The Take (20 page)

“You
don’t consider them suspects in Ryan’s murder?”

“Nah.
It’s a classic street robbery. Fits the exact MO of some other tourist crimes
we’ve had here lately. Hit him the minute he gets out of the car. Take the
money and run. It’s only a coupla blocks back to the projects from where the
killing took place. We got our informants over there, though, so we might
eventually get him.”

“This,
uh — what’s her name? Linda something?”

“Lavelle.
Linda Lavelle. She’s legit. Been playing piano around town here for years.
Mostly at the Louis Philippe. We’re not worried about her skipping out. We’ll
get around to her pretty quick here.”

“How
about the body? Where’s it at now?”

“Still
on ice. We’re trying to find a next of kin. If we come up dry, it’s potters’
field.”

Dunlap
glimpsed the open file on the desk. He pointed to a set of black-and-white
photos partially protruding from under the top papers.

“Are
those from the crime scene?”

Champagne
pulled them out. “Yeah, this’s them. Just routine stuff.”

“May I?”
asked Dunlap.

Champagne
handed him the folio.
Dunlap
eyed the photographs carefully for nearly two minutes. Looking back at
Champagne, he asked, “You say there was a wallet?”

The
lieutenant reached into a drawer. His hand came out holding a well-worn leather
billfold. He tossed it onto the desk.

“Driver’s
license and not much else.”

“Funny
the guy just took the money and not the whole wallet,” Dunlap said, fingering
the billfold.

“Yeah,
you’re right,” said Champagne. “Usually they take everything, they don’t bother
stopping to pull the money out. Maybe Ryan pulled it out for him and gave it to
him.”

“But I
mean,” Dunlap said, “for all the killer knew, there mighta been more hidden
inside. Maybe plastic, too.”

“Yeah,
who knows? Like I said, when a kid takes down a citizen these days, no telling
what he’s gonna do.”

Dunlap
continued poring over the photos as well as the rest of the file.

Champagne
added, “You got a warrant out on Ryan, Lieutenant?” His black eyes, large and
full of expression, studied Dunlap closely.

“Uh, no
— no warrant. Not yet. We just wanted him for questioning right now. Not
much doubt he’s our man, though.”

“Mm-hm.
Must be a pretty important case for you guys to come all the way over here. Who’d
he kill — the mayor?”

Dunlap
and the young detective each stifled a laugh. “I wish he had,” said Dunlap. “But
no, it was just some Mess’can. Uh, a businessman. A Mess’can businessman.” He
handed the file back to Champagne.

“Well,
if there’s any other way I can help you out, Lieutenant, just holler, okay?” He
reassembled everything in his file just the way he wanted it, then carefully
returned it to its place on top of the neatly-arranged folders on his desk. “Sorry
about the way this turned out for you. I guess this closes your case?”

“Yeah,
I s’pose.” Dunlap rose from his folding chair, and the young detective did the
same.

They
shook hands with Champagne, then left the office. Within moments, they were
back outside in the gusty parking lot. Neither one had spoken.

The
young detective broke the silence. “Well, it looks like that’s that.”

“Whaddya
mean, that’s that?”

“Well,
I mean, it looks like it’s open and shut. Some scumbag just took him for the
dough in his wallet, then probably made off with the bag or whatever he was
carrying Salazar’s money in. Probably had no idea what was in it. He’s most
likely back in the projects right now shitting his pants over what he’s found.”

“Projects,
my ass,” Dunlap growled. “This don’t add up.”

They
got in the car. The wind sounded even worse whistling around the car’s contours.
Dunlap shuddered from the cold, while he settled into the passenger seat. He
could see his breath.

“Why
not?” said the young detective. “It looks like Ryan just —”

“I
know
what it looks like. But it just ain’t
put together right.”

“Well,
what do you think is wrong?” He put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it.

“Number
one,” Dunlap said, holding up a thumb, “he wasn’t offed by no street scum. If
he was, the wallet woulda been gone, I don’t care what that cop said in there.”

“It’s
possible, isn’t it? I mean, it could’ve happened that way.”

Dunlap
shook his head. “Nix. Where’s the swag? The killer knifes our boy and takes a
few bucks out of his wallet? He throws the wallet down, then what? He stops to
open the trunk and sees a big bag or a suitcase? Then he takes it and goes
runnin’ down the street with it? All the while, the stiff lays right out in the
street, while his friends are gettin’ hysterical, yelling and screaming? No
way, Jose. That ain’t how this deal went down.”

“You
don’t think so?”

“Shit,
I know so. Why would he waste time lookin’ around for suitcases or laundry bags
or whatever, when he could’ve just taken the damn car? The keys were right
there. Probably still in our boy’s hand as he hit the pavement.” After a moment
of silence, he added, “And what about them other two that was supposed to be
with him? Where were they
while
all this was happening? Why didn’t they come forward? And if it was some street
asshole that did this, why didn’t he at least boost somethin’ offa them? Money or
jewelry maybe. And if he did — which your average street punk would do —
then why didn’t they report it?”

Billowy
clouds of breath came out of both men, fogging up the Dodge’s windows. The
young detective knew that despite Dunlap’s brutal and greedy nature, he had
always possessed some of the sharpest cop instincts on the force. Few men could
read a crime scene as well as he could. Fewer still could draw the nuanced
conclusions that came to him so easily.

All at
once, a light clicked on inside the young detective’s mind. With a dropping jaw
and widening eyes, he said, “Then you don’t think … you don’t think the cops
grabbed it, do you? Oh shit! Not the cops —”

Dunlap
remained calm, assuming his college-professor role.

“Possible,”
he replied. “Possible, but doubtful. Maybe, if this was a drug deal gone bad,
the first cops on the scene woulda known there was a bundle of jack around
somewhere. Then sure, they’d start lookin’ for it right away, just to stuff
their pockets. Same thing if this Ryan was some kinda high-profile bad dude,
where it might be likely that he’d be holdin’ a shitloada money.”

The
young detective said, “But that wasn’t the case.”

“Not by
a long shot. But this? This looks for all the world like your average
robbery-murder, just like Champagne said. That’s what it
looks
like.”

“I
still don’t see why it isn’t.”

Dunlap
continued his college professor demeanor.

He
said, “Okay, put yourself at the scene for a minute. The black-and-whites were
probably the first to arrive, right?”

“Right.”

“All
right, so right away, they’re busy gettin’ their facts together and roping off
the area and shit. It doesn’t look to them like there’d be any serious money
lying around. Then in a few
minutes
here come the plain-clothes guys. Detectives everywhere. Pretty soon you’ve got
lab guys runnin’ around, dusting for prints and whatnot. Then the ambulance
pulls up, and out jump the paramedics. By now, there’s probably even a bunch of
citizens standing around, and maybe even a few TV news people with their
cameras and shit. A regular fucking street party with all these people all over
the place. And no one, but
no one
,
has any reason to think there’s anything worth taking. So, if anyone did happen
across a bag fulla money, by now there’s no way they could grab it with the
whole crowd watching. They’d hafta turn it in. And then all the attention’d be
on the money, and not on the stiff layin’ in the street.”

“Well,
if the cops didn’t snatch it, who did?”

“Hmph!
If I knew that, we damn sure wouldn’t be sittin’ here freezin’ our fuckin’
asses off.” He stopped talking. His eyes hardened into a gaze, straight ahead
at the foggy windshield. “Unless …”

The
young detective was following it all, this thinking process. If he wanted to
inherit Joe Dunlap’s lucrative territory one day, he had to learn to think like
him. So he said, “Unless, just maybe, the people he was with grabbed it and
ran. Because …”

“Because
they knew what was in it!” said Dunlap with a clap of his hand. “That’s why
they didn’t wait around. First of all, you can bet your sweet ass he had it
with him. He didn’t leave it in no hotel room or wherever. You pull a job like
knockin’ over Salazar, you don’t ever put a lotta distance between you and the
take. Now let’s run this down one more time.”

Dunlap
shifted his weight in the seat, concurrent with his shift to a higher mental
gear.

He
began to roll. “Champagne says Ryan ate dinner with two others at this hotel,
then goes into the bar. Has a few drinks, cozies up to the piano player, then
next thing you know, they’re all leaving.”

“Right,”
said the young detective. “Then a few minutes later, he gets it on the street
just four blocks away as he steps out of his car.”

“Okay.
Now what’s the big question?”

”Where’d
he stash the money?”

”Wrong.”

The big
cop gestured with his hands like he was
holding a basketball.

“Why
was he gettin’ out of his car just a few blocks away from where he was having
dinner? He parks at the hotel and goes in. Then he comes out and drives just a
coupla blocks. Why’d he bother drivin’ for such a short distance?”

“Because,
that’s where he was —”

“That’s
where he was staying!” The pieces were now sliding together. “And he still had
the money with him.
That’s
why he
drove there.”

“So he
wouldn’t have to leave the money and the car in the hotel garage all night.”

“Now
you’re catchin’ on.” He broke a smile, a truly friendly one. “That’s the way to
use the old bean. I’m betting he was staying not two doors from where he got
it. We’ll find out a little more when we speak to this Linda Lavelle. She might
even know the people he had dinner with.” He shifted in the seat again. “And
speaking of eating, I’m a little hungry myself. I think a lot better on a full
stomach. Start the car.”

T
he young
detective parked the Dodge on Bienville Street, around the corner from the
Louis Philippe Hotel. They spotted an inexpensive-looking oyster bar only about
a block away, so they ate there. After a particularly hearty seafood meal, they
were ready to hit the hotel for a line on this Linda Lavelle.

Besides,
darkness had settled over the city. The temperature fell off the table, so Joe
Dunlap was in no mood to do any serious legwork.

As they
rounded the corner onto Bourbon, they didn’t notice the new Cadillac cruising
down Bienville. Had they seen it stopped at the Bourbon intersection, they
might have observed the passenger make a sudden move to the driver, grabbing
his shoulder or something.

≈≈≈

“
¡Hijo de puta! ¡Tomás! ¡Mira el
otro lado!
”

Tomás
felt the force in Rafael Vega’s small hand as it shook his shoulder. He looked
across the street, not sure of what it was he was supposed to be seeing.

“¡Mira
!” cried Vega. “
¡El bruto gordo!
”

Tomás’
hands froze on the steering wheel at the sight of the Fat Beast and his
companion. “Dunlap,” he breathed. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Vega
said, “What do you think he’s doing here, Ese? He’s after Chico’s money.”

“But
how’s he know that? How’s he know to come here?”

“Hey,
we found out. He could, too. Looks like he already did.”

Horns
blared and angry drivers shouted, as traffic built up behind them at the stop
sign. They inched through the intersection, Vega never taking his eyes off
Dunlap’s hulking figure.

Just as
they were about to lose sight of him, they saw him turn and enter a building —
what, a hotel? They quickly parked on Bienville and jumped out, hurrying around
the corner and crossing the street.

They
paused in front of a take-out bar directly opposite the hotel entrance. The
street activity was picking up pretty good for a Monday. The take-out bartender
barked his specialties, while tourists brushed by the Mexican killers to
purchase hurricanes in preparation for a big night in the Big Easy.

“Awright,
listen,” said Vega. “This
pendejo
is
here just like we are, looking for Ryan. There’s no other reason for him to be
here right now.”