Let the Devil Out (Maureen Coughlin #4)(84)

“You tell Shadow that I’ve been talking to Ruiz. Tell him it’s been passed on to me.”

“That’s it?”

“Make sure you tell him that,” Maureen said. “He’ll know what you mean. Trust me.”

E walked away from her, murmuring to himself.





30

After E turned the corner in search of his friends, Maureen walked over to the Big Man.

She rapped on the gate over the front door with her flashlight. She leaned in close to the door, listening for sounds from the inside. She heard faint jukebox music. No doubt the bar’s owner was there, trying to relax while he cleaned and counted, swept and mopped and sorted. Maybe sipping the night’s first cold beer, smoking the first unhurried cigarette. She knew the drill, she’d done it herself countless times, which meant she hated bothering the man. But times were different now, and there was shit she needed to get done.

She rapped on the gate again, adding, “NOPD. Open up.”

She glanced overhead. She saw that a security camera peered down at the entrance. The owner could double-check that it really was police at his front door. After she’d had a chance to talk with the man, she’d have to convince him to turn off that camera, and any other cameras in his place, for as long as she needed. She banged again with the flashlight, harder this time. The music went off inside the bar. Don’t do that, she thought. Don’t pretend you’re not in there. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.

The door opened a few inches. “I didn’t call. There’s nothing going on in here.”

“It’s not about that,” Maureen said.

“I don’t know nothin’ about them boys on the steps,” he said. “Every now and again, they drink in here. Neighborhood fellas, they’re never any trouble for me. If they’re trouble for anyone else I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

“This doesn’t involve them,” Maureen said. “Not directly.”

“It’s been a long night, Officer,” the man said. “I won’t get out of here for at least another hour as it is.”

“That’s actually a good thing,” Maureen said.

The man frowned at her.

“I’m Officer Maureen Coughlin. And you are?”

“Gus LaValle.”

“Mr. LaValle, the NOPD needs a favor from you.”

LaValle looked down at the floor. “I know y’all have had a bad day. I don’t know what I can do.”

“We’re pursuing leads about the shootings today,” Maureen said. “And we have to act quickly. We need your place for a meeting, tonight. Sometime between now and dawn.”

LaValle chuckled. He opened the door wider, propped one arm up on the frame. He kept the gate between him and the outside world locked. “You want me to do the police a favor? In this neighborhood? What do you think that does to my business? I feel bad about them young officers getting killed, and them other two getting shot up. But not everyone around here feels like I do, you know what I’m saying? And I gotta live here, do business here. It was out-of-town crazies that shot at y’all. White boys. It wasn’t nobody from this neighborhood.”

Maureen felt rage squeezing her throat closed. She fought to keep her head clear. She kept thinking about the fear in Preacher’s voice as he told his story. She imagined the wails of the wives of the two young officers who’d been killed. Patience, she told herself. Diplomacy. Don’t start with threats. They don’t leave much wiggle room. Get results right now, she thought, opening and closing her gloved fists. She couldn’t go back to Preacher’s bedside having blown up everything with her temper. He’d forgive her, maybe, but she’d never forgive herself. This night was her chance to make things right. To prove herself. To prove she wouldn’t always be the Sixth District problem child.

“There’s things going on,” she said, “ties to this neighborhood that would surprise you. You work with me, nobody gets hurt. Nobody even gets arrested. I’m explaining the reality of things to you. Right now, I’m the one running things. I’m the only one who knows what’s going on. In a matter of hours, that is going to change. Everyone on the NOPD will know what I know. The FBI will know what I know. I’m going to have to tell them that I came to you for help, on the day four officers got shot, and that you turned me away.”

She rested her hand on the metal gate. “You have to live with your neighbors, that’s true. And, believe me, I know how many of them are, especially about cops. But you have to live with us, too. We’re part of the neighborhood. Forever. Longer than Bobby Scales. Longer than Big Mike. And longer than whoever comes after him. We’re not going away. And we never, ever, ever forget.”

LaValle’s face had hardened. “What exactly are you saying, Officer?”

“I’m saying you can deal with me tonight,” Maureen said, “when I can control what happens. Or the circus comes to town tomorrow, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. You, either.” She paused. “All I need from you is a table and chairs inside and a little bit of time and patience.” She flashed a smile. “Maybe a drink or two.” She raised her eyes to the camera. “And for you to turn off the recorders when I ask you.”