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Pushing the whole clusterfuck from his mind, he sat behind his desk and jabbed the button for line one, picking up the receiver. No way would this call go on speaker. “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Jackass.“I’ll call you right back.” He switched to his personal cell phone and, walking to the window, he dialed, rewinding the previous evening in his mind. He realized that he never did find out who Jackass’s mole was at Le Petit Choux. “Well? Who is it?” he asked as soon as the call had connected.
“Who is which?” Jackass asked warily.
For the love of...“Last night. At Le Petit Choux. You texted me that your mole had seen me. You were also supposed to find out where that PI works, the one who was shadowing Gabe Hebert and his cousin.”
“Oh, that. The PI works for Burke Broussard.”
Well, fuckety fuck.He knew that name. That was the guy who’d nearly turned NOPD upside down with his accusations of wrongdoing a few years back. Broussard would have been right, of course, but luckily, he’d listened to reason—a.k.a. threats—and quit. I knew that asshole would come back to bite us in the ass someday.
Looked like someday was now. “Gabriel Hebert hired Burke Broussard?”
“His daddy was one of Broussard’s old partners.”
“Oh, right.” He’d forgotten about that. “Makes sense, then.”
“It seems that Rocky’s kid suspects. Are we ready to kill him now?” Jackass’s tone was filled with condescension and I-told-you-so. Bastard.
Lamont would deal with him later. Right now, they needed to stop Gabe Hebert from digging—and more importantly, they needed to find out what got him suspicious. There might be a few loose threads that they hadn’t snipped, God forbid. “I suppose we should. Proposals?”
“You know he’s gonna be harder to kill now.”
“Yes,” Lamont said, grinding his teeth, “I figured that out on my own.”
“You’ve always been the smarter one.” Again said in such a condescending way it was clear that the opposite was what he meant.
Goddamn motherfucker.He’d deal with Jackass after Gabe Hebert was dead. At least they hadn’t agreed on anything in writing. “When?”
“As soon as I can arrange it safely. I’m not keen on gettin’ caught.”
“I agree.” Not that you’ll have to worry for long. He’d have to kill the man himself since Stockman was dead, but that was okay. He hadn’t gotten his hands dirty for a long time and he’d rather missed it. But he would do it intelligently.
He was too close to having everything he’d always wanted to fuck it up now.
Once Jackass was out of the way, Lamont would have to take care of Lott. Or maybe he could get Eckert to do it for him. “Have you heard from Paul Lott?”
“Personally? Not since we visited Rocky. Why?”
Their “visit” to Rocky Hebert had been the night they’d killed him. “Because Paul was in Houston this morning. Visiting Rocky’s young friend.” And following him back to New Orleans, but he’d keep that fact in his back pocket.
“What?” The surprise was clearly feigned. Entirely fake. “That’s not possible.”
What are you up to?“And why not?”
“Because Paul Lott is dead.”
“He’s what?”
“He’s dead. Poor fella was the victim of a burglary gone wrong last night. Perp shot him in the head. May he rest... in pieces.”
Rage began to bubble, and Lamont thought the top of his head might actually blow off. “Why?”
“Why what?” Jackass drawled with faux innocence.
“Why did you kill him?”
