CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The next two clubs were identical to the one they’d just blown up. Apparently, no one had been notified of the issues yet. Of course, in fairness, there was no one left to call, and any officials were most likely sound asleep.
It was more than obvious that all they did was slap up a large building, build a stage and small backstage area, and a bar. In one building, there were tiny rooms with cots where the women could make extra money. If they wanted to, according to the bouncer.
He was the first one Antoine killed.
The fourth club of the night was the one closest to New Orleans. By law, it should have already been closed since it was after 0300. Instead, they found it alive and jumping with dozens of men and women inside the place.
What disappointed the men most was that this one was in their own backyard. Only twenty-three miles from Belle Fleur, out in the most rural parts of South Louisiana, it was attracting men from the docks, oil rigs, and everywhere in between. They knew this one was different for one major reason. There were three doors instead of two. One at the front, one at the back, and one on the side close to the parking lot where two similar luxury cars were parked, just like all the others. They must give the assholes company cars.
What also made it different were four bouncers at the door and four inside.
“Technically, eight against four,” smirked Whiskey. “They’re half our age, at least. You boys feeling okay about this?”
“I’m very excited about this,” nodded Antoine, rubbing his hands together. “I’m not gonna lie. I’m feeling younger than ever tonight.”
“Well, brother,” smiled Miller, “then let’s get ready for some fun.”
Approaching the main door, there were three men in front of them showing their IDs and making their way inside. When they got to the door, one of the bouncers looked down at Miller and Antoine, opening and closing his mouth.
“Fuck,” muttered Antoine.
“Mr. Antoine. Mr. Pierre,” said the young man.
“Ogie. What are you doing here, son?” asked Antoine.
Ogie Kellen had gone to school with some of their own grandchildren. A huge kid who excelled at football and wrestling, he was offered scholarships to multiple universities.
“Working, Mr. Antoine.”
“You know what happens in there, right?” he frowned. One of the other bouncers stepped forward.
“Everything okay, Ogie?”
“Yeah, yeah. Old friends,” he said, shaking his head. He took two steps forward, forcing Antoine and the others to step back. “Listen. This isn’t what you think. My girlfriend is in there against her will. I’m just trying to get her out of here.”
“Explain,” said Miller.
“When my college football career was done, I didn’t get drafted. Instead, I went overseas to play in a rugby league. I just wanted to keep playing. I met Marilla while playing a match in Singapore. She’s a few years younger than I am,” he said, shaking his head. “Tiniest little thing ever.”
“Go on,” said Antoine.
“I was supposed to pick her up for dinner one night, and when I got to her apartment, three men were dragging her into a car. I followed, but the traffic got in the way. I was frantic, and no one would help me. So, I did what any good Louisiana boy would do. I went hunting.”
“And you found her in your own backyard?” asked Whiskey.
“No, sir. I found her in a cage being loaded onto a cargo ship with other girls and boys. I was one man. I knew I just had to follow that ship. When I figured out it was docking here in New Orleans, I saw my chance. I went to the police chief, but he said they were working on it.”
“He killed himself,” said Miller.
“So I heard,” nodded Ogie. “Listen, please don’t tell anyone. I’m begging you.”
“Ogie, we’re here to shut this shit down. We’ve blown their other businesses, and this is the last one of the night. We need you to help with the distractions. Once we have the girls out the back door, you get them in your vehicle and get the hell out of here. Take the women to a shelter and let us know which one.”
“Sir, there’s just four of you. There are eight bouncers here, and three of them are carrying weapons. The two managers are here tonight, and they don’t put up with anything from anyone here. The bartenders are watched to be sure they don’t steal from the tills. The dancers are constantly being given something to force them on stage. This isn’t for regular guys like you.”
“Well,” smirked Miller, “as much as I love that you think I’m a regular guy. I’m not. You remember how to block, don’t you, Ogie?”
“Yes, sir,” he grinned. “It was always one of my favorite things to do.”
“Good man. You’ll know it when we need you, but you block and then grab those women and go.”
“There’s some boys in there too, sir. Maybe twelve or thirteen years old. They keep them locked behind the bar.”
“All the more reason for you to be sure and block for us.” Ogie backed up and nodded at the other bouncers.
“They’re good. I thought they were someone I knew. Turns out they’re just a couple of old guys wanting a little excitement,” he smirked. Whiskey walked by him, tapping his belly hard.
“You’ll pay for that comment, kid.”
The pounding bass of the music made the four men cringe as they stepped inside the club. Their eyes immediately went to two men seated along the stage, dressed in designer suits, smoking cigars.
“I think we found our managers,” said Vince. “I’ll work my way around to the back. You guys work your magic.”
“I see the boys,” said Antoine. He turned to his brother and gripped his shoulder. “Don’t get hurt. Mama and Kari would eat me alive.” Miller just laughed, walking toward the bar.
“Let’s make this one a show,” said Whiskey.
He walked toward the stage, one of the young women gyrating around the pole. Her head lobbed to the left, then right, as if it weren’t securely attached to her body. Whiskey stumbled, whistling and cheering as he reached for the girl. She screamed, and he stared directly at her.
“Run. Go backstage.”
She grabbed the other girls and ran from the stage, the customers booing the drunken man. Whiskey felt the grip of someone’s hand on his arm and smiled. Turning, he was face-to-face with two bouncers.
“Hey, fellas. What’s up?”
“You’re leaving.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, I’m not.”
With a well-placed kick to the first man’s groin, he was down on the floor crying like a baby. When the second pulled his weapon, Whiskey realized it was truly going to be a fun night.
With a hard kick to his knee, the man’s leg bent backwards in an awkward position. Whisky spun him, gripping his neck and pulling him down. The other customers stared at them, wondering if they should jump in or get the hell out of there.
From the corner of his eye, he could see the two managers standing, both pulling their own weapons.
“Fuck,” muttered Whiskey. “Don’t do it.”
“You’re a dead man,” smirked the first man.
Before Whiskey could even respond, he felt the air of something flying by his face, then saw the other man face down on the table. His partner stared at him, his hand shaking so badly he couldn’t lift the weapon. When another whoosh of air went by him, he slowly turned, knowing exactly what it was.
“You are getting slow, old man,” said Trak. “He could have shot you.”
“You didn’t give me a chance!”
“You would have been dead,” he frowned.
“Why are you here?”
“We saw you on the trackers and knew it was close. I was awake and thought I would join in. Where are the girls?”
“Girls and boys,” said Whiskey, pointing backstage. He noticed Ogie running through the curtain, and Whiskey shook his head. “He’s with us.”
The men followed the big young man, finding him kneeling beside a tiny girl, prone on a torn sofa.
“She won’t wake up,” he said, weeping. Whiskey immediately felt for a pulse, then looked around the room.
“What did they give you?” he asked the other women. They all shook their heads, some crying, some still in the permanent daze that had become their lives. “What did they give you?”
A girl stumbled toward a locker and opened it, showing them the variety of pills and vials that the bouncers and managers used.
“Trak? Who else is here?” asked Whiskey.
“Zeke, Tailor, Alec, and Ivan.”
“Ogie, you remember Mr. Ivan, right?” The young man nodded, still weeping over his girlfriend. “Find him. He’s out there. Find him and tell him we sent you to take the girl to our clinic. We’ll handle the rest of them.”
Ogie didn’t bother to argue with the man. If she died, he’d die as well. He lifted his beautiful girl and ran into the now panicked crowd as fire alarms went off. Trak directed the girls out the back, where vans waited to get them somewhere safe.
“Trak, there are boys hidden behind the bar. Find them. I’m going to have a chat with those two men out there.”
“They’re dead,” said Trak with a blank face.
“How come you can’t just injure people? Why does it always have to be death?” said Whiskey, shaking his head.
“They deserved to die.”
“Fair point. I’ll see if I can find a cell phone or anything. Go. Get those boys, brother.”
Whiskey found the cell phones of both men and then busted the windows of their cars, searching for anything that might help them. He remembered that other than Ogie, there were several other bouncers, and yet they were nowhere to be seen.
When he came around to the front of the building, he knew why. Tailor and Alec were standing over the big men, grinning.
“Did you kill them?” he asked Alec. Alec looked at him and frowned.
“That’s not nice. We’re not Trak. We didn’t kill them. Well, not all of them.” Whiskey just shook his head, then kneeled in front of the bouncers.
“Where are the other clubs?” he asked, just to be certain they’d gotten them all.
One of the bouncers immediately began to talk, listing off the locations throughout the state. All of them were now ashes except the one behind them, which would be soon enough.
“Who hired you?” he asked. The men all looked at them, shaking their heads. “You’ve got one choice only. Tell me who hired you, or you’re going to die in an inferno inside that building.”
“We were hired to do construction work,” said one of the bouncers. “When we showed up, they had photos of us with young women at other clubs. We were told they would go public, they would be sent to our families if we didn’t cooperate.”
“All of you?” asked Whiskey. They all nodded their heads. “And if I let you go, what will you do?”
“Get the fuck out of here and this fucking state,” said one of the men. “My wife already left me, but I’m gonna win her back.”
“Good luck with that,” frowned Whiskey. “In my experience, it’s not that simple. If we ever see you in a place like this again, if I ever find out that you touched one of those girls or boys, I will hunt you down.”
“You think this is all about the clubs?” asked one of the bouncers.
Whiskey and the others looked at him, waiting patiently. As he stared down at the young man, he realized it wasn’t the kind of look that you normally saw in a bouncer. He looked too all-American, too clean-cut.
“It’s not. It’s not about the clubs at all. They’re trying to bring an oil pipeline from Guyana through the Gulf to Louisiana. The clubs were just quick money for them and a place to entertain investors. This is way more. Something no one knows about. I used to be on the rigs, and I caught a glimpse of the plans on Mr. Jackson’s desk one day. They want to divert oil from other South American countries and paralyze their governments.”
“Who is they?” asked Whiskey.
“Mr. Jackson and Mr. Douglass,” he said.
“No. No, they’re not the head of this. Someone is above them. Neither of those fucking idiots is smart enough to do this.”
“That’s all I know. I swear,” said the man.
“Can you redraw what you saw?” asked Alec. He looked up at the mountain and nodded.
“Give me some paper and a pen.”