JawnKarTurr
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 26, 2013
- Posts
- 1,312
A month after Mardi Gras in New Orleans and Viviane Allemand had missed all the fun. It was just as well she had a lot on her mind after the FBI big wigs in Washington had sent her packing. They didn’t fire her, but they made it clear they were less than pleased about her performance as of late. One even implied if she wasn’t a well-educated black woman she’d have been out on her ass months before, but they decided she “deserved” six months paid leave to perform “research.” Or to put another way clean up your act and come back here top of your game otherwise this would be consider a severance package and don’t dare ask for any letters of recommendation.
At least she got to keep her badge and gun which made it easier when she returned to see the family in Opelousas Louisiana. In the big easy the Allemand family business was law enforcement, she couldn’t think of a male relative who hadn’t been a sheriff’s officer or local policemen and she wasn’t the first girl either. She’d just been the most successful, so with things being what they were she didn’t tell anyone the full story about what was going on. It was much easier for her to tell them she was back in the area for a while and she was working on a case. It wasn’t whole truth, but it was enough for now.
The family was more than willing to help though, and she had at least half a dozen cousins on the New Orleans department. Most of the family actually lived outside the city, but they kept an old Creole townhouse on Hope Street as a home base. Anyone who wanted to apply to the department needed a city address and a place to live that first year, so for three generations someone from the family called the place home at least for a little while. With all the corruption on the police force not being truthful about your place of residence was the least of their concern. So after a few days of visiting, eating, and socializing she told the family she needed a place to work out of for a while.
The house was on a street that was one of the first exits off the interstate into the city and when she arrived she thanked her family for their loving preparations. In the garage there was well used, but sturdy camero. The house was clean and in good order, and the fridge was filled with homemade food and sweet tea. In the upstairs master bedroom she found a full linen closet, and at the foot of her bed a hope chest that contained a necessary evil. Her cousins had provided her with a small arsenal of guns that they’d taken off of gang members. They weren’t legal for her to have, but might be necessary on the mean streets of the city. Besides if you had a badge in this town you made your own rules.
After a hot shower and getting into her Saints sweats she head down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. While she was waiting for it to brew she setup her laptop on the dining room table and began unboxing the mountain of files she’d brought with her. Her assignment was to come up with a profile of a suspect nobody knew much about. The fact was that much of this information was just speculation of agents, but she had to come up with something that could lead to an arrest. Everyone who had worked on what became known as “unsolved case 47” had gotten nowhere. It might have just kept collecting dust in storage if it wasn’t a pet project of Director Alexander Leland Cayne. If she cracked this case she’d be on top again and in line to be a supervisor.
It took a while just to organize the piles of files into a system where she could evaluate though whole situation, but a half of pot coffee later she wasn’t uncovering anything anyone else had from reading the files. Some assassin showed up on the scene in 2000 and began taking contracts from unknown individuals, and while nobody had direct contact they knew he was responsible for a host of hits around the globe. Heads of criminal organizations, corrupt police officers, arms traffickers, and terrorists were all dead at the hands of this guy or so sources claimed. Seems he had no set agenda or even a preferred method of execution, but no target was safe from this guy. At the very least it seemed farfetched.
The case had heated up again in the past year with a series of high profile hits that needed to be answered for and the lack of progress was making the FBI look bad. First there was the incident in Chicago where a group of corrupt cops were selling protection services to a local Asian gang known as the Kings of Chinatown. Worse yet the cops were selling police intelligence files and military grade weapons to these bastards. The department’s internal affairs unit wasn’t having much luck making a case until the whole situation exploded in a few violent days. It exposed the whole operation and embarrassed a lot of people. The file was very thorough though and painted a brutal picture.
Seemed this guy was like a hunter, because none of the attacks were random. He killed the eight kings with brutal efficiency. One died along with two corrupt officers when his sports car blew up, but didn’t harm any innocent people. Two others died in two separate incidents where killed by a poison made from fugu fish easily found in the neighborhood. Another three died in a shootout with police in their basement stash area. The police officers who survived had a hard time explaining away all the weapons and drugs they’d been guarding, and they also couldn’t explain how the fight started.
Interestingly enough while there was plenty of evidence left at that location virtually no weapons were found at an apartment used by the crew. Well they did find the two other members of the gang. One had a fire axe in the back of his skull and his buddy died from his own pistol. One informant who knew the gang and partied with them had little to tell investigators other then he remembered the gang harassing some homeless guy who was hanging around. He also confirmed money and weapons were missing from the apartment, but whoever this assassin was he left a fortune in cocaine.
A few nights after all this insanity the cops got called to Club Vixen, a high end strip club where white collar types mingled with criminals. It seems the owner Dominic “Dom” Osmond was forcing his dancers into prostitution. That night someone strangled him in his office despite there being an army of private security guards around the guy. The killer cleaned out his safe taking money and leaving the incriminating smut. The girls and the bouncers at the club had almost nothing for the police other then they said some guy in a black hoodie had been there talking and paying the girls but not drinking. In both cases someone at the bureau believed it was the same mythical assassin.
While both those cases could justify federal intervention the next one was a public embarrassment for the bureau, and her ex-husband. Vinnie “Slugger” Sinistra was a Cuban crime lord who originally came to America in the Mariel boatlift in 1980, but not long after his arrival became a cocaine smuggler. He brought in massive quantities from the Bahamas, but when caught by the FBI he ratted everyone out. Despite being a killer his testimony got him into witness protection and was living under an assumed name under FBI guard while attending trials. It was ironic considering he had killed a man in witness protection years back, but he was enjoying the good life with his family in a wealthy gated community in Del Mar California.
Her ex-husband wasn’t a fool by any means. He’d assigned around the clock guards, surveillance, and even restricted access to the neighborhood to all but residence and his team. None of it seemed to matter though; because whoever Mr. 47 was he got into the place and made a mess of things. He killed Vinnie by strangling him while he was watching the soccer game. To make matters worse he took Vinnie’s secure laptop where he was recording everything he knew. If that wasn’t enough one of men on the detail was stealing the wife’s panties and sniffing them. The mystery assassin broke his nose and knocked him out and left him face down in a pile of lingerie. The surveillance team was found unconscious and the computer had been wiped. Whoever this guy was he was good.
It was late though and she had the whole weekend to herself before she had to clock back in with the FBI on Monday. She had remote access, and there were still more files to go through here though. Part of the reason she got to come back here was the last few killings had been in the area including talking out a whole hit team of assassins during Mardi Gras. Once again because of informants and hunches people blamed the assassin from file 47. Tomorrow was another day, and she was free to get acquainted with the neighborhood again.
At least she got to keep her badge and gun which made it easier when she returned to see the family in Opelousas Louisiana. In the big easy the Allemand family business was law enforcement, she couldn’t think of a male relative who hadn’t been a sheriff’s officer or local policemen and she wasn’t the first girl either. She’d just been the most successful, so with things being what they were she didn’t tell anyone the full story about what was going on. It was much easier for her to tell them she was back in the area for a while and she was working on a case. It wasn’t whole truth, but it was enough for now.
The family was more than willing to help though, and she had at least half a dozen cousins on the New Orleans department. Most of the family actually lived outside the city, but they kept an old Creole townhouse on Hope Street as a home base. Anyone who wanted to apply to the department needed a city address and a place to live that first year, so for three generations someone from the family called the place home at least for a little while. With all the corruption on the police force not being truthful about your place of residence was the least of their concern. So after a few days of visiting, eating, and socializing she told the family she needed a place to work out of for a while.
The house was on a street that was one of the first exits off the interstate into the city and when she arrived she thanked her family for their loving preparations. In the garage there was well used, but sturdy camero. The house was clean and in good order, and the fridge was filled with homemade food and sweet tea. In the upstairs master bedroom she found a full linen closet, and at the foot of her bed a hope chest that contained a necessary evil. Her cousins had provided her with a small arsenal of guns that they’d taken off of gang members. They weren’t legal for her to have, but might be necessary on the mean streets of the city. Besides if you had a badge in this town you made your own rules.
After a hot shower and getting into her Saints sweats she head down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. While she was waiting for it to brew she setup her laptop on the dining room table and began unboxing the mountain of files she’d brought with her. Her assignment was to come up with a profile of a suspect nobody knew much about. The fact was that much of this information was just speculation of agents, but she had to come up with something that could lead to an arrest. Everyone who had worked on what became known as “unsolved case 47” had gotten nowhere. It might have just kept collecting dust in storage if it wasn’t a pet project of Director Alexander Leland Cayne. If she cracked this case she’d be on top again and in line to be a supervisor.
It took a while just to organize the piles of files into a system where she could evaluate though whole situation, but a half of pot coffee later she wasn’t uncovering anything anyone else had from reading the files. Some assassin showed up on the scene in 2000 and began taking contracts from unknown individuals, and while nobody had direct contact they knew he was responsible for a host of hits around the globe. Heads of criminal organizations, corrupt police officers, arms traffickers, and terrorists were all dead at the hands of this guy or so sources claimed. Seems he had no set agenda or even a preferred method of execution, but no target was safe from this guy. At the very least it seemed farfetched.
The case had heated up again in the past year with a series of high profile hits that needed to be answered for and the lack of progress was making the FBI look bad. First there was the incident in Chicago where a group of corrupt cops were selling protection services to a local Asian gang known as the Kings of Chinatown. Worse yet the cops were selling police intelligence files and military grade weapons to these bastards. The department’s internal affairs unit wasn’t having much luck making a case until the whole situation exploded in a few violent days. It exposed the whole operation and embarrassed a lot of people. The file was very thorough though and painted a brutal picture.
Seemed this guy was like a hunter, because none of the attacks were random. He killed the eight kings with brutal efficiency. One died along with two corrupt officers when his sports car blew up, but didn’t harm any innocent people. Two others died in two separate incidents where killed by a poison made from fugu fish easily found in the neighborhood. Another three died in a shootout with police in their basement stash area. The police officers who survived had a hard time explaining away all the weapons and drugs they’d been guarding, and they also couldn’t explain how the fight started.
Interestingly enough while there was plenty of evidence left at that location virtually no weapons were found at an apartment used by the crew. Well they did find the two other members of the gang. One had a fire axe in the back of his skull and his buddy died from his own pistol. One informant who knew the gang and partied with them had little to tell investigators other then he remembered the gang harassing some homeless guy who was hanging around. He also confirmed money and weapons were missing from the apartment, but whoever this assassin was he left a fortune in cocaine.
A few nights after all this insanity the cops got called to Club Vixen, a high end strip club where white collar types mingled with criminals. It seems the owner Dominic “Dom” Osmond was forcing his dancers into prostitution. That night someone strangled him in his office despite there being an army of private security guards around the guy. The killer cleaned out his safe taking money and leaving the incriminating smut. The girls and the bouncers at the club had almost nothing for the police other then they said some guy in a black hoodie had been there talking and paying the girls but not drinking. In both cases someone at the bureau believed it was the same mythical assassin.
While both those cases could justify federal intervention the next one was a public embarrassment for the bureau, and her ex-husband. Vinnie “Slugger” Sinistra was a Cuban crime lord who originally came to America in the Mariel boatlift in 1980, but not long after his arrival became a cocaine smuggler. He brought in massive quantities from the Bahamas, but when caught by the FBI he ratted everyone out. Despite being a killer his testimony got him into witness protection and was living under an assumed name under FBI guard while attending trials. It was ironic considering he had killed a man in witness protection years back, but he was enjoying the good life with his family in a wealthy gated community in Del Mar California.
Her ex-husband wasn’t a fool by any means. He’d assigned around the clock guards, surveillance, and even restricted access to the neighborhood to all but residence and his team. None of it seemed to matter though; because whoever Mr. 47 was he got into the place and made a mess of things. He killed Vinnie by strangling him while he was watching the soccer game. To make matters worse he took Vinnie’s secure laptop where he was recording everything he knew. If that wasn’t enough one of men on the detail was stealing the wife’s panties and sniffing them. The mystery assassin broke his nose and knocked him out and left him face down in a pile of lingerie. The surveillance team was found unconscious and the computer had been wiped. Whoever this guy was he was good.
It was late though and she had the whole weekend to herself before she had to clock back in with the FBI on Monday. She had remote access, and there were still more files to go through here though. Part of the reason she got to come back here was the last few killings had been in the area including talking out a whole hit team of assassins during Mardi Gras. Once again because of informants and hunches people blamed the assassin from file 47. Tomorrow was another day, and she was free to get acquainted with the neighborhood again.
