next to a fire hydrant under a Magnolia tree. I
propped up Haley’s picture up on the backrest. He leaned forward to see it, and
then fell serious.

“I know the bitch,” he said. “
She taken
care of.”

My voice lowered. “What do you mean taken
care of?”

“I don’t mean kilt.
She
taken
care of. She gots somebody to keep her pretty, you hear me?”

“Her pimp?”

“Not pimp, Peyroux. This girl
ain’t
street; she an escort. She get bank for that pussy.”

“Eloquent as always, Percy. I need a
name.”

“Shood. All I know is that bitch gets her
shit from Titus. He told me she kept, but the nigga’ wouldn’t tell me who.”

“When did you speak with Titus last?”

“Last week. Why? The mother fucker dead?”

“He’s missing,” Tara said.

“Missing? You can’t find him in jail,
then he either kilt somebody or he dead himself. Now, let’s talk the bis-nez
side of this transaction. My time is worth money.”

“You would be getting a taste, Percy… If
I hadn’t drove up on you in mid-deal. Your payment is not going to jail.”

“Damn.” Percy shook his head. “Let me out
this bitch.”

I grit my teeth and gave Tara a serious
stare she knew all too well. Haley was murdered and now Titus was missing… This
was growing more and more interesting.

#

It was end of shift. Tara stood in the
partition next to me at the gun range, like bathroom stalls separating us.
Shots rang out down the line, but we could still hear each other if we spoke loud
and clear.

She projected her voice. “This was a good
idea, Lucas. Have you been back here since you took leave?”

“Yeah, once. Surprised you didn’t hear
about it.”

“Cops are a bit reluctant to talk to me
about you. Hold on a sec.” Eight shots fired in quick succession. After a
pause, she knocked on the thin wall. “You gonna fire or what?”

“Or what. Let’s see what you did.”

The target rushed towards us and I
stepped into Tara’s space to see her cluster, which all hit true to the head
and chest. “Check it, bitch.”

“Alright, I’ll go. Tell me what you make
of this.”

I went back to my spot and put on the
headphones. Taking aim, I let the rounds fly without thinking too much about
it, six shots in all. The silhouette came to me.

Tara’s eyes widened. “You’re three inches
to the right. What the hell, Peyroux?
Trying
to give the guy a shoulder graze?”

“I started off drifting to the left. Now,
I’m compensating right, but a hair of an adjustment ends up being exponential
on the other end. I can’t seem to work it out.”

“Cozy was to your right when you fired
and the fucker jerked her up at the exact same time. It’s in your mind to go
left.”

“Right. How do I fix that when I’m aiming
where I should be aiming? I aim center, they land left, and I over adjust right.”

“Alright, calm down. I can tell your
muscles are tight.”

“I can’t try to compensate when it counts.
Maybe that douche Harvin is right. I can’t aim worth shit.”

“We’ll fix it. We’ll come here every day
and fix it. Consider me Mickey to your Rocky.”

“I’ll drink some eggs, but I will not
catch a chicken.”

“Good. Keep your sense of humor. That’s
how I know I haven’t lost you. Now, you reload while I go get a Coke.”