Crescent City Connection

didn’t live in the city had to move back to be considered for promotion. And every mugger in town had heavy artillery; every other mugging, it seemed, turned into a murder. Two cops were currently on Death Row.
    The best way to get through was not to think about it.
    This shooting was in the Seventh Ward. The victim’s two sons and three daughters were on the sidewalk, one of them cradling a baby, some of them holding toddlers’ hands, all of them crying.
    The case wasn’t Skip’s—it belonged to Danny LaSalle, who assigned her the family. She walked over to the distraught little knot of humanity, and almost immediately one of the sons got in her face, or would have if he’d been tall enough—Skip was six feet tall and he was about five-six. “What y’all collectin’ ya salary fo’? Who wanna kill my mama?”
    “Who do you think would?”
    Evidently defying him, one of the daughters stepped forward. “Somebody want Herbert.”
    Bingo
, she thought. “Herbert?”
    “Rudolph boy.” The woman pointed to the short dude.
    Skip said, “You Rudolph?”
    “Tawanda don’t know her pussy from her asshole. Nobody want Herbert.”
    It went like that for a while, but the story came out: Herbert ran with a bad crowd, Rudolph and his wife kicked him out, he sometimes stayed with his grandmother.
    Herbert would probably know who wanted to kill him, and therefore who had mowed Granny down like some enemy soldier, but by now he was probably halfway to East Jesus, having no doubt killed a two-year-old who got in the way when he tried to retaliate on behalf of Granny.
    Christ
, Skip thought,
I’m thinking like O’Rourke.
Frank O’Rourke, the nastiest cop in Homicide.
    Nonetheless, when they left the crime scene, Herbert was by far the best lead they had. They found him at his sister’s in New Orleans East, bare-chested, wearing baggy pants and black running shoes, passed out on his nephew’s bed. The little boy had answered the door promptly, trustingly, as his great-grandma must have done. He’d apparently been watching television, lying on the floor in the living room. There was no one else in the apartment. The TV was so loud it had masked their entrance.
    LaSalle said, “Herbert, wake up.”
    The sleeping man had a well-muscled torso. His body jerked, a hand reaching under the pillow.
    “Police. Freeze.”
    He didn’t—the hand came out with a gun in it.
    Danny shot him. It was over in a millisecond.
    Skip ran back to the living room and gathered up the nephew, soothing him, lying to him.
    She wasn’t that good with kids, or so she told herself. But she took this one on as a project, and it was harder than watching his uncle get shot.
    Herbert died within the hour. After wading through the red tape surrounding the shooting, Skip was sent to interview his girlfriend, Renee.
    Renee said she had no idea who’d want to kill a guy like Herbert.
    By the end of the day, it looked pretty certain Herbert’s granny was going to go unavenged.
    “Damn shame, ain’t it?” It was the same cop who’d reported Cooper’s resignation, a three-year vet named DeFusco.
    “Damned ironic. Herbert was home free—he just didn’t know it.”
    “I’m thinkin’ about the poor old lady. Bastard who killed her’s out gettin’ loaded right now.”
    Adam Abasolo chimed in from across the room. “Don’t let it get to you, Joey boy. Seems like anybody we pop gets off, and if they don’t they’re back on the street in thirty seconds.”
    “Two minutes max,” said Charlie Dilzell. “Least this way there’s one less punk on the street. That’s some kinda justice anyway.”
    “However twisted,” said Skip, making a lame attempt to raise the level perhaps a millimeter.
    “Shee-it. When was the last time you saw anything resembling fucking justice?” Frank O’Rourke was the speaker—not Skip’s favorite person, but the words were spoken with such heartfelt outrage, they made her feel helpless rather than angry.
    I’ve got to get out of here.
    But Cappello caught her before she left. “You okay with what happened?”
    “Hell, no, I’m not okay with it, but there wasn’t any choice. Anyway, it’s LaSalle’s case; I can’t worry about it.”
    “I didn’t mean the case. I mean … what you saw.”
    She meant watching LaSalle shoot Herbert. Skip brushed unruly curls from her forehead. “No. I swear to God I’ll never get used to watching someone die.” She didn’t mention it was all she could do not