Relentless Pursuit (11 page)

C
aptain Ronald Hilliard sat beneath the green and white awning of Café du Monde, a steaming hot cup of coffee nestled between his large-boned hands.  A plate of untouched beignets sat before him, flakes of the white powdery sugar floating around in the slight breeze stirring the already warm morning.  A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and he wiped it away. 
Where was Max?  Why isn't he here yet?

Max Lamoreaux, Remy's big brother, called asking to meet him for breakfast.  Called him at home before the ass-crack of dawn.  This had to be about Remy, he knew it.  He'd obviously heard from his brother and needed to pass along a message.  Damn, he hoped Remy had gotten the girl outta the city before Dubshenko heard they were in the wind.  With her protected, at least for now, the biggest job he had was trying to find Carlo.  This had to be handled off the books, too, since no official crime had been committed.  Unofficially, he had a couple of guys that he mostly trusted out looking for Mr. Carlo Marucci.

He'd done some research into the mysterious Carlo, Jennifer's brother.  Jennifer had finally given them her real name along with her brother's.  Giancarlo Marucci had a record.  He'd been arrested for a string of petty crimes as a juvenile, nothing big.  Shoplifting, joyriding, one arrest for possession of marijuana.  Penny ante stuff.  At eighteen, he'd been popped for robbing a liquor store and pled no contest, even though he hadn't actually been in on the actual liquor store holdup.  He'd been in the car when the police pulled it over in Bossier City.  Made him just as guilty as the one's who'd actually help up the place.  Sentenced to five years.  He'd been assigned a public defender who'd done a piss-poor job of advising his client.  Still, from what he could tell he'd kept his nose clean in the joint, eligible for parole at 3 years, but was denied and served out his full sentence.  He'd wandered around after he'd gotten out, moving from place to place.

About a year ago he'd moved to New Orleans and lived with his sister, Jennifer Marucci, or as she'd called herself at the station, Jennifer Smith. 
Yeah, right.  Like he'd never heard that one before, although the Jennifer was a nice touch—they usually went with Jane Smith.
  Hadn't been long before Carlo got pulled into Dubshenko’s ring of illegal activities.  The Russian mobster bought a brand new eighteen wheeler, and Carlo had driven supply runs.  Never caught hauling anything not listed on his paperwork, and he'd been pulled over a few times, usually to yank a knot in Dubshenko's tail when he got too complacent.

Was he dead?
  His sister claimed he'd been shot smack dab in the center in the chest, had seen the blood.  There wasn't any blood at her house, though there'd been evidence of a hasty cleaning effort.  Funny thing, there had been a few drops of red on the floor, but it hadn't been blood.  Not real blood, anyway.  Synthetic, the kind used for movies and for the wanna be Goth groupies on the vampire tours down in the French Quarter.  Unfortunately, they wouldn't be getting another chance to check out Jennifer Marucci's house.  It had burned to the ground sometime after midnight last night.

Hilliard glanced up as Max slid into the seat across from him.

“Want coffee?”

“Is the pope Catholic?  Of course, I want coffee.  It's too damn early in the morning for this clandestine crap.  Either that or I’m just too old for this spy stuff.”  Max signaled and a fresh cup of hot black chicory bliss was placed in front of him.  He waved away the offer of beignets.

“Have you heard from him?”

“Last night.”  Max passed across the brown paper bag he'd been carrying, sliding it across the table.  Hilliard glanced at it, but didn't open it.  “There's a half dozen untraceable burner phones in there.  I've labeled them one through six.  Keep 'em handy.  He'll contact you when he can.  One call per phone, then yank the sim card and destroy it and the phone.  I've disabled the GPS on all of them, but with Dubshenko's team of computer geeks, you can't be too careful.”

Hilliard slid the bag onto his lap, picked up his coffee and took a large swallow.  “Remy's got you looking for the brother, doesn't he?”

Max nodded, not saying a word.

“Found anything?”  Hilliard hated asking, but knew Max was the best private investigator in the city, hell, probably in the state of Louisiana.  If Carlo Marucci could be found, Max would find him.  If he couldn't, chances were good Max's pretty wife would give it a shot.

“Talked to the girl's neighbor.  He saw three men get into the limo parked in front of her house.  Never saw the driver, though.  So, total of four.  Stopped for gas in Metairie before heading toward Lake Pontchartrain.  After that we lost them.”

“Dammit, that's a hell of a lot of ground to cover.  Parts of St. Tammany, Orleans, Jefferson, St. John the Baptist, and Tanginapahoa parishes all border that area.  Lots of places to disappear—or hide a body.”

They sat in silence, mulling over the possibility Dubshenko had disposed of Carlo, the same way he'd done to most people who crossed him.  They'd never found proof, though, and he still walked the streets a free man.

“I've set up an encrypted e-mail for Remy to use in an emergency, and I'm the only one with access.  It's alerted, so if he uses it, I'll know immediately.”  Max waited a beat.  “You think this girl really has enough to put Dubshenko away—or is my brother putting his life out there on a hunch?”

Hilliard ran his hand across the top of his freshly shaved head, his dark caramel-colored skin gleaming with sweat.  Mid-morning and the temperature had already climbed up to the high eighties, and would be mid-nineties by lunchtime.  He blew out a heavy breath before meeting Max's steely gray gaze.

“I'm gonna tell you something and you cannot repeat this, not even to your wife, got it?”  With Max's nod, he continued, “She has some information, that's true. Whether it's enough to put Dubshenko away, I hope so.  Problem is, I don't think even she knows whatever it is Dubshenko wants—but we'll find out.  Your brother will dig until she doesn't have any secrets left.  But there's another reason I had Remy take her on the road instead of putting her in a safe house in the city.”

“You've got a leak in the department.”  Max finished for him.  Hilliard stared at him unblinking, and Max grabbed up his cup and drained it.  “Dammit, I owe Theresa a hundred bucks.”

Hilliard laughed, breaking the tension.  “Never bet against your wife, son.  Even when you're right, you're wrong.  When the wife is a card-carrying psychic, you're just asking to get your ass handed to you on a silver platter.”

“Before Remy called and said he'd be going out of town, hell, even before the bad pizza bomb thing, she mentioned she thought there was an information problem with the N.O.P.D.   Got any ideas who it might be?”

Hilliard shook his head.  “Right now, the only other person at the station I completely trust is your brother.  Everybody else—much as I like and respect them all—nope, everybody's a suspect.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No.  Just be there for Remy, and keep looking for Carlo Marucci.  I've got a feeling he's the key to this.  Somehow if we can find him, if he's even still alive, he's gonna be the straw that breaks the camel's back and puts Dubshenko away, once and for all.”

Max stood, his eyes scanning the early morning crowd at the landmark bistro.  “We won't be able to meet or even talk in public again.  Dubshenko's probably got all the phones at the station bugged, and though I've check my house and office, he's probably got ears on me, too.  If you need to get word to me, leave a message at Theresa's shop.  She'll get it to me.”

Hilliard stood and held out his hand.  Max gripped it firmly, one former cop to a fellow brother in blue.  “Be safe, my friend.  Dinner's on me when Remy's back home safe and sound.”

“I'm counting on that, Captain.  Good luck.”

Chapter Twelve

R
iding in an eighteen wheeler sounds like fun in the abstract.  Crowding three alpha personalities into one confined space made for some very tense vibes.  They'd ridden in relative silence for the last half hour.  Ness's gaze strayed in his direction again, as the crackling static of the radio filled the cab of the truck.  Jennifer lounged in the sleeping area, legs crossed and her back against the wall.  She was thinking about Carlo; concentrating so hard he could almost read her mind.  Damn, he wished he could call Cap, or Max, get word on what was happening back home.  Instead, he was playing babysitter/fake fiance/sexual pervert if Jennifer's story was to be believed.

He bit back a chuckle.  She really had jumped into that story with gusto, embellishing it like a pro.  Then again, maybe too much like somebody used to telling whoppers.  Hmm, maybe he needed to rethink everything he knew about Ms. Marucci.

When Carlo was on the phone, before the explosion, he'd called her Jinx.  What kind of nickname was Jinx?  He'd said it with lots of love and affection, but still…

“So, Ness, what kind of stuff are you hauling?”  Jennifer finally spoke up from her perch behind the seats.

“Supplies for convenience stores, nonperishables like paper products, cleaning supplies, stuff like that.  Mostly for smaller, non-chain stores.  Mom and Pop shops mostly.”  Ness glanced back, smiling at Jennifer before giving Remy the side-eye again.  Obviously she liked Jennifer a whole lot more than she liked him.

“Small stuff, huh?  This is a great rig, by the way.  I always preferred a Mack myself.  My brother drives a Peterbilt, mostly long-distance hauls.”  A hint of sadness threaded beneath her words.  At least she'd still spoke about her brother in the present tense, Remy thought.

“Years,” Ness answered.  “I did the long distance stuff for years.  It’s a tough gig, being away from home for such long stretches.  Money's good, but going home to an empty house ends up not being worth it after a while.”

“Where's your first stop, Ness?”  Remy asked, trying to determine how far off the major highway they were headed.  Riding with her had been a stroke of genius.  There was no way in hell Dubshenko would look for him or Jennifer in an eighteen wheeler delivering goods to merchants.

“About another fifteen to twenty minutes, outside Opelousas.  Decent folks, been delivering to them for about five years.  Steady customers, pay their suppliers on time.”  Ness gave him the side-eye again, before focusing back onto the road.   “Then I'm headed further north to Marksville.”

Remy was good with that.  Good choice staying off I-10 or I-20.  Small towns worked.  If they played things right, got in and out with minimal fuss, Dubshenko wouldn't get a bead on them any time soon.  He had a pretty good idea where they could head, a place he could take Jennifer and keep her safe, with the added bonus of some additional help from men he knew and trusted.  A win-win.

“Can I help unload or gas up the rig or anything when we get there?”

For the first time since he'd climbed into the front seat, Ness relaxed and smiled.  “Naw, I'm good.  You and your fiancee stay in the cab.  Get a few minutes of private time.  First stop shouldn't take more than half an hour max.”

“But, we can help.”  Jennifer piped up from the back.

“Don't worry about it, hon.  I've got this down to a quick in and out, all organized.  I appreciate the offer, but y'all would just slow me down.”

The truck sped along the asphalt, and a companionable silence settled over the trio.  Being a cop, even when relaxed, Remy stayed constantly alert, checking the side mirror for anybody who might be following.  Just normal traffic as far as the eye could see. 
Good
.

“Ness, if you don't mind my asking, you've got a very unusual name.  I like it, but, I'm wondering if it’s a nickname or a shortened version or your full name?  Jennifer's question had Remy looking toward the driver, and he noted the blush creep up into her cheeks.  Oh, ho, so Ness wasn't her real name.  He grinned.

“Um…”

“Never mind.  I didn't mean to embarrass you. Trust me, I know all about embarrassing nicknames.”  Now it was Jennifer's turn to blush, he noted.  Maybe now would be a good time to find out about that nickname her brother used on the phone.

“No, it's okay.  I've lived with my—unusual name all my life.  My mother was a big movie fan for as long as I could remember.  She named me after her favorite movie star when I was born.”  Ness cleared her throat.  “My real name is Princess Grace Fagenbaum.”

Remy pinched his thigh hard to keep from laughing.  Oh, man, he'd thought his name was bad, but when his father got to pick Max for his first born son, his mother demanded she get to pick the name of their next child.   He'd ended up with the moniker Remington, but everybody called him Remy.  Her first choice had been Winchester.  She had an almost morbid fascination with anything and everything western; art, guns, even John Wayne.  At least his father had convinced her not to go with her first choice.  Knowing Max, he'd have ended up being called Whinny.  Or even worse, he could have been teased growing up with My Little Pony.  Yeah, that sounded like something big brother Max would've come up with.  Remy shuddered at the thought.  He'd happily stick with Remy.

“Oh, I loved Grace Kelly.  She was so beautiful and elegant and classy.”  Jennifer's kind comments seemed to ease Ness, and she chuckled before glancing in the mirror, meeting Jennifer's eyes.

“I'm kinda used to it now, but growing up it was a pain in the butt.  Kids can be cruel little buggers, and with a name like Princess, well, let's just say I grew up tough.  Most of the boys in my third grade class had bloody noses or black eyes at some point during the school year.  By fourth grade I was taller than most of 'em, and could beat the snot out of the boys and the girls, so the teasing pretty much stopped.  At least until high school.  That's a whole different story.”

She stared through the windshield, a faraway look on her face.  “My baby sister couldn't say Princess when she was little.  It came out Ness, so I've been Ness ever since.”  Her full blown laugh filled the truck's cab and Remy wondered what she found so funny.