City of Fear Read online

“You going metaphysical on me again?” Rob asked. “We talked about that. Remember?”

  Frank gritted his teeth. “Don’t make me crazy before lunch.”

  “Speaking of that, I say we eat before seeing Levern.” Rob tapped the key fob and slid into the driver’s seat. “Should have figured we’d find Ben all screwed up.”

  “Why?” Frank asked.

  “The guy worked narcotics for too many years. Everybody who works drugs or vice too long gets a little kinked and strange after a while.”

  Frank frowned. “Hey, I worked vice.”

  Rob raised his brows and his lips pressed together. “Yeah …”

  They swung by Pappadeaux’s off Northwest Highway for lunch. Rob ordered fried seafood and Frank ordered the gumbo.

  “Old Ben doesn’t seem convinced Levern’s involved,” Rob said.

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Levern’s a crook. Could be involved. Who else brags about that Voodoo crap?” Rob asked.

  Frank didn’t answer. He kept turning over in his mind what Ben said. “Levern is more direct.”

  The food arrived and Rob crossed himself, and then made quick work of the seafood plate. Frank took a half hour to spoon down the last of the gumbo. “One thing’s for sure,” Frank said. “If Levern’s not involved, as of now, we got no other leads.”

  Rob wiped his lips. “You sure know how to ruin a better than average lunch.”

  6

  Antoine Levern’s desk phone rang. Caller ID showed it was Phil from Chicago. Shit, what does he want?

  “Antoine, how’s things?”

  Levern straightened up in his chair and cleared his throat. “Everything’s good, Phil.”

  There was silence on the line a few seconds too long before Phil spoke again. “Word’s out Dallas had a little trouble the other night.”

  Sometimes it paid to act dumb. “Trouble?”

  Phil’s tone changed for the worst. “Yeah, you get the paper? Have a TV, internet? Ricardo, wiseass. That’s what I’m calling about.”

  Levern’s stomach churned. Sometimes it didn’t pay to act too dumb. “Oh, yeah, that.”

  “Know anything about it?”

  “Why would I know something?”

  “Well, I won’t know until I ask, will I? Wiseass,” Phil said.

  Levern lowered his voice. “I didn’t have anything to do with it, if that’s what you’re getting at. Just found out myself.”

  “Okay. Ricardo is New York’s guy. Wouldn’t want any trouble with them when things are running so smoothly.”

  “Yeah, sure. Don’t make waves. That’s what I say,” Levern mumbled. He wiped a little sweat from his neck.

  “Coming down for a visit tomorrow, wiseass.”

  Levern squirmed in the chair. Oh, Christ. Not tomorrow.

  “Charlene still working?” Phil asked.

  Phil liked Charlene. Best hooker in the city. Levern always fixed Phil up as a courtesy when he visited. “Yeah, just waiting for you.”

  “Ha, I bet,” Phil replied and hung up.

  Levern dropped the receiver into its cradle. Phil was one of the crazies—totally unpredictable with a hair-trigger temper. Once shot a guy for sneezing without covering his mouth. Well … that was the story anyway.

  The elevator door opened and Keno, one of Levern’s bodyguards, motioned to Tabor. He met him halfway. The guard passed him a card. Tabor marched toward Levern, eyeing the thing, a toothpick wiggling between his lips with each step.

  “A cop’s in the restaurant—wants to talk to you,” Tabor said, holding out the card for Levern.

  He shook his head and waved it away. “You know I don’t talk to cops. Have them contact my attorney.”

  Tabor pocked the card and turned back toward the door.

  Levern paused. Why would a cop want to see him? “Hey, let me see that?”

  Tabor passed the card to Levern.

  “Well, well, Detective Frank Pierce,” Levern said. “Show him up … might be fun to chat.”

  * * *

  Rob had never met Antoine Levern, but he knew about him. Working homicide and SWAT before coming to CIU, Rob had never crossed paths with him. As far as Rob was concerned he never wanted to meet the doper. A low-life who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him.

  When Levern’s family resettled in Dallas in 2005, Frank still rode patrol as a uniformed officer. According to the story, one night Frank ran an assault on a minor call and found a local gang had jumped the new kid in town, Antoine Levern. He would have been beaten to death if Frank hadn’t rolled up. As a reminder not to tread on their turf again, one of the gang members stabbed Levern through the knee cap before he fled. Against departmental policy, Frank loaded Levern in his patrol car and rushed him to the closest hospital. Levern recovered, but kept a distinctive limp as a reminder of that night.

  Rob gazed around at the room. The smell of seafood and chatter of customer’s conversations was deceiving. “So this is the restaurant?”

  They were in the Deep Ellum part of downtown Dallas—the old warehouse district, now an entertainment Mecca—at the Cajun Crawdad on St. Louis Street. Rob stared in the mirror over the long bar and raked his hands over his high and tight Marine haircut. While old Ben slowly wasted away in his dingy apartment, Levern lived the high-life with his drug money in a three-story building with a restaurant. The rich get richer.…

  Frank leaned against the bar facing the patrons. “Yeah, these yuppies have no idea they’re dining in the restaurant of one of the biggest drug guys in the Southwest.”

  “He owns the whole building, doesn’t he?”

  Frank caught the glimpse of a cute brunette at a nearby table. Long hair, plunging neckline, and nice breasts. Her lunch companion had his back to Frank. When the guy glanced out the window, the brunette winked.

  Frank grinned.

  She blushed just as her guy started talking to her again.

  “I said, he owns the whole building, doesn’t he?” Rob repeated.

  Frank kept eyeing the beauty. Half the department thought he was gay—wasn’t married, never seen in public with a woman. The other half, including Rob, knew the truth. Like most unmarried cops, Frank had a lot of lady friends. Having once been a professional chef gave him an edge. He’d wine and dine them at his place, then make love for a couple of hours. Last year one of Frank’s dates, after copious amounts of wine, had let it slip that Frank had a way—a technique. Rob and Carman had been married for so long; stopping at a Hardee’s was a treat. And as far as making love …

  Frank finally answered the question.

  “Yup.” Frank swiveled his head. “He picked up the old building on a foreclosure. Did a complete and costly renovation. First floor is the bar and restaurant. Second is where his guys hang out. And he lives on the third.” Frank motioned up with his head. “Heard he bullet-proofed the windows up there. Guy’s paranoid about getting whacked.”

  “Is it true he only has one conviction?” Rob asked. “Kinda hard to believe with his reputation.”

  “Uh-huh. Stole a bike as a kid in New Orleans. That’s it.”

  It was tougher and tougher to be a successful thug every year, especially in the drug trade, but Antoine Levern had mastered it. Well … until recently. Word on the street was he had been indicted by a federal grand jury on a charge of conspiracy to distribute methamphetamines. Folks said the U.S. Attorney’s Office had offered him a plea deal. This might work in their favor. Levern might think he could work a deal through Frank and CIU. Guy didn’t deserve a deal—deserved to go down.

  A large black man about the size of Fort Worth approached them. “Mr. Levern will see you now.”

  * * *

  Frank and Rob followed the man into the hall behind the bar. The big guy led them into a service elevator, closed the gate, and pressed a button. Frank looked the dude over. About six-foot-eight, five inches taller than him. But he’d either once played pro ball or did some serious competitive weightlifting. Didn�
�t do a very good job of concealing the gun under his jacket—a big automatic.

  Frank had mixed emotions about seeing Levern again. Anytime you save a life, you want to believe it was worth the effort. That somehow, someway, the person you saved will help make the world a better place, or at the very least, not make it any worse. Frank couldn’t say that about Levern. He’d squandered his second chance by becoming a professional criminal. Saving his life had resulted in him hurting many others.

  The elevator stopped with a jarring clang on the third floor. The doors opened and the big guy slid the metal gate back before giving them a look. He shoved the toothpick to one side of his mouth and said, “I’ll take those guns before you meet Mr. Levern.”

  Rob’s eyes pinched and he took a step back. His hand dropped to his pistol and he looked up at the giant. “The hell you will.”

  “Hey, Antoine!” Frank yelled. “Want to call off your muscle?” His voice echoed in the cavernous room.

  Laughter sounded from beyond the elevator doors. “Okay, Tabor, let ’em in. And they can keep their precious guns.”

  Frank hadn’t seen Antoine Levern in five years, but he still had that new-kid look Frank remembered. In his early thirties now, a decade younger than Frank and Rob, he’d made the most of his time. Managed to build a first-rate drug cartel. The diamond stud in the left ear and short, spiked hair were his trademarks. He sat behind a dark oak desk, cluttered with papers. Levern stood when they entered. A wide smile crossed his lips.

  “Frank.”

  He strolled to them, the limp still noticeable. He didn’t offer to shake hands, and Frank kept his in his pockets.

  “How are you?” Frank asked.

  “Getting by.” Levern eyed Rob. “And who’s this, your driver?”

  Rob frowned.

  “He’s my partner, Detective Soliz,” Frank said.

  “Come in and take a look around. No cop’s ever been up here before. Drink?”

  “No thanks,” Rob quickly said.

  “Do you have a good red?” Frank asked.

  Levern smiled again. “Still the same old Frank.” Levern motioned to the guy who brought them up. “Call down and order a red for me and my friend. Not that bar shit. One of the good ones from my private stock.” He stared at Frank. “So what do you think?” Levern waived his arms around, gazing at the large room.

  “This place is probably bigger than the whole apartment building you lived in growing up in New Orleans.” Frank’s voice echoed through the vastness of the renovated warehouse. Place still had a new paint smell.

  Levern pointed at the far wall. “Gutted the old joint. Two stairways on each side of the elevator. Keep men on the stairwells of the second floor when I’m here. Plus a half dozen or so with me all the time. Better protection than the damn vice-president.”

  They walked the length of the room. Rob followed. He eyed the place and kept his arms crossed. The white concrete walls, stained floors, and dark blue support columns made the place look like an ultra-modern loft.

  “Have a built-out bedroom and bath area in there.” Levern pointed to a walled-up corner of the warehouse.

  Rob grunted.

  Levern glanced at him.

  “Come on. Let’s sit a spell.” Levern led the way to an L-shaped leather sofa in the corner. He flopped down and massaged his knee.

  “Still giving you problems?” Frank asked.

  Levern hesitated before answering. “Only all the time.”

  No sunlight filtered through the dark smoky window tint. “Opaque glass?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah,” Levern said, “mirrored on the outside and bulletproof.”

  Rob showed a wide smile. “Playing hard to kill, huh?”

  “This driver of yours has a nasty sense of humor, Frank.”

  “Yeah, he does stand-up in his spare time.” Frank nodded toward Levern’s right hand. A tattoo of a target bull’s eye with a red dot in the middle decorated the back of it. “Nice.”

  Levern held it up eye level and admired it. “Yeah, thanks.”

  A waiter from the restaurant with a tray and two glasses of wine approached. Levern handed one to Frank and then claimed the other for himself.

  Levern took a slow sip, his eyes on Frank. “So what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

  Frank didn’t answer at first, continuing to stroll around the area. He stopped at a table with a tall green vase of multicolored gladiolas. He sniffed the arrangement and then sniffed the wine. He finally came to rest on the arm of the plush sofa as Levern settled deeper in the cushions. The couch smelled like sex. God only knew what the hell he’d done on that thing. Rob must have also noticed because he remained standing with his arms crossed.

  Having never worked in an undercover capacity, Rob found it distasteful chumming with criminals. Frank didn’t judge people too often, even criminals. He was as comfortable around the underworld as most folks are visiting their in-laws. He believed each person found a level of comfort consistent with their personality. The fact he could get close to the criminal element and not feel distasteful sometimes made him wonder …

  Frank’s plan was to put a little scare in Levern and see which way he ran. If Frank left this meeting not knowing if Levern was involved, then all he’d gotten out of the deal was a glass of wine. Frank held the wine up to the light, swirled it a couple of times, and took a sip.

  “We were wondering if you’d heard about the death of Ricardo Salazar.”

  A grin cracked Levern’s lips. “Yes—tragic.”

  “Yeah, I can see you’re all torn up over it. Umm, this is the good stuff.” Frank rested an arm across the top of the sofa. “We figure his demise will send some business your way.”

  Levern squinted. “Frank, whatever are you implying? Salazar was a notorious drug lord. How could I possibly benefit from his death?”

  Frank reached over and raked his finger across the tip of Levern’s nose, showing him the trace of white powder. “What’s this? Sugar donuts?”

  Levern wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I’m shocked you’d resort to trying to plant drugs on me, Frank.”

  Frank sipped his wine again, wearing his usual lackadaisical expression. “I’m sure you are.”

  “Besides,” Levern motioned around the room. “Salazar was an idiot. Sleeping in a residential home with only two guards—deserved to get hit.”

  Frank leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs. “I’m going to pass on some information that hasn’t been officially released yet, so keep it to yourself.”

  This was his play. If Levern was involved, he would soon know.

  Levern eyed him suspiciously, as if he might be trying to set him up. “Yeah, okay.” He moved a little closer.

  “When we found Ricardo’s body, there wasn’t a mark on him,” Frank said.

  Levern showed no emotion. “No shit. So what killed him?”

  Frank swirled the wine again, not looking at him. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. You know anything?”

  “Why, do you suspect me? Why should I know anything? You wearing a wire? Besides I got alibis!”

  “I never said I suspected you,” Frank said, “and I’m sure you do have several alibis. You could probably get twenty people to testify tomorrow that this meeting never happened. That you were out of the country playing pinochle in Piccadilly with Polish pickle poppers.”

  Levern didn’t answer, but the corners of his mouth formed into a grin.

  “Well?” Frank asked.

  Levern shrugged. “Read about it in the paper, that’s all. Why you asking me?”

  “Oh, no reason”—Frank finished the red—“just that we found a Voodoo doll beside Ricardo, and he looked like he’d been scared to death. Emptied a magazine of .45 ACP at someone, but that didn’t save him.”

  Levern’s mouth dropped open, and he looked back and forth from Frank to Rob. “No shit, a Voodoo doll, huh?”

  Frank stood and sat the empty glass on an en
d table. “Yeah, know anybody who deals in that sort of stuff?”

  “Come on, Frank. You don’t believe all that crap on the street. About my grandma being a Voodoo priestess.” Levern had a stupid grin as if it was all one big joke.

  “Doesn’t matter what I believe. Matters what they believe back east,” Frank said.

  Levern’s grin twisted into a frown. “What you mean?”

  “Ricardo supplied which family in New York? The Gambizi’s?”

  Levern broke his stare and gazed at the floor. “How should I know?”

  “What do you think they’re going to do when they find out one of their main suppliers got whacked in Dallas? Those guys hate to have their chain interrupted. Costs ’em money.”

  Levern’s eyes shifted a few times, and he changed positions on the couch.

  “Heard you finally ran afoul of the feds.”

  Levern smirked. “There’s nothing to that. My lawyer says they got no case.”

  “Playing pinochle in Piccadilly with Polish pickle poppers?”

  Levern smirked again. “Something like that.”

  “You’re in a dark and dangerous place, Antoine,” Frank said.

  Levern didn’t answer. He had that “little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar” expression.

  Frank sat back on the arm of the sofa. “That’s two strikes against you. Now, if your pals in Chicago get the idea you might accept a plea deal from the feds, they could start wondering what you might tell about ya’ll’s arrangement. They could send someone down for a talk.”

  Levern listened and nibbled at his lower lip, but still didn’t answer. He couldn’t make eye contact with Frank.

  “How much of their product do you supply? About 10 percent, 20 percent? How many names could you give up if the feds offered the right deal?” Frank paused for effect and nodded. “Yeah, they could send someone down. And if Gambizi makes the connection between you, the Voodoo doll, and their dead supplier, that could start them thinking.” Frank shook his head.

  “Hey, I didn’t kill nobody.”

  “If you say so. You don’t want New York and Chicago thinking too much about you, Antoine. Bad for your health. This killing creates a mess. And just like all messes, someone has to clean it up, whether they were invited to the party or not.” Frank stood and dropped his hands into his pockets. You get ready for some help give me a call. I’ll see what I can do, but don’t wait too long.”