

Revenge

Published by JL Schneider

Written by JL Schneider

JL Schneider is the exclusive owner and copyright holder on this publication

Thank you for taking time to read my novel. I hope it is entertaining and enjoyable. Being an independent author/publisher means we succeed or fail by your reviews. Please take time to let me know what you think.

Also in the Jessie Carr Series

Gunslinger Book 2

Black Talon Book 3

Vengeance Book 4

Tormented Book 5

Redemption Book 6

Loss of Life Book 7

Without Regrets Book 8

Also by JL Schneider

Lucifer's Rules

End Game

Run Harry Run
Prologue

The hard dirty concrete I am standing on is cold. My feet are cold and numb; it's beginning to get painful. I take a deep breath of the cold night air and am greeted with a very unpleasant odor. This place has place been used as a toilet. The smell is not overpowering thanks to the cold, but very unpleasant. I've been here for 3 hours and haven't moved more than 2 feet in either direction. I wonder for the hundredth time if I'm doing the right thing. I hear things moving in the darkness behind me. I know it must be rats, but I need to push them from my mind. I can't stand rats, and can't afford the distraction.

I feel the weight and the coolness of the High Standard Victor tucked in my belt. The feeling is both reassuring and ominous. If all goes as planned the High Standard will take a life tonight, if not, the gun will probably be found on my dead body. I know the High Standard weights 46 oz. empty, but right now its clip contains 10 rounds of Federal 22 Caliber Long Rifle Hollow Point ammunition. I know the velocity and trajectory at various distances for this ammunition. I have studied the charts and tested the rounds. As far as I'm concerned 10 rounds are 9 too many. I don't plan on requiring the drop compensation I studied, I hope not to need exceptional accuracy, if it can deliver the bullet 2 feet and penetrate ¼ inch of bone; that will be all I need.

My name is Jesse Carr. I guess you could say I am a hired killer. Although I have killed before, this will be the first kill where I have no idea why this man must die. I am somewhere in South Philly, standing in a very dark, very cold, very smelly alley. How I got here and why is a long story, but for now all my attention is focused on the dive bar across the street.

It's 2am. I followed my target here 3 hours ago and watched him park and enter the bar. I have been told his name is Raymond James Dunn. His friends, I doubt he has many, call him Rambo. The picture I have matches the man I followed here. He is 6' 2" 245 lbs, shaved head, muscular body, ruddy completion. I understand he has a disposition to match his looks. He carries a Glock Model 19 9mm in an ankle holster in the inside of his right calf and a 9 inch switchblade in his left pants pocket. He is left handed. I have been told he is quick to act with either of these weapons, and has done so many times. He has a scar on his right shoulder from a bullet he had the misfortune of stepping in front of. He walks with a limp because of the bullet he still carries in his right leg. He has a wife, Angel, and a girlfriend, Dawn. He lives at 902 South Broad St. just down the street from the fire station. He drives a 1997 white Cadillac Deville. He meets his girlfriend, Dawn every Thursday at the Marriott Downtown. I don't guess it's for dinner. He is an ex-cop who got fired. Why, I don't know or care? The only other thing I really need to know about him, my employer told me, he needs to die. I don't know Dunn, until today I had never seen him before except in a photo. What he did to bring me here is beyond my pay grade. I know these things because the man I am employed by told me so. His Caddy is currently parked next to a fire hydrant 20 feet from the dive bar entrance. This I know because, I watched him park it.

I was parked just down the street from Mr. Raymond James Dunn's house for 6 hours in my rented Taurus. No one in the neighborhood seemed to notice or care that a stranger was parked there. I removed the license plate on the off chance someone would notice. No one did. I guess I am lucky, because Mr. Dunn is home on this particular day and made his exit about 6 PM. He drove to the downtown Marriott Hotel where he turned his Caddy over to a Valet. My guess, he is meeting with Dawn, but I don't know or care. I followed the Valet, watched him park Dunn's car and waited. I really have no specific plan, I just hope at some point to get Dunn alone and close.

The Valet retrieved the car about 10 pm; presumably Dunn had finished his business by then. Dunn drove south with me in trail. I had no idea where he is going, but since his house was North, I knew it wasn't home. The neighborhood got seedier and seedier the further south we drove. Quite a step down from the Marriott.

He parked his car by a fire hydrant and entered the What's Up Bar. I don't know what's up, but it definitely isn't this place. The windows in the front are painted over. A small amount of light escapes. The door is dirty and without a lock or handle. Patrons use a rope attached to the door to enter, classy joint. I guess it's a 24 hour establishment. The music from the interior is loud. No neighbors around here to disturb. As Dunn slowed to park I drove 2 blocks and parked the Taurus, legally. I walked back and now still stand freezing my ass off in this smelly alley. My hope is he didn't leave while I was parking. Since his car is still here I assume not. But, assumptions can get you killed.

Several interesting patrons have entered and left the What's Up Bar over the past three hours, but not Dunn. From the clientele I've seen, Dunn isn't here for the company. A fair amount of what appeared to be hookers entered and very few left. I doubt Dunn is here for that, since my assumption is he just met Dawn at the Marriott. He is dressed in what is obviously a very expensive suit. The other patrons were dressed as if they lived on the street. I don't know if there is a back or side exit, I'm too afraid to be seen and remembered to check that out. I haven't seen a police car since I've been here. I'm not sure if that is a good sign or not but if I had to guess, I would say they don't want to be in the neighborhood either.

3:30 AM, out he comes. Of course, he isn't alone, let's not make this easy. He is with a short wiry man in a dark suit. These two look nothing like the other characters I have seen entering or exiting. They stand and talk for several minutes. I can't understand what is being said, I guess it makes no difference to me. They look around like they feel me watching. I'm squeezed in the shadows against the cold damp wall and pray I am not visible. The short guy shakes hands with Dunn and reenters the bar. Dunn lights up a cigar, his face illuminated in the flame looks even harsher than before. He stands there for several more minutes puffing away. My nerves are so tight I feel like I am about to explode. I have to pee. If I move now he will see me immediately and the last thing I need is a firefight on the street when I am outgunned. Finally he heads for his car.

Time to move, I can smell his stinky stogy as I move out of the alley. He is walking briskly toward his car. I cross the street and walk as if to enter the bar. He doesn't seem to notice me. He presses the remote and I hear the Caddy chirp. I am twenty feet behind him. He slowly opens the door and sits in the front seat. He is a large guy and it takes a couple of seconds for him to swing his legs in. Before he can close the door I am standing beside him blocking the door with my body. I had pulled the High Standard from my belt as I crossed the street and held it tight against my right thigh. I point the gun at his head. He turns and looks, a sudden shock registering on his face. I squeeze the trigger, nothing I forgot to take the safety off. He makes the last mistake of his life. Had he sprung from the car he could have taken me before I moved, but, he reached for his ankle holster instead. I managed to flick off the safety and squeeze the trigger. This time the 1000 fps round hits him in the throat. He grabs for his throat. I lean in and touch the barrel lightly to his temple. The next pop is muffled by his head and the inside of the car. He falls sideways across the front seat. I lean in and squeeze off 2 more shots, just to be sure. They both hit him in the jaw and from the angle, travel up into his brain. The noise is muted by the car interior.

No time to examine my work, I begin walking away from his car. I tuck the High Standard back in my belt. I forgot to put it on safe. I remove it, click it on safe and tuck it back. A quick glance around, nothing, no lights coming on, no curious patrons. I guess gunshots are a frequent occurrence around here. The two block walk to the car feels like miles. I am numb from fear and cold. I get in the Taurus and notice my pants are wet. I pissed my pants. Christ, what a hit-man. I'm shaking so bad I can't drive. I sit there numb wondering why I feel nothing for this man. I just took a life and all I worry about is getting away, I have no emotion about the killing at all. I finally am able to put the keys in and start the car. I hear sirens in the distance. I drive away and for some reason u-turn and drive back toward the What's Up Bar. The interior lights are still on in the Caddy. From my side I can't see Dunn, but I guess he is still there. Where else would he be with 4 bullets in him. I catch the faint smell of a cigar. I guess it's still lit. No cops, no onlookers. I continue to drive and head toward my hotel. I just fulfilled my first contract. How was I to know it would be far from my last?
Chapter 1

Jessie Carr

Jessie Carr was born on October 3rd 1948 in Hotel Dieu Hospital, New Orleans, LA. He was an only child of middle class parents. There was nothing particularly outstanding about Jessie. Average grades through school, average size, and average weight. When Jessie entered high school he began to excel in track and field. He was fast but his real talent was distance. He set school and State records in the mile run. Another trait became apparent, Jessie was a born leader. People gravitated toward him and followed his lead. His personality made him instantly likable.

Jessie was offered several track scholarships and accepted one from Louisiana State University. Unfortunately for Jessie during his first semester he discovered his love for partying. Louisiana State has a very active party scene and Jessie jumped into it with both feet. His grades and athletics suffered. His Coaches and Counselor tried but were unable to get Jessie back on track. At the end of his first semester he failed all his subjects and lost his scholarship. He returned to New Orleans and began working low wage jobs. His partying kept him moving from one job to another, never able to sustain a decent work record.

When Jessie turned 19 he was making minimum wage and because of it, was unable to move out of his parent's house. He desperately wanted to be on his own. The Vietnam War was in full swing and Jessie felt it was only a matter of time before he was drafted. Jessie's self esteem was at an all time low. He thought of joining the Marines but didn't feel he had what it took. He thought of the Navy, but didn't want to spend six months on a ship. He considered the Air Force but really wanted to see some action. On October 4th 1967, the day after his 19th birthday, he enlisted in the Army. Times being what they were he was able to ship out the following week and began basic training Monday October 14th.

During basic his stamina and leadership abilities were immediately noticed. He completed basic on November 22nd and began Infantry training on November 25th. Shortly after completing the Advanced Infantry course he entered Ranger School. Due to the pressure from the Pentagon to get more men into Vietnam the training was accelerated and Jessie completed his Ranger training on February 17th 1968. He was given leave until February 25th 1968 and was headed to Vietnam on February 28th.

The Army had been slow deploying sniper into the field and because Jessie had fired expert in training he was assigned to an in country sniper school. Jessie had completed Ranger training at the top of his class and again finished at the top of his class in the two week sniper school. On March 17th Jessie was a newly minted U.S. Army Scout Sniper.

Jessie was assigned as a scout for several snipers during the next two months. In June he was assigned as a scout for Carl Rome. He was to be Carl's spotter for the remainder of his tour. They became friends and could almost read each others minds. Carl introduced Jessie to CWO Shelby Wilson, a rotary wing pilot, and they became friends. Their method of operation allowed them extreme latitude in their movement and they were able to get together with Shelby frequently. Their skill in the field became legendary. Their tours ended at approximately the same time. Jessie returned home but missed the camaraderie and action of Vietnam. He had fallen in love with his old High School sweetheart, Rachael, and during his leave they saw each other often, but the call of combat was strong. He and Carl volunteered for a second tour and were again paired as a sniper team. Carl taught Jessie how to move silently and track in the field, and Jessie taught Carl how to party and drink. When not in the field they drank and raised hell together, often with Shelby.

Jessie corresponded with Rachael but Jessie told her he planned on a third tour. Jessie received a letter in December during his second tour. Rachael was marrying a doctor and was having a child. Jessie was still in love with her, but wished her well.

With one week left in their tours Jessie was wounded in a firefight with a patrol. The patrol had stumbled upon their hide. They had killed the patrol to a man but Jessie had taken a bullet to the leg. He was air lifted out and shipped home a week later. Carl completed his tour and returned home. He visited Jessie in the hospital. They discussed another tour but the wound had dampened Jessie's enthusiasm. Carl would return to do a third tour, but Jessie decided an Army Career was not for him, he was discharged on October 19, 1973.

Jessie returned to New Orleans, returned to night school, and completed a degree in Business. While he was in school he began a clerical position with a design firm and upon graduation was promoted to a management position. He married and was at peace with the world until almost 20 years later.
Chapter 2

August 16, 1993; a clear hot Monday in New Orleans, I worked late and arrived home just past 8pm. The house is quiet and still. No barking dogs, no wife. I called and got only an echo. Strange, she was supposed to be home all day. I grabbed a beer and walked up the stairs. Empty rooms and silence was all that greeted me. No reason to worry, she probably went to visit a neighbor or ran to the store.

Two hours later I was still alone. I called around and no one had seen or heard from her. Now I was beginning to get worried. At 11 PM the phone rang. The nightmare had begun. I rushed to the hospital where the police said they had taken her. Long on speculation and short on details, the police said she had been raped and tortured. The police wanted to know where had I been? I guess the husband is always the first suspect. She had been found near the river batture by a jogger. I had seen men torn apart by war, but nothing could prepare me for what I saw that night. Much of the next hours were a blur. She had been brutalized, raped, tortured, and burned. Mercifully she passed away before morning.

I had no answers, the police had no answers. She was buried 3 days later and I was supposed to move on. I wish I could have. I called the police daily for weeks. No answers no suspects. 2 more women were found in the same area and in the same condition.

Finally on October 3rd, my birthday, a suspect was taken into custody. James Allen had been caught as he grabbed a woman from her home. Finally justice would be served. Louisiana has a death penalty and I was sure it would be used in this case. What a fool I was. James Allen was from a wealthy family and had the legal consul of the law firm of Buckle and Shuster, high priced, high powered, and highly connected. It seemed Mr. Allen's rights had been violated during his arrest. No evidence from his arrest would be allowed and the woman he had grabbed had disappeared. He was released and couldn't be touched. The cops were pissed, the DA was pissed, I was pissed, but nothing could be done.

It was an unusually hot October that year. The heat did nothing to improve my mental state, which was very bad. I just couldn't believe the justice system would fail so miserably. My friends said that in the end, James Allen would pay. James Allen was only 31 years old. It just seemed like a long time to wait for God to collect his due. I considered moving, to try and put the past behind me, so many memories in my house. But why should I be the one to run? I hated James Allen and his legal team, but, most of all, I hated myself for doing nothing. I tried church, I tried booze, I thought of suicide. My mood got progressively worse. Sometime during the last week of October I made up my mind. I had to do something. If the law couldn't do anything about James Allen, then I would. But what, I was just your average guy. I had served in combat, had weapons and tactics training. I had killed men before, but that was combat. I knew whatever I did had to be fast and it had to be brutal. I spent another miserable month hating myself and dreaming of revenge. I had a little insurance money but drank and pissed most of that away. I didn't work and took the small pension offered me. I couldn't think of anything but death. I knew it had to be me or Allen. No other outcome was possible.

The first week of December I formulated a plan. I wasn't going to just kill Allen, but wanted him to know why he was dying and who was doing it. I wanted him to suffer the way I knew my wife and the others had suffered. With a plan of sorts formulated in my mind, I set things in motion. I used an assumed name and leased an old warehouse on the Mississippi River. It was used at one time to store cotton offloaded from ships and the warehouse had been abandoned for years. The walls were 2 feet thick made of heavy brick, the place was virtually soundproof. The beauty was that both adjacent warehouses were empty. I really didn't care if I got caught, as long as I had some quality time with Mr. Allen.
Chapter 3

Monday December 16th dawned a cold dreary day. The skies were heavy and ominous. I had followed James Allen for the better part of two weeks and he rarely varied his schedule. Monday he was in his office, his daddies business of course, for 9 AM. He took lunch around 11:30 AM, during which time he consumed several martinis. His usual lunch mates apparently had to work for a living and returned to work around 1:30 PM. James consumed a few more martinis and headed for home. He lived alone and never left until 9 PM to head for his favorite bar. If he stuck to his schedule no one would miss him after lunch. I waited outside the Acme Oyster House on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter while he dazzled his friends with bullshit. He normally left between 2 and 2:20 PM, drunk. This day he didn't disappoint. At 2:16 PM he stumbled out of the restaurant. His car was parked in a lot on Poydras St. since he worked at One Shell Square, several blocks away. This walk presumably sobered him up enough to drive home. Today it wouldn't matter.

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 large 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.

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 not 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 the 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.

I went back to Shuster's office and decide to have a look around. The desk turned out to be a bust, except for the drugs and gun. I have no idea what I was looking for but continued to search anyway. I found nothing in the office of any interest. I went into his private washroom and open a small locker. Toilet paper, liquid soap, and towels. I feel dirty after handling a dead man so I take a container of soap and a towel out of the locker. Behind the stack of towels I notice a box. I tried to pick it up but realized it was attached to the wall. There is a key lock on the front. This was an odd place for a strong box, but now my curiosity is peaked. I have no idea how to open a metal strongbox, but decide a key was my best option. I return to his desk and search. In the top center draw was a small keychain with 4 keys on it. This would be too easy. I go back and tried them one at a time. The third try was the charm. The lock opened and I opened the top. The box was around a one foot cube shape. The first thing I saw was a stack of banded bills. These guys had money hanging all over the place. There were several large envelopes. A couple had negotiable securities and I had I no need for them. The last envelope I opened contained a set of pictures similar to the ones in Allen's bedroom, except instead of Allen naked in the picture it was Shuster. As if I needed more proof here it was. There were several other pictures that I didn't recognize immediately. I took a large towel and put the money and the unidentifiable pictures in it. I tied them up similar to a hobo pack. I replace everything else, locked the box, and returned the key to the desk draw.

I took out my cell phone and called Buckle. He had given me his cellular number to report when the job was complete, and he answered. "It's Carr, the job is complete. But I think you should have a look in your office. You see, your partner is no longer around. So if you call the cops and turn the tape over to them you will need to explain what happened to him." I was grabbing at straws. He chuckled, "You are full of shit Carr.  
I laughed, "I may be full of shit, but do you really want to take the chance. You should really check." I knew he had to check.

I was sitting in the outer office waiting room reading an old copy of Home and Garden when he came in. I thought he was going to crap his pants when he saw me. He probably thought he was dead. I should have killed him, I could only serve one life sentence, but I didn't. He went immediately to Shuster's office. I stayed sitting and waiting. He returned, now I thought he was going to kill me. He sat opposite "You are smarter than you look, so you figured it out." I smiled, "Yep, I take that as a compliment."

We sat there like a couple of fools for a few minutes. He shook his head and looked at me, "What do you want, what do we do now?". The truth was I didn't know what I wanted. Sooner or later Shuster's body would be found and many questions would be asked. Here I was, the men who had been responsible for my wife's murder were dead. I had $200,000 plus the money from Shuster's safe, minus expenses, and a small pension. I was lonely, my wife was gone, and my family was gone, I was basically alone. This man sitting across from me hadn't made me a killer, I had done that myself. He didn't kill my wife, Allen and Shuster had. I didn't hate him. At that point I made a decision. I looked at him, "We need to come up with a story, and make sure it's believable." He nodded and agreed, then I hit him with the punch line. "So now you have a new partner, me."
Chapter 10

When I arrived home I opened the towel, counted the money and stashed it with all the rest in my small home safe. My safe was now stuffed with cash. I had over one quarter million dollars in my possession.

I grabbed a beer and sat down to look at the pictures from Shuster's safe. Some were the rape pictures but others were surveillance type of pictures. They were obviously taken from a distance and without the subject knowing. It would have been hard to determine who the subject in the photos was, but Shuster made it easy, he had circled one person in all the photos. The pictures were all taken from a long distance on a street crowded with pedestrians. The circled individual was a female with short dark hair. She was thin and dressed in a very short skirt and high boots. I grabbed a magnifying glass and studied the girl and the location. There was a vague familiarity in the girls face but nothing I could put my finger on. I was able to see one sign in one of the pictures. The name was The Nest. I turned the pictures over and found the date on them. They had all been taken 2 days before I had killed Allen. I grabbed a local phone book and looked up the name. The Nest turned out to be a bar in the 400 block of Decatur Street in the French Quarter. I had no clue what any of this had to do with Shuster, but I was determined to find out.
Chapter 11

I am almost fifty years old and I had never been arrested. I've had a few speeding tickets and did some hubcap stealing when I was a kid, but now I had murdered three men and planned on going into the drug business. The sad part was this didn't even bother me. My philosophy on drugs had always been, the real problem was the people who took them. They knew the danger and they did it anyway. If there wasn't a market there wouldn't be a profit. The men I had murdered had to die, they were bad men, and at least that is what I told myself.

One month later on a Monday night, I met Buckle at Harry's Hideaway. Shuster's body had been found in a landfill. Buckle had shown the proper amount of sorrow over the loss of his partner. Shuster had a large case load and it was assumed one of his less than satisfied clients was to blame. Good luck with that. He defended more scumbags than they could count. Since Allen had disappeared and he was tied to Shuster it was assumed he was involved, and I guess in a way, he was. The police had searched Allen's house and found the woman's underwear. The place had been tossed before they arrived. They assumed Allen and Shuster had some sort of falling out and Shuster had searched Allen's house looking for something. They knew Allen was the killer of the women, but no one had ever come to see me. I thought I would be number one on their list. Allen's family was laying low, they didn't want to be dragged into a rape murder investigation. Shuster's wife collected her one million dollar life insurance policy, she wasn't making waves. Buckle hadn't been in his office, so he was in the clear. But still, no one came to see me.

Buckle and I shared an expensive scotch, this time I bought. I had purchased a duffel bag, put the drugs in it, it was in my car. He looked at me, "That product needs to be delivered. Normally Allen would do that, but since he is no longer available, you get the picture." This time I did have a small recording device in my top pocket, but he never checked. He was about to give me the location of the drug exchange, but I stopped him. "Hold it, before we go into details we need to come to an agreement. What is my cut of this?" He took a sip of scotch, "Allen got 25%. You're taking his place, so that is your cut." I laughed, "Bullshit, you three assholes split this three ways. Now there is only two of us, so it's an even split." This didn't sit well with him. "Don't forget, my connections are what get those drugs into this country. An even split is way out of line." I shook my head, "Go fuck yourself, an even split or we both go to jail." He sighed, "You drive a hard bargain, but half of something is better than all of nothing. It's a deal." I had gotten what I wanted anyway. I had him telling me, on tape, his connection brought in the drugs. Checkmate.

We ordered another scotch, he looked at me and said quietly. "You make the delivery to the Calliope Projects on Wednesday night. They take the drugs and you get a key to a locker in the bus terminal. The locker will have five hundred thousand in it. That load cost two hundred thousand, so we make a profit of three hundred thousand." I nodded like I had a clue, which I didn't. He continued, "Once the buyer in the Calliope gets those drugs he will step on them several times and repackage them. They will bring him one point five million. A tidy profit for his trouble." Holy shit, I tried not to look too excited. I had struggled along making thirty thousand a year and these dirt bags were hauling in millions. My plan had been to take the tape recording to the police. Turn myself in, implicate Allen and Shuster in murder and drugs, and make sure Buckle went down. Now I was having second thoughts. My cut of this would be one hundred fifty thousand dollars. I now understood the magical draw of drug money. I agreed to make the exchange.

Before we departed I had one more detail to work out. "OK, now I got one more thing I need to clear up." I took the recorder out of my pocket. "This little recorder just caught every word you said. You just implicated yourself in a major drug operation. So if your plan included the Calliope delivery being my last, you might want to reconsider. This little beauty goes in a safe deposit box with a letter. I don't need to tell you what that letter say." It looked like someone has shoved a hot poker up his ass. His expression was priceless. I finished my scotch, thanked my new partner, and left the bar.

When I left Harry's bar I decided to see what The Nest had to do with any of this. I parked in a lot on Decatur Street and walked the three blocks to the bar. I entered and discovered about what I expected. A small dump of a bar mostly locals and druggies. I sat at the bar, which was long and located across the entire rear of the building. I ordered a beer and tried to scan the small crowd of patrons. The light was poor but I was able to make out the usual mix of men and women. Some dressed in suits and others in jeans. I drained my first beer and ordered another. A few people left and a few arrived, but nothing of any notice.

I was draining my second beer when the door opened and the skinny dark haired girl entered. She was dressed very much like she had been in the photos, very short dress and high boot with high heels. Hooker wears if I ever saw any. She took a seat at the end of the bar and the bartender brought her a drink without ordering. She was obviously a regular. I signaled the bartender for another beer and when he brought it I asked "What's her story?" He smiled and said "That's one of Sugar's girls, comes in here between tricks. Poor kid, looks even more fucked up every time I see her. She likes ginger ale, never drinks anything else." He served me my beer while I studied the girl. I knew she was definitely the one in Shuster's pictures but there was something else familiar about her, I just couldn't put my finger on. She was tall and thin, her hair was dark black and cut shout. Actually cut wasn't an accurate description, more like chopped. I decided to get closer. I moved to the end of the bar "Hi, can I buy you a drink?" She looked at me and smiled but her eyes were vacant. They were a beautiful green and I though, how odd for a dark haired woman to have green eyes. Then it hit me, green eyes and red hair. That's what I had been I was missing. The drivers license I had from Allen's wallet had a red-haired woman, Jasmine Simmons. I tried to make small talk. "What's you name pretty lady?" She smiled, one of those automatic smiles when you don't really mean it. "I'm Simone." Close enough to Simmons as far as I was concerned. She asked "Would you have a good time with me?" I smiled back "Maybe, depends on what a good time is." I had to keep her talking and try to get more information. As I was looking at her she glanced toward the door and her expression changed completely. Fear took over and she immediately looked down, not wanting to make eye contact again. I turned and look in the direction she had looked in. A very large black man was slowly walking in our direction. He was huge, dressed in a purple suit and white hat. The clown had pimp written all over him.

He walked up to Simone and wrapped one huge arm around her shoulders. He looked at me and winked. He looked at Simone and said "What you got fo me bitch". She reached into a small shoulder bag and handed him a small wad of bills. "Fuck bitch, you gotta do better than this shit". He stuffed the money in his top pocket and looked at me, "And what the fuck do you want?" I looked at this animal and wasn't sure how to answer. What I knew was I needed to talk with this girl and he was in my way. I figured money was the universal language and I had plenty of that. "I was just admiring your beautiful lady here." He smiled a mouth full of gold teeth, "Yea, ain't she sumptin." I was on untested ground here, I had no idea how to talk to this clown or get some time alone. But he smelled money and took the lead. "Well dude, my gal here likes white boys, but I was planning on spendin some time wit her mysef." He looked at me and grinned, a shit eating grin. I could have smashed every gold tooth out of his mouth right then and there, but he probably would have killed me. I was a killer, but in my view anyway, this was the scum of the earth. Time to get down to business."I'm not in town for long and would really like to spend some time with Simone. Is there any way I could do that?" He figured he had me at that point and was ready to deal, "Well what you had in mind to do with Simone. I means take her to dinner, have a few drinks, what exactly".

He was trying to find out if I was a cop, cops can't offer any sex act for money. They need the girl to say exactly what she would do and for how much. My move, if he was an undercover cop I was getting ready to go to jail, but I had to take that chance. "Man, I ain't had no pussy in awhile and she looks good. I want to take your girl to my hotel and screw the shit out of her". He laughed a deep guttural laugh that made my skin crawl. "Well, that might be possible, how much you offering for a little time with my girl" I needed to buy as much time with her as possible so I said, "Look man, I need it bad, and I want this gal for all night. I'm at the Royal Orleans and we could just have a really nice night there, I got $1000 on me." His expression hardly changed, "Fuck dude, $1000 buys you one hour with this beautiful piece." I knew he was full of shit. I was willing to bet she didn't get more than $100 for a trick, but he was going to get all he could. I didn't really care what it cost, but I couldn't give in to easily he might become suspicious. I had to make a move, time was against me. "OK man look, I got money and I leave town tomorrow, I need this woman tonight. I'll give you all I got, $3000 that's it man, I got no more". His expression said I had hit pay dirt, $3000 was a lot of money for one girl, especially a street hooker. The really high class ones might get that much, but no pimped street whores ever would. "OK dude, I feel sorry for your horny white ass, 3K you get the night. But you better not put a mark on my girl here, she be special." I dug in my pocket and gave him the cash I had put there earlier just in case. It was a little over $3000 but I could have cared less. He counted it and pretended it was exactly the right amount. "Dude you is some horny ain't you?" Laughing as he said it. I had already paid for the drinks so I was square with the bar and totally broke. I hoped the parking lot took credit cards. I looked at Simone and took her hand, "Hi Simone, I'm Jim, come with me I'll treat you nice." She nodded her head but never made eye contact with me. She was scared to death, and I don't think it was me that frightened her. I led her out the door under the watchful eye of her pimp. As I was about to leave with her he said "Don't forget muther fucker, no marks on my girl and bring her here in the morning. What room yous in, just in case I needs to pays you a visit?" I didn't hesitate and made up a quick number, apparently he was satisfied and nodded. "Hey my name is Sugar Bear and don't fuck wit me man. You ask anyone, no body fuck with the Sugar." I nodded my head in agreement and quickly opened the door and led Simone outside.

We walked in the general direction of the Royal Orleans Hotel and I kept checking behind me. I had no idea if he would follow us. After two blocks I sidetracked in the direction of the parking lot. She didn't even blink. She was so accustomed to doing what a john wanted she just blindly followed. We got to my car and she suddenly realized my plan was to take her somewhere. She pulled away weakly. I grabbed her arm "Simone, I'm not going to hurt you, I wouldn't do that." She was frightened but sat in passenger seat without further resistance. I looked around and said a silent prayer that Sugar Bear wasn't watching. All seemed clear, I jumped in the driver's seat and headed out. Luck was on my side and the parking lot let me put the $12 fee on my credit card. I drove toward home.
Chapter 12

At home Simone seemed confused but got out the car when I opened the passenger door. I took her inside and sat her on the couch. "Simone, can I get you something to drink?" She seemed to relax a little. "Can I have a ginger ale?" I didn't have any but she accepted a Coke instead. My mind was running in circles trying to figure out how to find out any information she might have.

I sat down next to her and asked if I could get her anything else to make her comfortable. She was genuinely confused. This wasn't her normal activity when with a man. I told her "Relax Simone, I won't hurt you, I just want to talk." I didn't really know how to approach this so I took the direct approach. I pulled the driver license from my wallet and handed it to her. Her expression showed me I was on the right track. A mixture of confusion and fear spread across her face. She dropped the license and tried to get up. I put my hand on her arm "Simone, it's OK, just relax." She suddenly began to cry, more of a sob. I had touched some nerve or memory that had been buried deep inside her. I reached over and drew her close and tried to calm her. I looked at her neck and noticed a strange scar. I moved her collar and saw the scar encircled the entire neck. This was made by someone straggling her with some sort of rope or wire. I pushed her back and looked in her eyes. "Simone, how did you get that mark on you neck?" She turned her head and sobbed even more. I turned her to face me now and my eyes are drawn to the top of her blouse. I saw something that disturbed me and it wasn't her breast. I noticed small scars just above her breast. I reached over and unbuttoned her top button. She was wearing a dirty lacy red bra but what got my attention was the amount of scaring on her chest. I was stunned. I unbuttoned the rest of the buttons and opened her blouse. The scars weren't just above her breast, she had small scars all over her torso. Most were healed but some were recent additions. She was sitting and giving no resistance. I stood and removed her blouse completely. Her entire back was covered in cuts in various stages of healing; some were very recent and getting infected.

When I could finally find my voice I asked "Oh baby, who did this to you? Please tell me." She just cried and shook her head. I repeated over and over again she was safe and no one would harm her. She finally mumbled something which I couldn't understand. But at least, it was a start. I had to show her she was safe with me. I took her by the hand and led her up the stairs. She followed as if in a trance. I took her into my bedroom and while she was standing facing the bed I unbuttoned and unzipped her skirt. I let her skirt fall and turned her to face me. I asked her to sit on the bed and I knelled in front of her to remove her boots. I didn't want her to feel I was making sexual advances toward her. But her body was having an effect on me, then what I saw on her inner thighs turned my desire into anger. Her thighs were not only scared, but there were recent burns, apparently from cigarettes. Kneeling, I carefully removed her boots and wasn't surprised to see scaring on her calves.

This girl wasn't just tortured, she wasn't allowed to take basic care of her body. I detected an odor when close to her. She was wearing a red thong and red bra and neither had been washed lately. I took her hand and had her follow me to the bathroom. I removed her bra and asked her to remove her thong. If I needed any further proof this was the redhead from the driver's license this gave it to me. Between her legs was a crop of natural red hair. I started the shower and told her to shower. I waited while she cleaned up and when she finished helped her towel off. Through all this she hadn't said a word or offered any resistance. I took her to the bedroom and had her sit on the bed. She showed no emotion or embarrassment even though she had been naked in front of a stranger for 30 minutes.

I looked into her eyes and saw nothing. "Baby, what is your real name?" Without hesitation she answered, "Simone." I showed her the driver's license again, and she again cried. I held her tight. "Baby, I think your name is Jasmine. Tell me Jasmine, who did these terrible things to you?" I had kept the newspaper clipping from when Allen had been set free. the photo was of Allen and Shuster exiting the courthouse with big smiles on their faces. I put the picture in front of her and her reaction was immediate. She screamed and tried to get up and run. I held her close and tight, she sobbed and finally everything began to pour out.

Her story was even more disturbing than I imagined. She had been kidnapped in St. Louis. She could remember bits and pieces of home, but not much more. She vaguely recalled being in a bar and then leaving with two men. She remembered the car she was in stopping somewhere and the men leaving her alone. She ran and was able to escape. All she had was her driver's license. She managed to hitch a ride into New Orleans the closest town. She needed money desperately but had no memory of her past. No one to call. She began to prostitute herself to make money. Finally she had enough to find an apartment and a job. Just a short while after settling into her home she was kidnapped again. She did remember it was the same men who she had been in the car with. One of the men in the picture was in the car she had escaped from. The men had her locked somewhere for days, she wasn't sure how many. They raped and tortured her for hours on end joined by a third man, using a razor blade to cut her and then pouring alcohol in the open wounds. They also gave her some type of drug every day. Her memory was foggy but she remembered getting loose from her bonds one day and walking the streets. She was found, unfortunately by Sugar Bear. He could have cared less that she had been tortured and kidnapped. In her he saw dollar signs. He kept her on drugs and making money until she was taken by me. Sometimes, when Sugar felt she wasn't making enough money or he just wanted to have fun, he would cut her and burn her for his enjoyment. The drugs had mostly wiped out her memory of her past. She vaguely remembered the name Jasmine, but she did recognized the driver's license.

I could see the exhaustion in her face and pulled down the covers and tucked her in. I needed one more answer before I let her rest. I looked down at her and asked, "Jasmine, one thing I need to know. When Sugar uses a fork, what hand does he use?" I saw the confusion on her face. She thought and after a bit said "Left". Good, now at least I knew if there was trouble what side to expect it from. I had to think, I had no idea what to do with her, but I knew sending her back to Sugar wasn't an option.

Chapter 13

I knew Sugar Bear would not take losing a money maker very well. He had seen me and there was no place in the city I could go without the risk of being spotted. A plan, of sorts, developed. I needed someone to sit with Jasmine while I tried to meet with Sugar. I didn't exactly have a lot of friends I could ask to sit with a hooker I had kidnapped. Only one person I could think of would do that for me.

Rachael had been a girlfriend many years ago, in high school. We were engaged to be married until I shipped off to Vietnam and she attended nursing school. After my first tour we saw each other frequently, and again became engaged. I volunteered for a second tour and that ended our relationship. Rachael graduated nursing school and married a doctor. I returned from my second tour, and married Julie. Neither of us really ever got over each other, we still occasionally met for a night or two. We had known it was wrong, but still loved each other. Rachael divorced and never remarried. It was 2 AM and I decided to get a few hours of sleep before calling Rachael. I checked in on Jasmine, she was sound asleep. I took a quick shower and turned in. I woke up at 6 AM, looked in again on Jasmine, still asleep, I got dressed.

I was really hesitant to call Rachael, but there was no one else I felt I could trust. She answered on the third ring, I could tell I had startled her from a sound sleep. She immediately perked up when she heard my voice. I asked her if she would come immediately and bring her first aid kit. She agreed without hesitation. Thirty minutes later Rachael pulled up in her car. Rachael was just a beautiful as she had been all those years ago in high school, Long curly black hair, a wonderful smile, beautiful dark eyes, and beautiful body. Just slightly fuller in all the right places. She was dressed in her hospital scrubs and looked wonderful. I let her in and offered her coffee, she gladly accepted. She kissed me and looked me over, obviously looking to see what damage required her attention. She smiled and asked "OK Jessie, you get me out of bed at 6AM and I don't see any blood, what gives?"

I gave her a cup of coffee and asked her to take a seat. She sat on the sofa and waited for an explanation. I had no idea how she would take my story. I decided I needed to deal with Sugar Bear before taking time to explains so I said, "I know I am a pain in the ass, but I need you to do something for me, no questions asked for now. I need to go out and do something, I promise when I return I will tell you everything." She looked at me, smiled, and shook her head. "OK Jessie, but you gonna owe me big time." I knew I could count on her so I explained. "Upstairs in my bed is a girl that needs some medical attention. She has been abused and I really need you to do whatever you can for her" Her expression was priceless. "Let me understand, you got a woman here and called me to help, that about cover it?" I couldn't help but smile and replied, "Yep that about covers it. I also need to make sure she stays here till I get back, see I kind of kidnapped her." She couldn't help but laugh, "Oh Jessie that is choice. It's always wonderful waking up at 6 AM to assist in a felony. OK as long as I get a full explanation later." I replied, "You have my word, oh one other thing. if I'm not back by noon, I want you to take the picture off the wall in the hall, the one of Julie and me skiing. On the back is a five digit combination. Use that to open the safe in my office closet. Inside the safe take everything you find." I handed her Jasmine's driver's license. "Take the girl and put her on a plane to St. Louis, when she is on the plane call the St. Louis Police Department. Tell them this girl was drugged and kidnapped and transported down here." I handed her a copy of the internet site I had found. "Give them her flight number and then go home, never come back here and forget today ever happened." She continued to shake her head, but didn't ask any more questions.

I had her follow me upstairs and looked into the bedroom. Jasmine was still sleeping so I gently closed the door. I needed to prepare before going to deal with Sugar Bear. Rachael went downstairs to get more coffee and I went in my office and opened the safe. My plan was simple pay Sugar Bear enough money to forget Jasmine. I took a nylon sport bag and placed my K-Bar in the bottom. I covered the knife with a sheet of newspaper and placed $50,000 on top of the newspaper. I made sure the knife wasn't visible when I opened the bag to show the money. My plan never included using the knife. Just in case Sugar didn't want just money, this might come in handy. I came down the stairs and Rachael was sitting on the sofa drinking her coffee. I looked at her and realized how beautiful she really was and how I longed to spend time with her. Since my wife's murder I had been all consumed with revenge. I bent over and kissed her, told her not to worry and headed out the door.
Chapter 14

I arrived at The Nest at 7:40AM. I was hoping Sugar would want to collect his property early. There were a few customers from the night before, or maybe early risers. Sugar Bear was sitting on the same stool that he was when I had left with Jasmine. Apparently this was where all his girls working Decatur Street came to meet him. I took the stool besides him and could feel his icy stare. He started the conversation. "Where the fuck my girl." His tone wasn't friendly. My nerves were on edge and I knew I needed to get this done, one way or another. I looked him in the eye and trying to look as confident as I could. "She's with me and ain't coming back, I'm buying her from you with the money in this bag." I opened the top of the bag and showed him it was full of cash. "There's $50,000 in here, you take that and I take the girl, that simple." He stared at me and he shook his head from side to side. He kept his voice low but the anger in his voice was evident. "You muther fucker, that girl is mine. You gonna bring her back here so I can see her, then maybe we talk about the rest. So you gives me that bag, go git my bitch and come back here." I had a bad feeling it would come to this, I tried to bluff my way through. "Sugar, that ain't happening, I put her on a flight last night and she is long gone, so you take this money or get nothing." The look on his face said he wanted to tear my head off. There were other people in the bar, so he did what I hoped he wouldn't. He said, "OK, we needs to finish our business in private." He raised his huge bulk off the stool and headed to the door. This was plan "B", unfortunately I didn't have a plan "B".

I followed Sugar out the bar into the morning drizzle. The streets were empty at this hour. We walked uptown on Decatur for one half blocks and he took a left into a service alley. Twenty feet into the alley he stopped and turned to face me. "Now what the fuck you bees sayin?" I placed my right hand on the bottom of the bag and gripped the K-Bar through the nylon. I opened the top of the bag with my left hand and showed him the money. My eyes were glued to his left hand, if he made any aggressive move this would be his lead. He grunted and grinned that gold smile. "You knows, a bitch like that makes me lots of money. You know what I be saying, I gonna need mo than that fo her." I had anticipated a move like this and had my answer ready. "Sugar, that whore ain't worth no 50K on the street and you know it. The condition she's in, she might live long enough to bring you 5K in a few months. So there ain't no more money. This is the price, and she is gone where you can't touch her." I continued to hold the open bag in front of me. His expression wasn't giving me a lot of confidence this was going to end well. "So you saying, I take this money and can't get nuthin else. Nobody fucks with Sugar Bear asshole."

The last words were spit out and I knew a move was coming. I saw his left hand reach inside his jacket and I caught a glimpse of silver. Without hesitation I lunged the bag forward into his stomach, just below the breastbone. I shoved with the hilt of the knife. The blade penetrated the thin nylon and entered his stomach. His eyes registered surprise and pain but he continued to grab for his gun. His massive belly helped slow him down, his left hand was wrapped around the grip of the pistol but his stomach made removing it more difficult. I couldn't give him time to get the gun out or I was dead. I stepped forward and with all my strength forced the blade forward and the hilt of the knife downward. I felt the blade move further into his body and by lowering the hilt it raised the tip of the blade doing more damage. It must have done what I hoped, he groaned and I felt his energy begin to drain. I must have hit his heart because he started to go limp. I gave one stronger shove and he took a half step backwards and fell. His hand was still on the pistol in his waistband. As he fell I stepped back and the blade slid out of his body. I looked around, no one anywhere. Several stacks of money had fallen from the bag. I had no idea if they could be traced but I scooped them up and put them in the bag making sure nothing fell out the hole the blade had made. I reached into the bag and removed the K-Bar. Sugar's eyelids were fluttering and his feet were moving slightly but that was the only sign of life. I didn't want some heroic citizen saving his life so I stepped over to his side and keeled down. I drew the razor sharp blade across his neck. I pulled my sweatshirt hood up and headed for my car.

The ride home went quickly, traffic was extremely light. I looked back on the meeting with Sugar and tried to understand my feelings, the problem was, I had no feelings. I believe I would have had more remorse had I stepped on a bug. I had no sympathy or regrets for what I had just done.
Chapter 15

New Orleans Police Detective Ryan Thibodeaux

It was 9:27 AM and Detective Thibodeaux was sitting in the Homicide Division Office at NOPD Police Headquarters on South Broad Street. Detective Thibodeaux had been with the NOPD for 13 years. He had been in homicide for the last 5 years. Homicide was the plum department in NOPD which everyone aspired to, but it was also the busiest. Thibodeaux had worked all night on a murder in the Desire Projects, seems someone caught someone else where that someone wasn't supposed to be. It wasn't a hard case to solve, since the dead man had successfully shot his murderer. The only thing left was the paper work and Thibodeaux was just finishing that and ready to head home to get some sleep.

He was signing the last of the forms when the watch Sergeant stuck his head in looking for a homicide detective. As luck would have it Thibodeaux and his partner Rodney Greyfield were the only ones there. A citizen walking her dog on Decatur St had seen a body in an ally just off Decatur and St. Ann St in the French Quarter.

All Thibodeaux could think was, oh shit a tourist. If this was a tourist murder then the Mayor, Chief, and every other asshole in the city would be crawling up his ass to solve it. He looked at his partner and could think of only one thing to say "Fuck." They headed to the garage, grabbed their car, and headed to the scene.

Thibodeaux had one of the best clearance rates in the squad, but this one didn't feel right. Project murders often solved themselves. French Quarter murders often went unsolved. Thibodeaux pounded the steering wheel, "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!" Rodney had to laugh. He was the junior man in the squad, having been there only five weeks although he had been a cop for nine years. He had been lucky to be paired with Thibodeaux. Everyone said he was the man to teach you.

They rolled up on Decatur St. and double parked, there were 6 marked units already blocking everything up. Thibodeaux saw the Vieux Carre commander Captain Sullivan standing near the entrance of an alley. Sullivan was smiling which Thibodeaux interpreted as a hopeful sign. If this were a tourist murder there would be no joy in Mudville. They shook hands and Sullivan pointed to the body now covered with a hospital sheet in the alley. "Well, the city just lost one of its most outstanding citizens." Thibodeaux and Sullivan walked to the body and uncovered the face. "Damn, somebody got the old Sugar Bear, well fuck me." They both laughed, had a citizen seen them he would have thought they were mad, laughing over a dead body. Thibodeaux bent down and uncovered the body completely and looked it over. A large amount of blood was on this chest and had run to the ground; the throat had been opened from ear to ear. He looked at Sullivan and asked, "Murder weapon?" Sullivan shrugged. Sullivan told Thibodeaux he had a canvas going of the neighborhood but nothing yet. "Anyone check the The Nest?" Again Sullivan shrugged. Lots of fucking help this asshole was going to be. Thibodeaux told Rodney to check the body and join him down the block at the The Nest. The Nest was a known prostitute hangout, and Sugar Bear was also known to frequent it.

Thibodeaux entered the bar but apparently word had spread that Sugar Bear was murdered, because except for the bartender the place was empty. Good news spread fast was all he could think of. The bartender was a tall skinny pimple faced kid barely old enough to drink. Pimple looked at Thibodeaux with a blank expression. He apparently was no stranger to the police. Before Thibodeaux said anything pimple said, "I don't know shit about what happened." Thibodeaux had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, "I ain't asked you nothing yet asshole." Pimple looked confused, but said, "I still don't know nothing." Thibodeaux said, "Why don't we start with a simple question like, what is your name?" The kid seemed confused even by that but was able to tell Thibodeaux that his name was Grover Cleveland. Again not laughing was almost impossible. "Look Grover, we got a dead man up the street, I know he hangs out in here, you work here so you must know Sugar." The kid must have had an IQ somewhere south of 10, but he did manage to shake his head yes. "Good, now was Sugar in here this morning?" Again a nod of yes, now we were making headway. "Was Sugar with anyone when he was here?" Again a nod, this time to the affirmative. "Can you tell me about who he was with, were they talking, arguing, what?"

This question couldn't be answered with a nod and threw the kids whole act off. Thibodeaux had had enough and told the kid, "Come out from behind the bar and, lets you and me take a ride downtown." Apparently he had been downtown before and decided he didn't want to go again. The kid started talking real fast, "It was a white guy and they were talking real low. The white guy had a bag and showed Sugar something in it, then they left, that's all I saw." Well it was a start, Thibodeaux asked "Good, now what did the white man look like?" The kid still looked confused but answered, "He just looked like a white guy, about this tall." He held up his hand to indicate about shoulder height on him. "He was wearing a blue jacket with a hood, that's all I noticed. He was only here for a few minutes and didn't order no drink or nothing." Thibodeaux made a couple of notes and asked, "Could you hear what they were talking about?" Again confusion but he answered, "The only thing I heard was something about a girl and money, that's it." Again Thibodeaux wrote a note. "Were there any other customer in here then?" Grover answered "None that I can remember." Shit, great, fucking Einstein here was going to be no help. "Was any of Sugar's girls in here this morning?" The kid shakes his head no. "OK, there is going to be a police artist coming to see you later, just try and remember what the white guy looked like and tell her, OK? One more question, did you ever see this white guy in here before?" Again another negative head shake. "Now, you stay here until that sketch artist comes." Thibodeaux started toward the door and turned toward the kid "How many people work here?" The kid scratched what in some circles passes for a beard and responded, "Just 3 of us, I work mornings, Don, this is his joint, works afternoons and Stan, he works nights." Finally an answer, "I'm going to need the names and addresses of the others, can you do that for me Grover." The kid nodded yes. "Good, another officer is going to be coming by in a few minutes, give him that information."

Thibodeaux left The Nest and headed back to the alley. The coroner had arrived and was waiting to remove the body. Thibodeaux's partner was looking over the items he had removed from Sugar's pockets. "Nothing of any interest, couple of grand cash, packs of rubbers, couple of rocks of crack, oh and of course a Glock 40 caliber. Did you know this clowns real name was Leon Watts? Says so right here on his license. Looks like he was having a problem getting his piece out of his waistband, his hand were wrapped around it when he went down." Thibodeaux had to laugh, "I knew that fat would eventually kill him. So someone was quicker on the draw than he was." His partner shook his head. "No, this chest wound was from a knife, a big one. ME says the throat was done after he was down. Probably to make sure he didn't live, and it worked. They want to move the body, we finished here?" Thibodeaux shook his head and singled the coroner to take Sugar's body away. They both walked to the street and a uniform cop handed Thibodeaux the names of the other The Nest employees. The uniforms were still canvassing the area looking for a witness. Thibodeaux had little hope they would find one.

They climbed in their car and headed for the home of Stan Holmes, The Nest's employee that lived the closest. Holmes lived in the French Quarter on Dauphine St. His home turned out to be a small apartment in an old run down flat. They climbed the rickety stairs and found apartment 307. A woman answered their knock. They flashed their badges and asked to speak with Stan Holmes. The woman opened the door and let them in. The place was a dump, it smelled of cheap perfume and cat shit. The woman, sporting teased hair and a ton of makeup turned and screamed, "Hey Stan, the fucking cops want to see you." A bathroom door opened Stan Holmes entered the room wearing shorts and no shirt. Holmes was middle aged but could have passed for 100 years old. He was skinny and tall with long hair pulled back in a pony tail. He looked like he hadn't shaved or washed his hair in a year. Stan Holmes was without a doubt a junkie. Thibodeaux understood why he was kept on the midnight shift at The Nest.

Holmes looked at the cops through bloodshot eyes and asked, "What". Thibodeaux asked him if he worked the night before. He had, so he asked if he knew Sugar Bear. "Sugar Bear, yea, I know him, pimp meets his girl there sometimes." Thibodeaux thought, damn, and intelligent answer. "Was he in the bar last night?" Holmes thought about it for a few seconds. "Yep, he was there till about 3, met a couple of girls, then left." "So, he was there when you got in, midnight right?" "Yea, he was sitting in his usual place at the end of the bar." Thibodeaux considered this, Holmes hadn't mentioned a man meeting with Sugar, only his hookers."You recall any other people meeting with Sugar other than the girls?" Holmes though for a minute before responding. "No just the usual hookers paying him a visit, as far as I can remember he never talked to anyone else." Thibodeaux knew he had hit a dead end. They thanked Holmes and left the apartment, his partner looked up the address of Don Carter, the swing shift bartender and owner of The Nest. Carter lived in the lower ninth ward of the city, below the Industrial Canal.

They took the 20 minute drive to Forstall Street. Carter's house was an old New Orleans style shotgun home. They parked in front and as they exited the car a large black man came out the front door. "You must be the cops, Don told me you would be coming." They walked up the steps to the small front porch and introduced themselves to Carter. He offered them something to drink and they declined. There was no place to sit on the porch so they stood and began their questioning. "Did you work yesterday?" Carter answered quickly, "Yea, I worked from 4 to midnight every day. Don said you were asking about Leon, I mean Sugar Bear." Thibodeaux responded, "Yep, I understand he was there when Don came to relieve you, so he was there while you worked?" Carter answered, "Yea, he is there a lot, meets his girls there all the time, he came in about 8 or 9, sat in his usual spot. One of his girls was there talking to a guy." Thibodeaux thought, finally making headway. "A guy you say, what can you tell me about this guy?" Carter glanced around before answering, "This guy had a couple of brews and one of Sugar's girls came in, Simone I think. Yes, it definitely was Simone. The guy asked me what was her story, I told him what I knew. She was a whore, he moved over to talk to her. Sugar came in they seemed to be doing some negotiating over Simone. I had other customer there at that time, it was a little noisy, but they must have made some agreement because the guy left with the girl. Hey, what's this all about, I mean Sugar do something wrong? Besides being a pimp I mean." Thibodeaux figured there was no sense lying to him. It would be on the news soon anyway. "Sugars dead, someone murdered him this morning. You said this guy left with Simone, but you couldn't hear anything they discussed. What did this guy look like?" Carter thought for a moment then replied, "Damn Sugar dead, I saw him every day. Oh yea, the guy, white guy, about 5'10, I don't know 170 or 180. Real short hair, light completion, maybe 45 or so." Thibodeaux was impressed, this guy might actually help. "Good, what else can you tell me, have you seen him in the bar before?" "Not before last night, I mean Sugar is there all the time, but this guy was new. Oh there was one thing I caught, when he was leaving with Simone, Sugar asked him what room he was in. I don't remember the room number, but I do remember hearing them mention the Royal Orleans." Thibodeaux thought great at last a break. Maybe someone at the hotel would remember the guy with the hooker. "Just a couple more things, would you recognize this guy if you saw him again, and what does this Simone look like?" Carter responded "Oh yea I could recognize him if I saw him again and Simone, I saw her all the time. Kind of rough looking girl, short black hair, real short. You know the usual, short hooker skirt, blouse showing her small tits and those high hooker boots. She was real skinny and it seemed every time she came in she looked a little worse. Always had the same outfit on don't ever remember seeing her in anything else. She actually kind of looked dirty, why anyone would pay to fuck her was beyond me." Thibodeaux looked at his partner then said, "I want to have you work with a sketch artist to get an idea what this guy looked, like, can you do that for us?" Carter said he would and it was arranged for the artist to meet him at the bar at 2PM.

Thibodeaux and Greyfield thank him and headed for the Royal Orleans Hotel on Royal Street in the Quarter. Three hours later they had questioned everyone they could think of in the hotel and had drawn a blank. No one had seen a hooker that looked like Simone. They headed back to headquarters to see if Vice had any information on Sugar or Simone that might help. They met with Samuel Chin a vice cop who worked the quarter. Thibodeaux asked, "Sammy, you know of anyone that would have a beef with Sugar?" Sammy shrugged, "Well you know, all the pimps down there are in competition. But to kill him, naw, not to go that far. I busted him quite a few times. You how that is, two hours in lockup and he's gone." Thibodeaux nodded, "How about one of his girls, goes by the name of Simone. You ever bust her?" Sammy shook his head, "I know of her. Showed up maybe six months ago. I have no idea where she came from. She was nice looking when she first showed. None of Sugars girls stay good looking for long. Rough life out there, especially with Sugar. And as far as a beef with Sugar, he had the low end hookers for sure. No one would kill him to steal his girls. Most pimps at least keep their girls clean, not Sugar. When we busted one of his girls they always smelled." It was eight hours since they had started and had nothing. One dead pimp, one unidentified white guy, and one dirty hooker. Time to call it a day.
Chapter 16

I arrived home at 8:40 AM. One hour to take a man's life. I opened the door and Rachael was sitting where I had left her, but now her hair was wet and she was wearing a robe I recognized as mine. "I needed a shower, hope you don't mind." Of course I didn't mind. She looked at me and said "You might want to take off those bloody clothes." I hadn't even realized I had Sugar's blood on my jacket, pants, and gym bag. She had started a fire in the fireplace. I took out the money that wasn't covered in blood and put it aside, the rest, including the bag went in the fireplace. I removed my pants, checked the pockets and added them to the fire. My sweat shirt and undershirt followed. I took the K-Bar to the kitchen, put water and bleach in the sink and put it in to soak. I walked back to the living room and stood there in my underwear. Rachael was smiling "I assume that blood wasn't yours." I shook my head no. She continued, "You never know, you might have blood on your Jockeys, you might want to take them off also." I smiled, removed my underwear and tossed them in the fire, "You're a bad girl Rachael, so hold that though I need a shower." I knew I had a lot of explaining to do, but first I showered. I grabbed a pair of sweats and walked down the steps.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed us both a beer and went back to the sofa. I told her I was going to tell everything, but first, I wanted to know what she found out about Jasmine. She took a deep breath and started. "She has a staph infection in some of the recent burns and cuts. She has anal and vaginal tearing, indicating extremely rough sex. She has bruises indicating beating both blunt force and with a belt or rope. Her body is weak due to lack of rest, lack of food, and infections. I cleaned all the wounds, applied an antibiotic, and bandaged them. I gave her a broad spectrum antibiotic that should help and I drew some blood, which is in the refrigerator. I will take that to work to be analyzed. This evening I'll get the results of the blood test and get an antibiotic appropriate for her condition. But Jessie, I need to ask you a question and I need the absolute truth. Did you have intercourse with her?" I was shocked by the question but said, "No I didn't, you know me better than that, at least I hope you do. That girl needs a break, not somebody taking even more advantage of her." She shook her head sadly "I'm sorry I had to ask that, but Jessie, Jasmine has some sort of venereal disease, probably Cancroids. She has ulcers inside her vagina which are a good indicator. The blood test will show more, but I'm fairly certain that's what it is. She could be treated with on strong dose of antibiotic. She has one more issue, she's hooked on drugs, probably coke and meth. She will be experiencing some withdrawal symptoms and that could also be eased with drugs I can get. This poor girl has so much stacked against her, somehow God has forgotten to watch over her." Then I looked at Rachael and stated the obvious. "God had sent you to take care of her Rach." She knew I was right, because in the condition she was in with Sugar Bear, she would be just another dead Jane Doe.

Now it was my turn to talk. I couldn't hold anything back, Rachael deserved the entire truth. When the words began they just seemed to flow out. It was a relief to share this with her. She sat and listened, never interrupting even once. Thirty minutes later my explanation was complete. I sat there and waited for some reaction, I got a reaction I never expected. She smiled and leaned over and kissed me. Not a friendly kiss, a deep sexually charged kiss. At first I was stunned, but kissed her back, I needed her so badly. She stood and took me by the hand and led me upstairs, we entered the guest bedroom and she faced me and opened her robe. She was naked underneath. She removed the robe and laid on the bed, I removed my sweats and joined her. Our passion took over and for the next thirty minutes we made passionate love. When we were both exhausted she looked into my eyes and said, "I love you Jessie." She closed her eyes and we both slept.
Chapter 17

We both woke up at 1pm and made love again. It had been a long time since I had felt so good. Rachael got dressed in her scrubs and headed to work. She had the 3 to 11 shift. She would get the necessary drugs for Jasmine, and return here after work. I told her I would be gone when she got there, but I should be home before 1am. We kissed and she departed, I slipped on my sweats and looked in on Jasmine. She was awake and sitting up in the bed. "Hello beautiful, how are you feeling now?" She smiled, "Much better thank you." I sat on the edge of the bed, "Rachael will come back tonight with some medicine for you. She's a nurse and will take care of you. I think the rest helped too, you were so weak." She smiled at the mention of Rachael's name. She said, "I like her, she really cares for me, I like you too, thank you." I said, "Thank you, but I just want you to get well then you can go home." With the mention of home her expression changed and she quietly cried. Her memory of home was gone, we knew her address In New Orleans from her driver's license but she had no idea what awaited her at home. I showed her the copy of the internet page searching for her. None of the pictures on the page rang a bell. I told her "Be patient, your memory will return." We sat there several minutes in silence. She looked at me and said "It was so nice to hear you and Rachael in bed." I wasn't sure I understood what she said so I asked her to repeat it. "I heard you and Rachael making love and it was wonderful, I though sex was ugly, dirty, and brutal, but hearing you and her made me feel that there is hope." I made a mental note that the walls in my house were thin, but too late now. I guess I was blushing because she laughed, the first time I heard her laughed and it was infectious. I starting laughing and it turned to tears. Any misgiving I had about the past few days vanished, I knew I had done the right thing.

I had to prepare both mentally and physically for the delivery that night. My mind was racing with all the possible things that could go wrong. I decided that there was nothing I could do to prevent a double-cross. I would be on their home turf and probably outnumbered, so physical preparation was impossible. Even if I brought a weapon the outcome would probably end badly for me. Mentally I tried to tell myself all would be OK and they would simply make the exchange and I would be on my way. Who was I kidding? I was dealing with people who knew they had the upper hand. I was at their mercy.
Chapter 18

Wednesday night, 11PM, Calliope Projects. I had placed the recorder in a safe deposit box at Capital One Bank and threw the key in a sewer drain. Now it would only be opened upon my death or incarceration. I'm waiting for my contact. I have the duffel bag in the trunk. Word must have gotten around the project not to fuck with the white boy in the car, because no one has bothered me.

At 11:30 PM, a car pulled up behind me. A passenger got out, walked over and got in my passenger side. He was a small black man, mid 20s, solid build, white tee shirt, baggy pants, pistol in his belt. My insides are churning. He told me to drive two blocks and take a left. He's the one with the gun, so I do as I am told. A left takes me deeper into the projects. I am told to drive down a mud strip in the middle of the block. I drive up to a building and am told to stop. I am told to pop the trunk. I have run into my first problem. I drive a convertible and the motor must be turned off to pop the trunk. I try to tell him I need to stop the motor, he pulls the gun. I tell him the remote has the button but the motor must be off. I think he understands, I kill the motor and hit the button, the trunk clicks. He tucks the gun back in his belt and gets out. I breathe a sigh of relief, I sit and keep quiet. I hear voices behind the car, the trunk slams. A shadow walks by the door and taps the window. I roll it down and something is thrown in I hear "Get the fuck outta here." The form disappears behind the car. I start the motor and get the fuck outta there. I u-turn and head back where I came from. I get to Broad Street and drive several blocks. I pull over the search for what is hopefully a key. I find a key with the number 46 engraved on it. I head toward the bus terminal on Tulane Avenue. The place is nearly deserted this time of night. I find the pay lockers in a corner of the building and search for number 46. I hope when I open the locker it doesn't go boom. I look around, only two other people in the place and they are both sleeping on benches. I open the locker. Inside is a duffel bag similar to the one I had just given up. I peek in the bag. Lots of paper which in the dark I assume is money. Can't check here; I head for the car, pop the trunk and toss the bag in, then drive home.

Its a few minutes after midnight when I open the front door. Rachael is waiting for me still dressed in her scrubs. I sit on the couch next to her, drop the bag on the floor in front of me and open the bag Sure enough, lots of money. I count and divide it into two piles. I can't even believe I'm doing this. I could take the whole bag, skip the country, and live like a king. But that isn't an option. I could never just leave Jasmine to fend for herself. I ask Rachael if the medicines for Jasmine are working. She assures me she has brought all the necessary medicine and has started giving them to her. She changed Jasmines dressings and given her something to rest. My cell rings, it's Buckle. I assure him all went well and we arrange to meet the next night at Harry's. My mind is spinning. How far am I going with this? Am I really going into the drug and murder business? My answer is; I already have.

Rachael is sitting staring at the money and at me. I just look back and smile. She returns the smile. We walk up the steps, get undressed and jump in the shower together. I try to be as quiet as possible; I know Jasmine can hear everything. In bed I ask Rachael to move in with me, it would be much easier that way. She agrees to get her things that morning. I hope like hell I have not dragged her into something we will both regret.
Chapter 19

Thursday night, 9 pm, Buckle and I meet at Harry's. I have a small gym bag with me; it contains his share of the profits. At his instructions I had kept the $200,000 original investment for future purchases. It amazing to me how much money you can stuff into a small bag. I already have a scotch waiting for him, again I paid. He sits and we drink, on the second scotch he says, "I have another shipment next week. Same amount as before. That 200K you kept will pay for it. But this is your pickup. Another thing, since we are partners now, why don't you give me the recorder. I mean, what if you have a accident or something, I'm screwed." He has a point, what if something should happen to me purely by accident, he I nod, "You're right, but we need to get a few more transactions under our belt first. Maybe after we work together a little longer. Let's take this one step at a time." He nods, "OK, I'll give you the pickup details by the end of the week". He takes the bag of cash and departs. I finish another scotch; I have begun to acquire a taste for this expensive stuff. I leave a one hundred dollar tip for the barman and head for home.

At home it's my turn to be sitting and waiting for Rachael. I spoke with Jasmine when I first arrived home, she is feeling much better. She is worried Sugar Bear and the other men will find her. I assure her that is impossible. She seems skeptical but accepts my statement as fact. Her wounds are healing and Rachael had changed the dressing that morning. She looks at me with those beautiful eyes, "What is going to happen to me." I am almost speechless, "Jasmine, you aren't a prisoner here. I just want you well. You are safe now and are free to leave anytime you want." She smiled, "I know that, Rachael told me about you. She said I can trust you with my life. I just wondered when I am well, what will I do?" I nod, "Beautiful, I'll put you on a flight home whenever you say so, you and your family could be reunited. She shakes her head, "I don't remember my family, I just can't remember much except the pain I felt with those men." We sit for a short while, then she says, "I need to use the bathroom, will you help me" I give her a hand fully aware she is naked and beautiful under the covers. She asks if she can sit up for awhile. I get my late wife's robe and put it on her, she uses the bathroom and then I help her down the stairs to the sofa.

We make small talk for a few minutes when Rachael walks in the front door. She is surprised to see Jasmine sitting with me, but breaks out in a huge smile. She kissed me than "You look so good, how are you feeling?" Jasmine has a big smile on her face. "Much better Rachael, thanks to you and Jessie." They chat for a few minutes while I grab two beers and a ginger ale. We sit there like one big happy family, Jasmines robe has fallen open and her nudity is obvious. To say I feel awkward is the understatement. I try not to look but the view is fantastic. Rachael sees me looking and can't help but smile. Thirty minutes later we help Jasmine up the stairs and into bed. Rachael and I go to the guest's bedroom again. She looks at me and smiles, she knows I have a thing for redheads and just can't resist that look. We kiss and head for the shower once again trying to be as quiet as possible. The warm water feels good, but not as good as her in my arms. She is smiling when she says, "Nice view hey baby, I saw where your interest was. You sure you never had just a little of that red head Jessie." I look in her eyes and can't tell she if pulling my chain. I assure her I am all hers, "I have all I want and need in my arms right now." She smiles a knowing smile and we kiss and make love under the warm water.

I need to make a pickup the following Thursday night in Hoboken, New Jersey. I am to meet someone in Elysian park at 11 pm. This just keeps getting even stranger, obviously, I can't fly to Hoboken. I can't get a duffel bag of money or drugs on the plane. Even if I fly there and rent a car to come back, that leaves a paper trail. That means I have to drive there, make the pickup, and the payoff, then drive back. An awful lot of points of failure there, but not much of a choice. Thirteen hundred miles, two days up and two days back, weather permitting. OK, no other choice. I'm in so deep now, what have I got to lose? Actually a lot, but fuck it.
Chapter 20

Detective Ryan Thibodeaux and his partner Detective Rodney Greyfield had hunted down all of Sugars girls. They had questioned each of them about anyone who might have a grudge with Sugar. Other than competing pimps no one knew of anyone who might want to kill him. It was beginning to sound like Sugar was next in line for Sainthood. They asked about Simone, all the girls knew of her but none had seen her in the past few days. They had no idea where she had come from or what her last name was. No one knew where she lived between dates, other than the time she spent with Sugar. The sketch artist had come up with a composite of the white man last seen with Sugar. He looked like a million other guys in the city. They observed the autopsy of Sugar and learned only one thing that seemed odd. The knife wound on Sugars chest had some nylon fabric stuck in the wound. The coroner had no idea what that meant, the fabrics didn't match anything Sugar was wearing. Every squad car in the city had the composite of the white man and a description of Simone, but so far nothing. It was like Simone had disappeared off the face of the earth. They re-canvassed the area around The Nest and the alley, nothing. This was starting to look bad for Thibodeaux's clearance rate. His caseload was piling up and he had other murders to look into, so Sugar Bear was moved to the back burner.

Chapter 21

Saturday morning I took Rachael and Jasmine out for breakfast. Rachael and Jasmine had become close, Rachael trimmed Jasmine hair and it looked natural now. Still mostly black but cut neatly. Sitting at breakfast I look at them, what a lucky guy. Not one, but two beautiful women

sharing my table. "Ladies, I need to take a little trip. I'll be leaving Sunday and coming back Saturday." Rachael knows what I am up to but Jasmine, fortunately, has no clue. We enjoy our breakfast and take in an early movie. After the movie we grab an early dinner and head for home.

I think about all the things that could go wrong during this pickup. I have seen all the cop shows about drug deals going wrong. Somebody usually dies, I don't want it to be me. Besides the High Standard Victor I have a Remington Model 870, 12 gauge shotgun. I reason the Victor may not be quite enough so I plan on the shotgun, but it is so large and unwieldy. I take it into my garage and using a hacksaw cut the barrel back. The barrel now is about sixteen inches long. Damn thing is still too big. I cut the stock off except for the hand grip just behind the receiver. I sand the hand grip down and cover it with friction tape. Now the whole package is about twenty four inches long and the friction tape give me a firm handhold. Now a way to carry it. I drill a hole in the small hand grip and put a swivel on it. I have an old canvas sling from a carry bag. I hook one end in the swivel and loop the other end around the barrel and chamber and securely tape it in place. I test it by hanging it over my shoulder and under my right arm. It fits nicely into my body, with a coat on it would not be visible, but can I shoot it without it blowing up? Only one way to find out. Sunday morning I take a ride on I-10 just before the Mississippi line. I pull on the side of the road and park. Many hunters park here and another car would not draw suspicion. I walk one hundred feet into the woods. I load the shotgun up with double-ought buckshot. I point at a tree, and flinch as I squeeze the trigger. Kicks like a mule but doesn't blow up. I check the tree, major damage;, test completed.

I arrive home around 10am and find Rachael and Jasmine in the back yard enjoying a beautiful day. What a beautiful pair they make, every man's dream come true. I guess it will remain my dream also, I might have a thing for redheads, but I have fallen in love with Rachael all over again. I have already packed the car and am prepared to head out. I hate to leave, the day and the company are so beautiful. I kiss the girls and reluctantly climb in my car.

I begin the long and uneventful drive to Hoboken. I make two overnight stops along the way. I pay for gas, food, and hotels with cash. No sense making it easy to track me by using credit cards. I stay at crappy little Interstate motels that don't ask questions.
Chapter 22

Tuesday evening I arrive in Hoboken, I stay at a crappy little motel. Just before dark I ride to Elysian park to scout it out. The most valuable tool a scout/sniper has is preparation. I drive down Hudson Drive and slowly look over the area. Not much to see, trees and a statue of someone. I park and take a walk. Fairly good view of New York City and the Empire State Building, long winding pathways make a big circle around the park. The park has fountains, dog runs, and playgrounds. The fountains are not turned on, only in the summer. I am to meet my contact by one of the fountains on the west side Thursday night 10 PM, enough scouting. I have a bag with two hundred thousand dollars in my trunk and feel like a have a big target on my back. I make another scouting run by the park at 11pm Wednesday trying to get a feeling for the place at night. I make a mental note of the street lights that are out and those that are lit. I park and watch for any traffic that may pass, especially any police cars. At 1 AM I am satisfied I have all I need, or at least all I can get, and head to the motel.

Thursday night, I sling the shotgun over my shoulder and under my right arm. I put my overcoat only on my left arm. My right arm is inside my coat. I'm hoping the empty sleeve isn't really noticed. This time I don't even bother with the safety, bad memory from the last time. I drive to the park and make a couple of passes. Dark and cold, I don't see anything unusual. I park on the corner of Hudson and Frank Sinatra Drive. I open the trunk and sling the money bag over my left shoulder. It's about one half of a block to the fountain. It's early, only 9:30, so I take the long walk completely around the park, approaching the fountain from the river side. No one is in site, the pucker factor has risen ten times as I approach the fountain. I make sure my coat is unbuttoned, just in case. I lay the money bag on the edge of the fountain which is concrete and about two feet high.

I stand for several minutes and two men approach from the road side and one makes his approach from the river. Shit, not a good situation. I tell myself to calm down, they are just being careful. All three stop ten feet from me, two in front and one in back. The pucker factor just rose even more; the hairs on my neck are tingling. One of them is carrying a large bag. He lays it on the edge of the fountain and steps back five feet. His partner moves to my left, now they are on three sides of me and the fountain is to my back. I try not to make any sudden movements; I don't want to start something I can't finish. I begin to move toward the drug bag. The guy on my left tells me to stop and to open the money bag. I pick up the money bag and open it. He steps forward and takes the bag. Never turning his back, he looks inside the bag, smiles and nods to his companions.

The guy directly in front of me reaches inside his jacket. My right hand is on the pistol grip of my shotgun. I catch a reflection of the gun being removed from his waistband. Everything goes into slow motion. As I swing the shotgun up I accidentally catch the guy on my left with the barrel. I hit him in his right elbow as he was reaching into his jacket. He grunts and I fall over the concrete edging and into the empty fountain. All hell breaks loose. The guy behind me fires a shot where I was standing. I roll over in the dirty fountain and squeeze the trigger. A loud explosion and flash temporally blind my attackers. I had instinctively closed my eyes when I fired the shotgun. I rack in another round, roll onto one knee and see the guy with my bag. I point at him and squeeze another shot. He is lifted off his feet and slammed into his companion who is closing from the front. Another shot flies by me and impacts the center of the fountain, no time to think I am hit with pieces of concrete. I rack another shell and fire in the direction of the last flash. I can't see if I hit anything. The shotgun knocked me on my back and that probably saved my life. Another shot rings out, I rack and fire again in the general direction of the flash. I know I have one shot left; I rack again and wait nothing. They must have run. I crawl up on one knee. The man with the money bag is lying on his back, his chest is open and blood is pumping out. I swing toward the guy on the left. It looks like a couple of buckshot's caught him in the leg. He is bleeding and hollering in pain. He forgot all about me and is just trying to stop the bleeding. At first I don't see number three, and then I see him move to my right. He stands up from behind the edge of the fountain about ten feet away. He raises his pistol and fires. How the hell he could miss at that range, I don't know, but he does. I drop to one knee and fire my last shot. I catch him in the face and he does a flip backward. Two are down for good but number three, the guy that came from the river side, is now crawling. He is trying to reach his pistol which he dropped when hit in the leg.

I jump over the fountain rail and almost fall on my face. My foot gets caught on the wall. I extend my hands to break my fall and land on his leg, the one with the holes in it. I feel the bone give under my weight. The pellet must have broken it. His pain stops him cold. All thoughts of grabbing his pistol are forgotten. Pain is the only thing he feels. I roll on my side and kick towards his body. I catch him in the left shoulder. He is knocked away from the gun. I manage to struggle to my feet and kick again. This time I catch him in the side of the head. I don't know how much damage I've done, but I know he won't be coming after me for awhile. The whole thing lasted less than fifteen seconds and it's over. But now I have to get the hell out of here. I grab number three's pistol, just in case there are more hiding in the trees. I grab both bags and take off for my car. I'm disoriented but get lucky and come out right where it is parked. I hit the remote; throw both bags in the trunk, jump in and haul ass. As I am heading toward the city two police cruiser, with lights and sirens pass on the way in. I guess someone heard all the shooting. No time for a hotel tonight. I have studied a map of the area and know what I have to do. I head west towards Palisades Ave and turn South on Palisades. My heart is pumping one hundred miles per hour. Every nerve in me says drive faster, but I must take it easy. If I'm stopped for speeding now it's all over. I hit the I-78 entrance and get on the expressway. I stay on 78 until it intersects with I-95 and head south. I drive for four hours. The adrenaline has drained me and I cannot go anymore. I find a small Motel 6 just off the interstate and collapse for the night.
Chapter 23

I wake up at 8 AM and I am still exhausted. I am in the same dirty clothes I had on last night. I just fell into bed and didn't even get undressed. I splash water on my face, and in the mirror see marks from the concrete that hit me. I walk out to my car, open the trunk and take both bags into the room. I know the one contains the money I had with me. I open the other and find the drugs. They must have come to make the deal and got greedy when they saw I was alone. Too fucking bad for them. I don't have a change of clothes with me, it is all still in the other motel. I make a mental note to never leave anything at a motel again. I shower, put the dirty clothes back on and check out. I drive south on I-95 all the way to Richmond, Virginia. I find a Walmart and buy a change of clothes, razor, and toothbrush, all cash of course. I find another Interstate motel. I clean up, change and go to a McDonald's. I am realizing I haven't eaten in over twenty four hours. I return to the motel and switch on the news. CNN is carrying a story about the triple murder in Hoboken. So number three must have bled out, Tough shit. No leads, no suspects, a drug deal gone badly. All the dead men had long criminal records. All I could think of, was they should have picked another profession. I turn in and get a good solid eight hour sleep. I plan on driving all the way to New Orleans on Saturday.

I arrive home, Jasmine is in the living room watching TV and Rachael is at work. Jasmine has had ample time alone to run, but she chose to stay. I guess she is realizing she is safe here. She is looking healthier, her color has returned and her hair is just beginning to grow out. We kiss hello and I ask how she is feeling, I mention she is looking much better. She is glowing with praise for Rachael and how much help she has been. She is feeling much better and has been sitting out in the sun to help get some color back. She is smiling now. I tell her she needs to get some clothes to perk her up more. She completely agrees since she is still in the robe I gave her. I promise her we would go shopping the next day so Rachael could help her pick some nice things.

I call Buckle, he is about to bust a gut, he has been trying to call me for two days. I saw his number, but figured he could wait. He had heard about the shootings in Hoboken and was glad I was safe. Sure he was, if I was dead the recording would have been discovered. He and I needed to have a little talk about his choice of business associates. We set up a meet for that night.

We meet again at Harry's. The usual scotch, I make him pay. He is shaking his head. "I swear, this is the first time this has happened. Nobody has ever tried to rip us off before." I believe him; it was in his best interest to keep me alive. He continued, "I talked to my guy in Hoboken. It looks like a couple of his employees wanted to make their own deal. He didn't know anything about it." I didn't know if that were true, but I wasn't going to put myself in that position again. I nodded "I got the drugs, but one of the guys I shot had the money, so it's gone." There was no way in hell I was sharing that money after what I went through.

Sunday noon the mall opened and Rachael, Jasmine, I go clothes shopping. The two of them picked out clothes and personal items while I wandered about the stores. Shopping has never been my strong point. Jasmine and Rachael manage to spend several thousand dollars and we go to lunch. I think how much I enjoy the company of these two women and wish this could go on forever. I know I am dreaming nothing ever stays the same. Spending time with two beautiful women during the day and sex with a beautiful woman at night what a life.

Monday night in the Calliope, no problems, just like before, same guy, same routine, same payment. I take the money home, Rachael is working and Jasmine waiting for me. I tell her I will be right down and go to my office. I divide the money into two stacks and put them both in a Walmart bags and throw them in my locker. This money cost three men their lives but I could care less. I am safe, that is what matters. I go downstairs and grab a beer for me and a ginger ale for Jasmine. I sit with her and watch TV for awhile, but TV bores the hell out of me so I just make conversation with Jasmine. I am hoping some memory of her former life would return, but no such luck. She only knows her name because I told her what it was. Her beauty is definitely returning. Her green eyes are bright and her smile is infectious. I feel a wanting for her but know it's a very bad idea; Rachael has been so good for both of us I don't want to mess that up. Rachael returns at 11:30 PM, grabs a beer and joins us. We all make small talk for a couple of hours and turn in. I am exhausted but Rachael's desire is unquenchable, we make love and finally fall asleep even more tired than before.
Chapter 24

Tuesday night I meet Buckle in the usual place. I give him his cut and we shared a drink. He is in a good mood, but I'm about to sour it. "I been thinking, I'm not doing that again. Alone I'm a sitting duck. I want a partner for all pickups. This isn't open for discussion. I want someone I know I can trust covering my back." He is unhappy, but it's not his ass on the line. "Your happiness isn't my concern, my ass is. So if I get no backup, you make the pickups." This calms him down somewhat, so I piss him off again. "I been thinking about it, I have an idea for someone to back me up. I need to check on their availability. But if I get who I want, they're a full partner." He is about to blow a gasket. I sit there and just let him vent. When he finally calms down, I say, "You feel better now? I'll be in touch next week and introduce you to your new partner." I down my scotch, tell the barman to bring him another, flip a couple of hundreds on the bar and depart.

I had two close friends in Vietnam. One was my partner who I had scouted with. The other was a pilot who flew medivac and cover missions for us. I had not been in touch with Carl Rome my partner for many years, but I had kept in touch with Shelby Wilson. Shelby was a Warrant Officer and helicopter pilot. He had the biggest balls of anyone I had ever met. I had kept in contact with him and he had shown up at my wife's funeral. I had been numb and really didn't get to speak with him during that time. I decided if I needed someone to cover me, he was the one. I called his home number, but it had been disconnected with no forwarding. I tried his cell, disconnected. I had met his wife a couple of times and was able to reach her on her cell. She told me Shelby and she had divorced one year ago and he had lost his job. She didn't know where he was and I suspect really didn't care. He lived in Baltimore; I had to see if I could help. He had wanted to talk to me at the funeral but my mind was elsewhere.
Chapter 25

Shelby Wilson

Shelby Herbert Wilson was born on March 9th 1948 to Drs Herbert and Diana Wilson. Both Dr. Wilsons' had thriving practices in the Baltimore area. Dr Herbert Wilson was a thoracic surgeon and Dr Diana Wilson practice was in plastic surgery. They were, to say the least, extremely successful. Growing up Shelby Wilson had everything he could possibly want, except involved parents. He was raised by a nanny because the Wilson's careers were their lives. They were often gone sixteen hours a day and many nights didn't return at all. Shelby rarely saw his parents and even during summer break they were often jet setting around the world while Shelby stayed with his nanny. There was nothing particularly noticeable about Shelby. He was an average kid. He played sports but never excelled. He was a slightly better than average student.

When Shelby entered High School his parents sent him to a private boarding school in the Baltimore area. Again he had very little contact with his parents except for a very rare phone call. In his junior year his family finally came to the school to see him. Actually they were there to tell him they were getting a divorce. This had very little impact on Shelby because he had so little interaction with them growing up. His father informed him he had decided that Shelby should become a doctor and follow in his footsteps. Shelby had never really considered what he would do with his future. So he agreed with his father to attend Harvard, his father's school, after high school graduation.

During the summer of his senior year in high school he and some friends attended an air show. Watching the aircraft mesmerized him. He fell in love with the idea of flying. All thoughts of medical school went out the window, he wanted to fly. He called his father to inform him of his decision to change from medicine to aeronautics and to attend Emery-Riddle University. His father was livid. His son would do nothing less than attend Harvard and become a surgeon. Shelby pleaded his case but it fell on deaf ears. His father would not waste his money on some flight of fantasy. Shelby would attend Harvard and like it. Shelby was devastated. His father would pay for nothing but Harvard. If he would refuse to attend Harvard, his father would not pay for any further education. Shelby reluctantly agreed, but the thought of flying never left his mind.

Harvard proved to be everything Shelby hated. Boring students with ideas of grandeur in their future. Wannabe doctors, lawyers, politicians expounding on the merits of their profession. His grades reflected his dislike for his surroundings. He was getting by, but just barely. His grades would never get him into medical school. He saw his father now more than he ever had growing up. He was there to berate him to apply himself and not embarrass the great name of Wilson. Dr. Wilson constantly reminded him that he had graduated at the top of his class.

By the end of his sophomore year, he could take it no more. During his summer break he drove to Daytona Beach Florida. He went to the admissions office of Emery Riddle University and applied for admission. He had his transcripts from Harvard and took an entrance exam. He was accepted for the next semester. He called his father and told him of his decision. He begged and pleaded. His father hung up on him. He called back several time and never got pass the receptionist.

He applied for financial aid, but of course, his family had too much money. He met with a counselor at the school looking for any way he could attend. His counselor told him several students were attending with the government paying their tuition. They had served three years in the military and were eligible for GI Bill money. Shelby in the military, his father would have a coronary. He left the campus and go to the nearest recruiting office. As luck would have it the first recruiter he saw was a Staff Sergeant in the Army. The recruiter looked at Shelby's records and listened to his story. He told him since he had two years of college he could get him into Warrant Officers Training School after basic training. If he had the aptitude he might be accepted into Rotary Wing Training. Shelby couldn't believe his ears. He could possibly be a pilot within a year. He filled in all the paperwork, took a test and signed on the dotted line.

He called his father and this time got thru. His father called him a dumb jackass and told him to never call back. He was officially disowned. He had a month to kill before beginning basic so he sold his car and stayed in a motel in Daytona Beach. The date was July 12th 1966, he was eighteen years old. The morning he reported to the embarkation center he didn't have a dime to his name. He was now Recruit Shelby Wilson, U. S. Army.

Shelby completed his basic training at Fort Campbell Kentucky in September and was scheduled to report to Fort Rucker Alabama in January to attend the Army Aviation Training. He volunteered for Army Jump Training and attended the school in November. He wanted to see his mother and father during his December leave, but, no one would answer his calls and he was told by his father's receptionist he wasn't welcome. He spent a lonely December on base at Fort Rucker.

In January he began his training. He immersed himself totally in the experience. He excelled in every aspect from physical training to flight training. He felt he was completely in his element. He was the first student in his class to solo. He graduated in October a newly minted Warrant Officer 1 with his wings. He stayed at Fort Rucker for two more months training on the UH1 Iroquois. In December his orders came through sending him to Vietnam in January to be attached to the 44th Medical Brigade. He was promoted to Warrant Officer 2. He would be flying a medical evacuation ship.

In late January 1968 Shelby arrived at Long Binh in the Republic of Vietnam. Nothing in life could prepare him for what was to come. He spent two weeks being shuffled around offices and filling in paper work. Finally in mid February he was assigned to his unit and reported to his Commanding Officer. He would be stationed at Long Binh and support combat units in III Corps. He was assigned to a ship commanded by Captain Bill Chapel. Chapel had been in country for three months and was considered an old hand. For the first month they flew medical transport in the rear area. Things began to heat up in April and extractions under fire became the norm. After several pilots were wounded Shelby was promoted to Command Pilot and given his own ship. He quickly established a reputation as the pilot who could be counted on no matter what the circumstances. In December Shelby was transferred back to Fort Rucker and became an instructor pilot. After his combat tour he longed for action again. In May he requested a second tour of combat. Initially he was turned down. There was a shortage of experienced instructors with combat experience. Finally in July his orders came through, but he was to be assigned to the 101st Airborne Brigade Air-mobile. He was to be transitioned to gunships. He was trained in a UH-1 equipped with rocket pods and mini guns. He was shipped out to Da Nang to join his new unit in August

He flew close air support for ground troops and completed over one hundred missions. In January Shelby was shipped back to the States to train on the new AH-1G Cobra gunship.

One month later he returned to Vietnam. On March 26th an urgent call came in to extract a LRP (Long Range Patrol) in the Arizona Territory. A sniper and spotter were under heavy fire and one was wounded. Shelby's gunship and a troop ship were rerouted to the LZ. The two men were pinned down by a company size unit of North Vietnamese regulars. While Shelby's gunship strafed and rocketed the NVA the troop ship slipped in and extracted the team. The Scout was badly wounded and was bleeding. The sniper's name was Carl Rome. They did their best to stop the flow of blood from the scout's wounds and delivered him to an emergency MASH unit. Shelby's ship had escorted them back to the hospital and both ships needed refueling. The doctors were working on the Scout and there was nothing else anyone else could do for him. The Gunship and Troops ship's crew decided to grab some chow. Later in the mess tent Carl Rome walked in. He grabbed some chow and sat with the air crews. He told them the doctors said his scout would make it, but he was going home. He thanked both crews for pulling them out so fast and they asked what had happened. They had been sent to scout what was believed to be a trail used by the Vietnamese to move equipment at night. It turned out the area was a bivouac area for a NVA Company. Military Intelligence strikes again. A patrol spotted them and the two of them managed to hold off the assault for three hours.

Carl Rome's reputation had preceded him. He was known as the top sniper in Vietnam. This was his first tour and had over sixty confirmed kills to his credit. It was said he had once made a kill from 1700 yards. Carl and Shelby were to become fast friends. Carl was assigned a new spotter, Jessie Carr and he became a close friend. Whenever operating in the same area they would look each other up and tell tails. All of Carl's tails were harrowing.

In February of 1968 Shelby again returned to the States. He was eligible for discharge and was considering reenlistment when he met Cathy Reagan. Shelby and Cathy became inseparable and were married in May. He applied for and was granted a discharge from active service. Cathy didn't want him returning to Vietnam. He found a job as a corporate helicopter pilot and ferried executives around DC and New York. Many times he had tried to contact his parents and was always turned away. He went so far as to show up at their homes unannounced but was told by the house keeper no one would speak to him.

He decided to finish the education he started way back when. He attended night school at the University of Baltimore. He attained a Masters of Economics. He began taking fixed wing aircraft classes at a local aviation school. He became multi engine and instrument rated and acquired his Air Transport Rating. He became the Chief Pilot for Executive Aviation Services. He was flying every type aircraft the company owned all over the world. His life was on track.

Years passed, there were no children, Shelby wasn't able. He became Vice President and was pulling in a lot of money. He thought his success would open the door back to his family, but he was still turned away. Nothing he could do was good enough.

Then on April 12th 1994 Shelby was informed that Executive Aviation Services was filing for Bankruptcy. No one in the company had known that all their aircraft had been mortgaged to the hilt and the President had been living in high style. That same day the creditors were informed that the company no longer existed, and all accounts were frozen. There was no money for payroll, therefore, everyone was let go. Everyone was to clear out their personal belongings and be escorted from the building. Shelby and the other employees were in shock. Three hundred people out of a job. Shelby drove home trying to think of a way to inform Cathy. He usually arrived home around 6 PM; but today it was a little after 1PM when he entered his house. Cathy's car was in the drive but she wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. He walked down the hall to the bedroom and found her in bed with a neighbor and supposedly Shelby's best friend. Everyone starred for a moment and Shelby turned and left.

He went to a nearby bar and tried to drink his sorrow away, but he still loved her and wanted her back. He returned to the house and she was gone. He waited and she returned very late. He told her he understood, he was gone too often and she needed him there. She simply told him she didn't love him and the affair had been going on for years. She wanted a divorce so she could marry someone else. He begged and pleaded, but she would only say she wanted out. First his parents, how his wife, he left never to return. He turned all the assets over to her and signed the divorce papers. He crawled into a bottle hoping never to come out.
Chapter 26

I flew to Baltimore the next day, and grabbed a rental car. I contacted Shelby's ex wife again and told her I wanted to help. She told me Shelby had been in trouble with the police and they might know where to locate him. I went to the local police station to see what they could tell me. I explained I was trying to locate an old friend. They checked the computer. Shelby had been arrested for drunken disorderly and assault several time. He had given the address of a homeless mission and was assumed to be living on the street. He was not currently in jail. I asked to speak to the officer who had arrested him last. They put me in touch with a patrolman by the name of Manning. Shelby had been arrested several times near a bar in Hampden, east of the city. The dump was named Sonny's. It was a real shithole that served wine from a window.

I was surprised to be here trying to find Shelby. Shelby was always the one in control. Calm, smart, confident; when I first met him I thought he was an arrogant shit. Shelby was a small skinny black man from the northeast, I was a white southerner. He had helped pull Carl Rome out of many a tight spot, but when Carl introduced me to him he seemed full of himself. I was to learn he had an immense amount of confidence in his flying ability, but otherwise was a very humble and brave man. I took a lot of grief from white soldiers for hanging out with a black who was also an officer. But I didn't care, I knew when I needed someone to cover my back, Shelby was the man I wanted there.

That is what brought me to Baltimore and Sonny's. I parked where I could watch the window and waited. The place did a booming business. I must have watched a hundred men and women purchase through that window. Black, white, Hispanic, they all had one thing in common, they were drunks. They would stumble up with a handful of changed they had bummed, and leave with some kind of cheap liquor in a paper bag. I waited for four hours. Around the corner came a skinny black man, I look closely and was sure it wasn't Shelby too skinny and too old. He stumbled up to the window. I couldn't hear what is being said, but there is a lot of gesturing going on.

A guy came out of a small door ten feet down from the window. He points at the black man and then gives him shove. The black guy falls in the street and is struggling to get up. The big guy walks over to him. I thought he was going to help him up. He kicks him in the side and I watch him fall over again. The big guy is laughing and drawing a crowd. He takes a step and kicks the man again. I figure the black guy is down for the count, so does the big guy, but to play to his audience he takes another step and winds up to kick. Suddenly the guy on the ground shoots his leg straight up and catches the big guy right between the legs. He bends over grabbing his crotch and the guy on the ground kicks again and catches the big guy on the side of his head with his right heal. The little black man is on his feet and standing over the big man.

I have to laugh, quite a show, but just then the cops show up. Everybody scatters except the big guy withering in pain and the small black man standing over him. They spin the black man and cuff him. I'm waiting for them to cuff the other guy, but they help him sit up and sit him on the curb. The big guy is pointing at the black guy. The cops roughly walk the black guy to the car and begin to put him in the backseat. Something here isn't right. I probably should mind my own business, but I just can't. I get out of the car and walk over to the cop putting the man in the car. I tell him I saw the whole thing and the guy sitting on the curb started the whole the fight. He tells me to step back and mind my own business. The small black man in the back seat looks and smiles and says, "Always going to places you shouldn't hey Jessie." It's Shelby. The cop asks me if I know this skell, I tell him this man isn't a skell, he is a highly decorated Vietnam Veteran and my friend and the scumbag sitting on the curb was not fit to shine his boots. The other cop walks over and they confer quietly. After a few minutes another car pulls up. It's a much older sergeant. The three cops talk, and the sergeant walks over to me. He asked me what I saw and what I know about the black guy. I explain that we had served together and his name was Shelby Wilson. He was a helicopter pilot who had pulled many wounded troops, black and white, out of many a shithole. He had several purple hearts, a Silver Star, and a Distinguished Service Cross. He talks to the other cops again, they un-cuff Shelby, get in there car and depart. He pulls me to the side and says "If this man is your friend I suggest you get him out of here, he is going to end up dead in this life". He tells me "Semper Fi". Christ, and old jarhead, I should have known.

Shelby was standing on the sidewalk grinning like a fool. We embraced. The big guy was heading back inside. Just as he opened the door he called me a "Nigger loving queer." I surprised myself and swung as hard as I could. I caught him on the left side of his jaw. I heard and felt bone give. He bounced off the wall and fell half in/half out of the door. The crowd had again started to gather. The door to Sonny's was partially open. I opened it the rest of the way and invited the crowd to take all the booze they wanted. I didn't have to tell them twice, the crowd headed for the door. Before the big guy could get up and call the cops I grabbed Shelby and led him to the car. He got in the passenger seat and we headed out.

We drove laughing like two school kids. After a while I looked at him, "Well old friend, we need to talk." He nods, "Buy me a drink and we can talk as long as you want." I shake my head, "Tell you what, we talk first and if you still want, I'll buy you that drink." He nods. We were driving through an area called Centerpointe on Eutaw Street. We passed a Starbucks. I found a parking space and we walked back. I ordered two Venti strong black coffees.

We found a table, neither one of us spoke for a long time. He looked like a broken man. His old clothes were torn and dirty, he needed a shave badly, his hair, which he always kept close cropped was long and dirty. The last time I saw him those few months ago he looked healthy and fit. Now he just looked old and broken. He saw me looking at him and shook his head. I looked away. He started the conversation "I know, I'm a fucking mess, just and old broken down drunk, you should have left me where you found me. What the fuck are you doing here any way"? I laughed, "I was looking for you fool, why else would I be here. I talked your wife, correction, you ex-wife. What the hell happened Shelby?" Shaking his head he told me he had lost his job, he had been a pilot for a large corporation. He ferried employees and guests between airports and meetings. The company had gone bankrupt and laid everyone off. The day he was laid off he had come home early to tell his wife. He caught her in bed with their neighbor. A double whammy, he left went to a local bar, and had yet to take his head out of the bottle. When he did return she told him she wanted a divorce. He had wanted to try to make another go of it, but she didn't. He had no fight left in him so he gave her everything and walked out. That was pretty much the whole story. He crawled into a bottle and felt sorry for himself.

He had a few dollars left when my wife was murdered. He cleaned himself up, bought a plane ticket with the last of his money, and came to see me. I was so consumed with grief and anger I didn't have time for him. He went back to Baltimore and the bottle. Maybe, just maybe, if I would have made time for him both our lives would be different now. But I didn't take the time and our lives aren't going to change; so here we sit.

I'm trying to figure out where to start. I consider this man to be my best friend, but can I really tell him my story? I just throw caution to the wind and tell him everything. I start from my wife's murder and end with my fiasco in Hoboken. He sits and listens, his expression never changing. When I'm done I sit back and feel relieved, now at least someone else knows my story. He looks at me smiles and says "You got to be shitting me".

We both break out laughing. I'm not even sure what we are laughing at. I just bared my soul to this man and his statement is "You got to be shitting me". People around us are looking at us we have totally lost our mind, and maybe we both have. He's a drunk and I'm a murder and a drug dealer. We finally laugh ourselves out and sit quiet. I look at him, "It's all true man, every word. I don't want to drag you into something if you aren't 100% sure. This is illegal, dirty, and dangerous." He smiles, "Look at me Jess, what the hell do I have? I a drunk, I'm broke and I'm alone. So when do we start?"
Chapter 27

We start on the flight back to New Orleans. I explain I need him sober and sharp or we could both die. I know the draw of liquor is strong, but when Shelby promises to quit, I know he means it. Back in New Orleans we go to the mall and buy him a new wardrobe. We stop and get a good meal and head for my house. I tell him about Rachael and Jasmine. We go inside and both of them are there cooking dinner. I introduce him and tell them don't be put off by his appearance. He is ashamed of the way he looks, but manages to say hello, never making eye contact. As he cleans up I explain Shelby's story, from Vietnam to Baltimore. I don't tell them he is now my partner. He comes down the stairs looking much better, however still tired and drained. In his honor we drink ginger ale, no sense making matter worse. We sit for hours and talk about old times. We look at old pictures of the guys that made it and the guys that didn't. We share a few laughs and a few tears. Finally it's time to turn in. I fix the sofa for him to sleep on. Jasmine offers to give up her bed, but he says the sofa is much better than the gutter where he has spent the last year.

The next morning I take Shelby to have a haircut, after a buzz he looks a lot more like the old Shelby. I call Buckle and set up a meeting for that night. Shelby asks, "What if this guy don't want me in?" I laugh, "He don't have an option. You're in, or everyone is out." I know Buckle doesn't want another partner. We take the girls to dinner and drop them off at home. Shelby and I head for Harry's. Buckle didn't sound like a happy camper on the phone when I told him I had our new partner, but Buckle's happiness wasn't my problem, my life was.

Thursday night, 9 PM Harry's. Shelby and I are sitting at a table when Buckle walks in. We are drinking cokes, no sense putting any more pressure on Shelby than necessary. Shelby has had a haircut and shaved for the first time in a long time. He looks more like the old Shelby I remember. I introduce Shelby and we sit. Buckle orders a scotch. I look at Shelby, this doesn't seem to bother him at all. I start the conversation, "OK, so this is our new partner, in for an even split." I can see this is grinding at Buckle. His scotch comes, he downs it in one swallow and orders another. "Hey, get drunk if you want, but this isn't going to change anything. You had a three way split before, you got one again." He just grunts. He sits for several minutes quietly then agrees, as if he had a choice.

Buckle sips his scotch then says, "I have some disturbing news. One of the men you so unfortunately ran into in Hoboken has a brother. The brother is a small time drug dealer, but very violent. It seems him and his brother were going to branch out on their own using our money and drugs. As you may remember you upset their plans." I shook my head, "So let me guess, the brother wants me dead. You have any information on these guys?" He nods, "It seems he has offered fifty thousand dollars for your demise." I laughed, "Crap, is that all? I would have thought I was worth more than that."

Obviously Buckle was concerned, I still had the recorder. I was concerned because I didn't want to constantly be looking over my shoulder. There was only two ways to remove the contract, I would be killed or the man paying the contract had to die. I knew which one I preferred. I asked, "So how did you find this out?" He sipped his scotch, "The man in Hoboken don't want the pipeline upset. He called and warned me. Hell, that was his shipment they were trying to rip off. He told me the brother's name is Jose Garcia. Runs with a New Jersey gang called the Western Thugs. His brother , Juan, went to work for my supplier just to set up a rip off." Juan was now dead and Jose was minus a brother. I needed as much information about Jose I could get. Buckle gave me the phone number of his contact in Hoboken who could supply me details.

Buckled added, "There's another pickup scheduled for next week, but the supplier is concerned because of the heat." I shook my head, "No, set it up for next Thursday. The heat isn't going to die down. That contract on me won't just go away. But I'm not going to Hoboken, I need to get them out of their comfort zone. Let's see, Alexandria Virginia. I passed through there couple of weeks ago. Nice neutral territory and right on I-95. And do me a favor, tell you guy in Hoboken to make sure Jose knows the deal is going down, I want him there. With any luck we might be able to kill two birds with one stone. I'll call you in a little while with the exact location." We left Harry's and drove home.

At home I did some research and found a location in Alexandria to my liking. I wanted a large park that closed after dark. I didn't want anyone else getting hurt. I chose Chinquapin Park. It closed at 8 PM during the winter. I called Buckle and told him to set up the exchange Thursday at 11 PM on the Northeast corner of Chinquapin Park. There was a picnic shelter 100 feet into the park. That was the meeting place.

I called the number in Hoboken that Buckle had given me. The guy who answered didn't identify himself but told me he was expecting my call. He asked me if I had a fax machine. I did and gave him the number. He told me within the hour I would have a fax with a picture of Garcia. I assume he was going to send from some public location. He hung up without saying goodbye.

Both girls were out so we shared a coke and discussed the situation. Shelby was fighting his addiction and I didn't think he would be much help in planning. I was hoping by Thursday he would be good to go. I really needed him for that meeting. I had one week until the exchange, but I needed to get there at least two days early to prepare. I suddenly realized something, I was enjoying myself. I felt alive for the first time in a long time. I was preparing to purchase drugs and kill a man, and I liked it.

Rachael and Jasmine arrived home about 11pm; they had been out to a late dinner. Shelby looked much better and paid a lot of attention to Jasmine. Apparently he had a thing for redheads also. We talked for awhile and turned in. Around 2 AM I was awakened by a moaning, I though Rachael was sick. I looked and she was sound asleep, I immediately though Jasmine was having withdrawal symptoms. I opened her door and found her and Shelby in the middle of intercourse. They were so involved with each other I just quietly closed the door. Now I realized how easily Jasmine could hear Rachael and me during sex, I vowed to make less noise, or move to another room.

The next morning Shelby was again on the couch, there secret was safe with me. We had coffee and nothing was mentioned, I took Rachael on the side. "I need to ask you a question. This is kind of uncomfortable. Is unprotected sex OK now with Jasmine?" She looked at me and smiled. "You shithead, you couldn't resist that red hair could you?" I shook my head, "No baby no, I swear. Last night I know her and Shelby were together. I heard a noise and saw them. Not me I swear baby." She laughed, "I believe you, I'm not going anywhere though. If the urge gets to strong just go with it." What did I ever do to deserve someone this wonderful?

I called Buckle. I needed to meet with Rufus, the man in the Calliope Project. I needed some equipment. Buckle set up a meeting that night. Same routine this time except I was doing the buying. I parked alone in the usual place and before long the same man was sitting in my car. I told him I need at least two guns, untraceable, preferably assault rifles. He didn't even bat an eye. He told me ten thousand dollars for two AK. I told him I needed them immediately. He told me to return at midnight. I did as I was told. Same routine, I was told to drive into the projects and pop the trunk. I heard a noise in my trunk and I handed a bag with ten thousand dollars out the window. Simple as that. I drove home and opened the trunk. Sure enough, two AK 47s and two boxes of ammo. Much too easy to get weapons in this town. I looked closer at the rifles, there were no numbers are markings visible anywhere.

Shelby and I went to a sporting goods store and purchased some other equipment.

The next morning he and I rode down I-10 to test the rifles. I pulled off in the same area, walked into the woods, and tested them. I made sure to take them off full automatic. That distinctive sound may have got some unwanted attention.

We made our plans and had dinner with the girls, by now the thing between Jasmine and Shelby wasn't a secret. They were like two young love birds, holding hands and snuggling. Jasmine had confessed to Rachael about what had happened between the two of them. She had come down and seduced Shelby, she needed someone close to her and liked Shelby immediately. They now shared the same bed. That evening we packed our equipment in the car, readying it for the trip to Virginia.
Chapter 28

Another long and uneventful drive, Shelby and I talked of old time and tried to mentally prepare ourselves for what was to come. We arrived in Alexandria on Tuesday night, two full days before our meeting, and checked into a motel. Wednesday we walked the park where the meeting was going to occur. The weather was still cold and very few people were around. We talked about cover and concealment, fields of fire, egress routes, it sounded like a major military campaign. The success of this depended on Garcia believing I was alone. I was hoping they wouldn't arrive until Wednesday or Thursday and hadn't seen Shelby and me together.

Thursday just after dark I dropped Shelby off on the Southwest corner of the park. The opposite end I was to meet on. I waited in a coffee shop some miles away. At 10:45 PM I entered the park and walked to the shelter. There was one man standing under the shelter. I couldn't see his face. The small earpiece in my ear told me he had been there for fifteen minutes and had arrived alone. The voice was Shelby's. He was in the underbrush about one hundred and fifty feet north looking through one of our brand new pair of night vision goggles and talking into a miniature transmitter. He was also wearing the camouflage clothing we had purchased. He was invisible and had been in position for three hours. My AK hung under my right arm. My coat concealed it. I stopped fifty feet from the man and placed the bag of money I was carrying on the ground. He un-slung a duffel bag and placed it next to him. Suddenly Shelby told me of movement one hundred yards to my left. He counted three men moving in a crotch. I picked up the money bag and tossed it to the man standing in front of me. I told him "Take the money and split, the shits about to hit the fan." He must have been told by his boss there would be a problem, he took the bag and moved in the opposite direction as the approaching group. I walked slowly to the drug bag and waited for Shelby to update me.

The three men were apparently waiting to ambush me as I returned to my car. They must have seen me park my car and enter the park. Shelby was moving to flank them on the left. I hung the drug bag across my back and started toward their right. I took the second pair of night vision goggle out of my coat pocket and put them on. I could now see them crouched in the underbrush. The green glow showed they all had weapons of some type. I changed direction and began to move to my left, moving them in the direction where Shelby now lay in cover. As I moved to my left they crept to their right, constantly placing them in the direction of Shelby. Suddenly one of the men stood and took aim. Two quick rounds from Shelby dropped him. The others stood and turned toward the direction the shots had come from. I dropped to one knee and using the night vision fired in their direction. They didn't know what to do, they were flanked and caught in a crossfire. They were both cut down before they could react. I reloaded and ran toward their bodies. Shelby came in from the left. The first guy I got to was shot through the chest with several rounds, he was gone. Number two was Garcia, he had been hit in the leg and shoulder. Shelby's guy was hit in the gut. I couldn't let Garcia live, the price on my head would go up. I swung the AK up and fired into his chest from two feet away. I told Shelby to leave the other guy and let's get going. He said the other guy could cause more problems. He put the AK on full auto and emptied the clip into him. We hauled it to the car and headed south. This place would be crawling with cops within minutes.
Chapter 29

The headline read. 'Slaughter in Chinquapin Park'. We were sitting in a Denny's on Friday morning. We were about an hour south of Alexandria. We had put everything in the trunk and stayed in the motel that night. We drove south on I-95 and found the Denny's. They had a machine that sold the Alexandria Times. I glanced at the story. The police had nothing but dead bodies and a lot of shell casing. Someone had seen a light colored SUV driving away to the north. Good, I was driving a dark colored convertible and I was going south. I'm not sure who they saw, but it wasn't me.

Shelby looked like the old Shelby. He was happy and talkative. I looked at him, "You looking good, how do you feel?" He thought for some time "You know Jess, for the first time in a long time, I feel alive." That was the same feeling I had days before. The adrenaline rush must have something to do with it. We finished breakfast and headed south. I decided not to take the direct route home. I headed south and decided to spend the night in Savannah. Saturday morning we continued south to Jacksonville. We hit I-10 west and drove to Biloxi. We stayed at a Casino and had some fun. Sunday we drove to New Orleans. I called Buckle, his guy had gotten the cash and we got the drugs. All was well.

At home all was also well. I had convinced Rachael to take a leave from her job and stay with me, Jasmine and Shelby seemed happy and she was responding well to the medication.

Shelby and I decided the AKs were just too hot to keep around. Late on Sunday night we drove down to Fort Jackson on the Mississippi river. I threw both AKs as far out in the river as I could. I knew in some FBI evidence locker was shell casings and bullets from these, they had to go.

I needed to replace the AKs but thought we needed something a little more reliable. I went online and searched for Gun Shows. Gun Shows are the great American loop-hold. If you caught a private seller and had the right amount of cash there was no ten day waiting period and no paper trail. The following weekend there was a Gun Show in Dallas. We decided we needed a road trip. We packed our stuff and the women in the car and headed west.

Saturday morning we dropped the women off at the mall and went to the gun show. Shelby paid the five dollar entrance fee to go in and I stayed outside watching patrons enter with their guns. After a couple of hours of watching I spotted a man headed for the entrance. He was carrying several guns but the one I took notice of was an AR15. I approached him and asked if he was going to sell the AR in the show. He said he was, if he could get the right price. I asked if I could see it and he handed me the weapon. It was the Sporter Carbine Model, perfect for my purposes. I asked what he wanted for it. He told me he was looking to get nine hundred dollars. He also had a couple of semi-automatic pistols stuck in his waistband. One was a 9mm M9 Beretta and the other was Taurus 9mm. I told him I would give him two thousand cash for everything. He couldn't believe his luck that was much more than he could ever get in the show and much more than they were worth. I paid him in one hundred dollar bills and deposited everything in the trunk. Using the same method Saturday and Sunday I was able to equip us with another AR 15, two twelve gauge shotguns, and two additional semiautomatic pistols. Shelby purchased two K-Bar knives and six thirty round clips for the ARs. In the show there was a booth from the VIP Body Armor Company. We ordered 2 Covert Ops Vest to be shipped to my house within a week. All and all a successful trip; we had managed to spend another ten thousand dollars of our ill gotten gains.

We drove to Shreveport and all had a great time at the Harrah's Casino. I could see that the women could get use to this spending money. But I didn't care, I would either get more or die trying. We spent the night at Harrah's Casino Hotel and drove home the next day.
Chapter 30

A few days later I made the delivery to the Calliope. No problems. They wanted the drugs and we were a good pipeline. They weren't about to screw that up. I had over a million dollars in my bedroom closet. I wasn't quite sure what to do with it. I couldn't put it in the bank and I couldn't spend it. Makes a nice decoration though. I split it with Shelby. He couldn't do anything with it either, but it made me happy. We took the ladies out to a nice evening, and tried to spend as much as we could. We had a great meal, we were all like one happy family.

Shelby and I continued our pickup and delivery schedule at least once a month for the next two years. We learned the best methods of cover and concealment. We saw how the pickup men handled themselves and learned to read their posture. We were able to avoid problems by setting ourselves in the best possible position. We learned that the right amount of money can buy many things. We were able to acquire fake driver's licenses and Social Security Numbers. These were expensive but could pass a careful check by the police. I never had a problem during the delivery. Always the same routine and same guys. I had a lot of money spread around to several offshore numbered accounts. Buckle had shown us how to accomplish that. All things considered, we were very successful at what we did.
Chapter 31

I knew sooner or later Jasmine had to confront her past. Somewhere out there she had a real family, but she was happy with Shelby. She had some memory of her past, but apparently the memories she did have weren't that great. She made the decision to change her name and stay with us. I purchased the necessary document to make her someone else. She had a Birth Certificate, Driver License, Social Security Card, and bank account in the name of Jasmine Borne.

Back in Vietnam there was a feeling, when you were in the jungle you wanted to be out, when you were out of the jungle you wanted to be in. In a big way that was how I felt now. It had been over two and one half years since my wife had been killed and I was still doing this. Shelby and I had made dozens of pickups over the past two years and all had gone relatively easily. We had been prepared both of us wearing body armor and loaded for bear. Our reputation of taking no prisoners preceded us. But what I was doing didn't feel right. I knew my late wife wouldn't approve. I wanted out of this business, but the adrenaline rush was so strong I couldn't wait to feel it again. I had two things keeping me in, the rush, and the video. If I could get my hands on the video, the decision to quit or not would be mine. There was zero chance of stealing it, Buckle was to smart, he probably put it in a safe deposit box just like I did the recorder. I could kill Buckle, but the video was sure to surface. I could force him to give it to me, but even if he did, how could I be sure it was the only copy. I really didn't trust him and he didn't trust me. Then I realized something, I was kidding myself, I could quit anytime I wanted. Buckle couldn't do anything with the video as long as I had the recorder. I could walk away and not look back, the decision was mine. Now what was my excuse?

Shelby and I mulled over the problem for hours. I wanted to just walk away. I wasn't even sure if that was possible. I wanted to talk to Buckle, he had apparently been doing this for quite a while. I wanted to see if he had ever wanted out. I called his office and set up a meeting that night. Harry's Hideaway seemed like the likely spot.

We met at Harry's at 8 PM. I wasn't sure how to breach the subject, so I just came out and asked. "I want an honest answer. Have you ever considered getting out of this business?"He took a big swallow of his scotch, and told me the story I was afraid I would hear. "Yes, quite a few years ago I wanted out. The money is amazing, but the stress is just too much. I let it be known that I wanted out. I came home one day and found Rufus and a bunch of his thugs waiting for me. They had scared the hell out of my wife and locked her in the bathroom. I was told, point blank, quitting wasn't an option. The only way you leave this business is in a body bag. They don't want the flow interrupted. That causes them to look bad, and they can't have that." Gang violence wasn't anything new in New Orleans and often innocent bystanders got caught in the crossfire. The threat was that Buckle and his family would become collateral damage. I had no doubt that the threat was real. I had another question, "I need to know, over two years ago I killed Dunn. What the hell did he do to deserve that, and who ordered that hit?" He was hesitant but answered. "Dunn came down here about six months before you eliminated him. He met with a rival gang. They were talking about setting up another supplier. Rufus couldn't have that, again a threat to his power. He controls the whole local drug market. Ninety percent of the drugs sold in this town are from him. We don't even know if Dunn accomplished anything down here. But Rufus didn't want to take any chances." Rufus had contacted Buckle to have Dunn removed. Since I had removed Allen I was the only other choice. I had taken care of Dunn and all was well in the local drug scene. Buckle was his pawn and was kept in line through fear. There were two other suppliers, but they all sold to Rufus and his gang. Everyone dealt with Rufus or didn't do business, even worse, died. I had only two choices, continue to deal with Rufus, or quit and suffer the consequences.

I didn't like either of my options. I wanted out, but not in a pine box. There was only one other option. I looked at Shelby and he was smiling, I knew he was thinking the same thing. Rufus was our problem, we had to eliminate our problem. The solution wouldn't be that simple. Rufus was a careful man with plenty of firepower at his disposal. This would involve planning and timing. If he had even a hint of this we would all be dead. Other suppliers were waiting in line to deal with him.

I told Buckle to forget our conversation had ever happened. He was a nervous wreck. He knew Rufus was dangerous. We had another drug pickup the following week. I told Buckle to confirm the pickup and Shelby and I would make it. We had been using neutral locations for pickup so I had to find another location. I didn't want anything to change. I didn't need anyone getting suspicious. I told Buckle I would call him with a pickup location.

I drove home and got on the internet. I picked Richmond for no particular reason, found a park online and called Buckle. The following Wednesday at 10 PM we would make a pickup. My plan was to inform the pickup man this would be our last transaction, we were out of business. Depending on his reaction I was going to try and follow him to his boss. If I could talk my way out of the business I would, if not, I would come prepared.

I had fallen in love all over again with Rachael; I wanted to be with her forever. I told her I was going to leave the business. I had more than enough money to keep us happy for all our years. My only problem was I need to get out without making waves, not an easy thing to do. She felt the same as I did, but didn't want me taking any unnecessary chances, she had no idea what I had really been through. I had never told her about the three men in Hoboken or Alexandria.

I was acting as the middle man in the operation. I knew the supplier and the dealer, but neither of them knew each other. In theory this protected everyone. I couldn't turn on one without drawing flack from the other. I was in the best and worst possible position. The best because I had only to handle the product for a short time. The worse because if I broke the chain, both side would turn on me. I needed to neutralize both supplier and dealer. A lot easier said than done. I had never met the supplier, and didn't even know who it was. I knew Rufus was the dealer, and he had a gang behind him. I needed to know the identity of the supplier. I called Buckle; he only had a phone number and a first name, Sam. Not much to go on. I wasn't sure how much the pickup man would know the following week, but it was all I had. I knew there was a good chance I wouldn't survive this meeting. Buckle had assisted me in opening a few offshore bank accounts around the world. I had millions stashed in them, and I still had over a million in my house. I had kept the money in my closet in a large bag, it was dirty money, but dirty money spends just as well as clean. In the bag I also put a list of the numbered accounts. I took Rachael aside and told her I was going to get out, but it wasn't that easy. I showed her the bag and the numbered accounts and told her if anything happened to me, It was all hers. She didn't want money, she wanted a life with me. I wish it was that easy. I was determined to end this, one way or another.

The product had always been the same, ten packages of white power all bound in clear plastic, sealed closed with duct tape. I went to a local market and purchased ten pounds of powdered sugar. I had no real plan at the moment, but one thing I knew for sure, Rufus was not getting the real thing. I went home; Shelby and I made ten packages identical to the ones we had picked up before. I mulled over the situation for hours. I thought of trying to purchase a locating device, but I had no way of knowing what kind of car he would be driving or where he would park it. We would need to follow the pickup man to his car and then to his final destination. That would be easier said than done in traffic but it was our only option.

We had all the firepower we needed, but I knew we would still be outgunned. Our guns had been tuned and our shotguns had been modified for concealment. I didn't want to die, but with all this firepower, I wasn't going out alone.

I was hoping the situation with the pickup would be smooth. I still had Rufus to deal with but one thing at a time. We loaded all our gear in the trunk, including the money. I met with Buckle and told him he needed to take a two week trip, preferably out of the country. I told him I would call him when all was clear, if he didn't hear from me, he might consider changing his country of residence. He argued, but my mind was made up. Business as usual wasn't an option. I told him he could come with us to Richmond. He looked at me like I was completely insane. All of a sudden the vacation must have sounded like a good idea. I didn't want to know where he was going. He just needed to disappear for awhile.
Chapter 32

Sunday night we arrived in Richmond. Monday we scouted the pickup area and planned Shelby's concealment. We discussed where the pickup man would probably park and what direction he would enter the park from. We had now done this over two dozen times and had guessed right ninety percent of the time. We looked on every pickup as a tactical situation. It's what kept up alive. On Tuesday we made several passes at the pickup point, but never stopped. If it was being watched we never saw anyone. I couldn't imagine how someone in this business could be so careless. I guess the pickup man was just hired help and did the minimum amount of work.

Wednesday evening we made another pass of the park, nothing unusual. We were as prepared as we could be, hoping we hadn't overlooked anything, we went to dinner. Our usual routine was to have Shelby enter the pickup area hours before pickup time. That wasn't an option this time, I needed Shelby to see where the pickup man parked. That meant I was to make the pickup without backup. Not an ideal situation, but I didn't want to get anyone else involved. I had Shelby drop me off where we thought the pickup man would enter the park. We would be in radio communications the entire time. I would give the money to the pickup man, follow him to his boss, and dump the drugs before returning home. I had the fake drugs hiding at home.

I entered the park fifteen minutes ahead of the scheduled exchange time. I had the money in a carry bag slung across my back. As usual I wore a long coat to conceal the AR 15 under my right arm. I was standing waiting when Shelby's voice brought me out of my trance. He had seen a SUV park and two men enter the park. I didn't like the sound of two men, but I assumed they used a cover man as I did. One man came out of the tree line about one hundred feet in front of me. I had to hope the second man was just there to watch, he must have stayed in the trees. The pickup man stopped thirty feet in front of me. He was carrying a large duffel bag. He bent to put the bag on the ground and suddenly came up firing. He had pulled a pistol from a pocket in the bag.

I felt a severe blow to my chest and was knocked off my feet. I couldn't catch my breath and was in severe pain. I rolled on to my back and tried get up. Suddenly he was standing over me pointing a pistol at me. I could see his face in the moonlight and caught a brief smile. The smile faded as he suddenly tumbled forward and fell over me. I was disoriented but rolled on my side to face him. He was bleeding from the nose and struggling to breathe. He had dropped his pistol. I heard a shot behind me, then Shelby was kneeling at my side. The pickup man was still alive, but barely. I checked myself over. His shot had caught the bottom of my Kevlar vest just to the right of my heart. If it wasn't for the vest I would be dead. Lucky for me Shelby, had followed the two men in the park and was watching thru his night vision goggles. He had seen the pickup man pull his pistol and fire before he could react. He had dropped him when he walked over to me and then took care of the backup man.

But I couldn't understand why they had suddenly done this now. How had they known what I was up to? We knew we had to get out of the park fast. The pickup man was obviously dying and I could have cared less. Shelby got me to my feet and shouldered the two bags. I didn't know who this guy was, but I grabbed his wallet. I looked at the man who lay at my feet. He was probably thirty years old, dark completion, and stout build. The 5.56mm round from Shelby's AR15 had caught him under the right arm. From the blood coming from his mouth and nose it probably went through his lungs. His dark eyes were beginning to glaze over. We struggled into the tree line and I saw the backup man lying by a tree. Most of the top of his head was missing. Shelby had been very close behind him when he fired. I took his wallet and got to the car. We drove out of the area. Back at our hotel we checked for damage, a lot of pain and a big nasty bruise, but nothing broken.

What the hell was going on? Was it just a coincidence that they had tried to take me down now? I didn't think so, that was too hard to believe. They had somehow found out I wanted out and there was only four people who knew, me, Shelby, Rachael, and Buckle. Buckle had to have given us up. But why, and how could I prove it?

The only thing we left in the park was spent shell casing but I figured things would be getting hot. We packed our gear and headed out. Shelby was driving and I checked out the wallets of the dead men. Both had New Jersey driver's licenses. The guy who had shot me was Sammy Peperoni, and the guy in the trees was Albert Morin. That didn't tell me much, other than were both from the Jersey City area. We stopped at a pay phone and I called Buckle's cell. I didn't think he would answer if he saw my number pop up.

He answered and before he could say anything I asked "Why, why did you turn on us?" He stammered and stuttered, right then I knew he had done it. "What are you talking about, I don't know what you mean." I sighed, "You fucking know what I mean. You pimped us out. You told your contact I was getting out. You almost got me killed, so now, I'm coming for you." Finally he regained enough composure and came up with a story. "OK look, I made the reservation like you said. They were waiting for us. When my wife and I came out of the house Rufus was there. He knew, I don't know how, but he know. He told me to call the connection and let him know." It was probably a bullshit story but I just needed to keep him talking.

I was pissed, "You cocksucker you knew they were going to try and kill us, and did nothing. So you on my list mother fucker." He was in a total panic, blaming it on everyone and his brother. I told him, "I don't give a fuck whose fault it is." In reality I was really screwed now. I had no idea who the supplier was and what he knew about me. Now I really had to find out who he was before he took me out. Buckle needed to tell me who this person was. I needed him to talk. "I'm on my way now and you going to wish Rufus would have killed you and your wife. Remember Allen, he suffered for hours, now it's your turn." I had to convince him his only way out was through me. I kept adding more gory detail on top of gory detail. He was scared shitless. He began to cry. What an asshole. He sets us up to be killed and he is crying. He finally blurted out a name, Sammy Perroni. Sammy Perroni, the guy with the pistol in the park.

He continued to cry, "Sammy Perroni, he's the guy. He's connected to some cartel or something. I swear, please don't hurt me, I didn't want to do it." Oh boy, just what I needed, a drug cartel. Would this guy Sammy come to do his own dirty work? He either liked it or didn't trust the hired help to get it done. Whatever the reason, he had paid with his life. At least I didn't have to go searching for him. I told Buckle I would be in touch and hung up. We got back on the road, but I had no idea what to do next.

Back on the road, with Shelby driving, I began digging through the two men's wallets again. Perroni had several business cards for Perroni and Associates, importers. I now knew what they were importing. There was an address on the card in Hoboken, NJ. Would there be anyone else at Perroni and Associates who would come after me. I was just a middle man and I didn't know anything about them. I didn't think they would bother hunting me down, unless it was revenge for Perroni's death. The only way to be sure was to go to Hoboken and tie up those loose ends. We turned the car around and headed north.

We arrived in Hoboken around 6 PM the following day. The address on the card was on 14thStreet. It turned out to be a waterfront bar named Sammy's. Shelby parked up the street and I walked into the bar. It was a dump. I went to the bar and ordered a beer. When the bartender brought it I asked "I need to speak to Sammy, I got business." He looked at me and shrugged, "Sammy ain't here and I don't know when he's coming back." I shrugged also, "Well that's too bad, I got a package for him and hate to take it all the way home. I'm looking to complete my business with Peronni and Associates, so how about one of the associates?" He nodded and told me to wait. He went to use the phone behind the bar.

I had a 9mm tucked into the small of my back and hoped I wouldn't need it. Shelby came in and took a seat near the end of the bar where he could cover me and the door. A tall dark headed man came from a back room. "What do you want?" I smiled at him, "I have a package for Sammy I want to deliver, that's it." He didn't identify himself, but looked a lot like Sammy from the park, only a little older. "Look man, I just want to deliver this package and haul ass, that's it. I had an appointment with Sammy, but something went wrong and I still have the package." He knew I was full of shit but listened anyway. "Sammy is away on business." I laughed, "Yea, and I know what business. Here's the strait scoop. Sammy ain't coming back. He tried to kill me. He didn't make it. So now I have this package and a message. I just want to deliver both and l get the fuck out of here."

He smiled, "OK, take a walk to the back office, we can conduct business there." I smiled and shook my head, "Look man, I'm not stupid. We do our business right here right now or I'm gone."He looked at the bartender and told him to set up two beers, then he sat on a bar stool. "Sammy is my cousin, or I guess more correctly, was my cousin. Sammy and I had different ideas about how the business should be run. Sammy was a hot head, did shit without thinking." I nodded, "So where does that leave us. Sammy is dead I killed him, so what now?" He took a swig of beer, "I had a feeling he was going to do something stupid. Buckle called and said you wanted out. I don't give a shit. You're a delivery boy. I can get plenty more of those. Although I must say, you guys were the best. Nobody and I mean nobody wanted to fuck with you. But look, I don't care, I'll take the package and you'll be on your way. No hard feelings either way." I got the feeling this guy was relieved that Sammy was gone.

Something just didn't sound right, this was too easy. I agreed to deliver the package and give him the cash. I walked to the car and brought back the money bag. He took the money, said that was it, and wished me good luck. Something was wrong, it couldn't be this easy.

I left and waited near the car for Shelby. He waited one half hour then met me. We drove to a local motel and checked in. We both agreed something was up. I didn't want the guns or the dope on me. I just had a bad feeling. We took turns standing watch that night but the night passed without incident. The next morning we drove to the waterfront. I dumped the dope, guns, and all our other gear in the river. We now had no guns or dope on us, so we headed south.

We were on I-95 just before the Delaware River when we were pulled over by three New Jersey State Police cars. They told me I was speeding, which I wasn't. They asked if they could search my car. I said sure and they commenced to tear it apart. They found nothing and were very upset. I asked what the problem was. They said a car like mine was used in an armed robbery, another lie. My guess was Perroni had his money and was setting us up. Good thing we off loaded everything. The cops apologized and told us we could leave. I was hoping this would close the chapter on New Jersey. Perroni had his money and had no other reason to come after us. He knew we could take care of ourselves.
Chapter 33

We drove south on I-95 in silence. Shelby broke the silence by asking if I had a plan. I started laughing, I had no idea what to do next, all I wanted was out and on every turn I seemed to get deeper in. I didn't know what the gang in New Orleans would have to say about no more drugs. I was sure they wouldn't be happy. We took our time and rested a night in a motel. We arrived in New Orleans and immediately tried to contact Buckle. He didn't answer his cell, home, or office phone. I went to his office and it was locked up. Maybe he made the trip out of town because I was looking for him.

I tried to be as honest as possible with Rachael. I didn't want to tell her I had to kill again, but in the end told the truth. She took it in stride. What else could she say, I was honestly trying to quit, as least that's what I told myself.

Sunday morning the paper had a big story about a high powered lawyer found dead. There had been a home invasion and he and his wife were stabbed to death. Several black men were seen leaving the area. I tried to feel some emotion for the death of Buckle, but I couldn't. He had been in this dirty business and then tried to have us killed. He was just a dirty as us, Rufus, and Perroni. There was no doubt in my mind, Rufus had taken care of Buckle and now would be looking for me. We needed to get some firepower.

The Sunday Classified was loaded with hunting equipment. We managed to pick up two twelve gauge shotguns, one 9mm pistol and one 40 Cal pistol. We also bought a Weatherby 7mm Magnum rifle complete with Leopold scope. We couldn't locate any assault rifles in the paper so we picked up two more 12 gauge shotguns. We modified the shotguns in the usual manner.

I wasn't sure if Rufus knew where I lived, but I had no doubt he could easily find out. We packed up some gear and drove to Slidell, about an hour north. We checked into a hotel under fake names using cash. I had no idea what I should do now. I had a contact number for Rufus, which I had never used. I decided now was the time. I called and it was answered by a man. I assumed it was Rufus, "This is Jessie, is this Rufus?. He laughed, "I been expecting your call, you have something belongs to me." I had to think fast, "Listen Rufus, I'm out, I got nothing for you, I'm finished. I don't want any problems, just leave me alone." He laughed, "It don't fucking work that way dude. I gave your partner money, now I wants my product, you got that?" I had to try and bullshit may way through this, "Hey, take that up with Buckle. You gave him the money, not me." He knew Buckle was out of the picture but was smart enough not to admit anything. "Listen white boy, I want my stuff, you got that?" I looked at Shelby and raised my eyebrows. "Rufus, you ain't listening. I don't have anything. The supplier double crossed me. All I got is a pile of sugar. You want that, you can have it." If he could have reached through the phone and strangled me he would have. He needed the product now and there was no other option. This was going to go nowhere good. "You not listening Rufus, I don't have anything. Fucking holler all you want, it ain't going to help." He almost growled, "You mother fucker, I don't get my product, I'm going to kill you and all you mother fuckers." I laughed, "Well, why don't you just go fuck yourself then?" I hung up the phone.

Three minutes later my phone rang. "I wants to meet with you." I laughed, "You must think I'm stupid. Rufus I already told you, I got nothing for you." He answered, "OK, I just wants my money back, I needs that money back. You made plenty of money all them times you been doing this. Just gives me back my 200 and we square." I knew he was full of crap, the money was minor he needed the drugs to maintain his power. I agreed, "OK, I'll give you some of my money, but that's it. I got no product and I walk." He would take all the money I had but he wanted more than that, he wanted me dead.

I was in a major jam but the last thing I wanted to do was wait for him to hunt me down. I needed to go on the offensive. Taking out just Rufus would slow them down, but I didn't think that would be enough to keep them at bay. We needed to put a major dent in their organization. First I needed a car that wasn't recognizable to anyone in the projects. I found one on a used car lot not far from my hotel. A Cadillac Escalade, lots of them riding around New Orleans. It had dark tinted windows and was purple. Who else but a drug dealer would drive this thing? Shelby made the purchase, paid fifteen thousand cash, and drove it to the hotel. We used Sammy Perroni's driver's license for the purchase, at least Perroni's picture showed a dark skinned man. We cleaned and checked all our weapons, then loaded them in the car. Both women now were fully involved. There was no way to hide our intentions. I still didn't have a plan but I knew whatever it was, it was going to be bloody. We just couldn't go and shoot anyone we thought might be a banger so we needed to draw as many out as we could. I decided to try and draw Rufus out with money and drugs.

I called Rufus "Look Rufus, I don't need this shit man. I'm give, you can have everything I got. I don't want t end up like Buckle. I got ten packages and three hundred grand. I just need you to back off. I'll make the delivery just like before at the usual place." He would be on his home turf. This was going to be risky but I didn't see any other way out. I needed two more things.

I had purchased the Escalade but needed another car. I didn't want to use my car because after this it would be hot. I found a local private owner in the newspaper and paid cash with the promise of changing titles the next day. I went to an army surplus store and purchased two practice grenades. These are metal grenades the same weight and shape as live grenades, except these are inert. I took a shotgun and pistol in my new car and Shelby loaded all the other firepower in the Escalade. I had the fake drugs we had prepared in the trunk of my car. We also filled a bag with bundles of newspaper. Unless you opened and checked it could pass for money. I wasn't planning on giving Rufus time to check. Before we rode out I had the women move our stuff and check in another hotel, no sense getting comfortable in one place.

At 11pm I was parked in my usual spot in the Calliope. Shelby was parked about a block away in the Escalade. My insides were shaking, I knew it was about to get ugly. A car pulled up behind me and turned the headlights off. Rufus got out and when the interior light went on I could see others in his car. He opened my door and sat in my passenger seat. He told me to drive, I refused. He pulled a pistol. I took out a grenade and pull the pin. I am hoping he couldn't tell it wasn't real. I threw the grenade pin out the window. I smiled at him. "Rufus, put the pistol away now." " He hesitates, I smile and say, "Go ahead, shoot, I drop this thing you can't get out fast enough." He puts the gun back in his belt.

I use the electric button and close all the windows in the car. Then I put the lock button on so he can't open it from his side. I hand him the grenade. "Hold this, you let it go and it's all over." I take out a second grenade, pull that pin, and toss the pin in the back seat. I hand him that one also. "OK, here is what's going to happen. The money and junk are in the trunk. You can keep the car. I'm getting out and leaving. After I'm gone you can get the pins and put them back in."

I had caught him off-guard. He doesn't know what to do. While he is hesitating I open the door and get out. I glance at the car still parked behind me and can see the silhouettes of several people in it. They aren't sure what to do either. Shelby pulls up next to them. I swing the twelve gauge from under my coat and open up on the car. Shelby has rolled the window down and opened up on the car with his twelve gauge. Shelby empties one shotgun into the car and the pulls up another. They didn't have a chance. I jump back in the car and Rufus is frozen in fear. The grenades in his hands and a shotgun pointing at his head. I take the pistol from his belt and one of the grenades from his hand, and unlock the car door. "Get out of here Rufus." He does as he is told and is staring into the barrel of Shelby's shotgun. I drive off and as soon as my car is clear Shelby empties his shotgun into Rufus.

We both drive off leaving him dead in the street with his buddies shot up in the car. I don't look back. I drive toward the Florida Ave Projects. Shelby is in the prearranged location and ditches the Escalade in the Florida projects leaving the keys in the ignition. He throws the guns in the backseat of my car and we haul ass. The Escalade was purchased in Perroni's name and with cash. We drive to an exit on I-10 that is not used and partially blocked off. Rachael is there in my car. We throw the weapons in the trunk of my convertible. I empty the 2 gallon gas can I had in the back seat inside the car and toss a match in. There is a gigantic whoosh, and the car goes up in flames.

Rachael slid over to the passenger seat and I drive toward Slidell and our new motel. By the time we get there Jasmine has the TV on and there is news of gang violence in the Calliope Projects. Looks like a gang war. My hope is they find the Escalade in the Florida and blame it on the Florida Ave. gang. The news said four men, all with known gang ties, are dead.

I don't know if we solved anything or not. All I can do now is hope the shock and speed of the violence will run off the dogs. We packed our stuff and headed for home.
Chapter 34

Detective Ryan Thibodeaux

Detective Ryan Thibodeaux and his partner were just leaving Building 23, apartment 206 of the St. Thomas Housing Projects. They had been investigating a murder that they had caught 3 days before. Two prostitutes had been murdered in the French Quarter. The only connection between the two had been their ex-pimp, Sugar Bear. Thibodeaux and Greyfield had investigated Sugar Bear's murder two years prior, and the case was stilled unsolved. The apartment had been a crash pad frequently used by hookers working the edge of the Quarter. The killer had already been apprehended, but he wasn't talking and Thibodeaux was working hard trying to establish his motive. Other than two dirty mattresses on the floor and some used condoms the apartment was empty.

As they were walking toward their car they received a radio call for H13, their call sign. They were told to meet marked units on South Johnson St. in the Calliope projects. Details were sketchy but at least one body had been found when a marked unit responded to a shots fired call. Homicide Division assigns murders on a rotation basis. As you are assigned a new case your name is rotated to the bottom of the list. The next name at the top was Thibodeaux. He already had 5 unsolved murders in his caseload and was about to get another. He looked at this partner and just shook his head.

The drive to the Calliope took only ten minutes. They turned on Earhart Blvd, took a left onto South Johnson and was greeted with a sea of blue lights. They parked behind the last marked unit and climbed out of the car, Greyfield spotted a uniform cop he knew, "What we got".

The uniform smiled as he said, "Somebody decided to take the Calliope boys out all at once." Greyfield had been in the Gang Unit before transferring into Homicide. He looked at Thibodeaux and shrugged. They put on gloves and shoe covers before approaching the scene. The New Orleans Health Department was already on the scene and working someone lying next to a car. They noticed the car was shredded with holes and there was blood and broken glass around the area. There was another body lying next to the car with bloody bandages and discarded gloved next to it. They carefully approached the car just as one of the Paramedics stood and took off his bloody gloves. He looked at Thibodeaux and shook his head. His meaning was clear, that one was gone.

Greyfield bent and looked at the face of the two men on the ground. "Holy shit, this is Demond Jones, he is number two man in the Calliope gang. The other is here is Darnell, don't know his last name. Another high ranking member. Demond there is Rufus's brother. He's the head of this bunch." The Paramedic pointed to another body in the driver's seat. "We didn't bother with that one, I figured since his head was gone there was no sense working him." Thibodeaux and Greyfield stooped and looked inside the car and sure enough, a torso was sitting in the seat with the head completely gone. "Well fuck me," was all Thibodeaux could think to say.

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 it'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 here. 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.

For the first time Shelby spoke, "I don't know about you, but I would like a little more action. I love spending time with Jasmine, but, after the last two years I want to feel that rush again. I like the idea of never touching the junk. That really puts insulation between us and the police." So did I, but I wanted Rachael with me also, this would need to be discussed. I told Shelby we should talk tonight and get back to him tomorrow. He agreed.

Perroni returned and we enjoyed a wonderful meal. I explained "Alright Dominic, Shelby and I need to talk this over. We have more than ourselves to consider." He nodded, "I understand, Rachael and Jasmine are part of this also, you really need to talk to them." This shocked me, but I tried not to show it, how did he know about the women? While I tried to recover Shelby took up the conversation. "If we decide to do this I don't believe we have enough manpower. I think Jessie and I would feel more comfortable with one or two additional hands." He agreed "That is probably the best course of action. Here is my secure phone number. Call me tomorrow with your decision."

On the drive home Shelby and I discussed the possibility of adding more manpower. We both knew men who in the past were strong and fearless, but that was over twenty years ago. I wasn't even sure if any of them were still alive. There was one requirement we both agreed upon, the people we selected could not have criminal records. Shelby had had minor altercations with the law, but we didn't need to attract undue attention to ourselves.

Now our problem was Rachael and Jasmine. I was pretty sure this wasn't going to go over to well. I had been telling Rachael I wanted out of this business, now I wanted back in. If I didn't have strong feeling for her I would have just gone and done it, but I had fallen in love with her and couldn't deny my feelings. I wasn't going to lie to her, I owed her that. I wanted her to stay with me, but I knew this could be a deal breaker. I told Shelby my feeling; he had much the same feelings for Jasmine. We both agreed to tell the complete truth and let the chips fall, if either of the woman wanted to leave us, the deal was off. I would call Perroni and refuse the deal.

We arrived back at my house around 10pm. Both of the woman were there watching TV. Shelby took Jasmine upstairs to the bedroom and Rachael and I stayed in the living room. I didn't want this to be the end. I loved her and wanted her to be with me forever.

"Rachael, I love you, and would never do anything to jeopardize our relationship. An opportunity has come up for Shelby and I to run a security operation for a major player up north. The money is huge. But it's not the money attracting me, it's the action. We both miss the work and really would like to take this deal. We agreed that if either you or Jasmine doesn't want us to do this, we would turn it down. It is a security operation and will be dangerous sometimes, but it's what we love to do."

She looked at me kind of sadly. I sat holding my breath waiting for an answer. Finally after what felt like hours she looked at me and smiled. "Jessie, I love you and want to spend my life with you, but the last thing I want to do is change you. I love you for what you are and what you do, so I'm not going anywhere."

I had my go-ahead, now I had to wait on Shelby. Rachael and I watched TV on the sofa, about an hour later Shelby came downstairs smiling. I could tell he had gotten the answer he wanted. Jasmine came down minutes later, buttoning her blouse. I think they must have celebrated their decision. We all had drinks and turned in for the night. I loved Rachael that night like never before, I was so grateful to have someone like her who understood me. I asked her to marry me, she laughed and said, "That piece of paper don't mean anything Jessie, I love you and am not going anywhere, but if that is what you really want, I will marry you."

The next morning I called Perroni, I told him we were in but wanted 20%, a shot in the dark. He didn't even hesitate and agreed, crap, I should have asked for 25%. He gave me the number of an electronics guy and a hardware guy. Whatever we needed one of those could get it quickly and discretely. We were going to get scrambled phones in a couple of weeks and they would be shipped to us.

The following day Shelby and I made of list of possible partners. The list contained about ten names. Shelby contacted an old flying buddy of his who had access to service records. After much tracking he located most of the names and phone numbers. I began to call. Out of the first five I was able to contact two. My approach was to just start a general conversation and find out what their situation was. Both the men I contacted were married with kids and making a good living. One was in sales and the other was a cop. I was able to reach one in the second group of five. He was awaiting trial for drug possession, probably not a good candidate. None of the others in the top ten answered. I left messages where I could and started on the second list.

There was one name that kept coming up in our conversation, and he was the first person on the first list. One of the no answers, Carl Rome. Carl had been a LRP, Ranger, sniper, and my partner. He had probably killed more men than he could count. For all I knew today he could be dead or in jail, but it was worth finding out. Carl lived in Eagle, Idaho just outside of Boise. I called and got no answer, not even a machine. Hell, we had plenty of travel money. We decided to take a flight to Boise.

The following day we took a morning flight to Boise. We had only a P.O. Box and phone number for Carl. We rented a car and drove to the Eagle Post Office. The clerk said he couldn't give us an address for the owner of the P.O. Box, it was against the postal rules. Five one hundred dollar bills changed the rules and we had an address. I tried the phone number again with no luck.
Chapter 36

Carl Rome

Cletus Farley Jr. was born on September 16th 1951 in Buck Mountain, Arkansas. To say Buck Mountain was backwoods would be a major understatement. He was delivered by a midwife in a house with no running water and no electricity. Buck Mountain was as rural as you could get. His birth was never registered with the State. No record of Cletus Farley Jr. existed. As a child growing up he lived hand to mouth. Whatever he or his father could catch or kill would be his supper. At times his father would disappear for days at a time and he and his mother were left to fend for themselves. He learned early the craft of hunting and capturing prey. He could track anything through any environment. Even when his father was home he was drunk on moonshine. The only skill he seemed to have had been making moonshine. When Cletus was eight his father disappeared one day and never returned. Cletus never attended school but his mother could read and write and taught Cletus from the few books they had available. By the age of ten Cletus was making whiskey and selling it throughout the area. He could move through the woods as silent as a cat and always brought home game for the table. Cletus's mother took up with any man who would have her. Some of the men treated Cletus good, but others beat his mother and him. He had known no other life but at night dreamed of one day going to one of the places he had seen in the books his mother kept.

Living in a harsh environment had made Cletus hard. He grew big and strong. He could run for miles through the mountains. When Cletus was sixteen he returned home from hunting one day and heard his mother screaming. He went in the back door and found a large naked young man beating his mother. He stepped between the man and his mother and was hit across the face. The naked man kicked him while he was on the ground and turned back to Cletus's mother. He kicked her several times and was about to kick again when Cletus pulled his skinning knife from his belt. He stepped in front of the man and drove the knife into his groin and pulled upwards with all his strength, gutting the man from crotch to breast bone. The hooked blade of the skinning knife pierced his heart and he dropped to the ground with the knife still in him. Neither Cletus nor his mother said anything. Cletus felt nothing, no emotion at all. He felt more sympathy for the animals he hunted in the mountains. He stepped over the man and withdrew the knife from his chest.

His mother had gotten up and sat on the edge of the bed. She took the dead man's pants and pulled out his wallet. She glanced in it and handed it to Cletus. She told him to take the wallet and leave for good. He was shocked. He knew she couldn't mean it. She told him again to take the wallet and whatever was in it and get away from there as far as he could.

Eureka Springs was the closest thing that passed for a town. He had been there to sell moonshine. She told him there was a bus terminal in town, he was to get on the bus and go as far as the money in the wallet would take him. It had been hammered into him since birth to respect your elders and do what he was told. He didn't know why, but his mother knew best so he prepared to leave. He asked her when he could return. She told him never, he was never to come back to this God forsaken place again.

Cletus packed his belonging, which consisted of two shirts and two pairs of pants. He filled his pocket with deer jerky and was about to walk out. His mother stopped him. He thought she had changed her mind, but she only asked him for his skinning knife. He had put it back in its sheath and stuck it in his belt. He gave it to her and she told him to go. Cletus's mother lay on the bed and waited about an hour until she was sure Cletus was gone. She carefully took the skinning knife and opened both her wrists to the bone. By the time both bodies were found Cletus would be far away.

It was 3PM when Cletus left Buck Mountain for the last time. As the crow flies it's around eight miles to Eureka Springs. Traveling the trails and ridges it took Cletus fourteen hours to reach it.

He wandered around the small town and found the bus terminal, it was 5 AM. He had looked in the wallet and found there was forty three dollars folded in it. He entered the terminal and there was a woman behind the counter. He handed her the money and asked how far he could get on it. Cletus had never even ridden in a car before much less taken a bus. She counted the money and told him the only bus that day went to Jonesboro, left at 11 AM and would cost thirty dollars. He bought the ticket and as she instructed sat and waited. He ate some deer jerky and drank water from the fountain he saw in the corner.

The bus arrived at 10 AM and no one got off. The woman told Cletus that was his bus. He climbed onboard, gave the driver his ticket and settled into a seat. He had no idea what to do so he just sat and waited.

At 11 AM the bus pulled out and began its run to Jonesboro. The bus made several short stops, but for most of the trip Cletus was the only one onboard. They arrived in Jonesboro at 5:45 PM, on time. The driver told him this was his destination. Cletus got off and marveled at his surroundings. Eureka Springs had been the largest city he had ever been to. But this town had larger building than he had ever seen before. Hi-ways, people, too much to comprehend. He had thirteen dollars left and no idea what to do. A woman at an information desk asked if she could help. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now, but he knew he was hungry. He asked about something to eat. She told him there was a lunch counter in the terminal, but it wasn't very good. She pointed across the street to a strip mall. He looked in that direction but had no idea what a mall was. She said to go to Johnny's restaurant in the mall, they had good food cheap.

Since he was starving he followed her directions and crossed the street looking for Johnny's. There was a sign brightly lit on one of the building saying Johnny's 24 Hours. He went in the front door and a woman told him to take any seat he wished. He sat at a counter like the ones he had seen in Eureka Springs. The woman brought him a folded piece of paper and glass of water. He eagerly drank the water and remembered a story in one of the books a home about a restaurant and a menu, this was apparently a menu. There were so many choices he had no idea what to get. He had eaten mostly game and crops grown at home. There was a man sitting on the stool next to him, the man looked at him and asked. "Hi son, can I help you?" Cletus noticed the man was in uniform. The only uniforms he had ever seen had been police and game wardens. He smiled at the man, "I'm hungry and I don't know what to get." All Cletus could think of was the he was in trouble. The man smiled, "Well the club sandwich is good here."Cletus had no idea what that was but said OK. He told the woman he wanted the club sandwich.

The man in uniform extended his hand, "I'm Sergeant Ben Willis." Cletus just nodded, Willis tried to coax a story out of Cletus. "I just got here on the bus. My mama told me to go take the bus as far away as I could. She told me never to come back." Willis's eyes let up. Cletus was served his club sandwich. He inhaled it quickly and Willis paid for it. Willis told him to follow him that he wanted to show him something.

Two doors down from the diner they entered Willis's office. Even though Cletus had no idea what this place was he followed Willis to his desk. There were pictures of men and women in uniforms all around the room. There was a large cutout poster of a man in a tall hat with a red, white, and blue vest with the words 'Uncle Sam Wants You'. Willis asked "How old are you son?" Cletus truly had no idea, birthdays weren't something anyone at home worried about. Willis shrugged, "Do you have any ID son?" Cletus wasn't sure what ID was but he handed him the wallet. There was an Arkansas Hunting license, a social security card, and thirteen dollars in it. The Sergeant looked at the License and the Social Security Card. There were no pictures or other forms of ID. The name on the license was Carl Rome.

Sergeant Willis had fallen behind on his recruiting quota. If he didn't pick up some recruits he would lose this post. He had a couple of lady friends and he didn't want to leave Jonesboro. Willis asked "Son, do you know what this place is?" Cletus shook his head, "No Sir I don't." Willis explained, "Well Son, I'm in the Army, I'm a soldier. My job is to get people to join the Army. It's a great job. You get clothes, a place to live, and three meals a day. And they pay you. You can travel all over the world. It really is a great thing to do." This sounded good to Cletus but he just wasn't sure if this was what his mother had in mind.

Then Willis threw in the clincher. "You know something else, if the person is in any trouble when they join the Army they are free." Willis had dealt with men in trouble before and this boy had that look about him. "Son can you read and write?" He had Cletus read him a sentence from a recruiting pamphlet. He asked about school, Cletus said he had never been, the Sergeant put down home schooled on the application. Now came the sticky part, "Your name in the wallet is Carl Rome, is that your real name son?" Cletus was worried, he didn't want to go to jail. He just stood and looked at Willis. Finally made up his mind for him. "OK, good, your name is Carl Rome." Cletus didn't really understand but he didn't want to get in trouble so he agreed. He was told his name was Carl Rome, he was nineteen years old, and his birthday was June 11th 1948. He was told to memorize his Social Security Number which was on a card in the wallet.

Cletus was no dummy, he knew something wasn't quite right, but he also knew if the police were called he would be going to jail. He did as he was told and signed the paper where Willis said to. He was told to raise his right hand and repeat his oath. After all was finished Willis shook his hand and congratulated him. Willis told him he would take a bus in two days and be taken to his training camp, Fort Campbell Kentucky. He was told Uncle Sam would put him in a motel until the bus came. Who Uncle Sam was he had no idea, but he was tired and needed some sleep. Willis drove him to the motel, gave him forty dollars to eat with and told him he would pick him up at 7 AM day after tomorrow. Cletus Farley Jr. was now Carl Rome U.S. Army.

The bus wove through every small town between Jonesboro and Fort Campbell. By the time it arrived there were forty recruits onboard. The bus was noisy and the people onboard loud, until it passed through the gates at Fort Campbell. Suddenly everyone onboard got very silent. A Drill Sergeant jumped onboard even before the bus stopped and began yelling and calling everyone names. They were rushed off the bus and told to stand in a line. Then more men in uniform and funny hats screamed in their faces.

This didn't faze Cletus, his father and his mother's many men had done that many times before. He kept reminding himself his name was Carl. Sergeant Willis had put a name tag on him before he got on the bus. During the next seven weeks he was yelled at, pushed, kicked, and run. But nothing they did to him came even close to his life before. To Carl, this was summer camp. They issued him a rifle, much more powerful than the one he hunted with at home. On long marches men around him griped and fell down, but Carl could walk or run for hours without any problem. The first day on the firing range he hit every target. In the end he was the only recruit to get a perfect score and earn the rating of Expert.

He ate well and trained hard. He put on muscle and was singled out for contact drills. Carl made it through basic training finishing first in his class and carried the unit's colors at graduation. Many of men graduating had families there, but Carl simply walked back to the barracks to wait for his next task.

The following Monday Carl began Advanced Infantry Training. Again he breezed through this every phase, and he again finished first in the class.

The following day he was summoned to the First Sergeants Office. The Sergeant told him men who finished first in training and rifle range were offered the opportunity to attend Ranger School. He was told it would be much harder than anything he had done before, but it was an honor to be selected. The Sergeant told him to take his time and discuss this with his family, Carl said he had no one to ask and that he wanted to go. He was given a two week leave until the next Ranger Class was to begin. He spent the time exercising and resting in the barracks.

The first phase was to begin at Fort Benning Georgia. He was bused to Fort Benning and greeted much as he had been before at basic training. It was the same type of training, but much more physical and intense. As before, he breezed through all the physical aspects. He was taught to navigate with the stars and how to read maps, how to move alone and in small units. Weapons training was his favorite. He excelled with every Weapon. He moved through the woodlands quieter and faster than anyone else, including the instructors. During the mountain phase he was really in his element. He had grown up moving through the mountains and could navigate the terrain like a bobcat.

The final phase, the desert phase, was held in Fort Bliss Texas. Carl and his classmates were taken to the airport and put on a charter flight. This was his first time flying and he could not have enjoyed it more. At Fort Bliss he passed with flying colors and gradated earning his Ranger Tab, he was seventeen years old. Carl's expertise with weapons and tactics had not gone unnoticed. Carl was sent to the Army Sniper School at Fort Benning. He aced the five week course and again graduated first in his class.

By now Cletus had become Carl. He had destroyed the hunting license and had a military ID with photo and the name Carl Rome. He had started to think of himself as Carl Rome. He occasionally thought of his mother, but knew he could never return. He immersed himself in his new life as Carl.

On January 23rd 1967 17 year old Carl Rome was shipped to Vietnam. Carl was assigned to the Long Range Recon Patrol Company of the 20th Infantry Regiment. Carl's skills in any terrain became evident. During his first few month he was assigned to small unit patrols, but it was soon realized he was better and quieter moving alone or with one spotter. Carl became the go to person when a difficult and dangerous assignment was available. Carl returned to the States following his first tour and quickly volunteered for another. One month later he was back in Vietnam.

On February 25th 1968 Carl and a spotter were air lifted onto a small hill in the Arizona Territory. Their assignment was to identify a choke point on a trail known to be used by the VC to move equipment. They were to mark the spot and time of enemy movement and clear out the area. The B-52s would take care of the rest. After a quiet night they were moving into a better overlook position when they stumbled into a patrol. On the initial contact his spotter was wounded and Carl dragged him to cover in some rocks. They had no idea they had stumbled into a NVA Company. For the next three hours Carl held the NVA at bay with two M-16s and one M-24.

A gunship and troopship finally arrived and with suppressing fire from the gunship the troop ship hovered long enough for Carl to carry his spotter and jump onboard. He had never met the pilots or crewman before but became friends with the gunship pilot Shelby Wilson that night. Carl had never had friends before, even during training he kept to himself, but for some reason these two hit it off. He felt he could trust him. One night, while drinking with Shelby he confessed his personal story to him. Shelby was astonished but told Carl never to repeat it to anyone.

Shelby rotated home with the promise to keep in touch. Carl was assigned a new spotter, Jessie Carr, they became fast friends. Jessie was the only other person Carl ever told his personal story to. They served together for the better part of two tours and seemed to be able to read each other's thoughts.

Carl went on to do a fourth tour in Vietnam before it came to an end. He served in several other hotspots during the next twenty years and retired from the Army in 1986. He had no desire to go back to Arkansas and wanted to be left alone. He picked a secluded location in Idaho and kept to himself for the next fifteen years.
Chapter 37

Shelby and I headed to the address the clerk had given us. We drove without seeing another house. Apparently Carl lived in the woods. We found a small dirt road with a mail box and the name Rome on it. About three hundred yards down the road we came to a trailer. It was old and run down. We got out and approached. A man came out the door with a rifle in his hand and told us to turn around and get out, we were trespassing. The guy hadn't shaved in ages and looked a hundred years old. We told him we were looking for Carl, he told us to get the fuck off his property.

As we were turning to leave I turned and said, "Tell Cletus that Jessie Carr and Shelby Wilson was out here looking for him." Recognition suddenly hit him and he lowered the rifle. He couldn't believe his eyes, he hadn't seen either one of us in almost twenty years, but he still recognized us. His question was "What the fuck are you doing here." We walked to the porch and shook hands.

He looked old and dirty but he still had the eyes I remembered from Vietnam. They were cold blue and it looked like he could see deep in your soul. The sparkle was still there. He put down the rifle and offered us a beer. We all sat on the porch and waited for someone to break the silence. Carl's curiosity got the best of him "OK, nobody just shows up way out here, what are you two doing here?" There was no sense in bullshitting him, "Truthfully Carl, I'm here to talk a little business. First though, what have you been up to for the last twenty years?" He just stared and then had to laugh. "Truthfully, my life has been a cluster fuck. I did another tour and stayed in till my twenty was up. I got their little chicken shit pension. Bought this dump and here I am. I never had a job. I do a little from time to time. Clean up or work the fields, nothing for very long. As you can see, I don't have a whole lot. I grow some crops, hunt my game. That's pretty much my life. You two look good, must be successful. What have you two been up to?"

I dodged the question for the time being. We made small talk and I weighted the possibility of approaching him with our story. He didn't look much like the old Carl we had known, but then again, we probably didn't look the same to him. I glanced over at the rifle he had been carrying. I could see it was a Remington 700 and it was equipped with a scope. I asked him about it. A huge smile came on his face. He explained it was a Remington 700 BDL in 308 Winchester. The scope was a Nikon 6-24SF with a drop compensator. He spoke of the rifle with pride as if it was an old friend. He had hunted for years with it, almost every day. It was sighted for three hundred yards. That told me a lot about Carl. He apparently still had shooting skills and could move in the woods quickly and quietly. I figured it was time I broached the reason we were there.

"Alright Carl, what have we been up to. Let me ask you a question first. What do you know about the drug business?" He looked puzzled, "I don't really know anything. I don't have contact with anyone out here. I got no TV, I got a radio but just to listen to ballgames I only go to town occasionally for a job or to pick up a few supplies."

I told him my story, leaving nothing out. He sat there and listened with no expression change at all. I didn't tell him we were there to recruit him, but I was hoping he would figure that out for himself. He took a long swig and finished his beer. He asked if we wanted another. We did, and he walked into this trailer to get them. Shelby and I looked at each other and he just shrugged. I had no idea what was on Carl's mind at that point. For all we knew he could be inside calling the police.

Carl returned with three beers and passed them out. After a swig he asked "OK, so let me cut to the chase here. You here to recruit me?" It was time to lay it on the table. "That about covers it. Shelby and I no longer run drugs. But we have a new assignment. An importer in the northeast runs a lot of drugs. He needs security. That's where we come, he offered a cut of the action. We never touch the drugs, just provide security for the transportation. Probably a few days a month at most. We will be heavily armed. We hope not to need weapons, but there is a good chance we might. These shipments are worth millions, so lots of people would love to get their hands on them. Before you say anything keep in mind, we could end up dead or in jail."

He rocked back on his chair, took another swig, and asked "When would you want to leave?" I wasn't sure I heard him correctly. "Jessie, I got nothing holding me here. I'm ready to leave today." I wanted to make sure he understood the dangers of doing this. He had four tours in Vietnam, and worked alone most of the time, there was nothing we could tell him about danger that he didn't already know. He said he needed an hour to clean up, lock up, and pack up. One hour to put your entire life together.

We told him we would wait till the next day to fly out, he asked about his rifle. I knew it meant a lot to him so I told him to break it down and we would ship it to my house. That made him happy; we shook hands and left him standing on the porch. We told him we would pick him up the next day at 7am and the flight was for noon.

On the way back to town Shelby and I discussed our situation. We had gotten lucky with Carl. He had nothing and no one. Some of the men we had contacted had families and I didn't want to temp them with big money or adventure. There was also the possibility that one of them would turn us in. Maybe someone in his family had a drug problem. I thought we had pushed it as far as we could. Three of us would have to be it. Twenty years ago Carl had been absolutely fearless. He operated alone in the most hostile territory in Vietnam and hunted the enemy. I hoped he still had some of that in him. We wouldn't know until it hit the fan. Then it could be too late. Now we were committed and only time would tell.

The next morning we picked up Carl. He had his rifle and one small bag. Not much to show for fifty years on this earth. We bought boxes and packing material, dissembled the rifle and shipped it. Carl had shaved and put on what passed for his best clothes. He still didn't look like the Carl of old, but did look better than the day before. Before boarding the plane I asked one more time if he was positive he wanted to join us. He looked insulted that I even had to ask. We boarded the plane and headed for home.
Chapter 38

We flew home and introduced Carl to Rachael and Jasmine, he looked at Shelby and smiled, obviously impressed that and old fart like him could get such a beautiful young woman. We all went to dinner and talked of old times, and old friends. The women took to Carl and made him feel like family, which he truly was. He moved into my office for the time being, sleeping on a folding bed. He wanted to get an apartment but I wanted him close for the time being, we had planning to do.

We settled in and began acquiring our gear. Perroni had given us the name of his hardware supplier, but we preferred to use our own method. The less people that knew us the better.

Gun shows proved to be just the ticket. We needed everything replaced since we had dumped it all in New Jersey. Two weekends, a little travel time, and twenty thousand dollars we had all new gear. We disassembled everything and filed down all the identification. A couple of quick trips to the woods to test fire and we were good to go. Carl hadn't seemed to lose any of his previous skill. His eyesight was better than either one of us, and he could locate and drop a target at long distance.

We decided to use a different vehicle for this run, something that wouldn't stick out. I found a late model four door sedan in the newspaper. Paying two thousand dollars more than it was worth and using fake id, I convinced the owner I would change all the titles in a week or so. I signed a bill of sale with a fake name and he never checked. The extra money always made deals like that easier.

A package was delivered from someone in New Jersey. It turned out to be voice encryption hardware. It attached to our cell phones and supposedly made it impossible to monitor our calls. I had no idea how it worked but had no reason to think it wouldn't.

I contacted Perroni and told him all was ready. He told me he would contact me back in about a week.

We spent the next week enjoying the company. We traveled to the Gulf Coast and spent a fortune at a few casinos. We spent the nights in luxury penthouses. It almost made me forget how we had gotten here in the first place. Carl was adapting to his new life, and he was enjoying it.

The call came the following Thursday. A shipment was coming in two weeks to a port in Camden, and word on the street was it was going to be hijacked. Ninety million dollars worth of drugs was apparently too tempting a target. The theory was if we could prevent a hijack word would spread that Perroni's product was not to be messed with. We had no idea what we might be up against. Perroni said the word was it was a Hispanic street gang. Not very sophisticated but very violent. They were known to control much of the action in the Chicago area. We had to approach this much as we had with the Calliope gang, fast and violent.

We needed time to survey the area and plan our strategy. We had to arrive at least four days early. The night before we left I made sure Rachael had all the account number and safety deposit box information she needed. I knew this was frightening to her, the thought that she might need this just in case I didn't return. She proved to be a strong woman, no tears as we made love that last night. We packed our new car with all our gear and six days before the shipment, headed for New Jersey.
Chapter 39

The shipment was to arrive on a ship early on Friday morning. It was to be containerized freight in a shipment of cereal. The container would be moved to a storage warehouse across the dock by a forklift. The docks would be crowded during this move and no problems were expected. It would be stored with other containers and Perroni's men would pick it up at 2AM. The guards on the dock had been paid to look the other way. Four days before the shipment we arrived in Camden and checked into a motel. That night we scouted the location from the outside, but needed to get inside for a better view. We found a local waterfront bar and mixed with the longshoreman trying to get any information we could without being too obvious. We didn't get much information but Shelby managed to score two IDs he lifted from a couple of drunks. This was hopefully our way in.

Trying to enter at night would be too suspicious, so we came the next morning around 7 AM. Carl waited in the car while Shelby and I entered the main gate. It proved to be no problem, with all the men and trucks going in and out we didn't get a second glance. We both carried small digital cameras and constantly and discretely took pictures of the facility. We walked for an hour and completely circled the interior of the docks. Our final destination was the storage warehouse where our container would be stored. I didn't want anything to do with the container itself, our job was to make sure Perroni's men could pick it up and transport it to another location. There it would be repackaged and made ready for shipment around the country. Once we secured the repackaging facility our job was over. It was twenty five miles from the docks to the secure facility, we drove it several time to make sure we had the route down pat.

The shipment warehouse on the dock was a huge building with doors only in the front. It had a large door for trucks to enter and exit and one single door for personnel. There was no side or rear doors and no windows. Any attempt to steal the cargo here would have to come from the front. I thought if I was setting this up I would probably try and highjack the truck somewhere on the road, but we had to prepare for any scenario. The warehouse was the last one in a long line located the greatest distance from the main gate. The pickup truck would have to enter and exit through the main gate.

The fence line completely surrounded the facility and the fence was reinforced steel wire with two rows of concertina wire on top. Someone might be able to drive through the fence but more than likely would stall on the fence. Securing the warehouse would be a breeze. Since it was on the end, anyone approaching it would have to come from the main entrance and drive straight down the main road. If anyone tried to hit us here it would be suicide. After two hours of scouting and taking pictures we headed for the gate. We did notice several cameras located around the fence line, but nothing in the interior. We walked out of the gate and met with Carl. He had watched a constant flow of trucks in and out. We were hoping this wouldn't be the case at night. We drove the route the pickup truck would use and made notes and photos of potential problem areas. Our plan was to return to the docks after dark and check on the amount of activity. We wanted to get inside at night but didn't want draw any attention to ourselves. We would play that by ear.

That night, dressed in dark clothing and carrying only our night vision gear, we drove back to the wharf. The night vision gear proved to be unnecessary. The place was lit up like an airport. Sneaking in the main entrance under the cover of darkness wasn't possible. At least there was no activity on the dock. It seemed to be completely shut down with the gates secure.

I was tempted to write the dock off as a possible highjack point, but thought better of it. Better to put in a little extra work and be prepared. The guards would need to let anyone in at night if they wanted to enter with a vehicle. I didn't want us exposed to the guards or pickup men, so we had to come up with an alternative. We parked some distance away from the wharf and, staying just out of the light, walked the fence line. Several shipping companies backed up to the facility and about one hundred yards from our warehouse we found an area between the facility fence and a private fence where there was minimal light.

This looked like the best spot to enter. Now we needed to find out if the fence had any other security measures. We were all familiar with motion and vibration sensors and we began our search. Thankfully, there were none. The fence was fairly heavy gauge chain link so we would need to purchase a heavy duty pair of wire cutters. We hid in the dark and watched the area of the fence we had selected to make sure no roving patrols passed here. After three hours we headed back convinced we would risk minimal exposure at that location.

Now we had to establish a plan that made the most of our limited manpower. Before we even began I received a call from Perroni. His inside man had passed information to him that the hijack would come at the warehouse facility. If this were true it would make our job easier and our exposure considerably less. He said his man on the inside of the gang was one hundred percent certain it would be there. Apparently they had also gotten to the guards and would be let inside. He didn't know how many men would be used but they would have ample firepower. With this information we could set up on the pickup location and not spend as much effort on the road. If this were true it made our job easier and there's much more dangerous. But if the hit didn't come at the docks, we still needed to be able to get to our car in order to cover the pickup route.

We double and triple checked all our equipment. Then killed time waiting for Friday night. We called home frequently just to let them know we were OK and thinking of them. We removed everything from our hotel rooms and wiped down anything we might have touched. We had paid up through the following Tuesday, put the do not disturb signs on our doors, and headed out. At 11 PM we parked a block from the fence and eased our way to our entrance spot. We kept our face and heads concealed in hoods as much as possible just in case a camera would record our movement. Moving slowly and carefully we cut a hole in the fence big enough to crawl through. Once inside we moved in the shadows to our positions inside the facility. We had decided to use an 'L' shaped ambush. There were only three of us but if we strategically placed ourselves we could bring maximum firepower on the hijackers. We had to make some assumptions concerning their route to our warehouse. That can be dangerous but with our limited manpower it was necessary. I assumed they would drive through the gate and straight to the warehouse. This would be the fastest way to approach. If they tried to approach on foot the pickup men would have ample warning to take up defensive positions.

They couldn't drive any farther than the warehouse because that was the end of the road, they would need to turn around. We weren't sure exactly who we were dealing with but gang bangers would want to get there quickly and hit fast. I was hoping there would be only one car but needed to prepare for more. Carl was positioned between our warehouse and the one next to it closer to the gate. He would be the first to spot them coming in and have the rear to cover. Shelby would be behind a cement support next to the fence across the road from our warehouse. I would be between our warehouse and the fence directly to the front of the road. If all went as planned the bad guys would be in the center of our L with Carl at the top, Shelby on the end, and me in the bend. We set up in our positions and tested our communications. We were as ready as we were going to be.

1:48AM, a truck pulled up with three men in it. One man gets out and opens the large door and the truck backs into the warehouse, the door closes behind them. I give the lock and load command. We are all equipped with AR15s and multiple thirty round clips and all have been modified for automatic fire.

1:57AM Carl's voice informs me that headlights are approaching from the gate area. Two sets of headlights, shit, two vehicles. Another report, the headlights had just gone off. A precaution on their part that was not really necessary given the front of the warehouse was bright as day from the overhead lighting. I am told the cars are passing Carl and he sees at least three occupants per car. Just as I am praying these aren't the cops Carl reports one of the men is pointing a MAC 10 out of the window. Definitely not police, these were definitely the bad guys.

I spotted the lead car coming toward the fence. I heard Carl's voice tell me the rear doors on the trailing car had opened and two men had emerged, both carrying weapons. I now saw them, they were running ahead of the cars toward the entrance to the warehouse. My guess was there job was to make sure the pickup men weren't waiting outside. We were totally concealed and they were so focused on the front of the warehouse I doubt they would have noticed us. Shelby, who had been quite until now, confirmed he had eyes on them. They were driving into the center of our L.

The two runners stopped at the front of the warehouse and put their back against the front door, they then signaled the cars to approach. Both cars accelerated to the front of the warehouse and stopped. All the doors swung open and men began to exit. The two drivers opened their doors and stood next to the vehicles. The others advanced toward their buddies near the warehouse. I was waiting until they were clear of the cars, I didn't want them to be able to use the cars for cover and extend the firefight.

When the others were halfway between the warehouse and the cars I fired on one of the two men standing in front of the warehouse. I had my rifle set on three shot burst and the first shots dropped the man closest to me. Shelby and Carl were waiting for my shot and then selected their assigned targets and began to fire. Shelby's job was to take out the drivers. We didn't need them using the cars as weapons. I focused on my second target and fired two burst, he dropped. I could hear others firing and looked toward the three men caught between the car and the warehouse, only one was still standing. He had turned toward Carl who was firing from the prone position to their right. Carl and I fired together and he spun and dropped. I turned toward the cars but couldn't see the drivers. Shelby's voice in my earphone told me they were down. All seven men were down on the ground, it was time to make sure they stayed that way. I told everyone to check their work. I headed toward the two men closest to the warehouse. They appeared to be dead and were bleeding very badly. I turned and approached the three men Carl and I had dropped. One was still moving, but they were all hit badly. There were a variety of weapons lying on the ground, all assault rifles of some sort. None of them would be a threat to us. Shelby's voice said the drivers were finished, meaning they were down and no threat to us. The pickup men in the warehouse were probably trying to find another way out. I didn't know what they were told but my guess was they had no idea this would happen, time for us to go.

I gave the all clear and told them it was time to go. Shelby was to head for the hole in the fence and secure that area, Carl was to pass through the fence and make sure our car was secure. I was hanging behind to make sure no one from the warehouse or the guards interfered. The entire event from first shot to this point had taken less than one minute. Shelby reported from the fence that it was secure and Carl was passing through. Thirty seconds later Carl reported our car was secure. I headed for the fence having seen no one coming to investigate. Shelby and I slipped through the fence and headed for the car. Carl had it running and the trunk open. We threw our gear in the trunk and I drove away. I know we were all on an adrenaline high but had to keep the speed and anxiety down. I entered I-676 North and crossed over into Philadelphia. We took I-95 North. I stayed on I-95 North and crossed the Betsy Roth Bridge back into New Jersey. I exited onto the Burlington Pike and continued north. I drove to Highway 9 continued north and exited onto Randolph Avenue. Randolph becomes Roosevelt Ave and enters Joseph Medwick Park. The park sits on a tidal outflow of the Hudson River. We parked in a secluded area and threw all our gear into the river. We tossed everything, guns, body armor, night vision, and radios. We double checked to make sure we hadn't missed anything and headed back to Roosevelt Ave. From Roosevelt we entered the New Jersey Turnpike north and headed toward Newark. No one spoke, they knew I had this route imprinted in my brain and didn't want to distract me.
Chapter 40

From the first shot to our arrival in Newark International Airport it had taken less than three hours. We pulled into Newark's long term parking garage just before 5 AM. I parked the car on level three, where many others were already parked. I didn't know how long it would take to notice this car being here, but since we purchased it with cash, used phony id, and put a stolen license plate on it, I assumed quite a while. We each had a small carry bag with a change of clothes. We had worn gloves the entire time but wiped the car down just in case. We each caught a different shuttle to different terminals. I was flying out of Newark at 7:55 AM through Atlanta and on to New Orleans. Shelby caught a shuttle at the B Concourse and then caught a cab to Times Square. He ate breakfast and at 9:30 AM caught another cab to LaGuardia Airport. Shelby's reservation was for an 11:45 AM flight through Greensboro.

Carl left by cab from Concourse D. He took the cab to the Little Italy Section of Manhattan. After breakfast he caught a cab to JFK Airport. His 1:30 PM flight passed through Greensboro. Everyone was back in my house before 9 PM.
Chapter 41

The 10 PM news carried the story about the mass killing in New Jersey. A police spokesman said they believed the incident to be drug related. Apparently no drugs were found in the warehouse, just containers of cereal. Perroni wasn't dumb enough to put his multi-million dollar drug shipment in jeopardy. The whole shipment had been a scam to get the other side to make a move, and they had. The authorities weren't saying how many were killed but speculation was it was quite a few. Three men had been arrested at the scene and all the guards had been questioned. There was no doubt in my mind that none of them knew anything.

We had a couple of drinks with Rachael and Jasmine, but none of us mentioned New Jersey. Before I turned in I checked the balance on several offshore accounts I had. An additional eighteen million dollars had been deposited between them. I quickly made several electronic transfers to other accounts and turned in.

The next morning Perroni called. The heat was on in New Jersey and everyone would lay low for a couple of months. That suited us fine, we felt we needed a rest. The one week we had worked on the New Jersey job had taken its toll. We all felt like we had been at hard labor for six months. A vacation was in order, so we planned a couple of weeks in the Virgin Islands.
Chapter 42

Detective Lieutenant James O'Shea

James O'Shea had been a cop for twenty four years. His father had been a cop and his father's father had been a cop. It was in his bloodline. He had started pounding a beat in New York City, had retired after twenty years with NYPD having had his gold shield for fourteen years. He moved to Camden to get out of the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. His experience got him a Detective position with the Camden Police Department. He was now the lead homicide investigator in the Camden Homicide Division. He had seen many gruesome scenes in New York and Camden during his long career, but nothing to match what he was about to see tonight.

His phone had begun to ring at the same time as his beeper began to chirp at 2:47AM. The Chief of detectives himself had called. After that first call and while he was dressing his phone rang four more time. Everyone it seemed wanted him to get to the Camden docks ASAP. During the forty minute drive he spoke with the Watch Commander and Sergeant on the scene. The first unit to respond had come across a real mess, now it was his job to sort it out. As he pulled through the main gates he was greeted with a sea of flashing lights. It looked like every Camden PD, New Jersey State Police, and Federal cop car in New Jersey was there. He hoped someone had secured the area to preserve any evidence, but he doubted it. He knew the first thing he had to do was restore order and secure the area.

After weaving his way through several cars he spotted the Watch Commander. He knew the Commander only by reputation. It was said he was putting in his time and just wanted to coast to retirement. He parked and as he approached the Commander he spotted the two vehicles close to the last warehouse. The doors were open and a body was lying next to each. He shook hands with the Commander and looked past him at the scene. Uniform cops were milling everywhere; no one had taken any responsibility to secure the scene. He quickly found the Sergeant and ordered the area cordoned off. It was probably too late but he needed to preserve any evidence not yet disturbed. The Sergeant moved everyone back and strung tape across the area.

As O'Shea approached the rear of the cars he saw the bodies on the other side. The bodies were lying at various angles and there were rubber gloves and bandages laying everywhere. The Paramedics who arrived just after the first patrol car had tried to save a couple still breathing. He counted two bodies in this group. He had already seen the two by the car. That made four dead, just then the Sergeant pointed out the two other bodies lying next to the warehouse. Jesus, that made six, this could turn out to be the mess that caused him to retire for good. The Sergeant's radio squawked and he stepped away to answer it. O'Shea was just beginning to examine the first body when the Sergeant told him number seven was pronounced dead at the hospital. He hadn't even known the Paramedics had taken one away. Seven dead, this was a nightmare, he kept wishing he hadn't answered the phone. His Captain arrived, the Chief of Detectives arrived, the Chief of Police arrived, this was turning into a real cluster. Everyone would be turning to him for answers and at the moment, he had none.

He questioned the first uniform cop on the scene. He had only about one year on the force and this scene had him shaken. O'Shea was finally able to calm him down enough to speak. He and his partner had rolled up on the scene of a shots fired report. The call had been broadcast at 2:13 AM and he had arrived on the scene at 2:18 AM. The main gate had been open and no one in site. He had rolled through the facility and spotted the cars stopped at the end of the road. He spotted the bodies and immediately called for backup. He waited and the backup unit had arrived at 2:23 AM. They called for rank, EMS units, and more backup and began a search of the area. The EMS units had arrived and determined only two individuals were still alive. One of them was beyond help so they started an IV and rushed the other one into the ambulance for transport. The search had located three individuals hiding in the warehouse behind several containers. They were all unarmed. They were cuffed and by that time more units had arrived. Two guards were found in the guard shack and taken into custody for questioning. Other uniforms were searching the area including the other warehouses. Spent shell casings were found and marked. That was the extent of the report, no one had fired on the officers and no armed individuals spotted. O'Shea thanked him and told him to standby in case he was needed. He asked the Sergeant if anyone had begun a search of the surrounding area. None had been started and no road blocks had been established. It was now an hour and a half since the shots were fired and O'Shea knew the shooter was no doubt long gone. At that moment he wished he were anywhere but here. He knew this was no gang hit, this was pros and there would be very few clues. He was hoping anyone, State Police, FBI, DEA, anybody would take jurisdiction. But all these agencies knew the odds of solving this one were not good. No one wanted any part of it. He was stuck.

Since the area was now secure he began with a search of the warehouse. He was hoping this would lead to a reason. He had other detectives begin opening containers. With the assumption drugs were involved. He had drug dogs brought in to aid in the search. Other detectives were questioning the three men taken into custody in the warehouse. They were all telling the same story. They were hired to pick up a container from the warehouse and they had no idea what was in it. They also swore they had no idea who had hired them, a man had loaned them a truck and paid cash. The truck turned out to be stolen. Hours of searching inside the warehouse turned up nothing. A canvas of the few occupied building around the facility turned up nothing. The 911 call had been made by a night watchman in a warehouse on the north side of the wharf. He heard the shooting but had seen nothing. The facility's guards weren't talking. They both said they had accidentally left the gate open and had been in another section of the wharf when the shooting started. O'Shea knew these bozos were lying, but he also knew they were too stupid to be involved in something this big. The three men and the two guards were taken to headquarters for questioning, but he knew it would lead nowhere.

Three locations around the stopped cars had shell casings on the ground. He looked at the location of each and could see the pattern. The ambush had been very well planned. The killers had set a trap and sprung it from three sides. The crossfire would leave nowhere for the victims to run. They were doomed as soon as they left their cars. O'Shea was hoping the casing could be traced back to the buyer. The odds of that were slim. He knew he could find the original wholesaler and possibly the original retailer. After that it was a crap shoot. This stuff could have been resold dozens of times. Every casing needed to be checked for finger prints, good luck with that, these were pros. Not likely they handled the casing without gloves. A uniform found the section of fence that had been cut out. A though search found foot prints and indications that someone had passed through the hole. Maybe they handled the fence and some DNA could be extracted; only time would tell. On the assumption this was the route the killers had taken every building and vehicle on that side of the facility would need to be searched. Of course, this hole could have been here for years and the killers could have just walked thought the gate.

Six hours later and he had no more information than he had when he first arrived. Seven men were dead, probably three shooters, no drugs, five people in custody, and no answers. The three men from the warehouse were hired by a bearded man in a waterfront bar. No names, cash payment, stolen truck, dead end. The FBI had some of the shell casings and they were running them through some test. All they knew at this time was they were probably fired from AR-15s. The slugs were being removed from the corpses. They would probably confirm that there were three shooters and the shells were fired from three assault rifles.

The dead men had long records and were known to be from a Hispanic gang in the Chicago area. Chicago PD and the FBI were trying to run down there associates and find out what they were doing in New Jersey. Even though these were gang bangers this still didn't look like a gang hit, to clean and too professional. These guys were set up, but why? All the containers in the warehouse had come into the port on a container ship that Friday and been offloaded into this warehouse. They all contained a cereal compound from China used in making dog food. Every container and every box was being searched as well as every container in every warehouse in the entire facility, so far, nothing.

A detective viewing all the videos recorded along the fence line noticed movement by the hole in the fence. The lighting was very poor and even with enhancement you could see three shapes moving in at 1:45 AM and then moving out at 2:11 AM. This squared with the 911 shots fired call. All they could tell was it was three individuals wearing dark clothing with hoods on. No one looked up at the camera at any time.

The FBI called with a report on the shell casings. They had the original dates of manufacturer and the original retailers. They were from seven different lots shipped around the country. Local PDs in those areas would see if they could determine who had purchased them. Unfortunately no records of ammo purchases were required by law. They also had a report on a few of the slugs remove from the bodies. They were definitely from three different ARs. They were being run through their computer system looking for a match on the markings, but so far nothing.

The area where the shell casings were found was carefully checked. A few fibers were found and were being analyzed. The Chicago PD had determined the gang members had come to New Jersey to take down a drug shipment. Since no drugs were found it supported the theory that this was a setup. Every snitch in Chicago and New Jersey was being roused looking for any information available.

Every turn led to another dead end. O'Shea was beating every bush and calling in every favor he had. After two days he was no closer than then he had been the first night. It was 10 PM on Monday September 10th 2001. He decided to call it a day. He had no idea that at 8:46 AM the next morning the whole world would change. The murder of seven gang bangers was about to take a back seat.
Chapter 43

Tuesday September 11th 2001 dawned beautiful in St. Maartin. We had arrived the day before and taken a shuttle to Orient Beach on the French side of the island. This was a clothing optional beach and we were all enjoying the scenery. Jasmine had led the group. She stood and removed her bathing suit. Her body was completely healed and her red hair now long and flowing. She was quite a site. Not to be out done Rachael removed her suit, for her age her body was magnificent.

The three men were somewhat more hesitant to follow suit. Carl was certainly enjoying the show. He was probably wishing he had a lady to keep him company. We were sitting on the beach enjoying the beautiful day when word of the terrorist attacks reached us. The Woman dressed and we hurried to the bar and watched the events unfold on live TV. We watched for hours and finally had to leave. There was no good news to be seen, only death and destruction. We walked back to the beach and sat in silence. All I could think of was the people in those planes and building especially those fireman, medics, and policeman who were only there to help. It hit all of us hard. We wanted to head back to the states but everything was grounded. We would have to stay here a few more days, at least. We began to talk about what we had just seen and Shelby said what we were all thinking. Those people killed had families and friends that would never see them again. The people we had killed over the past several years probably also had family grieving. None of the men we killed was a choir boy, but neither were we. We each had killed many men in war, but this felt different. We tried to convince ourselves this was also a war, but the argument rang hollow.

Then a thought really hit me. Some of the money from the drugs we were helping distribute was probably helping to fuel the terrorist. In a way, we had been partly responsible to today's tragic events. Just the thought that our actions, even in some very small way, could have played a part in this stunned us into silence.

We sat for a long time and Carl finally said "We can't do this anymore. I don't feel a thing for the guys we put down, but if that drug money in any way was used by terrorist, then that is unforgivable." We all shook our heads in agreement. It was too late to undo what we had done, but we didn't have to participate any more.

In stunned silence we headed back to our rooms and our own gloomy thoughts.
Chapter 44

The next day we met at breakfast. Now the discussion was, how do we get out without more violence? I wasn't sure what would happen if we just threw our hands up and quit. I doubted if Perroni or those above him would let us just walk. We knew too much. I decided to test the waters and called Perroni. Everything in the northeast was down and there was no way to reach him. It would be days before communications was restored. We had to sit tight and wait.

Finally, four days after the attach I was able to reach Perroni. I didn't beat around the bush. "Peronni, this ain't going to work any more. We've been talking, we are out." He did try to conceal his anger. "It don't work that way. I already assured my boss that I had a security team to handle the shipments." I told him no several times, but he wouldn't listen. "You working for me or the cops will find out who was responsible that mess in Camden." I sighed, "Bullshit, you don't want the cops that close. You're full of shit. Look, I don't want any trouble, but you know we can handle ourselves." He argued, "You guys need to think beyond yourselves. What about Rachael and Jasmine, you need to think about them." That got me, I couldn't put them in danger. I had no idea if he was just threatening or would actually have something done. I needed time, "OK, you got me there. We're in, as soon as we can get back to the states I'll contact you." He disconnected and I turned to Carl and Shelby to explain what he had said. To me he had crossed the line. Threatening us was part of the bargain, but the women were off limits. In my mind Peronni had just sighed his own Death Certificate.

We needed to get back to the states. I had one ace in the hole, Perroni knew we had a third man, but he didn't know Carl.
Chapter 45

Seven days later we were finally able to charter a flight back to the States. Whatever I was going to do I knew I had to do it quickly. We were all in danger. We finally arrived back in New Orleans on September 23rd. It seemed like everyone needed to get somewhere and the airports were clogged. I decided it was just too dangerous right now for Rachael and Jasmine. I couldn't take losing either of them.

I knew it was too little too late but I told them I was sorry for bringing all this on them. Finally, my Rachael spoke "Jessie we're all in this together. Jasmine and I knew what was going on, we aren't blind." I nodded, "Thanks, but we need to know you two are safe. We're going to fix the problem, but in the meantime I want you two to take a vacation, a long vacation. I'm going to make reservations in Europe and both of you spend about a month." Rachael was shaking her head, "Jessie we don't want to run, we want to help." I understood, "No baby, if we are distracted worrying about you two we might make a mistake. We need to have our minds clear. Please do this for me. As soon as the problem is gone I'll call you and you can come home." Of course they asked what my plan was. The truth was I didn't yet have a plan, but even if I did, I wouldn't share it with them. I had told them enough already.

They wanted me to go to the police and ask for immunity. I could give the cops enough information on the drug shipment and then could disappear. There was no way I was going to hide. I wanted this settled one way or the other. Just as James Allen or I had to die, Perroni and anyone else who knew about us had to die. It was us or them. I begged Rachael to do as I asked and to trust me one more time even though I didn't think I deserved it. I certainly hadn't earned their trust, but they agreed.

Travel was extremely restricted because of the terrorist attacks. But once again money talked loudly. I paid a fortune and was able to book them on a flight to Paris on September 28st. I used a travel agent to book hotels and transportation around Europe. I was hoping to get them to relax just a little. I arranged for everything to be first class and put a ton of money in their travel account. I hired a limo to take them to the airport the morning they were leaving. I rode with them and had Shelby and Carl following for security. We were all armed. I saw them off, sent the limo on its way and rode back with Shelby and Carl. Now, with the hope they were safe, we were free to begin planning.

We had several problems we needed to overcome. First, we had no idea besides Perroni, who else knew about us. Second, since September 11th weapons were much harder to get. Guns shows had been tightened down and I didn't want to use Perroni's contact. We still had pistols, shotguns, and hunting rifles. All the other gear had been tossed. We needed to come up with a plan to utilize what we had. I thought we could probably get by with our weapons, but the lack of body armor was my major concern. I sat Shelby and Carl down and asked them one more time to consider getting out of this. Perroni knew Shelby's name but nothing else about him. He didn't even know Carl existed. They could disappear with their money and never be bothered. They told me we started this together, we would finish this together. That was it, end of discussion. These two guys were closer to me than any brother. I didn't want to see anything happen to them because of me. Our plan had to be solid and executed to perfection. We started to discuss our problems and iron them out one by one.

Three days later we had come up with a plan. I hoped it was good enough. It was bloody and brutal, but so were the circumstances we were facing. We were able to purchase three Kevlar vest locally. We stocked up on shotgun and pistol ammo. If this plan was to work I needed to convince Perroni we were onboard with him. I wasn't sure if we were being watched so I didn't want to lie to him. I told him we were back in the States and were ready for work whenever he was. He told us to standby, since the terrorist attach he was setting up a new import location, things were to hot locally.

We anxiously waited for him to call back. If this took too long Rachael and Jasmine would be anxious to come back from Europe and things could get dicey. Finally one week after I spoke with him he called back. He had arranged for a shipment to come into Jacksonville Fl.

A shipment with a street value of one hundred million dollars was due in three days. We were to secure it and escort it to his warehouse in Camden. There the drugs would be cut up and processed for shipment around the country. Since the terrorist attack many shipments had been canceled and the supply on the street was drying up. My plan was simple, I was going to take the drugs and force him to deal with me. I knew he hadn't had a shipment in over two months and his organization was hurting. Someone had ripped off one of his shipments and his last one had been a fake to draw out the hijackers. I was counting on him needing this shipment desperately. I knew just icing a few of his guys wasn't going to get his attention, hitting his pocketbook just might.

Shelby and I packed up and headed for Jacksonville. Carl was to head for New Jersey and wait for our call. I was trying to set him up. I just hoped he wasn't setting us up. I didn't think that was his style, I figured if he wanted us he would come straight at us. He knew there were only three of us and he could overwhelm us with firepower. My bet was he wanted the drugs more than he wanted us.

We wanted to keep the killing to a minimum. I was hoping the guys sent to pick up the load felt the same way. We arrived in Jacksonville two days before the pickup and I called Perroni to get the location. He told me the timeframe had changed and the pickup would be that night. If he was trying to throw us a curve, he succeeded. We wanted to scout the location and set a trap, but now that wasn't possible. We would have to go in blind, possibly into an ambush. He told me he suspected no problems from anyone during this shipment. The ambush in Camden had calmed the natives down. Nobody wanted to fuck with us.

I didn't like it "What the fuck man, we have no time to prepare." He didn't care, "Look, there going to be there tonight, just cover them and escort them to the warehouse. Ain't no big deal, nobody is going to fuck with you guys." I still didn't like it, "I don't guess I have much choice, so where are we taking the shipment?" "He replied, "You don't need to know that, just escort it." I argued, "Well that's brilliant. How am I suppose to know if the shipment is being taken to the right location if I don't know where it is?" He thought about that and I guess it made sense. He gave me the address of his warehouse in Camden. As soon as I hung up with him I called Carl and gave him the location. He was almost halfway to Camden. I told him about the pickup time change and he was going to drive straight through. Carl's job was to wait for us to hijack the load and then take down the warehouse. We all hoped there were very few people there at night, but Carl was the man to handle any situation, he had been there before.

The pickup location was a small inlet at the intersection of Sunset River Dr. and Holly Oaks River Dr. A boat was to bring the load to the shore and a van was to meet it at 2 AM. The shipment would be transferred to the van and they would head north to Camden. This whole setup sounded fishy. Exposed on a public road that dead-ended at the water's edge. Neither Shelby nor l liked it. Shelby's instincts as a pilot in bad situations had always been right on. Now bells were ringing and lights were flashing in his head. If we got in a firefight on that road we would be trapped. The ends of the two streets could be closed off and we were toast. I called Perroni and told him we would be in position and out of sight long before 2 AM. After I hung up the phone I immediately called Carl. He was well on his way and told me he had two shotguns, one rifle, and two pistols with him. That would have to do. We headed for Jacksonville International Airport, I wanted to arrive somewhere close to Camden, but not close enough to be possibly seen on security cameras. At the airport I checked flights and saw one leaving at 3:45PM to Baltimore. That would give us just over a one hundred mile drive. He wasn't going to catch us on a dead end road in the middle of the night. Our only option was to take the fight to him.

Security at the airport was very tight, but we carried nothing with us. We left our body armor and weapons locked in the car parked at an offsite parking lot. We were able to get the flight to Baltimore. If all went as planned we would be in Camden before Perroni realized we weren't in Jacksonville. Our original plan was out the window, but we couldn't wait. Time wasn't on our side.

Thankfully, even with congestion we arrived in Baltimore before 9PM. We needed a vehicle but didn't want my face on some rental car video camera. I called Carl, he wouldn't arrive in Camden until the next morning and was still many hours from Baltimore. We had already broken almost every law on the book so adding auto theft seemed like a good idea. Shelby and I discussed the best was to handle this. Shelby assured me he could start a car, all we had to do was find one that wouldn't be missed until the next day. We walked through Baltimore Airport's long term parking garage. We walked and felt the hoods of the cars. We found several still warm and assumed they had been parked recently and would be there for at least a few days. We picked an inconspicuous four door sedan. Then we realized we didn't even have a pocket knife. Shelby went back to the terminal and found a small store. The best he could do was a fingernail clipper set. Luckily it had a cuticle pick in addition to a file and clippers. The pick proved useful on the exterior lock. The entry wasn't pretty, but did the job. Next he messed with the key switch on the column, after about ten minutes he managed to mess it up enough to turn, sure enough, the car started. We used the makeshift tools to switch license plates with another car in the lot and drove out. We paid the parking fee and headed to Camden.

Since we felt the pickup was an ambush we had to assume the warehouse location he gave us in Camden was bogus also. We decided to head for Sonny's Place, maybe we would get lucky and he would be there. We arrived in Camden just after 1 AM. We headed for Sonny's and parked down the block where we could watch the entrance. At a little after 2 AM my cell phone rang. It was Perroni. "Where the fuck are you guys?" I answered, "We're at the pickup location, why?" I could hear anger in his voice. "You are full of shit, my guys for the pickup are there and they can't find you." I laughed, "Can't find me, they're not suppose to find me. We are security and stay out of sight." After calling me a long list of names he said "I warned you Carr, now you fuckers are dead men, do you hear me, dead." I pissed him off even more, "Go fuck yourself Perroni, I knew that pickup was a setup. You said once before we were smart. We'll maybe we are smarter than you." He was looking to tie up loose ends, and we were the loose ends. We waited another fifteen minutes and out of Sonny's walked Perroni. We had guessed correctly, now we had to follow him and see where he was heading.

He was alone, which surprised me, I figured him for at least one bodyguard. He got into a Black Escalade parked in front of the joint. We are about to pull out when we spotted a car just a little in front of us. I noticed the motor was running because you could see the exhaust fumes. As soon as Perroni got in the Escalade the cars brake lights came on. Perroni started down the street and the car followed with their headlights off. I notice the car was a Crown Victoria with public plates. It has to be the cops, Perroni was under surveillance. Things just got much more complicated. I had planned on grabbing Perroni and convincing him it was in his best interest to tell me who knew about us. After that, I had to kill him, I had no choice. Shelby and I looked at each other and just shook our heads, now what?

To anyone watching the show it probably looked like a parade. In the middle of the night three cars, two of them with their lights off following each other down the street. Thankfully Perroni wasn't going far. About six blocks down from the bar I saw a warehouse door open automatically. The Escalade pulled into the garage. The Crown Vic passed the warehouse and pulled into a parking space just down the block. We were far enough back to take a spot just before the warehouse.

I needed to see how many people were in that car so I slipped out and slowly move down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. I got about four car lengths away and cam see only one silhouette. Last thing I want to do is kill a cop but one would be easier to control. I returned to the car and told Shelby the cop is alone. We both find that unusual and wonder what we are missing. There is nothing we can do for now, Carl is still three hours away, so we settle down and watch the warehouse.
Chapter 46

Lieutenant O'Shea

The terrorist strike on New York short circuited O'Shea's investigation into the murders on the dock. He was still expected to solve the crime, but all his manpower was pulled away. He was to work the case alone. He had had a team of investigators and was getting nowhere, now he was expected to make progress alone. Retirement seemed to be coming even faster.

He had one lead; a snitch had told him the shipment the goons were to pick up belonged to Dominic Perroni. Every cop in New Jersey knew Perroni. He and his cousin Sammy were reputed to be big time importers, but so far, no one had anything on them. Sammy was found dead awhile back and it was thought to be a drug deal gone wrong, but again, no proof. The lead on Perroni was all he had so he began to work every angle he could. He found Perroni lived extremely well. He owned half of Sammy's Place, but that didn't explain his one and one half million dollar house. He had expensive taste. His bank account contained a few thousand dollars but he spent far more than that on his suits. He called the FBI to find out what they knew about him, but no one was available to help, everyone was working the terrorist desk. He wanted to go to New York and help with the rescue effort, but the Chief had him stay and work on the murders. One thing about O'Shea, he followed orders. If he was told to work the murders, he would do just that. He wanted to set up surveillance on Perroni but no one was available. Now here he was at almost 3 AM sitting watching a warehouse. Christ, he thought, twenty four years for this. It was a chilly night early in the fall so he left the motor running to keep the heater on. He had no idea that gave him away. It had been a long time since he had to sit in a car and watch a building, he was rusty.
Chapter 47

At 6 AM Carl called. He was entering Camden and would be in our location in less than thirty minutes. It was beginning to become daylight and we needed the night for cover. I told Carl to get us a hotel room and let me know where it was. We would meet him there and plan a strategy for that night, we also needed some rest. All of us had been on the go for over twenty four hours. Apparently the cop watching had the same idea because as soon as it became light he headed out. I told Shelby to hold up, if the cop was gone now might be a good time to move. I was afraid if we waited for the next night the cop might be back and we would need to deal with him also. I called Carl and told him to come to our location. The area was mostly old warehouses and there wasn't much activity on the street, in fact, we saw no one walking at all, only an occasional car passed.

Carl called, he was parked a block behind us. I told him to gather our gear bag and come to us. Five minutes later Carl was sitting in the back seat with a large duffel bag. We loaded the shotguns and pistols. Each of us took a K-Bar and slipped it into our belt. Carl had an idea. He opened the car door and grabbed a handful of dirt out of the gutter. Shelby and I thought he had lost his mind. He spread the dirt on his face and clothes. He tore the sleeve of his jacket and his pants leg. He looked like a bum, now I understood. He tucked a 9mm behind his jacket in the small of his back. He headed out of the car toward the warehouse. We watched him stumble around like a drunk all the while checking out the place. Shelby had to laugh; he said it looked like him a couple of years ago.

Carl came back, he told us the door looked solid and had a double bolt, not easy to kick in. We needed someone from inside to open that door. Fat chance they would open if we knocked. I didn't even know if Perroni had a family, but if he did and he thought they were in danger, he might try to get to them. I called his number. "Perroni, you fucked up buddy. You didn't think of protecting your family, shame on you. Now I'm going to kill them and there ain't shit you can do about it." I laughed, disconnected, and waited.

Carl had positioned himself on the sidewalk near the door. For a few minute nothing happened, than the large driveway door began to open. I watched Carl position himself to the left of the door. Shelby and I checked for anyone in the area, grabbed our gear and headed for the warehouse. Before we got there Carl had slipped under the door and was inside. I heard hollering and one shot. The door stopped opening. Shelby and I slid under the door just as it began to go back down.

Carl was standing on the driver's side of the Escalade pointing his pistol in the window. I could see he had shot the driver and Perroni was in the passenger seat. Shelby got to the passenger side with his shotgun to cover Perroni. There were steps on one side of the warehouse going up to a landing with offices off the landing. I started up the stairs, a door opened and a man almost ran into me. He was carrying an AK, he began to turn. I fired one shot from my shotgun into his chest. He fell over the rail to the floor below. Carl had the car secured and Shelby rushed up the steps to help. Two others came out of doors but when they looked down the barrel of the shotgun they dropped their weapons. Now we had to hope no one outside called the cops. We had Perroni alive, but his driver, and one other guy was dead. We checked and made sure the offices were empty, they were. Shelby tied the two others up and I took Perroni to one of the offices. He hadn't said anything. Carl covered him while I tied him to a chair. Shelby finished tying the others up and went downstairs to cover the door. Perroni was frightened. The shock of the quick attack had worn off and now he was just scared.

Now it was time to talk. "You fuckers are all dead, you just don't come in my town and do this." It was false bravado. We had the guns and he was helpless, he was trying to convince himself how tough he was. I grabbed a chair and placed it directly in front of him. I sat in the chair and my face was just inches from his. He spit in my face, I just smiled, and that really pissed him off.

I started the conversation. "OK, here is the situation, you crossed the line when you dragged family into this. If you come at us, that we understand, but when you bring innocent people into it, you fucked up. I need to know, besides yourself, who else knows about the three of us."

Perroni sat silently for a moment, "I suppose you will let me go if I tell you?"

I looked him in the eyes, "I suppose if I let you go you will promise not to mess with us or our families"

He shook his head, "Yes, I never meant any of those things, you are OK, just untie me and take all the money here. I won't do anything."

I knew he would say anything at that point. "You know I really wish I could believe you, but I don't. We won't be gone two minutes and you'll be on the phone making an anonymous call to the cops. You'll turn us in and we have nothing on you, no sorry, don't believe you."

Now realization was starting to set in. "Please, I have a family too, I would never do that. Please."

I really wished I could believe him. "OK, here is the deal I'm offering you. You tell me who else knows about us, I promise not to mess with your family, and I kill you quickly and painlessly. Your second option isn't so nice, I still would never mess with your family, but if you don't tell me I will make you wish you were dead. I will take little pieces off of you one at a time. Sooner or later you will tell the truth. Do you understand?"

At that point I pulled the K-Bar out and held it in front of his face. "This ain't my first rodeo brother, one way or the other those are your only options. What's it going to be?"

Perroni tried to convince himself "You wouldn't do that, you're a family man. You don't have that in you."

I just smiled, "Don't kid yourself, I have already tortured one man to death, and I kind of liked it. I won't hesitate to do it to you." Perroni look like he was going to be sick. He had turned white. I think the truth had finally hit him. I was tired bullshitting, "You have ten seconds, what's it going to be?" Now Perroni was getting desperate "OK, OK, I have millions, I'll give you everything, don't kill me please." I shook my head, "Sorry; you made that decision for me when you brought family into this, five seconds."

I waved the knife in front of his face for emphasis. He was sweating profusely and began talking real fast. "OK, OK, I'm the only one who knows who you are, just me, I swear." Carl was standing in the back of the room taking this all in. I turned and asked Carl if he thought Perroni is telling the truth. Carl just shakes his head no.

Perroni was stammering now "I am, I am, I swear on my mamas grave. No one else, I was keeping you guys to myself. I didn't want anyone else offering you a better deal. I was worried you would be hired to come after me."

I stood there and thought. Perroni was scared shitless, but what he said made sense. We were his private security force. He knew what we were capable of. I believed he was telling the truth. Now I had to face the reality, I didn't hate him, but I knew if I let him go we would either be hunted or put in jail. This had to end here and now. I turned to Carl, he shook his head yes, he agreed with my assessment. Now the only thing remaining was the dirty work.

Just then Shelby stuck his head in the door and motioned for me to come out. On the landing he told me our friend from last night was parked out front again. The cop had returned, what the hell was he doing here so early, didn't he have anything else to do? Shit, another complication. I walked down the stairs and peeked out the door, sure enough, he was parked in the same spot as last night, and he was alone. I didn't need another complication, but there he was.

We had looked in all the rooms of the warehouse to make sure no one else was around. The first room at the top of the stairs was their drug processing room. It was full of bundles of drugs and money stacked in the corner. This was more than enough to put Perroni in prison, but then he would tell them about us. We would end up on death row. My mind was racing. We could kill Perroni and sneak out, but our car was parked just down the street from the cop. He would see us either pass him or U-turn. The car was stolen. But why leave any evidence at all? I just couldn't leave the car parked outside a murder scene, that didn't sound like particularly good idea. It could be traced back to Baltimore and possibly on some surveillance camera in the airport they would see Shelby and me.

Carl, who rarely speaks, was standing on the landing and asked me to come up and talk to him. He had an idea. For Carl to speak was so rare, you had to listen. I listened to his idea and liked it. It wasn't foolproof, but nothing is. We agreed it was the best we could come up with. Carl wanted to be the one to execute his plan, but I had gotten us into this mess and I wanted to be the one to get us out. We checked the ropes on Perroni who was screaming as loud as he could. He used this warehouse as a processing location and had made it virtually soundproof.

Carl and I walked down and explained to Shelby what we were about to do. He wasn't any more optimistic than we were, but our options were limited. I did the Carl impression of a bum by rubbing as much dirt from the warehouse floor on me as I could. I messed my clothes up and hoped I looked the part. I needed to get as close to the cop car as possible without raising suspicion.
Chapter 48

There was a rear entrance to the warehouse, I exited there and walked down an alley two buildings away. I had a 9mm tucked behind my back under my torn and dirty jacket. I stumbled like a drunk down the street in the direction of the cop car. I had my hood of my jacket up and sun glasses on. I approached the car from the rear on the passenger side and noticed the lock was up. Good, as I walked by I noticed him glance at me then turn his attention back to the warehouse. I pulled the pistol, with my left hand and opened the car door with my right. He turned toward me in surprise, saw the pistol and began to reach inside his jacket. I told him, "Stop, put both your hands on the wheel." He sat with his hand half inside and half outside his coat, thought better of it, and placed both hands on the bottom of the wheel.

I looked at him and said, "Now listen to me and you go home to your family tonight, don't do anything fast or stupid." He was stunned but managed to say, "I'm a cop, what do you think you are doing?"

I just smiled, "You're sitting out here in a Crown Vic with public plates, the motors running, and you don't think anyone knows you're a cop? What did they teach you in cop school? Before I explain what's happening there is one other thing you should know. There is a 7mm magnum pointed at the back of your head from a building eighty yards behind us. Even if you somehow take me out, you're still dead."

His ego was wounded but he said "You're insane, you can't get away with this." My turn to shake my head "If you fuck up and die it won't make any difference to you whether I get away with it or not."

When I jumped into the car I landed on his two way radio, which was lying on the passenger seat. I kept the pistol pointed at him and pulled the radio out from under me. I slipped it into my jacket pocket. "OK, next, with two fingers, open your jacket and remove your weapon. "

Reluctantly he complied. I took the semi-automatic in my right hand and told him "OK, roll down the passenger side window." As he was doing that I pulled the inside rearview mirror off the windshield and as the window went down, I smashed the passenger outside mirror with his pistol. Carl, who had taken the same route as me saw the window go down and approached from the passenger side. I handed him the cop's pistol. He walked away, hood up and sunglasses on. He improvised and I had to smile. He walked with a very pronounced limp.

After Carl was out of site I said "OK, we are almost finished. You asked me what I wanted. Believe it or not we both want the same thing, to bring down Perroni. Why else would you be parked out here? Now, give me your cell phone and don't try to bullshit me, everyone carries a cell phone." He reached into his jacket pocket and hands me a flip phone. I slip that into my pocket with his police radio.

I looked at him "Now, right hand, turn off the ignition and hand me the keys." He hesitates but does as he is told. The keys go in my pocket with his cell and radio. Still looking in his eyes I said "OK, one last item. Give me your backup piece." He shook his head "I don't carry one." I gave him a disbelieving look, "Come on, I never knew a cop that didn't carry at least a throw down." He insists, "I swear I don't have one."

Still disbelieving I said, "OK, it won't matter anyway, because if you try and come after me my buddy with the 7mm will end it. Now keep your hands on the wheel and I am going to explain what is about to happen. Listen carefully I'm only going to say this once and then I'm gone, forever. If you fuck up and don't do as I say, you will not make it home to your family tonight. Do we understand each other?" He nods his head yes.

"Good, you are going to become a hero tonight. You are single handedly going to take the Perroni gang down. You were sitting in your car and heard shots. You responded immediately and entered the front of the warehouse. Two of the gang was already dead they had a dispute and killed each other, then Perroni came down the steps with a weapon in his hand. You ordered him to stop, he raised the gun. You fired twice in self defense striking him in the chest. He was dead before he hit the floor. You checked the rest of the warehouse where you found a large stash of drugs and cash. You got all that?"

He stares at me in disbelief. "You're fucking insane, no one's going to believe that. Ballistics and forensics aren't going to support that story. Fuck you."

I smiled, "Ballistics will match, you see, Perroni was just killed with your gun. The guns on the other two dead men will back up that story." Suddenly the color drained from his face. He couldn't think of anything to say.

I continued, "Now you can come up with any story you want. You can tell everyone you were taken down, disarmed, your gun stolen, and used to kill someone. I personally like my story, but that's your choice. OK, I'm getting out of the car now. You will lie down on the seat for five minutes. If my partner see's anything move before five minutes is up, he will fire, and he shoots very well. Your radio, cell phone, car keys, and gun will be in the warehouse. The phones in the warehouse don't work; you will need to find the battery for the cell and radio. They are somewhere in the warehouse. Good luck officer, oh by the way, I didn't get you name. I guess it doesn't matter, don't forget, lay down as soon as I get out. Oh and one last thing. If a few hundred thousand of all that cash happens to disappear, no one would ever know."

He looks straight at me, "I need to ask one question. Did Perroni kill those men on the Camden wharf?"

I smile again, "Well let's just say, the operation was his. You have a nice day."

He almost shouts "Who did the shooting?"

I smiled at him and again reminded him to lie down immediately. I got out of the car and saw him lay across the front seat. I walked to the driver's side and smashed the outside rearview mirror. I headed for the warehouse. Shelby was standing in the door. I tossed him the radio, keys, and cell phone, he went in and returned thirty seconds later. He had taken the battery out of the cell and radio and thrown them different places in the warehouse. We also pulled the two phones we found in the warehouse out the wall. Shelby untied the two guys we had apprehended and told them to go out the back door and if they knew what was good for them, to disappear. All the guns were placed to make it look like a firefight between the two dead men. We got in our rental car and u-turned. I was hoping the broken mirrors and his head down would prevent him from seeing us.

Carl had released Perroni's bonds and walked him down the stairs. Halfway down the stairs he fired two shot from the cop's gun into Perroni's chest. He was dead before he hit the floor. He placed a weapon from the warehouse in Perroni's hand, dropped the cop's gun by the door and headed out. We headed south on I-676 and then west on I-76. We crossed the Walt Whitman Bridge into Philadelphia and exited on Packer Ave. Carl was already parked and waiting for us. We abandoned the stolen car, and jumped back on I-76 West turned onto I-95 South and headed for home.
Chapter 49

Lieutenant O'Shea

O'Shea lay across his front seat and stared at his watch. He was tempted to open the door and run, but he just wasn't sure if there was really was someone waiting for movement. These guys had already proven they could be violent, the smile from the man in the car when asked about the dead on the docks sent a chill down his spine. He knew he had to do something, but he didn't want to die. He reached his backup piece in his ankle holster. At least he had been able to keep that. At the five minute mark he opened the door and ran to the cover of a nearby alley. No shots rang out. He sprinted across the street to the warehouse and hit the door. It was already partially open and he went sprawling inside. He landed right next to his pistol. He grabbed it and checked the chamber and clip, still loaded. He looked toward the stairs leading to the loft. There was a body face down on the stairs. Oh shit, they really had done it. He smelled his weapon, it had been fired. He cautiously moved to the body and flipped it over. It was Perroni. He had a semi-automatic pistol by his side. He checked for a pulse, although from the amount of blood on the stairs he knew it was futile. There was another body on the ground to his left. He approached the car and there was a body in the front seat. Both dead men had weapons near them. He climbed the stairs. The first room contained bundles of dope and stacks of money. More money than he had ever seen. The second and third rooms were empty.

He searched and found his radio and cell phone. Shorty he located both batteries. He was just about to call in when he stopped. What the hell was he going to say? Could he tell what really happened, he was jumped, disarmed, and his weapon used to kill a man. Christ, no cop should ever give up his gun.

Minutes passed, he made up his mind, he made an officer needs assistance call, shots fired.

It wasn't long before the streets surrounding the warehouse were full of cop cars. With an officer involved shooting everyone had to respond. The shooting team from Internal Affairs took his statement and took his weapon as evidence. Another cop, a Captain took his statement again. He was temporally assigned to a desk until his story was checked. Back at his office he was greeted like a hero, he had done what years of investigation couldn't, he had taken down Perroni.
Chapter 50

The drive home was uneventful. We made a couple of overnight stops. Once home we checked the news, apparently a drug dealers death in New Jersey wasn't news worthy, still too much terrorist news to cover. The next day I checked the internet, a brief mention of an officer involved shooting that left three men dead. I made the call to Rachael I had been longing to make. She and Jasmine was going to catch a flight home ASAP. I missed her desperately and told her so. Finally three days later a story that made national news, a major drug ring had been brought down by a Lieutenant single handed. He had responded to shots fired and confronted Dominic Perroni, a suspected major drug dealer. He had defended himself and killed Perroni. Two other men were dead when he arrived and had killed each other in a drug dispute. Millions in drugs had been seized in addition to a large amount of cash. The Lieutenant had been cleared and the shooting justified. He had used my story. I was hoping he would for his sake and ours. A cop that gives up his weapon isn't looked on favorably. A week later a brief story about Lieutenant O'Shea the hero of Camden. He had been promoted to Captain and was now the head of the Camden Homicide Division.

Life took on an aspect of normalcy. Shelby and Jasmine had a place on the Mississippi coast. He purchased an airplane and they passed their days either on the beach or flying. Carl bought seven hundred acres of woods in central Mississippi. He had a small place built and spent his days wandering in the woods. He had lost his desire to hunt with a rifle, and now hunted with a camera.

Rachael finally decided to marry me. We had Carl, Shelby, and Jasmine take a trip with us to Las Vegas. Carl and Shelby shared best man duties and Jasmine was maid of honor. Rachael looked beautiful in her wedding gown. My thoughts returned to my wife I had lost years ago, and how beautiful she had been. I felt the fool but cried like a baby, with sadness for what was lost, and happiness for what I had found. We partied and gambled for three days. No one wanted the party to end, but we could only take so much of a good thing.

Days, weeks, months passed. Days were filled with traveling and just enjoying each other's company. Nights were spent with Rachael, but in my dreams I had other visitors. At times my late wife visited me, she seemed to accept me the way I was, and was happy that I was with Rachael. Rachael had been her friend, but she never mentions the past few years. In my dreams I saw her as she was on the day we were married, smiling and happy. I am also visited by the faces of men, men in combat gear, but none speak to me.

One night I was sitting by myself trying to make some sense of the past few years. I had done things I would never have imagined. I had moved drugs and killed men, but not much else in my life had changed. I was still in love and somewhat haunted by my past. I got together with Carl and Shelby often, but missed the camaraderie of our times together.
Chapter 51

It was April 23rd 2002. Just after 3 AM my cell phone rang. Only four people have that number Carl, Shelby, Jasmine, and Rachael. Rachael was sleeping besides me and Shelby and Jasmine are in the spare bedroom, spending the week with us. I answer and I hear Carl's voice, "We got a problem. You and Shelby need to get up here now, take Rachael and Jasmine someplace safe. There is a hotel about thirty minutes south of here, check them in there and then come up. Bring some equipment with you." My mind was spinning, equipment, we always referred to our weapons as equipment. I woke the others and told the women to get dressed and pack a small bag. I couldn't explain anything, because I didn't know anything.

We were on the road for 3:45 AM, heading toward Carl's place. It is about a four hour drive, we stopped in a small motel in Carthage MS. It is now 7:30 AM. We told the women to stay put till we find out what is going on. I had given Rachael a compact Sig 9mm for home protection. I made sure she had it with her and told her not to open the door for anyone. I know this scared her, but I had no idea why Carl had called.

We drove down Red Dog Rd. to Carl's land. The gate across the road was open so we drove in. Carl was standing in his door and waved us forward. We exited the car and walked inside. Carl had a man tied up on the floor. The guy was awake and struggling at his bonds. There was blood on his face and fear in his eyes.

Carl motioned to the guy on the floor and said "Meet Mr. Halsey, Mr. Halsey tried to kill me this morning and he don't want to tell me who sent him. I would ask his partner, but he is already dead in his car parked around back, apparently Mr. Halsey here was the shooter and his buddy was the wheel man."

I bent over and looked at Halsey and shook my head. I thought we had put this shit behind us, but here it was, in our back yards. Carl continued "This clown here has a New Jersey Driver's License, what a surprise, I didn't bother looking for his buddies, too much blood, but I would bet he is of the same mold. These assholes thought opening the gate and driving in wouldn't attract my attention. Too bad for them I have motion detectors around here." He looked at Halsey, "You guys are fuckups, I hope you weren't the best the boss has, because you guys suck."

We needed to find out who had sent these clowns. Apparently either Perroni didn't know someone else knew about us, or he had lied. I really didn't think he had lied, he was too afraid. In a way we had gotten lucky, Carl would be the hardest to eliminate. Sneaking up on him was virtually impossible. He seemed to never relax, always aware of his surroundings, as these two had found out. My guess was they had assumed since he was a long way from a neighbor no one would notice gunshots. They didn't know Carl.
Chapter 52

Halsey had to talk, there was just no option. We had to confront this head on. If someone was coming for us, we couldn't wait, we had to take the offensive. We lifted Halsey put him on a chair and tied him to it. I really didn't want to do this, but I had no choice. I looked him straight in the eye and said, "My friend, you are in a major fucking jam, your boss has got you into something you can't get out of. I need to know who sent you before I decide what to do with you."

He was going to play the tough guy act. "Fuck you man, you guys are all dead, you just don't know it yet."

I chuckled "From where I stand there is only one asshole tied to a chair and one other dead, so if you don't want to join your friend I suggest you start talking."

Halsey said nothing, just sat and seemed to be letting his situation sink in. I needed to apply a little pressure. "OK you want to play hardball and be the tough guy, fine." I looked at Carl and said, "Carl, give me your K-Bar." Carl handed me his K-Bar. I glanced at Halsey out of the corner of my eye and he was getting the point, his eyes had grown big and had the 'Oh shit' look on his face.

He stammered "Look man, I am just the hired help, I don't know shit. I'm just following orders." Shelby spoke up, "Whose orders?"

Halsey was now visibly shaking, "If I tell you he is gonna kill me man." Carl said "If you don't tell us, I'm gonna kill you, so take your pick."

He was just sitting hoping this was all a dream. I needed to wake him up. "Your boss sent you here to kill Carl, and probably then Shelby and me. Now you ain't gonna kill anybody, but I am going to tell you what you are going to do. You are going to tell us who sent you or I am going to turn Carl loose on you, you see, Carl likes to cut things up. When he is finished with you, I promise, you will be begging me to shoot you."

For emphasis I took the K-Bar and sliced open his cheek. As blood ran down his face he panicked, trying to get loose from the chair. I sliced his other cheek and he finally couldn't take anymore.

"OK, please, don't kill me. Guzman sent man, it was Guzman." I looked at the other and shrugged, who the hell was Guzman. I needed him to keep talking "OK, that's a start, keep talking."

"Perroni worked for Guzman man, he knew you guys took out Perroni and was afraid you would come after his organization. When you didn't he figured you were just buying time and decided to come after you. That's it man, I swear. I don't know nothing else man, he gave me all your locations and told me to take out Rome first, then Wilson, then Carr. Man just let me go and I will disappear. I swear, I got nothing against you guys, I was just following orders."

I knew he was right; he was just following order, Guzman's orders. Now I needed more information, where could I find Guzman. "OK, you're doing good. Now where can I find Guzman and then we are done here. "New York man, Brooklyn, Whale Square, just off 1st Ave. He's got a warehouse there. Please man just let me go."

Crap, now what, I had to know one more thing "How did you find us, tell me what you know about us, what Guzman told you."

He was badly shaken and wanted to talk "In my wallet in the back, there is a sheet of paper with your names and addresses on it, he knew the addresses, I don't know how, but he did."

I searched the wallet and found the paper. It had our names plus Rachael and Jasmine's name on it. "What about these other two names? What did he tell you about them?"

He was hesitant, but answered anyway. "We were to take them out too, they knew what you knew. I wasn't gonna kill no women though, but Frenchy was gonna do that, he liked that. But he's dead now, you killed him, so they are safe."

Safe sure from these two, but there would be others. I looked at Shelby and Carl and they both had sad expressions. We all knew what we had to do but none of us really wanted to do it. I looked at Carl and said, "Untie our friend here Carl." Carl untied Halsey and told him to get up and leave. He wasn't sure he had heard correctly and hesitated. I opened the door and as he walked outside I grabbed him, pulled him to the side and slit his throat. I could have killed him inside but cleanup would have been too much, outside he bled on the ground where we could dig up the dirt and bury it.

We all sat around gloomy for a short period of time. None of us wanted this, but this time it was brought to us, so we had to deal with it. We hauled Halsey's body and put it in the car with Frenchy. Carl had a backhoe he was using to dig a pond, it took about two hours, but we dug a hole big enough for the car to be pushed in and covered with a few feet of dirt. We dug up the blood from Halsey and added that to the hole; then we closed the hole for good.

With that complete we checked Carl's house to make sure no trace was left of their visit. We needed to get back to the women and make sure they were safe. On the way back we were silent, everyone with their own thoughts. The women were secure at the hotel, but now what. Guzman knew where to find all of us, home wasn't safe anymore. We had to shake our gloomy thoughts and make a plan. We loaded everyone in the car and headed for New Orleans.

I guess we were back in the game.

TO BE CONTINUED

Jessie's past return to haunt him in the next edition 'Gunslinger'. Jessie has the option, wait for the trouble to come to him or take it to the threat. Remember it Jessie, he's taking trouble on the road. And when Jessie does something, it's never half way.

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Jessie Carr returns in Gunslinger as his past comes back to haunt him.
