CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Ace? I need you to tell me what we have on Snow,” said Gaspar.
“Not much. I even asked the VG nerds for some help. This guy is like a ghost. Snow is obviously not his real name. I find no records of birth, marriage, or university records. The first appearance of his name was in Americus, Georgia, about ten years ago, where he bought more than a thousand acres of land.”
“A thousand acres? What the fuck for?” frowned Ian.
“Not sure. What we do know is that he bulldozed dozens of old buildings. Barns, sharecropper shacks, two crumbling plantations that were to be protected and eventually restored. He cleared all of it, then set the rubble on fire. He burned the trees, grass, everything. Put the fire out and sold the land for a profit to a community developer.”
“Jesus, what the hell is up with this guy?” asked Angel.
“After Georgia, there are similar instances in South Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi, then what we already know. Arkansas, Texas, Florida, and now here.”
“All southern states,” frowned Miller.
“What’s your point?” asked Ace.
“I’m not sure I have one. It’s an observation, but it must connect somehow. We have to find out who he really is, and that will help us to know his background better.”
“What really doesn’t make any sense,” said Sly, “is that he doesn’t really do anything with this land. He builds shitty homes, businesses, or nothing, then ensures that they’re destroyed either by him or by nature. I don’t get it.”
“I don’t get it either,” said Nine. “Is there anyone we can talk to? Former employees? Maybe the folks that were affected by this?”
“I’ll see if I can find someone,” said Ace.
“Where does he live?” asked Angel. “Maybe Trak and I should pay a visit.”
“His New Orleans address is a loft apartment in Tremé. Nothing special. A simple open-air space, once a warehouse. It’s on the second floor, but he owns the whole building.”
“Send us the address,” said Trak. He looked at Angel, then at Miller. “Let’s go.”
“Hey! You three don’t do anything stupid,” said Nine. Angel and Miller smirked at him, but Trak tilted his head, staring at him as if he didn’t understand the language.
“I found some information on the two councilmen that tilted toward Snow,” said Code. “Roger Thoms and Levon Mays are relatively new to the city council. Both are young, unmarried, and seriously in debt.”
“Go on,” frowned Gaspar.
“Thoms has almost two hundred grand in student loans. He has a law degree from Southeastern Louisiana University but has never actually practiced law.”
“Why? I mean, why go to school all those years, take the bar, and then not practice law?” asked Miller.
“He struggled to find a firm that would take a chance on him. Four DUIs, a reckless driving incident, and two accusations of sexual assault. It’s politics at its finest. Let’s just sweep things under the rug. Especially if daddy is a high-profile oil man.”
“What a prince,” growled Bull. Code nodded.
“Levon Mays is one of seventeen children from the Ninth Ward. All of the siblings are younger than him, starting at age three, up to twenty-seven. His folks are dead, and he’s the sole guardian for all the children.”
“Let me guess, he had no money, and now he has a bank account that’s brimming with possibilities,” frowned Wilson.
“Something like that. It was slow, over about three months. Four or five grand every few weeks. Then, two weeks ago, a deposit of five hundred thousand was made into his account, and he suddenly moved from the four-bedroom home in the Ninth Ward to a brand new ten-bedroom build on the lake. He doesn’t even live in the district he represents any longer. ”
“Doesn’t that make him unqualified for the role?” asked Pork.
“It does, but apparently, no one knows about the move. Or, no one has said anything. Think about it. He’s a homegrown Ninth Ward boy making it good. I’m going to guess he helps out the old neighborhood.”
“Shit. We need to send some people to speak with them. And when I say people,” growled Gaspar, “I mean reasonable, adult people who can ask questions, listen, and not kill.”
“Spoil sport,” frowned Alec.
“Seriously. Can’t we have any fun anymore?” asked Tailor.
“No, you can’t,” said Nine. “Get Rory and Zeke to go. Tell them to ask nicely what the fuck is going on.”
“Rory and Zeke? You think they’ll be nicer than me and Tailor?” frowned Alec.
“Yes. Yes, I do.” The two mammoth men stared at Nine in disbelief. “Okay. No, I don’t. But at least I know they won’t kill them unless they have to.” Alec nudged Tailor.
“See.No fun.”