spoke, sharp teeth gleamed like a shark’s. “Be very glad it isn’t.”
– – –
After Kip thanked his brother-in-law for his assistance and hurried outside, ashamed of his obvious turmoil, Max paused to ask, “Where’s your partner this morning? Not off alone doing something foolish is she?”
Alain shrugged. “Foolish? Not for me to say, but she’s not alone.” At Max’s unblinking stare, he offered, “She’s with MacCreedy.” Another long pause before he caved. “They’re trying to get support for the case against Brady.”
The detective was doing a poor job of hiding something. So, Max took a step closer, the shadow of his presence telegraphing impatience. Sometimes, just being him came in pretty damn handy. Finally, Babineau sighed, survival being the better part of valor when he had a family to protect. Savoie could take care of his own.
“They’re talking to Carmen Blutafino.”
– – –
Carmen “Manny Blu” Blutafino’s pudgy, well-manicured fingers were in everything illegal going on in New Orleans and its surrounding parishes.
While making his deals and robbing patrons in the upstairs gambling rooms of his strip club, The Sweat Shop, he looked on the surface like an overweight, cheap Mob caricature in an expensive suit with sleazy taste in jewelry and entertainment. Those who mistook him as such had never looked deeply into his cold, kill-your-mama stare.
Those eyes narrowed as two of his best assets joined him in his office. He’d known them as the slicked-back, bespectacled Mac Creed, a skilled dealer who’d lost his place at Manny’s tables by helping Max Savoie scam him out of a quarter mil; and Chili Pepper, the dead-sexy dancer who was Savoie’s supposed side piece ringer for his wife. Manny had had big plans in his organization for both.
But today they sat across his desk in their true personas, making him feel more the fool for not recognizing them for what they were . . . NOPD detectives.
“Fuck me,” summed it up succinctly.
“Needless to say,” Charlotte Caissie began, “I won’t be returning to the center stage pole.”
A longtime self-serving businessman, Manny got right to it with a philosophical sigh. “What do you want?”
“World peace would be nice,” Silas MacCreedy suggested, leaning back comfortably in his well-worn suit coat over white shirt, bland tie and jeans. Without the slicked, dyed black hair, fancy suit and thick glasses, the only thing razor sharp about his somewhat weary persona was a pale grey stare sharp enough to cut glass. “But we’ll settle for a little harmony in our own slice of Heaven here in Louisiana.”
Though they’d certainly played him for one this time, Manny was no fool. “This is about Warren.”
“The man gets a prize,” Cee Cee drawled. “But is it a Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card? Depends on you, Manny.”
No respectful “Mr. Blutafino.” How had she managed to fool him? Probably, as his late wife always said, because ambition clouded common sense, and he’d desperately wanted something to hold over Max Savoie’s head. Grim truth was, he had no plan to be prison pals with Warren Brady. The next minutes would cement his future, either paving the way to control of the city or forming heavy shoes to sink him in Lake Pontchartrain.
“Let’s get the formalities out of the way, shall we?” Manny showed his teeth in a feral smile. “I want a Teflon umbrella. If I’m going out into the storm, I don’t want to get my feet wet.”
Cee Cee returned the death’s head grin. “You know I can’t make promises until I examine the goods.”
“My customers have been enjoying an eyeful of yours, Detective.” An unwise smirk. “A shame to have to permanently retire you.” He let that linger, a double-edged sword of ill intention.
“I’ll relay that to my husband. He appreciates a heartfelt compliment.”
As the corners of his mouth U-turned, Manny’s thoughts skidded over pride in a race toward self-preservation. “I don’t want any of the stink from your investigation on me.”
Cee Cee’s partner laughed. “Manny, you already reek to high heavens. But because we’re such good friends,” he flexed one of the hands shattered when he’d been retired from his undercover position at the mobster’s crooked table, “we’ll show the same courtesy we’d expect from you.”
Amusement rumbled through the massive belly. “I always liked you, Creed. Oh, it’s MacCreedy. Have to remember that.”
Cee Cee wedged between them. “You know the drill, Manny. Give us something to take up the chain, and we’ll come back with an offer you can’t refuse.”
Lids lowered over that reptilian gaze. “Be careful, Detective Caissie. You might be uncovering things