Chapter 19
The first two police officers on the scene of the altercation in the median were joined by two more.
Roland told them that what he’d witnessed had amounted to nothing more than a shouting match and a little pushing and shoving, and that the woman had screamed only because she was concerned for her child’s safety.
“Who started it?” one of the officers asked.
“Beats me. By the time I realized something was going on, it was over. One went one way, one the other.”
“Can you give us descriptions?”
He shook his head. “One ran in that direction,” he said, pointing to the far side of the street. “Lost sight of him right away. The homeless guy nearly got run over crossing the street.”
“Could you describe him?”
He shrugged. “Homeless. They all look alike.”
The young cop smiled wryly. “Thank you, Mr. Malone. I hope the rest of your evening is uneventful.”
Roland had then returned to his restaurant, where he’d assured his clientele that the incident had been blown out of proportion and had turned out to be nothing more serious than a squabble. He apologized for the interruption of their meal and offered everyone a drink on the house.
He’d ordered his staff to carry on as though nothing had happened. “Don’t talk about it among yourselves or with customers. I don’t want something made of nothing, understand?”
He’d then taken up his traditional place at the entrance in order to bid goodbye to diners as they left. From that vantage point, he could monitor the police activity in the median and on both sides of the boulevard.
He also had trusted and well-paid informants in the neighborhood and within the NOPD who’d kept him updated on progress, or the lack thereof.
He’d been told that the homeless man involved had disappeared. Few had seen him well enough to provide a description, and those were conflicting. Not even his age and ethnicity had been established. The truck driver who’d almost struck him identified him only as a “fuckin’ moron.”
The last report that Roland had received was that the homeless man was yet to be found and probably never would be because he didn’t want to be.
Likewise, the fleet-footed second party had also vanished before anyone had gotten a good look at him. One man told police he looked like a teenager. “Thirteen, fourteen, maybe. Hassled the homeless guy for the hell of it is my guess.”
The officers must have come to the same conclusion.
No real harm had been done. The damaged truck didn’t belong to the driver, but to the company he worked for, and it was insured.
The woman and her little boy had had a fright, but were fine.
After an hour and a half, the officers drove off in their squad cars.
A police report would be filed, and that would be the end of it.
At least as far as the NOPD was concerned. But not for Roland Malone.
After overseeing the restaurant’s closing, he had retreated to his office, and, because the events of the night required something stronger than red wine, he poured three fingers of scotch.
He thought about saying the rosary, but decided to wait until all the employees had gone. He didn’t want to be interrupted, at least not until after he’d said the Fatima prayer.
When he’d returned from his talk with the police, he’d noticed that Dylan’s hired car was gone. He called her now, got no answer, and left an apology for abandoning her on the sidewalk. “A big to-do was made over nothing. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
His conversation with her tonight had dispelled any reservations he had about her trustworthiness.
She was solid. She was committed to her profession.
Hell, she thought of it as a calling. Therefore, it was highly unlikely she would ever break her vow of confidentiality to a washed-up cop.
On that score, he had nothing to worry about.
Oz was another matter. He had to be told about tonight’s incident, and he wouldn’t be happy. Not when he was focused on those three trucks with a huge stolen payload having to cross Texas and Louisiana without incident.
Roland decided to hold off on that conversation until after he’d finished his drink and had time to mull over exactly what he was going to say. He’d have to grovel a bit, because it was he who’d recommended using El Paso.
And speaking of, he would have to track El Paso down. When he found him, he would make him an example of what happened to someone within the organization who disobeyed a direct order.
He was relishing that thought when his cell dinged. It was his chef. “That new kid just came in through the kitchen door. Asked if you were still on the premises. Are you?”
Roland was stunned. He hadn’t expected El Paso ever to show his face again. Should he let the little shit sweat, unsure of how he was going to react and what his punishment might be? Maybe.
But Roland was curious to hear what he had to say, how he would account for his screwup. Besides, his coming here would save Roland the trouble of having to track him down.
“Send him back.” He set his highball glass aside and settled into his chair. When the awaited knock came, he said, “Get in here.”
As insolent as ever, El Paso sauntered in and had the gall to head straight for the chair facing Roland’s desk and flop down into it.
Without a blink or any other indication that he was about to erupt with rage, Roland stared at him for half a minute before speaking. “If you want to keep your balls attached, you will vacate that chair.”
With an attitude that needed drastic realignment, the kid gave an eye roll, placed his hands on the armrests, and pulled himself up.
Roland said, “You call that spectacle tonight low-key?”
El Paso bristled. “I don’t even get to tell my side?”
Roland envisioned wrapping his garrote around the kid’s neck. It was so scrawny, it wouldn’t take much pressure to kill him. But rather than act on the impulse, he turned his ring several times, then negligently motioned for El Paso to continue.
“I didn’t expect him to fight back. Ahead of time, I’d picked out the ones I was gonna mess with, the ones who’d likely be afraid of me and wouldn’t cause a scene.”
“Obviously you’re a bad judge of character.”
“Not the first two. I got nothing but sobs and pleading for me to leave them alone. I couldn’t find the third one I’d settled on, but I saw this guy in the median and watched him for almost an hour.
In all that time he didn’t move. He wasn’t panhandling.
Hadn’t talked to anybody. I thought he was asleep and would be easy. He was at first.
“But when I opened my knife, he sprang up and came at me fighting. That woman started screaming loud enough to wake the dead. I got in one swipe at him, then I got outta there.”
Roland stared at him, unmoved.
“I don’t know what you’re upset about,” the kid mumbled. “I didn’t get caught, did I?”
Roland stared harder. The prick was challenging him and his authority. “First of all,” Roland said without inflection, “you don’t get a ‘side.’ I tell you to do something, you do as you’re told. What I told you to do was scare a few of the homeless and keep it low-key. Oz wanted it kept simple.”
He motioned to his cell phone lying on his desk.
“Now I gotta call him, tell him how we had police in the neighborhood, interviewing witnesses, talking to people. Are you seeing the problem now, genius? It drew attention. And this guy who came up fighting? We’ve got no idea who he was, where he went, or what he might do. ”
“Do?” El Paso scoffed. “A bum like that? What’s he gonna do?”
“As we speak, he may be talking to the cops, giving them a description of you, which would make you a blip on the PD’s radar. DEA, FBI, who knows?” Roland didn’t believe that, but he wanted to watch El Paso squirm.
“You put Oz’s entire operation in jeopardy tonight. People who fuck up that bad are usually found dead the next morning in a swamp, if they’re ever found at all. Remember the guy you replaced? He’s history because he thought he was smarter than Oz and me.”
That reminder made El Paso jittery. He shifted from one foot to another. “That tramp’s not gonna do nothin’. He might even be dead. I stuck him good.”
Roland figured he was lying to make himself look better. “Is that right? I saw the guy myself running like hell.”
“I tell you, if he ain’t dead, he ain’t feeling so good.”
Roland wanted to stand up, reach across his desk, and wipe off El Paso’s smirk with his fist. He said, “I talked to the cops. Not one mention of blood. If there had been blood in the median, they would’ve found it.”
“I drew blood, all right.” As quickly as a striking snake, El Paso produced a switchblade and flicked it open. “See this?” He thrust the knife toward Roland. “Blood on the blade. I don’t miss.”
Roland hadn’t flinched. He didn’t think the kid would stick him, but his sass made Roland want to kill him. On the other hand, the kid had balls that Roland grudgingly admired. El Paso reminded him of his younger self.
Keeping his expression blank, revealing none of what was going through his mind, he said, “Put that away and don’t ever pull a knife on me again.” El Paso closed the knife and slid it back inside his clothing.
“That blood on your blade you’re bragging about is probably the old man’s. The one you jumped at the end of the alley. Cops found him, questioned him. You scared the bejesus out of him. He swore that he couldn’t describe you, but they didn’t think he would have even if he could’ve.”
“I only nicked him on his chin. The other wasn’t a nick.”
“If that’s true, you had better hope the bugger is dead.
He saw you, up close and personal like. So I don’t think anything short of the police finding his stiff corpse will satisfy Oz.
He hates loose ends. He hates them more than anything.
” He waved his hand toward the door. “Now, get out of here. I’ve got a call to make. ”
“To him? Oz?”
Roland picked up his phone and extended it. “Unless you want to tell him your side.”