CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The first stop for Team Boom-Boom, as they’d named themselves, was just outside of Lafayette. They would start there and work their way back south to the one closest to them in New Orleans.
The building was a massive wooden structure with no windows and only two doors. One in the front, one in the back. Obviously, the inspector didn’t give a shit about that little problem. It made Miller wonder if there were actually fire alarms inside the building.
“That doesn’t look up to code,” frowned Miller. “A building that size should have at least four exits.”
“I’m not sure they give a shit about code or exits,” frowned Whiskey.
He looked around the parking lot, noticing the vast array of pickup trucks. Most were jacked up off the ground, duallies for hauling livestock or other equipment. There were two cars, both expensive European models that didn’t fit with the rest of the parking lot at all. Whiskey nodded toward them.
“Slash the tires,” he said to Vince. “We wouldn’t want the managers to go anywhere.”
The four men walked to the front door, where a large man stood sentinel. He had a sidearm attached to his belt that he would have been lucky to find if he needed it. Grossly overweight and obviously thinking his size would deter any would-be robbers or troublemakers, he barely glanced at the men.
“IDs,” he said.
“ID? Are you fucking kidding me?” growled Miller. “Look at the beard, you idiot. It’s more silver and white than brown.”
“Now, now, big brother,” smiled Antoine. “Forgive my brother. He’s anxious to relax this evening. As you can see, we’re clearly twenty-one.”
The man looked at them, finally staring at them thoroughly. He glanced at their muscular physiques. They had skintight shirts on that hid absolutely nothing. They might be old, but they were in damn good shape.
“Fine. Don’t touch the girls unless they say you can. That costs extra. If you do more than touch, it costs even more. If you sit near the stage, it’s an automatic five hundred bucks. Tip generously.”
“And how much of that do the girls get?” asked Whiskey.
“I-uh, I’m not sure,” he said, confused by the question. Whiskey just nodded as he opened the door. The bouncer looked at all the men, puffing out his chest. “Hey, one more thing. You start a fight. I get to finish it.”
“Oh, we’re looking forward to that,” smirked Vince.
It took them a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. There was a long stage stretching in a t-shape from the back of the building to the middle of the floor. White hot spotlights shone on three young women dancing around a pole. They wore thongs but nothing else as they gyrated against the cold metal.
“They look drugged,” said Vince. The others nodded, noticing their glassy-eyed appearance. Their heads were bobbing up and down, their shoulders slumped.
“I’ll get busy,” said Miller. “Don’t start without me.”
Whiskey headed backstage, staring at the man guarding the curtain. He looked him up and down, sneering at him as if that would make a difference.
“No visitors backstage.”
“Fuck you. Boss sent me to relieve you. He said you catch some dinner and be back in twenty.” He looked at Whiskey disbelievingly, then toward the bar, where a man nodded at him. Whiskey had no idea who the man was or why he nodded. He was just grateful that he did.
“Sorry. It’s the first time they’ve let me take a break in the middle of shit. Just don’t let any assholes back there.”
“I know my job,” said Whiskey.
The man disappeared out the backdoor, and Whiskey ducked behind the curtain. In front of him, young women in various stages of undress were either sitting on a worn fabric sofa or sprawled against a wall on the floor.
They looked up at him, completely disinterested at first. There wasn’t even fear in their eyes. Whiskey tried to ascertain if they looked as if they might be English-speaking or something else. There seemed to be a variety of nationalities in the room.
“Does anyone speak English?” he asked. He asked again in Spanish, then in French. They all just stared at him, glassy-eyed. “Shit.”
Peeking out of the curtain, he noticed that the three women on stage were about to be finished with their set. Holding out his hand to one of the young women, he wiggled his fingers.
“Let’s go. Time to leave.” She just stared at him. “Get. Up.”
Hey, dude, fucking hurry it up.
“Fuck this,” he said. He grabbed two of the girls and headed toward the back door while everyone was distracted with those on stage. Before he got out into the open, he pulled the fire alarm. That seemed to make the girls a bit more alert as they scrambled for the door, following closely behind him.
“How many?” asked Vince, walking toward him.
“A dozen and the three on stage. I think they’re all drugged.”
Vince nodded, taking the women and leading them toward the SUVs parked beneath the dark canopy of trees to the side of the parking lot.
Staff pushed the patrons toward the front door as another man pushed his way toward the curtained area. Whiskey knew exactly who he was. Shoving the curtain aside, he looked around the room.
“Fuck! Where are you, you little whores? Come out, come out,” he laughed.
“They don’t want to come out,” smirked Whiskey. “They’re done playing.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Me? No one important,” he smiled. Gripping the fire extinguisher, he slapped it against the side of the man’s head, then zip-tied him to an old pipe against the wall. “I’ve got one out. But there’s another one somewhere.”
“I’ve got her,” said Vince. “She’ll be tied next to your boy backstage.”
“Where are the girls?”
“Safe. Just finish the job.”
Stepping back into the main room of the club, he looked around to be sure that no one was still in the building. When Miller popped up from behind the bar with a smile on his face, they knew it was all done.
“Amazing how fast alcohol can go up in flames,” he smiled. “People ignore the simplest shit.”
“Let’s go. We’ve got vehicles full of naked girls we’re going to need to get to safety.”
“Evie’s waiting at the airstrip to take them off your hands so you can move on.”
The voice of Code was a sweet thing to hear. Whiskey turned to Antoine, nodding at him.
“Get the girls to the airstrip. We’ll meet you there to get to the next club.”
As they started to pull out of the parking lot, the men who’d been evacuated looked back at the building. Not seeing any flames, they began to walk toward it, thinking it was a false alarm. It was not.
Splinters of wood, metal, and glass rained down on the parking lot as men turned and ran toward their pickup trucks, no doubt to get the hell out of there. If their precious vehicles were damaged, how in the world would they explain that to their wives or girlfriends?
“Nice work,” smirked Whiskey.
“Thank you. I like to think I could have done better, but I always feel so rushed. If they all look like that one, it will be an easy night. What about the girls? How were they?”
“I think they were all drugged, brother. Some didn’t look to be more than fourteen or fifteen years old. None of them were over twenty. But I did find this little clue in the pocket of the asshole I nailed with the extinguisher.”
He handed the paper to Whiskey, who turned on the reading light in the SUV. It was an itinerary.
“Georgetown, Guyana to New Orleans, Louisiana,” he smiled. “Looks like we’re getting unexpected company.”
“Looks that way. Unfortunately for them, we’ll be ready.”