Fat Tuesday (10 page)

He couldn't handle the guilt anymore.

So, bang. Simple as that. It occurred to him that he might be suffering a bad case of selfpity, but why the hell not? Wasn't he entitled to a little self-analysis and regret? He'd been deeply wounded by Nancy Stuart's decision, although he admitted it was the right one for her. She was holding onto her life with both hands.

Eventually the pain of Kev's death would abate, she would meet someone else and remarry. She didn't blame him for the accident, but his visits were bound to stoke her most painful memories.

He wanted to think of Barbara as a cheating bitch who'd been unwilling even to try to understand the hell he'd gone through over his partner's death. But that wasn't entirely fair. She certainly wasn't without flaws, but he hadn't exactly been an ideal husband either, even before the fatal shooting incident and certainly not since.

The marriage should have ended long ago, putting both of them out of their misery.

He'd made lousy choices all around. Bad choice of wife. Bad choice of career. What the hell had all the overtime hours and all the hard work been about? He had accomplished nothing. Nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing. He had killed Kev Stuart.

Damn, he missed that mick! He still missed Kev's quiet logic, and his stupid jokes, and his unshakable sense of right and wrong. He even missed his bursts of temper. Kev wouldn't have minded dying in the line of duty. Actually, that was probably how he would have preferred to go. What he wouldn't be able to tolerate was that his death had gone unavenged. The criminals responsible for it had gone unpunished by the system of law that Kev had dedicated himself to uphold. Kevin Stuart would have had a hard time accepting that.

And that was the thought that sobered Burke Basile like a cold shower.

He set the bottle of Jack Daniel's on the rickety nightstand, and, alongside it, his pistol. Removing the towel from around his waist, he stretched out on the lumpy bed and stacked his hands beneath his head.

For hours he lay there, staring at the ceiling and thinking.

Although there really was nothing more to think about.

He knew now what he had to do. He knew who he had to kill. And it wasn't himself.

When he finally fell asleep, he slept as he hadn't for months deeply and dreamlessly.

"Quitting," Burke repeated.

For a moment Pat was speechless."Just like that? For chrissake, why?"

"It's not just like that," Doug. And you know why."

"Because of Kev?"

"Primarily. And Duvall, and Bardo and Sachel. Shall I go on?"

"How can you do this?" Pat left his chair and began to pace the area behind his desk."If you quit a job you love because of them, they win.

You're making it too damn easy on them. You're giving them control over your life."

"It might look that way, but it's not. I wish my reasons were that simple and clear-cut."

Pat stopped pacing and gave him a sharp look."There's more?" "Barbara and I have split."

Pat gazed down at the floor for several seconds, then looked at Burke with regret."I'm sorry. Is this a trial separation?"

"No, it's for good."

"I sensed that you two were having problems, but didn't know that things had unraveled that completely."

"Neither did I," Burke admitted."Until last night. I won't bore you with the details, but take my word for it that we reached the point of no return. I moved out and told her to file for divorce on the grounds of her choosing. The marriage is kaput." "I'm sorry," Pat said again. He wasn't any more sorry than Burke that his bad marriage had finally ended. The real regret was in the timing.

Burke said, "I'm fine with it. Really. It had been coming for a long time. As for the other, the job, that's been coming for a long time, too. I'm burned out, Doug. In my present frame of mind, I'm no good to you."

"Bullshit. You're the best man in the division."

"Thanks, but this is the right thing for me to do."

"Look, we've just come off a disappointing trial. You're upset about you and Barbara. Not a good time to be making a career decision.

Take a week off ..."

Burke was shaking his head before Pat finished."That's not what this is about. A week off would be like using a Band-Aid when I need open-heart surgery."

"So maybe a desk job for a while," Pat suggested."Work in an advisory position. Something that would relieve the pressure a bit."

"Sorry, Doug. My mind's made up."

"At least let me place you on suspension with pay. You can come back when you feel like it. The job will be waiting."

That alternative was tempting, but Burke considered it for only a few seconds before stubbornly shaking his head."If I had that umbilical cord, I might use it. A few weeks later I'd be right back where I am now. No, Doug, it's gotta be a clean break."

Pat had returned to the chair behind his desk. He ran his hand through thinning hair."I can't believe this. I'm the head of this departments but you're the heart of it, Burke."

He made a scoffing sound."Trying a new tactic, Doug? Sweet talk?"

"It's the truth."

"I appreciate the compliment, but that doesn't sway me." "Okay," Pat said, making an impatient gesture with his hand.

"Forget the division. What about you? Have you really thought this through?

What will you do with yourself?"

"That's one of the perks of quitting, Doug. I don't have any plans."

That was the first time Burke had ever lied to his friend.

The brothel was as imposing a structure as a branch of the public library.

It was set well off the street behind an iron picket fence in a grove of spectacular magnolia trees. The house had been built by a wealthy Creole family who had grown and imported cotton prior to what was commonly known as the War of Northern Aggression.

During that conflict, the Yankees had seized all the family's ships and warehouses, burned their plantation upriver, and commandeered this, their home in the city, to be used as quarters for Union officers.

It was this final insult from which the family never recovered.

Following the Civil War, the house had fallen into ruin because no one could afford to own it and pay the property taxes. In the early 1880s, a northern entrepreneur fell in love with the mansion He poured money into the refurbishing of it until it surpassed its original splendor.

That lasted until his grandson and heir was caught swindling his partners and lost not only his family's fortune, but his own life in a suspicious shooting "accident" beneath the Dueling Oaks.

The house again sat vacant until the 1920s, when a group of investors converted it into a speakeasy. The upstairs rooms saw as much, if not more, action than the elegant salons on the ground floor. Flesh was peddled as actively as bootleg liquor. Soon the madam had made enough money to buy out her partners. Under her management the business flourished.

When she died, the business was passed down to her daughter, and now, the present owner, Ruby Bouchereaux, was the third-generation madam.

The elegant establishment had been under Ruby's control since the sixties.

She had outprospered even her enterprising mother and grandmother.

Ruby Bouchereaux's house was part of the Big Easy's mystique.

Local law enforcement had an understanding with Ruby. She was allowed to run her business without any interference, except where drug trafficking was involved.

Occasionally one or more of Ruby's girls saw a way to make a little extra cash on the side while promising a client heightened sensitivity and staying power with the help of a controlled substance. Ruby didn't like the temporary interruption in business that a raid created, but she liked even less the prospect of being permanently shut down if one of her well-heeled clients died of asphyxiation or heart attack while in the throes of ecstasy. Nor was she too keen on her girls having an enterprise of which she got no percentage. So she regarded the occasional raid as a necessary evil and remained on good terms with the authorities.

Burke had been to the house twice in the line of duty. Naked men, clutching their three-piece business suits and Rolexes, were pulled from the luxurious beds and shaken down with no more deference than hollow-eyed junkies who begged for coins around Jackson Square. If one of Ruby's customers was caught using drugs to spike his sex, Burke didn't have any compunction about arresting him no matter how wealthy he was or which public office he held.

The door was answered by a bouncer who greeted Burke with a suspicious scowl."Please tell Miss Bouchereaux that Burke Basile would like to see her."

"Aren't you a cop?"

"You got something to hide?"

He closed the door in Burke's face and left him standing on the threshold for five full minutes before reappearing."She'll see you," he said, sounding none too pleased about it.

He led Burke to an office that could have belonged to any hardworking, overachieving executive who delegated little and insisted on exercising absolute control over everything. It was equipped with a multiline telephone, two fax machines, and a computer. Prostitution had gone high-tech.

The woman seated behind the desk motioned him into a chair."This is an unexpected pleasure, Lieutenant Basile."

"Thank you for seeing me without an appointment."

She offered him something to drink, which he declined. After dismissing the bouncer, she said, "I hope you've come to establish a line of credit with us. My girls will be thrilled. Your rugged good looks, especially that attractive mustache, haven't gone unnoticed whenever you've graced us with your presence, even if it was to carry out your unpleasant duty."

She was a diminutive woman, no more than five feet tall, with platinum hair that was said to be natural. Her skin, it appeared, had never been exposed to sunlight, because it was as white and smooth as a gardenia blossom. Rumor had it that she had undergone a facelift without anesthesia so that she could oversee the surgeon's work and make certain he was acting on her precise instructions. But the story was a little too far-fetched to be believed, even for Ruby Bouchereaux, about whom rumors abounded. In any event, she was stunning.

Since he entered the office, her lavender eyes hadn't wavered from his.

She was old enough to be his mother, and he knew her art of flirtation had been perfected over years of practice. Nevertheless, he felt himself blush at her compliment.

"I'm afraid I can't afford your services."

"We've made allowances for other city officials." Eyeing him with interest, she toyed with the strand of pearls around her neck.

"I'd be pleased to discuss several discount options with you."

He smiled, but shook his head."Sorry, no. But I appreciate the offer."

Her lips formed a rueful pout."The girls will be.disappointed.

And so am I." Then, folding her small hands together on top of her desk, she inquired why he had come to see her.

"Pinkie Duvall."

The change in her expression was so subtle, only someone with Burke's experience in gauging people's reactions could have detected it.

"What about him?"

"You two were partners in a club down in the Quarter before you had a falling out a couple years back."

"That's correct."

"What happened?"

"Off the record?"

"Entirely."

"Pinkie wanted one of my girls to come dance in the club. She wasn't interested, and politely turned him down. Shortly after that, Wayne Bardo paid us a visit and requested this girl. After an hour with him, she couldn't even walk, much less dance."

"Bardo was sent by Duvall to teach her a lesson." When Ruby agreed with a slight inclination of her head, he asked if he could please speak to the girl.

"I'm afraid not, lieutenant. Two days after her session with Bardo, she took a razor to her wrists. She didn't believe that her face would ever look the same, and, frankly, neither did any of the doctors we consulted. She was a gorgeous girl. Mr. Bardo ruined her not only for this profession, but for any other where meeting the public is required."

"I don't suppose you reported this to the police." "A whore getting assaulted in a whorehouse?" she said with a harsh laugh."How sympathetic do you think the authorities would be? I couldn't prove that the assault had taken place here, or that Bardo was the culprit, or that he was carrying out Pinkie Duvall's directive.

"Besides, it would have been bad for business. I don't advertise our mistakes and misfortunes. Anytime a girl goes into a room alone with a man, she runs the risk of being hurt. I and my staff do everything to prevent that sort of thing from happening, but we can't be in the rooms to guarantee that it won't. It's a hazard of the profession."

Burke leaned forward slightly."Ms. Bouchereaux, as a former partner, do you know anything about Duvall's sideline businesses?"

"I assume you're referring specifically to drug dealing." "So you're aware of it?"

"Of course, but I couldn't prove it, any more than you can. He's incredibly shrewd. Pinkie and I only discussed business relating to the club we held in common. He didn't pry into my other interests, and I didn't pry into his."

"You see my dilemma?" Burke said."District Attorney Littrell won't touch Duvall without hard evidence, and there's not a chance in hell that he's going to make a mistake and give us any room to maneuver."

"What has all this got to do with me?"

"I was hoping that you'd be willing to cooperate with the Narcotics Division. Help us out, maybe work out an arrangement."

"Like no more raids for a while if I help you catch Pinkie Duvall?"

"Something like that."

She gazed at him unflinchingly while still fiddling with the strand of pearls."You're in no position to be making deals on behalf of the Narcotics Division. You no longer work for the police department."

Caught, there was no point in denying it. Expelling his breath, Burke sat back, appraising her with heightened respect."It was worth a try.

I'm sorry."

"I thought it was very strange for a policeman to come calling before noon. While you were waiting to see me, I placed a call."