as though he were standing at a bus stop. He was in his early fifties, with a paunch, a round Irish chin, a small mouth with down-turned corners, and cheeks that were flecked with tiny blue and red veins. The vaguely dissolute edges of his face, with his tangled eyebrows and untrimmed gray hair, gave you the impression of a jaded Kiwanian.
“There’s nobody else,” the olive-skinned man said. He spoke with a Middle Eastern accent.
“Do you already know I’m a police officer?” I said quietly.
“We know a lot about you, Lieutenant. You’ve really spread your name around recently,” the man in the raincoat said.
“I thought Segura was smarter than this,” I said.
“I don’t know. I’ve never met the man. But you’re not smart at all.” He took a revolver casually out of his raincoat pocket and nodded to the man with the tattoo, who went into the bathroom, dropped my .38 into the toilet bowl, and started the water in the bathtub. Annie’s eyes were wide under her hat, and she was breathing rapidly through her mouth.
“I have friends coming over,” she said.
“That’s why you got your hat on,” the man with the tattoo said, smiling from the bathroom door. His hair was cut so close to his scalp that the light made his head glow with an aura. He held a large roll of adhesive tape in his hand.
“I’m going to walk out my door,” she said. Her face was flushed and spotted as though she had a fever, and her voice was filled with strain. “I have friends next door and out in the yard and over on the next block and they can hear everything through these walls and you’re not going to do anything to us—”
“Annie,” I said quietly.
“We’re going to leave now and they’re not going to hurt us,” she said.
“Annie, don’t talk,” I said. “These men have business with me, then they’re going to leave. You mustn’t do anything now.”
“Listen to the voice of experience,” the man in the raincoat said.
“No,” she said. “They’re not going to do this. I’m walking outside now. These are weak people or they wouldn’t have guns.”
“You dumb cunt,” the man with the tattoo said, and swung his fist into the back of Annie’s head. Her hat pitched into the air, and she fell forward on her knees, her face white with shock. She remained bent over and started to cry. It was the kind of crying that came from genuine, deep-seated pain.
“You sonofabitch,” I said.
“Put her in back,” the man in the raincoat said. The other two men pulled Annie’s arms behind her and taped her wrists, then her mouth. Her curly hair hung in her eyes, and there were tears on her cheeks. The two men started to walk her to the bedroom.
“Bobby Joe, nothing except what we have to do here,” the man in the raincoat said.
“You wanted her to walk out on the front porch?” said Bobby Joe, the man with the tattoo.
“That’s not what I mean. Nothing except what we have to do . Do you understand?”
“There’s better broads for two bucks in Guatemala City,” Bobby Joe said.
“Shut your mouth, tape her ankles, and get back out here,” the man with the raincoat said.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“You’re in way over your head, Lieutenant. I’m just not quite sure of your own degree of awareness. That’s the problem we have to resolve tonight.”
“I’ll give you something else to resolve. I’m going to square everything that happens in here.”
“You’re presuming a lot.”
“Yeah? We can make New Orleans an uncomfortable place for crackers that beat up on women. Or for over-the-hill spooks.”
He looked amused.
“You think you’ve made me?” he said.
“You have a strong federal smell.”
“Who knows, these days, employment being what it is? But at least you’re a professional and you recognize characteristics in people. So you know that Bobby Joe and Erik in there are hired help, not professional at all. They get carried away sometimes. Do you know what I mean?
“There’s nobody else,” the olive-skinned man said. He spoke with a Middle Eastern accent.
“Do you already know I’m a police officer?” I said quietly.
“We know a lot about you, Lieutenant. You’ve really spread your name around recently,” the man in the raincoat said.
“I thought Segura was smarter than this,” I said.
“I don’t know. I’ve never met the man. But you’re not smart at all.” He took a revolver casually out of his raincoat pocket and nodded to the man with the tattoo, who went into the bathroom, dropped my .38 into the toilet bowl, and started the water in the bathtub. Annie’s eyes were wide under her hat, and she was breathing rapidly through her mouth.
“I have friends coming over,” she said.
“That’s why you got your hat on,” the man with the tattoo said, smiling from the bathroom door. His hair was cut so close to his scalp that the light made his head glow with an aura. He held a large roll of adhesive tape in his hand.
“I’m going to walk out my door,” she said. Her face was flushed and spotted as though she had a fever, and her voice was filled with strain. “I have friends next door and out in the yard and over on the next block and they can hear everything through these walls and you’re not going to do anything to us—”
“Annie,” I said quietly.
“We’re going to leave now and they’re not going to hurt us,” she said.
“Annie, don’t talk,” I said. “These men have business with me, then they’re going to leave. You mustn’t do anything now.”
“Listen to the voice of experience,” the man in the raincoat said.
“No,” she said. “They’re not going to do this. I’m walking outside now. These are weak people or they wouldn’t have guns.”
“You dumb cunt,” the man with the tattoo said, and swung his fist into the back of Annie’s head. Her hat pitched into the air, and she fell forward on her knees, her face white with shock. She remained bent over and started to cry. It was the kind of crying that came from genuine, deep-seated pain.
“You sonofabitch,” I said.
“Put her in back,” the man in the raincoat said. The other two men pulled Annie’s arms behind her and taped her wrists, then her mouth. Her curly hair hung in her eyes, and there were tears on her cheeks. The two men started to walk her to the bedroom.
“Bobby Joe, nothing except what we have to do here,” the man in the raincoat said.
“You wanted her to walk out on the front porch?” said Bobby Joe, the man with the tattoo.
“That’s not what I mean. Nothing except what we have to do . Do you understand?”
“There’s better broads for two bucks in Guatemala City,” Bobby Joe said.
“Shut your mouth, tape her ankles, and get back out here,” the man with the raincoat said.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“You’re in way over your head, Lieutenant. I’m just not quite sure of your own degree of awareness. That’s the problem we have to resolve tonight.”
“I’ll give you something else to resolve. I’m going to square everything that happens in here.”
“You’re presuming a lot.”
“Yeah? We can make New Orleans an uncomfortable place for crackers that beat up on women. Or for over-the-hill spooks.”
He looked amused.
“You think you’ve made me?” he said.
“You have a strong federal smell.”
“Who knows, these days, employment being what it is? But at least you’re a professional and you recognize characteristics in people. So you know that Bobby Joe and Erik in there are hired help, not professional at all. They get carried away sometimes. Do you know what I mean?
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