Authors: Ace Atkins
I read back through.
A couple had spotted Malcolm’s Bentley at the club two hours before the abduction by two men in a black van. Teddy had been walking out with Dio when the men appeared and threatened them with their guns.
I read the file again.
The file ended. Dio’s body was never found.
Hiney walked back in and lifted up the blinds in his little office. He was eating a Zagnut bar and had chocolate in his teeth when he smiled at me. “Why don’t you ask me why I don’t like Malcolm Paris?”
“Because he’s black.”
“You don’t understand, do you?” he said. “You work this job for two days and tell me what you see out there. Tell me what it’s all about from the inside of your office at Tulane.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m having to get a fucking subpoena this week because Malcolm Paris is the only shitbird involved in this thing with the kid who won’t let me look at his bank records.”
I RAN ANNIE BACK by the warehouse, ate half of a muffuletta I’d bought at Central on Tuesday, and made a pot of coffee on my stove. A pile of pictures Maggie had sent me a few weeks back lay splayed on the table. Shots of me on her painted horse Tony and a couple of her son catching the football we’d been tossing around her old white farmhouse. One shot had been tucked neatly in the pile, a photo of us down at this catfish restaurant in Taylor, where you ate on plank wood tables and listened to bluegrass. She’d had a few glasses of white wine and was resting her head on my shoulder when a friend of hers had grabbed her Canon. Maggie showing she had her guard down. Black hair and green eyes. Bright white smile. Maggie.
Shit.
I called her. It was almost five, about the time I should’ve been getting into Oxford. Tomorrow I was supposed to help JoJo repair his aging barn.
As the phone rang, I reached underneath the sink and pulled out a Glock 9mm where I’d rested it on a hidden ledge. I was down on my knees peering up into my hiding place by the rusted pipes when she answered.
“Where are you?”
“New Orleans.”
“Nick?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I got held up.”
I explained Teddy’s situation, leaving out the worrisome details.
“Well, I’d already gotten the horses into the trailer and was waiting like a dumb-ass for you to roll down the road,” she said. “Why do you do things like this?”
“He needed help in a bad way.”
“I knew you’d do this to me.”
“Maggie, I swear to you, it’s not that,” I said. “I swear.”
“Well, tomorrow’s your birthday,” she said. “You can fuck it up any way you want.”
I’d forgotten.
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” I said. “I promise.”
I heard her son Dylan talking to her in the background. She said something short to him and then said to me, “I’ve got to go.”
Dial tone.
Annie barked.
I poured out some dog food and scratched her ears. “You like me. Right?”
I PARKED beneath the expressway leading up to the Greater New Orleans Bridge about thirty minutes later. Above what felt like a concrete cave with a ceiling of twisting on-ramps, cars and trucks made roaring sounds. I passed by thick columns spray-painted with graffiti and elevation markers and smelled the exhaust. Crime-scene tape marked the set. The light had faded into that summer afternoon golden glow and softened all the asphalt and concrete. The sun touched everything as it grew weak and I sat watching it fade for a few minutes, aware that I was just getting started with my day.
I saw Teddy talking to a skinny black man wearing a Metairie Zephyrs baseball hat backward and a satin Yankees jacket. The man watched a video monitor and pointed to a loose group of dancers surrounding ALIAS. The kid was breathing hard and soaked with sweat in a circle of 1960s American cars with low-rider shocks to make them jump up. About forty women in bikinis, all hard-bodied and sweating, and about fifty or so thugs stood ready to go wild when ALIAS pointed to them. They were at his command and every few minutes he’d flash a gold smile and point to the center of the group just to hear them scream.
During the break, I yelled for Teddy, who gave me the one-minute gesture. Thumping bounce rap music thudded from some speakers near ALIAS and he started into a rolling rap about Reebok sneakers, FUBU shoes, and a whole lotta Cristal was gonna make it real smooth. He bragged about a Mercedes-Benz and two Escalades and how the women who kept his company just couldn’t behave.
He had a roughened, musical voice and worked his tricky lyrics and rhymes as if he were juggling words and verses in midair.
I didn’t know rap but I knew he was good.
“Hey, dog,” Teddy yelled. He wore rimless sunglasses tinted a deep red and a toothpick hung out of his mouth. The rap music was loud and shaking and the red, green, and yellow cars bucked like wild horses, the bikini girls popped their asses, and the posse just shouted and waved black-and-gold bandannas over their heads.
We walked to a far corner of the expressway cavern, behind one of the huge columns, where we were somewhat shielded from the music.
“I know about the cops and Malcolm,” I said.
He was silent.
“You could’ve just dropped a word, man,” I said. “I like to know these things.”
Teddy was six feet six and 300 pounds and loomed over me while I talked. Not a lot of people made me feel so small.
“The cops wanted Malcolm ’cause it was easy,” Teddy said, finally speaking.
The rain from earlier dripped down in dirty beads from underneath the expressway and dropped onto Teddy’s sunglasses. He wiped his face and looked over my shoulder.
“Why won’t he let them see his bank account?”
The music stopped and I heard the director yelling at one of the women to put her bikini top back on. While Teddy and I watched, a young white man in loose khakis and a plaid untucked shirt came by.
“I need to talk to Malcolm,” I said.
Teddy nodded and said, “Later.”
The man offered his hand to me and I shook it.
“This your friend Nick?” the man asked. He was in his late twenties. Easy smile on his face. Relaxed handshake. His eyes kind of unfocused, slow and lazy in his movements. He looked like he’d just woken up and stifled a yawn with his fist.
“This my dog Trey,” Teddy said. “Take care of my financial things. Keep the Ninth Ward show runnin’ hard.”
“Y’all work together?” I asked.
“Trey Brill,” he said. He had that carefully disheveled hair that was supposed to make you look like you’d just crawled out of bed. He was kind of tan and had a slight blondish stubble on his face. He kept his sunglasses on Croakies around his neck.
“Thought I was your one and only token,” I said.
“I like to diversify.”
“Hey, man,” I said to Trey. “I need to talk to you for a few minutes.”
“You can come by the office tomorrow.”
I looked at Teddy.
“They ain’t no tomorrow,” Teddy said to Trey. “I’ll explain later. I need you to do this.”
Trey looked confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I told you about Nick looking into what happened with ALIAS?”
“Yeah.”
“Give him what he needs.”
“What do you do, Nick?”
“Pick up my paycheck at the end of the week,” I said. I hated that question.
Trey gave that relaxed smile. “You’re a teacher or something?”
“At Tulane.”
“Teddy, I’m sorry, but I really don’t understand.”
“Take care of Nick,” he said. “I ain’t got time.”
“I’ve got to head back to my office,” Trey said.
“I’ll meet you there.”
Trey looked back at Teddy, but Teddy had already disappeared under the concrete caves.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, I rode the elevator up to the thirty-second floor of a nameless CBD building made of steel and mirrors. A black leather sofa and a small coffee table covered in back issues of the
Robb Report
sat inside the glass door to
BRILL & ASSOCIATES
,
SPORTS AND ENTERTAINMENT MANAGEMENT.
A wooden humidor of cigars and a cutter waited for anyone who needed to indulge. The magazines featured articles on test drives of the latest Ferraris and new Caribbean resorts with nights that started in the $3,000 range.
Framed photos hung on the walls. Couple of old teammates of mine. The current coach for the Saints. A famous jazz musician. I stared through a doorway flooded with dim light into an office and back wall with a view of another mirrored office building across the street. A red light blinked from an antenna on the roof. The sky was orange and black, dark clouds still hovering over Algiers. I hoped the streets would not flood tonight.
Brill walked in with a black man who looked to be somewhere in his twenties. The black man, really just a kid, carried a couple of helmets and footballs. He wore a navy polo shirt and khakis. They were laughing hard, and when the guy put down all the sports paraphernalia, Trey gave him a high five.
The other guy looked at me and his eyes narrowed a bit. Trey waited a second, checked messages on the secretary’s desk, and then turned back. “One minute, Nick. Okay?”
We shook hands and his smile folded deeply into dimples. He divided his long frat-boy hair out of his eyes. “So, what do you need?”
He’d yet to introduce his buddy. The buddy crossed his arms over his chest and peered down at my dirty boots. I looked at him and he just watched me. No smile, no greeting.
“Oh, this is my friend Christian,” Brill said. “We had to grab some of this stuff for a new sports bar a friend of ours is opening. They needed some more Saints crap. Man, we’re going to be great this year. I can’t wait.”
I always hated it when men referred to the teams they followed as “we.” I don’t call drinking beer and yelling at the players doing the actual work some kind of true common bond. Especially the ones who think their affiliation is on a metaphysical plane and they are as responsible for the outcome as the guys on the field.
I followed Brill back to his office, where the walls were lined with more sports stars and photos of him with old NFL greats. One showed him running through some tires at some kind of NFL fantasy camp.
He reached into a small refrigerator by his glass desk and pulled out Evian water. He kicked out of his Nikes, rolled off his socks, and laid his bare feet on top of the desk. “Shoot.”
“I need to look at Teddy and Malcolm’s bank records, any account that was drained.”
He sipped on the water as if it were a baby’s bottle. A pacifier of some kind. He squinted his eyes and nodded with concern. “And what will that do?”
“Find ALIAS’s money.”
He nodded. “O-kay. Haven’t the police already done this?” He gave a forced laugh.
“They tried, but Malcolm wouldn’t let them,” I said. “I need to know when you noticed the money was missing and copies of any withdrawals made.”
He nodded again and downed half the bottle of water. He stood up and patted me on the back. “Listen, I appreciate you being such a good friend to Teddy, and if you hear of anything that can help us out with that missing money, I will let the detectives know. But it’s not our policy to let information like that out.”
“Call Teddy.”
“We already spoke.”
“And he said not to release these records to me?”
“And what would you do with them?”
“Make paper animals. Maybe a hat.”
“They don’t tell us anything. It just transferred to some kind of holding account that disappeared. The money came from Malcolm’s joint account, and he doesn’t want to work with you.”
“What was the name on the account where the money was transferred to?”
He patted me on the back again and tried to steer me out of his office by grabbing my biceps. I didn’t move.
In the other room, his buddy had strapped the helmet on his head and was trying to drop back like a QB. He had a puckered scar from a brand on his muscular arm, but his polo shirt was stiff and fresh. Expensive brown leather loafers.
“Teddy gets a little ahead of himself sometimes,” he said. “I can only work with the police.”
I pried his fingers from my biceps.
“Don’t ever grab my arm again, kid.”
“Whooh.” Brill laughed and made a scary motion with his palms raised.
His buddy laughed and took off his helmet. He moved in close to me. I could smell a sourness about his clothes mixed with some kind of expensive cologne. He was light-skinned and his eyes were a brownish green.
“Listen, I know Teddy thinks he owes you something because you didn’t really work out with the team and all.”
“I look forward to getting those records,” I said. “Why don’t you just wait here for Teddy to call.”
“All right, then,” he said, holding the door wide. “Thanks for coming by.”
His smile remained stuck on his face as if drawn by a stranger. He didn’t even know it was there.
ABERCROMBIE & FITCH. Brooks Brothers. Crate & Barrel. Starbucks. Trey Brill liked the way his stores smelled. Uncluttered and clean. The dark coffee smell of Starbucks. The faded look to an Abercrombie hat with a cool old rugby logo. The way Brooks Brothers had the same ties and shirts every year. Everything the way you expected it. Trey finished up paying for a new suit and walked out with Christian, who’d hung with him since they left the office. He and his old friend side by side since the time they were twelve. Soccer practices to bars to business partners.
Trey and Christian watched Teddy from the second floor of the shopping mall, looking down at the fat man sitting by the wishing fountain. Teddy sure was sweating a lot today, the back of his silk shirt soaked. He seemed real jumpy, too, like when Trey mentioned that he needed to pick up a suit before they headed to Redfish for dinner. Teddy just kind of freaked out.
“He’s fucked,” Christian said, smiling.
“His own fault,” Trey said.
“People like that can never handle money,” Christian said. “They don’t understand it.”
“True.”
He said good-bye to Christian, and as his friend was walking away, he saw Teddy peer up at the balcony. He was sure that Teddy saw Christian only from a distance and he was glad of that.