Bourbon & Blood: A Crime Fiction Novel (Bill Conlin Thriller)

by Garrard Hayes

  “I’m so sorry” I said, as I entered the small room. She didn't lift her head to see who was coming in. She clearly didn’t want to be here. This was more than a whorehouse. This was a sex-trafficking ring. I stepped further in and locked the door behind me.

  “I won’t hurt you, but we need to hurry,” I told her. “And we need to make this look good or they’ll kill us both. You understand?” I asked.

  She looked up at me, tears in her red, swollen eyes. I had to get her to trust me. “What’s your name and where are you from?” I asked.

  “I’m Emma, from Dublin, Ohio.”

  “I’m Alex, from Manhattan,” I told her. “Tell me what happened? How did you end up here?”

  “The Port Authority. I thought I got a gypsy cab, but they brought me here and won’t let me go.”

  “Do you have any lotion?” I asked.

  “Lotion?”

  “I need to put something in this condom or they won’t believe us.”

  “There’s lotion and lube in the end table.”

  I unrolled the condom and squirted some lotion in it, then put lube on the outside.

  “Can you start moaning like we’re having sex?” I asked her.

  She nodded and we both started bouncing on the bed and making noise. After ten minutes of that we sort of looked like we did have sex, all messy hair and dripping with sweat.

  “Listen to me,” I told her. “I’m going to come back and get you. Please try to hang in there. You need to join the other girls downstairs at the club.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Come on Alex, you done yet? We’re gonna have to start charging you.”

  I came out with the filled, shiny condom in hand. I showed it to Armando, then threw it into a nearby garbage pail. He looked at his men then went in the room, where he saw sweaty Emma sitting on the bed. She backed up against the wall, putting her head down on her knees.

  He turned grinning.

  “Alright Holmes! I guess we don’t have to shoot you. Full membership is granted. Now you can call me Manny.”

  I pointed my thumb in the direction of her room. “Can she be my regular girl? I think I’m in love.”

  “Okay, Alex,” he said, slapping my back hard.

  We headed back to the second floor, where Armando and his goons left me at the bar then went back to their reserved tables.

  Paco came close. I could smell his sour breath. “Stay out of trouble, Holmes. Manny gets pissed off real easy.”

  He waddled away to join his crew.

  I turned to face the bartender. “One Mexican beer, por favor?”

  “Five bucks,” he grunted.

  I drank the beer fast and left the club.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I couldn’t get Emma out of my head. That poor girl. No one deserved that kind of treatment. There was nothing I could do for the children that haunted me. Images of their faces flickered behind my eyelids in a slide show of pain, sadness and horror. I was helpless to rescue them as they were raped and killed by their own people, during a senseless conflict, but I could do something now to save this young woman. I had to speed things up and get her out of there quickly.

  Finally home, I stripped off my clothes and took a shower, letting the water hit my head for an hour. I got into bed and stared at the ceiling, my hands behind my head. After a while I fell asleep then awoke to darkness and silence. The clock read one thirty. I bolted out of bed, got dressed in five minutes, “packed” some needed tools, and took the train back uptown.

  I watched the club from a distance. At three in the morning Angel and Manny came out and got into a black Range Rover parked up the block. Several minutes later they drove off.

  I knew I needed to follow them to complete my assignment, but tonight Emma was my first priority.

  I held up my membership card for the hoods at the door and after a few seconds got buzzed inside. The giant bouncer still blocked the entrance and stared hard until I showed him my new membership card. He moved to the side and unlocked the gate.

  “Thanks man,” I said.

  I headed up to the bar and flagged down the bartender. He put his hands on the bar in front of me and nodded without speaking.

  “Mexican Beer and a shot of Knob Creek, por favor,” I said.

  Manny’s crew sat at the reserved tables, while a few other guys sat in the bar drinking and laughing. Paco noticed me and gave me a dirty look, his eyes narrowing as he whispered to one of the other men.

  I shot back the bourbon, turned to the bartender, and waved him over again. “I’ll take a whole bottle of Knob Creek,” I told him.

  He looked puzzled.

  “That’s one fifty for a bottle. If you make a mess of yourself the office is gonna be real unhappy,” he said.

  “No worries. I’m going to share it with my friends,” I said, smiling.

  I paid the bartender, took a big swig, and let it burn my tongue before swallowing. It warmed my chest and stomach.

  Taking the bottle off the bar I strolled across the club floor and over to the restrooms. I pushed open the men’s room door and went into a stall. The sour smell of urine was overpowering and the floor was wet with the urine of sloppy club members. I winced as the odor made me gag. I waited until the last guy finished and left the bathroom.

  Moving fast out of the stall I grabbed paper towels from the sink and the dispenser. I crumpled them up and pushed them into the waste bin. I poured the entire bottle of bourbon over the contents of the waste bin. Then dropped in around twenty bullets I had stuffed in my pocket. I had saved them as souvenirs from my tour and never thought I’d use them again.

  I took out my green disposable lighter and lit the top of the paper towels. The fire started crackling and spread quickly, flames rising as the garbage caught. The fire flared up, catching the towel dispenser above and the heat burned my face.

  I walked out fast. I crossed the main club floor and waited. No one noticed the smoke coming from under the men’s room door. I stood on the other side and waited near the exit as the bullets started to cook off. Gunshots could be heard in the bathroom and it sparked a riot. People ran for the exits, screaming and panicking. Some got knocked down and crushed under the stampede.

  “HE’S GOT A GUN!” I screamed.

  The staff, clients, and girls ran for the exit while Manny’s crew headed to the restroom, guns drawn. As the bullets cooked off, the crew started shooting back at the phantom shooter. A few poor guys who were closest to the bathrooms were shot dead by the jumpy crewmembers. I ran into the hall and raced up the stairs to the third floor. I tried the door, but it was locked. A crewmember came down the stairs from the office.

  “You’re on the wrong floor,” he said.

  “Oh sorry. I’m looking for the other girls,” I said.

  “No other girls here,” he said, starting to get suspicious. As he approached he reached behind his back for a gun. I stepped forward, grabbing his arm as it came around. We struggled for control of the gun. He elbowed me in the chin, and I caught another in the face. I crouched and swept his feet out from under him. He fell and the gun bounced, firing off a round that echoed in the hallway. I hit him in the face with all my force; his nose broke and he passed out. Sticking my hand in his pockets I found a set of keys. I threw him over the railing headfirst and picked up the gun, a squatty looking Glock. I placed it in my waistband and tried the keys. Time was running out. After several tries I finally opened the door to Emma’s room.

  She was frozen, panic all over her face.

  “Hurry, we have to go now,” I shouted.

  She blinked in shock, then realized what was happening.

  “There are other girls. You have to help them,” she pleaded.

  I unlocked four other doors and discovered a horrible scene in one of the rooms. A girl lay lifeless on the bed, her eyes vacant, mouth open, and head hanging over the side. Blood had drained from her wrists and pooled on the floor.

  A total of six girls were resc
ued that night. All were in the same condition as Emma: drugged, sexually abused, and beaten. They still managed to get on their feet and run to freedom.

  “Get the fuck out! Hurry!” I yelled.

  They fled into the hall and down the stairs. Pulling Emma by the hand we stepped over the body of the thug I fought in the hall. He lay unconscious with blood all over his face. We blended in with the stampeding crowd, pushing our way out and into the street. People scattered in every direction.

  I dragged Emma along behind me and we ducked down the stairs of the subway station. Waiting for the train seemed to take an eternity. Then I heard shouting and footsteps approaching. Two guys from Manny’s crew jumped onto the platform guns out. I wasn’t sure if they were looking for the girls or us. I shot them both with four quick bursts to their chests, dropping each man. The sound echoed, frighteningly loud and ringing in my ears. They fell, blood spraying from their bodies, and crumbled to the ground.

  The silence was deafening. I felt a ringing in my ears from the lack of sound. I thought of a time in another place, on another continent when an enemy grenade landed a few yards from me. My ears rang, the ground shook and a soul-searching heartbeat filled my head. It left me reeling, with a hollow feeling to check my body to make sure I wasn’t bleeding or missing any body parts. I couldn’t move or think until I heard Emma’s quiet sobs and my own panting.

  Distant police sirens grew ever closer as I shook myself back to clarity and finally the train pulled into the station. We got off at 34th and walked to my apartment. I’d never been happier to be in the safety of that rundown building.

  Emma took a shower and I set up a bed for myself on the couch, letting her sleep in my bedroom. The next morning, we took a cab to LaGuardia Airport and I bought Emma a one-way ticket back to Columbus. I gave her three hundred dollars and wished her a safe return home.

  She hugged me. “I don’t know what to say, but thank you for saving my life.”

  Patting and rubbing her back, I said, “I’ll wait and make sure you’re in good hands before I leave.”

  I watched as Emma walked into security, and joined a long line of waiting passengers. She had no identification, but I knew airport security would help her get back home. I walked out of the airport, grabbed a taxi back to Manhattan and fell asleep on the way back.

  The club would be too hot for me to ever go back. I was sure Manny’s crew would be looking for me all over the city, and I had to be careful.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I woke up in the taxi just as we shot out of the Midtown Tunnel. The driver was speaking low. All of a sudden I got an urge to see Dana. I leaned forward. “Excuse me. Can you drop me off at Bryant Park?”

  The driver continued to speak into his phone.

  “Bryant Park Grill?” I said louder.

  “Hey pal! The least you could do is put your fucking phone down and let me know whether you heard me.”

  He barked something incoherent at me and went back to his conversation.

  I couldn’t believe this guy. He lives in our country, enjoys our freedom, and can’t even understand how to treat people and be a decent person. His rudeness was starting to get to me. I took a deep breath, blew it out and looked out the window trying not to let him get the best of me.

  Ten minutes later we pulled up at the grill and the rude taxi driver told me how much I owed without putting his phone down. I paid him with a tip, but he still didn’t take the phone from his ear or say thank you. I left his cab pissed.

  I walked through the outside café and into the restaurant where the host, a thin, dark-haired man in his late twenties, greeted me with a smile. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “One for lunch, please. Can I be seated in Dana’s station?”

  He looked down at a book with reservations and table arrangements. “One moment, please.” He checked the outside area and came back after a couple of minutes.

  “This way, sir.”

  I followed him to the outside tables that faced the park. He seated me at a small table and handed me a menu. “Enjoy your lunch.”

  I took a sip of ice water and studied the menu. I heard a woman’s voice from behind me. “Will anyone be joining you, sir?”

  I didn’t look up from the menu. “No just me.”

  “Hey, I know you,” she said. “You’re that unlucky stud from the park.” She cleared the other place settings then asked, “What are you fixing to drink stud?”

  “I really like your accent, it’s kind of sexy.” I said. “I’m fixing to have a Black and Tan, please.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  She came back minutes later and placed the beer on the table. “Things must be looking up for you.”

  “Well that depends. Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  It caught her off guard, and her expression changed as she considered the offer. A little embarrassed and confused, she studied my face. “You’re name is… Bob? No Will. Sorry, I’m bad with names.”

  “Close. It’s Bill. But I didn't forget your name, Dana.”

  “You got me there.”

  “Will you meet me tonight, so we can get to know each other?”

  “Order and I’ll think it over.”

  “Okay, I’ll have the gazpacho and the fish and chips.”

  “Good choice. I’ll be back in a sec.”

  After a while, she returned with the soup. Each spoonful tasted better than the previous. I wanted to lick the bowl.

  “Wow. You did an excellent job,” she said when she returned with the next course. She came by a couple of times to check in on me and then once again just as I was finishing my food. “So, how was everything?”

  “The fish was awesome but the chips were soggy. Any chance I could get a refund?”

  “Not a chance,” she smiled.

  I figured that was a good sign. “What time do you get off?” I asked.

  “Tonight’s not good for me. Call me tomorrow.” She handed me a Bryant Park Grill card. I flipped it over, and already written in blue ink, in rounded, feminine handwriting was her name, number, and a smiley face.

  She took my plate. “Call me at eight thirty tomorrow night.”

  I walked home, trying to clear my head. Dana’s beautiful face, bright green eyes and vivacious personality had hooked me. I had to spend more time with her.

  I called her the next night at eight thirty, just as she asked. We made arrangements to meet up at Mustang Sally’s at nine for a drink. I got there early and stood outside, pacing and smoking. Finally she arrived, smiling that pretty smile as she approached.

  We had a couple of beers at the bar. I couldn't take my eyes off her as I listened to her talk about her family in Texas and how she wanted to go back after she’d tired of the New York pace. I told her a little about my crazy cousin Jimmy chasing me to work with him, but I didn’t say too much about the actual work we would be doing. Finally I asked, “Do you want to go someplace else? Get a bite?”

  “What do you have in mind?” she asked.

  I took her for a late dinner at Virgil’s BBQ. We lucked out when we got there, as the kitchen wasn’t closed yet. We sat on the second floor overlooking the bar.

  Virgil’s was a fun messy place to eat. The table had four squirt bottles of BBQ sauce in a carousel and brown terrycloth towels instead of napkins. Classic rock and blues music blasted as we stuffed ourselves on sloppy wings, dry-seasoned ribs, and kick ass margaritas. She liked reading, too, and we talked about books and our favorite authors. I told her some about my five-year tour in the army, but kept it light. She talked about her brother and how he was tragically killed while on tour. I thought about some of my brothers in arms that hadn’t made it home, although coming home and being ignored and forgotten after laying down your life was no treat.

  We left the restaurant and stood outside for a moment.

  “You wanna come to my place?” she asked. “We can hang out, maybe see what’s on TV?”

  I gave her a
sly smile. “Sure, but don’t try to seduce me,” I joked. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” she joked back, rolling her eyes. “Take a wild guess what I want to show you at my place.”

  “Is it your pussy… cat?”

  She gave me a look, giggled. “Oh, you’re a real keeper. No, that’s not it.”

  We took the 1 train up to her apartment on West 72nd. She lived on the second floor of a walk-up, a clean one-bedroom apartment in an old building. It wasn’t much, but still larger and nicer than my place. In the living room were a small couch and an old TV. Her bedroom had a floral comforter and sheets. Hung on the walls were framed pictures of flowers, and she had a couple of bookcases filled with fantasy novels.

  “Over here is what I wanted to show you,” she said, as she pointed to a collection of family photos. One picture stood out--a guy in a Marine uniform with a serious expression on his face. Next to that, a framed collection of medals.

  “These are my brother’s,” she said, her eyes welling with tears.

  A Bronze Star and an Army Commendation Medal for valor were part of the collection. These were the medals I had hoped for, but didn’t get. I wanted to tell her more about what I had done and seen on tour, but didn’t. Instead I put my arms around her.

  “I’m sorry. You must be so proud of him. He was a brave man.” I said.

  She squeezed me back.

  “He believed all people had the right to be free.” She said.

  We sat on the couch and watched TV for a bit. I leaned over and breathed her in. She smelled nice. The scent of her perfume, light powdery and citrus. I softly kissed her neck. Taking in more of her scent drove me crazy. She turned and kissed me hard on the mouth. We moved to her bedroom and made love tenderly, with a slow rhythm that left me wanting more.

  In the morning, Dana brought me breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. We hung out most of the day, watching daytime crap on the television, talking and laughing when I made fun of the soap operas. As it became late afternoon I started to get itchy. “I’d better get going,” I said.