Chapter Sixteen

 

It was barely dawn when Cat snuck out of her room and headed to the kitchen in search of coffee. She’d pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee, slipping her feet into tennis shoes. A few minutes later, she had her hands wrapped around a steaming mug when she heard some conversation through the screen of the window over the sink. It was barely light out, the first traces of pink and yellow lighting the horizon.

She peered outside and saw Blood and Sandman already dressed and standing near their bikes. Sandman lit up a smoke and shoved the lighter back in his hip pocket.

She ducked back out of sight, but stayed close enough to listen.

“Blood, we’re rolling out at four. Mooch is taking one team, and you’re supposed to lead the second. We don’t have time to be searching all over for this chick.”

“I fucking know what the plan is. I’m just asking for a few hours. We’ll sweep the Quarter, check in with some bouncers, follow up with our contacts, and show her picture around again.”

“We did all that. They know to call if they see her.”

“I can go alone, then.”

“Bro, we’ve got bigger fish to fry than some missing chick. Get your priorities straight.”

Cat heard a boom, and the wall shook. She peeked out to see Blood with his fists in Sandman’s leather cut, pinning him to the side of the building.

“Don’t you ever fucking question my priorities or my dedication to this club,” Blood growled into his face.

Sandman held up his hands. “Okay, man. Lay off.”

Blood released him with a shove.

“I’m just trying to tell you, Blood. You go too far with this, guys are gonna start to wonder.”

“You been hearing talk?”

“No… I mean, other than wondering why you brought a fine piece of ass back to the clubhouse and ain’t touched her. But you start to blow shit off, you’re just gonna stir the pot.”

“I can go alone. Go back to fucking bed.”

Sandman let out a frustrated breath. “You can be a real dick, you know that?”

Blood got on his bike.

Sandman huffed. “Fine. I’ll fucking come with you.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like I’d let you go alone. Somebody’s got to watch your fucking back.”

Cat stood back, thinking, her eyes darting frantically over the Formica. Then she put her mug down and dashed through the club and out the door.

Both men looked startled as she rounded the corner on them.

Blood frowned. “What are you doing up so early? Go back to bed, Cat.”

“I’m going with you.”

“You don’t even know where we’re going.”

“You’re going to look for my sister. I heard you.” She jerked her chin to the window ten feet down the wall.

“Shit,” Blood grumbled. He and Sandman exchanged a look.

“Don’t look at me, bro. She’s your fucking problem.”

“I’m going with you,” Cat reiterated.

“The hell you are,” Blood snapped back.

“Yes, I am.”

“Get inside.”

“No.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a stubborn thing?”

She glared, her hands landing on her hips. “Yes, and it’s a good thing I am. Maybe that stubbornness was what saved your ass when the Death Heads had you.”

There was a tick in his jaw. He knew she was right, but he didn’t like being reminded. “Cat, not gonna say it again. Get inside.”

She folded her arms and glared back at him. “Fine. You go and I tell Undertaker where you’re going.”

Sandman shook his head. “Well, she’s a hellcat, ain’t she?”

Blood ignored him. “You won’t be telling anyone anything when I gag you and tie you to the bed.”

“Don’t you threaten me!”

“Not a threat, it’s a fact.”

Sandman whistled. “Girl, you better be careful.”

She bit her lip and changed her approach. “Blood, please. Take me with you. I can help. Maybe I can get people to talk. People who won’t talk to you.”

He said nothing, but he stared at her, like maybe he was considering, so she pressed. “Please, Blood. She’s my sister. I need to feel like I’m doing something.”

Sandman looked to Blood for his answer, almost like, he too, was pulling for her. “She might be right.”

Blood glared at him. “Stay outta this.”

“I can go back to bed and let you two fight it out.”

After a long moment, Blood reached back, dug in his saddlebag and jerked out a spare helmet. “Put it on and be quick about it.”

She gave him a big smile as she reached for the helmet and scrambled on the back of his bike.

 

***

 

“I’m starved,” Sandman whined.

“When are you not?” Blood snapped as they walked down one of the side streets in the Quarter.

“Come on, don’t that smell good?” he asked as they passed another restaurant.

“Christ. Shut up about food,” Blood growled.

“Come on, man. Can’t you smell that Etouffée? Hey, maybe we could split a Po-boy or some Red Beans and rice. I know. We could stop at Central Grocery for a Muffuletta or Pat O’s for some shrimp and grits, or Jambalaya. Come on, I’m dyin’ here. Just a quick bowl of gumbo, anything.”

Blood ignored him and kept walking.

“Come on, I’m starved, and every place we pass smells so fucking good.”

Blood came to an abrupt stop and glared at him. “You’re not gonna shut up about it, are you?”

Sandman grinned. “Nope.”

“Fine.” Blood pivoted on his boot and pulled Cat into an establishment with a courtyard.

They sat at a table and watched people walking past. After they placed their orders and each had a beer, Blood murmured low to Sandman, “Black Jack’s involved, I feel it in my bones.”

“You want to pay him another visit?”

“I’m thinking maybe we need to get inside without them knowing. Search the place.”

Sandman rubbed his hand over his jaw. “That’s gonna take some doing. The place is guarded well.”

Blood nodded.

Their food came, and they ate.

Blood wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and tossed it on his plate.

Sandman pushed his plate away and looked over at him. “Come up with a plan, yet?”

“To get into Black Jack’s? Not in the light of day. Anything I can come up with involves darkness.”

“Definitely.” Sandman finished off his beer.

Blood glanced over his shoulder at the people passing by on the street. A second later, he was stiffening in his chair. “Christ, there’s Ivy.”

Sandman and Cat watched stunned as he bolted out of the courtyard after some woman walking past.

“Fuck. Come on, girl,” Sandman snapped to Cat as he dug into his hip pocket, pulled out a wad of cash and dropped it on the table. They both ran out after Blood.

They made it to the street in time to see Blood dash around a corner. They tore down the block after him and spotted him down an alleyway.

Cat could barely keep up. She was huffing when she came to a stop in what appeared to be a dead-end. A scared woman was backing away from Blood.

“You’re running out of alley, Ivy,” he said to her.

“What do you want?” The woman continued to back up, stark fear written on her face.

“Take it easy, girl. I just want to ask you some questions.”

Her eyes darted frantically between him and Sandman, who was also closing in on her. She made to dash past them both for a small gangway that led between two brick buildings.

Blood was on her in a split second, pinning her against the wall. “Easy, babe. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“And who told you that?”

Cat saw Sandman glance back down the alley, watching for anyone who might have seen them chase the girl back here. Cat followed his eyes, but no one in the crowd of people traipsing down the street seemed to care. She turned back to Blood and the girl.

He shook her. “Who told you, Ivy?”

“Big John.”

Blood pushed the hair back from her face, examining it. She tried to pull away. “Easy.” Then he looked in her eyes. “He the one who gave you that shiner?”

She looked away.

“You can’t cover everything with makeup, darlin’. Did he do that?”

She nodded.

Blood pulled Holly’s picture from his back pocket and held it in front of her face. “Have you seen this girl?”

She studied the picture, and then shook her head.

“Why are you so nervous, Ivy?”

“I told you, I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“You ever wonder why that is?”

She stayed mute.

“Because they don’t want you girls thinking anyone can help you.”

She looked away, and Cat saw her eyes glaze with tears.

“Please,” Cat pleaded softly. “She’s my little sister.”

Ivy met her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled.

“Tell us what you know,” Blood said.

“I don’t know if it’s her, but…”

Cat felt her heart jump to her throat, and she took a step toward her.

“But what?” Blood pressed.

“I heard Big John talking on his cell phone. It was something about ‘the young blonde.’”

“What about her?”

“Nothing, I don’t know, just that she’d be ready Friday when the buyer came.”

Cat looked to Blood with a stricken expression. “That’s two days from now.”

“What buyer?” Blood shook Ivy again.

“I don’t know,” she pleaded. “He’s flying in. That’s all I know.”

Blood let her go and turned to Sandman, running a hand down his face. “We need to get into that compound.”

“She’s not there.”

Blood turned back to Ivy. “What?”

“She’s not there. I was at the compound for a party last night. There’s no girl being kept there. They must have her somewhere else. But Big John knows where she is. He knows everything.”

“And where can we find Big John?” Sandman asked.

“It’s Wednesday. He makes collections in Little Saigon on Wednesdays.”

“Collections?”

“The Pho Yen Restaurant. Cherry says they collect protection money for Black Jack from all the Vietnamese businesses.”

Blood dug in his pocket, pulled out a couple of twenties, and pressed them into Ivy’s hand. “You don’t say a word about seeing us, you hear?”

Ivy clutched the money to her chest and nodded.

“You see Holly, you call me.”

“I promise.”

Cat met her eyes, her own filled with tears, and whispered, “Thank you.”

 

***

 

They jogged back to the bikes parked side-by-side on St. Peter. Cat put her hand on Blood’s arm, halting him from climbing on his bike. “Maybe…” She looked toward the street. “Maybe we should go to that compound you were talking about.”

“Hey, look at me.” When she did, he stared her in the eyes. “I can kill Black Jack. I have no problem doing that. But it’s no guarantee it would get Holly back for you.” He slid his hand to her nape. “Our best bet is finding Big John.”

She nodded and climbed on the bike with him. They wove through the city until they picked up Chef Hwy heading east, which rode right through the Vietnamese section.

They passed Michoud Boulevard and slowed down. A couple blocks down, Blood turned left onto Alcee Fourtier Boulevard, then turned into the lot of a strip mall and parked near the entrance to the Pho Yen Restaurant.

Cat climbed off and stared at the establishment. There was a glass store front, the bottom half of the windows covered in red curtains. A neon sign in the window read, OPEN.

Blood looked at Sandman. “Stay here. Keep an eye out.”

Sandman nodded, his eyes like a hawk moving over the building, the lot, and the adjacent side street.

Blood grabbed Cat’s hand and led her toward the door. “We’re just a couple grabbing some lunch, got it?”

She nodded and kept quiet.

The inside was pretty generic with linoleum floors, small red Formica tables, and metal chairs. There was a seat yourself sign. Blood led her to a table in the middle. She noticed his eyes scoping out the place.

A young Vietnamese girl came and took their order. Blood ordered for both of them. It was mid-afternoon and there were only two other people in the restaurant, the lunch rush apparently having died down.

“I didn’t realize there was such a large Vietnamese presence in New Orleans,” Cat asked, her eyes moving around the décor.

“They’re the largest immigrant population in the state.” Blood grinned at her. “I’ll have to bring you back in January. Most still celebrate the Tet holiday around here.”

After the table behind them finished and left, Blood leaned forward and instructed, “Wait here. Any trouble starts, run out the door to Sandman.”

Before she could ask what trouble he anticipated, he stood and headed toward the hallway that led to the restrooms, leaving her glancing around nervously. She could tell the hallway led toward the back, and she assumed he was doing a little recon to see if Big John was back there.

A few minutes later, he came back to the table. He didn’t sit, instead he motioned her to stand. “Come on.”

She stood, her eyes searching his as he gave her a slight shake of his head. Damn, she’d really hoped this lead would pan out.

Movement from the hallway caught her eye, and she turned her head to see three angry Vietnamese approaching. They looked at Blood.

“Who are you? Why you here?”

Blood turned to face them as they closed in, pushing her behind him and against the wall. The first one shoved him back a step with two hands planted in his chest.

Blood quickly responded, jamming his palm into the man’s jaw and forcing his head to the side while he reached up with his other hand and grabbed him by the back of the neck. He spun him violently around, face-first into the edge of a table.

As that man went down, he grabbed an empty beer bottle off the recently vacated table and with a backhanded swing, smashed it into the forehead of the second man, dropping him to the ground. Then he turned on the third man, kicking him between the legs and watching him drop like a rock. As the second man was coming around, he kicked him in the face then jumped to avoid the multiple slashes the third man was making with a knife.

Blood grabbed one of the small pedestal tables and rammed the edge into the man’s face, knocking him to the ground. Then he pounded the edge into the man’s face twice. Spinning, he threw the table at another man coming at him from behind. It diverted attention long enough for him to grab up a chair and fend him off like a lion tamer as the man repeatedly slashed with a knife, trying to get to his face. Fortunately for Blood, his arms were longer, and he was able to keep out of the man’s reach with ease and knocked him to the ground.

“Watch out!” Cat yelled.

Spinning, Blood saw the last man coming at him with another knife. He quickly grabbed a bottle and broke it on the edge of the table with a loud crash, turning to face his next assailant. The man made several slashes—right, left, right again. Blood dodged each one, then took his broken bottle and quickly slashed back and forth four times. The man’s face was a bloodied mess. He didn’t stop there; he grabbed the man’s head and brought his face down to violently knee him in the gut. Once. Twice. Three times, dropping the unconscious man to the ground.

Then he grabbed Cat by the wrist. “Come on.”

He pulled her out the door, and they ran across the lot toward Sandman, who drew his gun to cover them as they climbed on the bike.

“You had a gun and knife. Why didn’t you use them?” Cat asked.

“I just had to hurt them, not kill them. No need adding to the trail of bodies for the Homicide Division, right?”

“Right.” She understood his veiled reference to the one she’d already left behind.

The two bikes tore out of the parking lot and down the highway. They darted in another side street across the way and stopped on the other side of the old Folgers Coffee Processing Plant. The smell of roasting coffee filled the air.

They paused, the bikes idling.

“What the fuck happened?” Sandman asked.

“They didn’t take too well to me snooping in the back.”

“What’d you find out? Is he there?”

Blood shook his head. “No, but they were getting together a protection payment. The cash was stacked up on the table they were all huddled around.”

“So, maybe Big John’s on his way to pick it up,” Sandman suggested, his wraparound sunglasses aimed at the road back the way they’d come.

Blood shook his head. “They’ll have called and warned him by now.”

“So, now what?”

Blood’s eyes shifted down the highway. “I say we keep surveillance on the place and—”

Cat turned to look at him, wondering why he’d stopped talking. His eyes were like a hawk, trained on its prey. She looked back to see a ninja bike, moving fast down the highway, a young Vietnamese boy riding it with a large canvas duffel bag strapped to the back.

“Bet you ten bucks there goes this week’s payment. Let’s go,” Blood ordered.

They pulled out after him, staying well back in traffic and trailed him to a low-rent section where they watched from a lot half a block down as he entered a second floor apartment, its exterior door facing a side lot.

“See the black Mercedes parked in the third spot?” Blood asked Sandman.

“Yup.”

“Pretty sure that’s Big John’s.”

“You think there’s a back way out of those places?” Sandman eyed the building.

Blood shook his head. “No, they’re backed up to that other office complex.”

“Guess we’re goin’ in the front then,” Sandman mumbled as he chambered a round, bent, and dug a roll of duct tape out of his saddlebag.

A moment later, the young boy bounded down the steps empty-handed.

“Bet he wasn’t delivering lunch,” Sandman said.

They waited until the boy had pulled out before moving in on foot. “Stay with the bikes,” Blood ordered Cat over his shoulder.

The two men dashed across the street and toward the stairs, keeping their backs to the wall and out of sight of the upper windows. She watched them dart up the staircase and take up positions on either side of the door.