Next year the Bouchercon Mystery Writers Conference will be held in New Orleans. This piece makes me nostalgic for something that hasn't happened yet.
It's good work if you can get it.
It's good work if you can get it.
A Message from Leon by Tom Andes
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In the Shamrock Bar on
Magazine Street in New Orleans, 1998, Leon Hayes handed Jack Gardner a thick
wad of bills, several thousand dollars, in banded hundreds.
“You get the rest when the
job is done.” Leon grinned, showing off a mouthful of gold teeth. Someone was
trying to buy Leon’s mother’s house, and Leon intended to send that person a
message. Leon’s mother owed the city twenty-eight thousand dollars in back
taxes. Gardner came cheaper than that.
Gardner shoved the money
in his pocket.
Without saying anything,
he nodded and stood, their eyes following him as he walked across the room.
He yanked the door open
and walked down Magazine.
A block and a half down
the street, he climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to his room. He opened
the last can of cat food and scooped some into the dish. When she appeared at
the window, the cat purred, her tail making a black question mark while she
rubbed against Gardner’s leg.
Termites swarmed the
streetlights, bumping the glass globes. A cockroach scuttled across the
sidewalk. Gardner loitered under a balcony, chewing a toothpick. Wiping sweat
from his eyes, he touched the heel of the Beretta.
Gardner’s footsteps rang
out on the cobblestones. Ahead of him, Davidoff increased his pace.
“Hey, buddy, you got a
light?” Gardner called after the other man.
Davidoff peered over his
shoulder. When his eyes met Gardner’s, his face relaxed. He felt his coat
pockets, and produced a book of matches.
In the flare of the match,
catching a whiff of sulfur, Gardner studied Davidoff’s eyes. Florid with drink,
twenty-five pounds overweight, the realtor might have been anywhere between
thirty-five and fifty.
“Can you spare a
cigarette?” Licking his lips, Davidoff eyed the pack of Viceroys in Gardner’s
hand.
Gardner shrugged, not
taking his eyes off the other man. “Sure.” He extended the pack.
Davidoff helped himself to
one of Gardner’s cigarettes. With trembling hands, he struck a match, letting
it fall to the sidewalk. He struck another. It took him three tries to light
the cigarette, Gardner fixated on him the entire time.
“Doc says I should quit,
but I figure one can’t hurt, right?” Davidoff giggled, hiccupping smoke,
looking at Gardner, as though Gardner might contradict the doctor’s advice.
“You live around here?”
Davidoff asked.
“I live around.” Gardner
flicked his cigarette butt at the curb. “You know Leon Hayes, white guy with
gold teeth?”
Sweat filmed Davidoff’s
forehead.
“Yeah, Leon, right? I’m
selling his mother’s house. I mean, I’m representing the people who are buying
it.” He gestured down the street, in the direction of the Irish Channel shotgun
where Leon’s mother had lived since 1940.
Gardner drew the Beretta. “This
is a message from Leon,” he said.
The first shot took off
half of Davidoff’s face.
The second shot lodged
itself in his brainpan.
Two more slugs pumped into
Davidoff’s belly.
Gardner put a fifth shot
between the realtor’s eyes.
The smell of cordite
lingered in the humid air. The night seemed silent, sound muffled. A barge horn
echoed over the river. Sirens shrilled, cop cars headed somewhere else.
Gardner tucked the Beretta
in his pocket. He walked up the street to meet Leon and pick up the rest of his
money.
*
From a payphone, Gardner
ordered delivery. He was famished. In his room above the Rendezvous Tavern, he
counted his cash. The cat sat on her haunches, watching him. On the bed, the
Beretta lay next to a suitcase packed with Gardner’s other set of clothes.
Gardner opened the dorm
fridge, only food left a carton of orange juice and a can of cat food. He
opened the can and scooped some more food into the cat’s dish, hoping the
take-out would get there soon. The cat purred, rubbing his hand.When the knock came, he tucked the pistol into the waistband of his trousers, and opened the door to find himself staring at a man in a green suit. His hat was pulled down over his eyes.
The cat leapt for the
window.
“I have a message from Leon,” the man said.
“I have a message from Leon,” the man said.
