Chapter 10
It was nearing quitting time, and most of the other workers behind the large counter were chatting amongst themselves. Winston Churchill’s doppelgänger seemed to be quite irritated at having her time wasted.
Chance tried to explain, “I was in court that day. I heard the judge give a rambling speech, then sentence him to seven years at Angola.”
She removed the magic marker from her mouth, and stabbed at the markup sheet. “I looked all over. Can you give me any more information about it? Judge’s name? Arresting officer? DA’s name?”
“Well, I know that at least one of the NOPD officers involved was a Lt. J. T. Holland.”
She stuck the marker back in her mouth and looked at Chance over her glasses. “That doesn’t really help. He was in the NOPD for like forever.” She turned around. “Hey Emma, J. T. Holland. Wasn’t he a captain or something?”
An elderly spinster, spidery in appearance glanced up from her romance book, “Why yes, indeed. He was in charge of vice, since, I believe, somewhere in the early 70’s. Later he was First Precinct Captain.”
Chance started, “In charge? Is it normal for someone that high up to serve a search warrant on a hotel thief?”
Emma paused, and chewed on her glasses. “Well, no. Once they get a desk, they don’t do much of any investigative work. Are you sure you have the right person?”
“Absolutely, he, um, signed his name to it”. Chance thought of the label with the name, pressed into it three times sitting in the pile of trash in his room so long ago.
The spinster’s eyebrows went up, and a wide smile creased her gaunt face. “You’re in luck! Captain Holland still comes around here at least a couple times a month. He’s officially retired, but he still comes around.”
“I was hoping I could get to a certain point before bothering anybody. I can’t believe he’s still alive.”
Churchill leaned forward on the counter, parking her enormous breasts on the counter, as if the fatigue of elevating them had finally become too much for her back. “Don’t expect too much. He was in the NOPD for what, 30? 40 years? I don’t think he’d remember much about any particular case. But it’s worth a shot. Maybe you won’t have to eat at our cafeteria for the next two weeks.” This last was accompanied by groans and laughter from the other clerks behind the counter.
Emma piped up from the back, “He just loves talking about his city and his department. They had to force-retire him because he was too fat and old to run more than about ten feet without falling over dead from a heart attack.”
The lady at the counter burst out laughing. It was the hoarse, wheezy laugh characteristic of a life long smoker. “Unless it’s in the direction of a Popeyes!” The whole room erupted with hysterical laughter.
Chance smiled politely. “Can you tell me how to get in touch with Mr. Holland?”
“Well, not really. You just have to hang around the office here. You’ll know him when he comes – he’s very loud, smokes a cigar, and talks like he’s in charge of a parade or something. He looks just like the cartoon character on the side of a Big Shot Soda -’cept for the hat.”
“You got that right,” Emma amended.
He thanked them for their help. It was late afternoon as he walked down the courthouse steps. He put on his sunglasses, which immediately fogged up. He sighed, and exhaled on each lens to warm them up, then wiped them clean on his shirt. New Orleans was famous, among other reasons, for its horrible humidity.
Except for a very brief time – oddly enough coinciding with Mardi Gras – the weather here was either too hot, too wet, or both. It was impossible to get to New Orleans without crossing through miles of swamp, lakes, bayous, cypress marshes, and rivers.
The “Crescent City” was bounded on the west, south, and east by the Mississippi River as it meandered through on its way to the gulf. Its northern boundary was Lake Pontchartrain, a large but very shallow lake itself bounded by mosquito infested marshes and cypress swamps. Any other lake its size would produce a cooling lake effect, but the shallow Lake Pontchartrain heated up too much to be of any real benefit, and if anything, made the nights even more sultry for the unfortunates living in the Marinas at the foot of Canal Blvd.
Until the 1950’s, New Orleans was a much smaller city. Two things allowed New Orleans to quadruple in size in only three decades. First, the largest levee system in the world channeled water through the largest canal system in the world twenty four hours a day. Second, air conditioning became affordable to the middle class. Only then did the New Orleans suburbs grow like hyacinth in all directions. Gentilly, Metairie, the West Bank, and most of all: New Orleans East.
Hurricane Katrina’s devastation was primarily felt in these newer areas. The older parts of the city were spared most of the damage because they were built on higher ground – before the pumps. Even the lower class neighborhoods off Claiborne and Esplanade avenue, with their characteristic “shotgun” houses were almost untouched. Most were built anywhere from three to five feet above ground. Just enough to elevate them above the stink and sludge that was the result of the levee breach after Katrina’s rain and wind had stopped.
Before there was federal flood insurance, only fools would build in such places as Gentilly and Michoud. Insurance was expensive or impossible to obtain. Now it was common -almost an imperative. The irony was that many thousands of people had relied on their insurance to pay for storm damage – only to find out it was considered flood damage, and therefore not covered by their private policies. The federal flood damage, somehow, didn’t seem to cover anything.
Chance drove into the entrance of the DoubleTree hotel near the foot of Canal Street, next to the river. This was far more expensive than he’d hoped, but Katie had told him nothing else was available. He carried his single black bag along with his smaller camera bag with him, and handed the rental to a valet to check in.
He got his key card, and headed toward the bank of elevators. A familiar voice came from behind him, “Where ya goin’, sailor?” A sweet voice, trying to be tart.
Katie stood behind him, smirk on her face, hip canted, hands behind her back holding her own small overnight bag. Chance grabbed her, and lifted her off her feet. She was such a breath of fresh air after a day spent among the worst that New Orleans had to offer.
“I thought you could use some company.” She looked at him with a mixture of concern and anticipation. “Unless this is a Don Quixote thing – one lone man against the world?”
“Katie, I can’t tell you how great it is to see you here. I haven’t had a great couple of days.”
They got into the elevator. “I’m starving. Is there any place a girl can get something to eat in this town?”