by Wild, Nikki
I hadn’t killed Mudflap.
I hadn’t killed anyone since leaving the Devil’s Dragons, not even on the job as an enforcer. Intimidation was doing the trick for me. I sure as shit wasn’t going to break this little winning streak for anyone – certainly not a miserable fuck like this prick.
I was about to regret that decision when it came to my old Lafayette friend…
Kate
Things started falling apart the moment that the brutish thug in black leathers walked into my bar.
He smelled like danger from the get-go, but it was early enough in the evening that he was one of my only two customers. I didn’t have an excuse to not immediately strike up a drink order.
So, I reluctantly walked over and put the biggest smile on my face that I could.
“Welcome to Bayou Spirits,” I chirpily greeted him as he pulled a seat up at my counter. “Want a menu?”
The thug sneered as his eyes slid over the shelves of liquor behind the bar, resting on the draft beer taps.
“Shock Top,” he growled.
“Sixteen or twenty-one?”
“Twenty-one.”
I smiled bravely and dug out a large, chilled draft mug. It was white with frozen condensation as I tilted it under the tap, pouring just the right amount of head into the ice-cold glass. A slice of orange completed the look.
“Here you are,” I told him as I whipped a napkin square in front, just in time for the glass to set down on top.
The thug took the drink without a word of thanks and tilted it back. While he was preoccupied, I saw the emblem on his leathers, and my heart turned colder than that mug could ever get.
Bayou Boys.
I froze in place, quickly stifling a minor panic attack as he downed a third of the mug and set it down. What the hell are they doing here?!
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the thug smiled, showing off a few missing teeth. The gesture only scared me more.
“I… just realized that I forgot to make a call for my boss,” I stammered. “To one of our beer reps.”
“Oh.” The stranger smiled evilly, “Well, little missy, better get to that then.”
“You’re right,” I agreed, turning away.
Suddenly, his hand was around my wrist. I jumped, startling the other customer, who was reading a newspaper at the other end of the bar and staring strangely at us.
“What are you–”
“That menu,” the stranger sneered. “I’ll take one. You’ve got food in this raggedy joint, yeah?”
I glanced down at his hand, fingers coiled around my wrist. His grip was punishingly tight.
“We do,” I answered. “Mostly burgers.”
“Then bring me a menu.”
Brazenly, I summoned my courage, feeling it weakly simmer deep down. It was barely a boil, but it would have to do.
“Let go, and I will.”
He instantly released his fingers, holding them near my wrist before slowly drawing back across the counter. I reached down a few inches and slapped a menu on the counter in front of him.
“Here. I’ll be back to take your order in a minute.”
“Of course,” he toothily smiled.
I grabbed my phone off the charger and checked on my other guest before slipping into the back. The biker thug kept his eyes on me the entire time, and I shivered once he was out of sight.
I dialed in Grizz’s number.
After a few rings, he didn’t pick up.
“C’mon, baby,” I hissed impatiently.
Tried again. Nothing. I knew he was supposed to be meeting someone tonight, but it wasn’t like him to ignore my call…
My phone didn’t have texts, so I left him a voicemail and reluctantly stepped back out into the bar front.
The thug was waiting cruelly.
“How’s your guy?”
“Sorry?”
Shit, did he hear that?
“Beer guy. For your boss.”
Relief washed over me. I was in the clear… but I’d have to be more careful around this guy. “No, couldn’t reach him. Had to leave a voicemail.”
“Shame, that.” He pushed the closed menu forward towards me. “Cheeseburger. Well done, tomato, pickle, mustard. Fuck it up and it goes back.”
I made a show of writing it down, just to make him happy.
By the time I walked back out with the other customer’s club sandwich, the Bayou Boy biker had shifted his attention over to a football game on the television. He was on his better behavior, although I’d hear him swear at the top of his lungs and snap at the screen every third or fourth play.
I learned quickly that every time he smacked his hand down on the bar twice, my new friend here wanted another beer. Between the beers and the game, he was distracted.
That was easy enough to deal with.
His burger came out charred to the core. I checked for the ingredients he wanted, and then brought it out to him with a bed of fries and a bottle of ketchup.
Sparing it only a quick glance, he took a bite with his eyes glued to the screen. When he didn’t immediately lose his shit at me, I figured he was okay.
The other customer had grown tired of his bullshit and asked for the check. The guy got the hell out of dodge, and that meant it was just the Bayou Boy thug here and me.
Alone.
By the time his fourth draft beer was dropped off, the game was mostly over and he was started to focus on me again. His team must have lost, because he was in a filthy fucking mood. I was cutting an orange to replace the slices that went onto his draft beers when he finally spoke up again.
“What’s your name?”
I quickly ran through a number of fake names in my head. “Summer.”
“Summer?” He smiled devilishly.
“Yeah. You?” I turned.
“Rampage.”
“Huh,” I nodded.
“Wasn’t born with it. I earned it,” he proclaimed loudly, his eyes still locked onto me. “On account of how I get going when I get angry.”
It didn’t feel like staying quiet was the right choice here, so I played along.
“Do you get angry much?”
“Not unless I got to.”
Well-spoken, I sarcastically thought.
“How long you been here, Summer?”
I hid my pause by making another careful slice into the orange. “Few years,” I told him. “Came here for school.”
“Lookin’ for someone.”
“No, for school.”
“No, I am,” he sneered evilly.
“Are you?”
“Yeah. All of us are… me, and the boys.”
Didn’t like where this was going. “Boys?”
“The Bayou Boys,” he proudly told me, pointing at the faded patch on his jacket. “Figured you might’ve recognized me.”
I really didn’t like where this was going.
“Sorry, I don’t… I don’t follow.”
“We’re the law out here,” Rampage told me. “At least, in Lafayette. We don’t come all the way out here less we have a good damn reason.”
“But you’re looking for someone.”
“That’s right,” he took another big bite of his half-eaten burger. “Another biker who’s done us wrong. And some stuck-up bitch.”
“Can’t say I know them.”
He paused, looking at me quietly.
“Haven’t told you what they look like yet.”
I panicked inside.
“I mean… I don’t see a lot of bikers here,” I tried to cover my tracks. “Don’t see a lot of anyone. But go on. Tell me about them. Help me jog my memory.”
He narrowed his eyes, setting the burger down and slowly wiping his greasy fingers clean with a bar napkin.
“Big guy, built broad, part of a biker club from the desert called the Devil’s Dragons. Rolled through town a month back. Gridlock’s got a bone to pick with the Devil’s Dragons. Don’t like ‘em. Wants to see ‘em all dead.”
“Gridlock?” I asked.
“Gridlock is the Bayou Boys President.”
“Well I don’t think he’s going to find this guy out here,” I gulped quietly.
Rampage laughed. “That’s what I said. Told him the asshole probably tucked tail and headed west, but the boss thinks different. One whiff of this Devil’s Dragon’s dust, and it’s got his blood boiling… So here I am.”
“And the stuck-up bitch?”
Rampage grinned.
“I’ll know her when I see her.”
I stared into his eyes with mounting fear, thinking of anything in arms reach that I could use as a weapon. Bottles full of vodka, a small knife I use to slice limes, the cash register… It was heavy enough to do some damage.
The tension snapped when he laughed. “Haha, I had you, didn’t I? I’ve been practicing that look… gonna use on that whore the second I see her…”
I reluctantly chuckled with him.
“Don’t you worry about her,” he shook his head. “I’m after the big guy. Find him, I say, find the chick. Even if you gotta break a few fingers to get it out of him…”
My nerves couldn’t take much more of this. “How do I let you know if I see him?”
Rampage leaned back, taking another swig of his beer. He motioned for a pen, and I dug one out from under the bar.
“Here,” he grunted, penning down a phone number. “That’s my boss. You see any leather with a dragon on it, you let me know. I’ll make sure you’re properly rewarded. You’d like that, wouldn’t you sweetheart?”
“Yes…” I nodded politely.
He asked for the check, and I was never so fucking happy to print one of those in my life. He left me thirty dollars – meaning a tip of less than a buck – and gave me a last piercing smile before finally leaving.
It felt like a boulder fell off my shoulders once he was finally out of the goddamn place.
Digging my phone back out, I tried ringing Grizz for the fourth time since this guy had shown up.
Same as before.
Nothing.
I eventually gave up and continued on with the late afternoon shift. Boss wanted the place closed early today on account of some overnight cleaners, and there were barely any customers anyway, so I closed up at ten and did my inventory counts before locking up.
My taxi was waiting out by the curb. I’d gotten into the routine of calling for one, since Grizz wasn’t always free, the buses didn’t service this part of town, and I didn’t have the money for a car.
I climbed inside for my ride home, eager to be done with this stressful place for tonight. I had already decided to give my boss a call and quit. The money was shit, and the Bayou Boy showing up only meant that I needed to go into hiding – and fast.
Maybe if I’d been less focused on running away, I’d have noticed Rampage sitting on his black and chrome Harley at the dark end of the parking lot.
Grizz
“Are you ready for this, Grizz?”
Julian’s hand was clasped firmly onto my shoulder. His eyes locked on mine, the man searching for any shred of weakness.
“I’m ready,” I told him confidently.
“And I believe you,” he replied, a sly smile crossing his lips. “Well then, you’ve paid your dues. Time to meet my partners.”
Julian turned to face the door guard, handing him a key. Brutish and silent, the man twisted and unlocked the door, pushing it open for the two of us.
Surprise, surprise, it was another bar.
This is almost getting a bit ridiculous, I started thinking to myself as I followed Julian in. But my opinion changed when I had a better grasp of things.
Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized that this was more of a lavish nightclub than the shithole bars I was used to. The place was so dark that subtle floor lighting lined the way. The walls were all painted black, making the small pockets of activity look like they were sitting in a shadowy abyss. Sinister ambient music played over concealed loudspeakers all around, adding an otherworldly layer to the entire place.
As we walked forward towards the white lighting of the massive bar, a sharp-dressed bald man in a waistcoat and rolled-up sleeves glanced over from behind.
“Anything to drink?”
“Not yet,” Julian lifted his hand. “Let me get our newest recruit settled first…”
The bartender summed me up, a sly smile on his face. His tongue quickly rolled against his lip, and I suddenly realized how he was looking at me.
“Looks like you brought me a handsome one this time,” he grinned.
“Flattered, but no thanks,” I grunted.
“Oh, you’ve hurt me,” the bartender looked wounded. “Change your mind sometime, and I can whisk you away to a dark corner in here…”
Julian directed me away.
“Sorry about that. Patrick’s usually a little more professional… I’ll have a word with him later.”
“It’s fine,” I noted as we walked past a few cocktail waitresses, casting me seductive looks. I paused, thinking of the women we’d saved from the Viboras Verde in Mexico.
“Don’t worry,” my host reassured me. “Everything you see here is above board. You won’t find sex trafficking within our ranks. This isn’t some low class brothel.”
“Good,” I growled.
We continued up some stairs, past a few booths where a few friendly drinkers were enjoying the company of some of their more flirtatious servers.
“What kind of place is this?”
“Strip club,” Julian noted, waving with his hand across the darkness. To be sure, there was a stage over there, and girls dancing against poles.
“That doesn’t bother you, does it?”
“No,” I noted. “My boss has a chip on his shoulder over strip clubs. Some of the senior club brothers, too. You might say they had a bad experience in one a long time ago.”
“We are highly exclusive and discreet,” Julian told me. “Everyone who comes through that door is by strict invite only, and they have to be vouched for.”
“What about the Dragons?” I asked.
“Well, that depends solely on you,” Julian replied. “You, of course, and the people you’re about to meet…”
We went up a few more stairs and around a corner. Julian unlocked another door, and I had to cover my eyes from the brighter lighting.
There must have been eight people around that table, none of which looked particularly intimidating… but each of these otherwise average men and women controlled a piece of New Orleans.
Clemens would kill to be in this room.
“Friends, it’s with great pleasure that I introduce to you my new friend Grizz Hawkins of the Devil’s Dragons.” He took his seat directly across from the open chair, seated in front of an old rotary landline.
Which meant that cell phone signals were good as dead in this room, if not the entire bar. I was dealing with some very careful and paranoid people.
Julian’s partners introduced themselves one by one. The short, squat one helped run the New Orleans port; the smiling, upper middle-aged woman oversaw international airport smuggling through the Louis Armstrong International; this Jamaican guy was one of the leaders in the New Orleans Black Market; the thin, elderly one was the police commissioner for the city. That one definitely took me a second to process. Corruption ran straight to the top in the big easy…
“Pleasure to meet you,” the black market dealer greeted me with his other hand placed on our handshake. “You and your boys have done some excellent work out there.”
“Much obliged,” I nodded.
Once the introductions were over, a few cocktail waitresses were let into the room to take our orders and, after a few minutes, bring back the first round of drinks.
That got out of the way quickly, and then we went straight to business.
Julian’s partners were upfront with their doubts about the Devil’s Dragons. It seemed like our reputation did precede us, because
each member of the partnership were well versed on our recent dealings.
Since my contact had already filled me in on these details – how they knew, what they knew – I didn’t have to ask stupid questions in front of these people.
Made things a little easier…
I laid it all out on the table in front of them, answering their tough questions and shrugging off a few hard accusations.
Friendly or not, they needed convincing.
“The Devil’s Dragons had free reign to be a wildcard,” I admitted. “We had room to play it loose, so long as his club was kept fed and safe… but we’re ready to settle down.”
“How do we know your club won’t raise hell out here?” The airport smuggler asked, with her usual friendly cheer.
“Our president knows what it takes to build a network of criminals,” I answered plainly. “He’s already done it. Hunter understands what it takes to maintain trust and order.”
“It’s a little different out here than those Outlaws you have,” rasped the oldest voice at our table. It belonged to a leery woman by the name of Maggie Thibodeaux.
Old Maggie looked like someone’s senile grandma, going through a weird leather phase. She was the matriarch of the Redneck Renegades motorcycle club – a tough club that had been holding territory in New Orleans for three generations.
“Not saying it isn’t different,” I replied respectfully. “Just saying the Devil’s Dragons have experience keeping a circle of criminals on their better behavior. We are honor bound.”
“That reminds me,” Julian piped up. He’d stayed suspiciously quiet the entire time. “How is Hunter planning on ruling the Outlaws from a thousand miles away?”
“Can’t answer that for him,” I shook my head. “That conversation hasn’t happened.”
He leaned forward. “Guess, then.”
I hesitated.
I don’t like making assumptions, especially when they were on the behalf of other people… and especially not with this much on the line.
“Hunter will probably step down. He’s got a kid on the way now. That’s part of the reason he wants to find a better home for the Devil’s Dragons in the first place. I would be surprised if he didn’t put a new trusted leader in place of the Outlaws and walk away from it.”