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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
V elina…
When I went into work for what was supposed to be my Tuesday, it was to, predictably, a pink slip for no calling and no showing on what was supposed to be my Monday. I barely, by the grace of whatever God there is, sweet-talked my way out of it by gaslighting them into believing that I really did believe that today was my Monday and that I had been so sick that I’d missed a whole day of existence.
I didn’t think my manager really bought it, but they didn’t want to fire me, either. Partially because I had been so reliable up to that point. So, the pink slip turned from a you’re fired , into my first write-up, which was a “ three strikes, you’re out” kind of a thing that rinsed and repeated with every new year. The reset button hits January first.
As far as policies went, it was a pretty fair one, but if I were being perfectly honest, I didn’t picture myself working here for terribly much longer. This job really was just to maintain my cover with the Bayou Brethren, and given certain… revelations that I’d made, according to Saint, it wasn’t something I was going to have to keep doing for very much longer.
I didn’t know what the Voodoo Bastards had planned, and I didn’t want to know. That whole club business is none of your business when it came to the club’s women was looking mighty fine by way of plausible deniability right now.
They didn’t want their women involved insomuch as they didn’t want us to be questioned when it came to any alphabet soup of federal or local law enforcement. We only knew as much as we needed to when it came to getting the boys lawyers and who to call when some shit did happen to go down.
We were, in essence, their fallback plan, and even though I low-key hated it and would rather be part of the initial plans in some ways, I had to respect their setup in that it did try to keep us girls out of trouble. I wasn’t cut out for prison life.
I worked the remainder of that week in a state of honest nausea with having to keep up appearances like I had a great time blowing dipshit in the dark of some stranger’s front porch for all eyes to see in the middle of some swamp property out along some bayou I couldn’t name. There were so fucking many of them out here that it annoyed me to no end that I hadn’t been able to keep track to tell the boys. Of course, with the tracker app on my phone, I hadn’t needed to. They’d been able to pinpoint the location.
I agreed to meet up with Carver and a group of the other Brethren and some of their girls in the French Quarter after work on my Friday to have some drinks and to do some dancing or whatever, but man, I wasn’t feeling it. My feet hurt, and I was fucking tired .
Not only that, but I didn’t know what it was about it that week, but there had been a rash of violence and fucked-up shit going on in and around the Quarter. The vibe as I stepped out of work onto the darkening street was something… different than usual, but then again, it could have just been the weather .
The sky hung low with clouds that were pregnant with rain, and the air was somehow thicker than usual.
I had, of course, texted Saint with the knowledge of where I would be, and we had that other failsafe by way of the location-sharing app that was running in the background on my phone. I was running at all times to where he could see where I was, and I him if we needed to.
I looked at it before I left my job, and it showed him in the Ninth Ward, where the clubhouse was located.
In reality, I knew it was only minutes away – but on the map, it looked like it could take light years for Saint to get to me.
That was okay, though.
I reminded myself under no uncertain terms that I was a strong, powerful, and wholly independent woman, and there wasn’t a person alive I could rely on to keep me safe but me. I didn’t need no man, but the scared little girl part of me, in the deepest recesses of my being, certainly wanted Saint at my side.
Shit, if any of my siblings could see me now, they would say I was the biggest moron for putting myself into one of the un-safest positions that I possibly could by still pretending to be Louise, a.k.a. Louie, with this band of fucking jackals riding their big boy trikes and bikes.
I couldn’t argue the point. They’d have been right, but it was also still the right thing to do.
I walked swiftly down the sidewalk, fists buried in the pockets of my jean jacket, my purse slung over my chest across my body underneath it to keep it as un-snatchable as possible. It’d been a wild week of assaults and robberies splashed across headlines. Most unrelated to each other, it would seem.
There was a pack of internet “pranksters” who found it funny to punch random women in the face for no apparent reason. Incels, if you asked me. The dipshittery started in New York but had quickly gone viral, and now there were videos and cases popping up all over the continental United States. With New Orleans and the French Quarter being so tourist heavy – it’d taken hold here pretty quickly. But it was a strong likelihood it was tourists rather than locals when it came to that shit.
The robberies, on the other hand, were definitely a local outfit – they just didn’t know who.
I’d asked Saint about it one night on one of our now nightly phone calls about what would happen if the Voodoo Bastards saw something like that. With the money that a lot of local businesses paid, he’d said that the Bastards would have curb-stomped the individual responsible.
I had filed the information away because I planned on bringing it up tonight – to see what Carver or the Bayou Brethren’s answer would be.
Thunder rumbled, and the wind picked up, smelling green and wet from the direction of the river. I hurried my pace, as lightning flashed and skirted quickly under the awning of the bar where I was supposed to meet everyone, when the heavens opened up in an absolute deluge.
“Holy shit,” I heard behind me, and a laugh. I turned and came face-to-face with none other than Lazarus … which was what he was calling himself now. I got the joke, I just didn’t think it was funny. Judging by the look in his one eye as he looked at me, it wasn’t meant to be funny.
“Made it in the nick of time, huh?” I asked, forcing a genial laugh.
“I’d say,” he said and turned sideways in the doorway so that I could squeeze by.
“Carver here yet?” I asked.
“Oh, a bunch of us are,” he answered casually. “I’m Lazarus, and who might you be?”
I smiled a little wider. “I’m Louise, but everyone calls me Louie,” I answered. He scrutinized my face, like he found something familiar about it but couldn’t place it. I cursed my attempt at being funny without being funny when it came to my choice of cover name and hoped that he didn’t put two and two together about my eyes like most of the Bastards had on second look.
“Pleasure to meet you, Louie,” he said, and captured my hand, brushing lips across the knuckles. It made my skin absolutely crawl all the way up past my elbow.
I laughed nervously, and he said, “You go on in past the bar and into that back room an’ you’ll find us.” He stepped out of the doorway, out under the awning, moving to the side as far as he could before lighting up his cigar… right next to the no smoking sign posted against the front of the building.
“Thanks!” I called and slipped further into the gloom of the bar, away from the blush of cooler humidity from the rain falling from the sky.
I lingered a moment, just inside the doorway, outside of Lazarus’ sight, and watched the rain fall, the drops bouncing off the street in what my mother had called “ponies” when I was growing up.
It was one of those deep and torrential rains I had always thought of as a cleansing rain and the winds that accompanied it? Well, they felt like the winds of change.
I was hoping they were, at least. Come what may, it felt like it was needed.
I found a knot of Bayou Brethren and their girls in the back room with the billiard tables. There were only two pool tables and both were occupied by Bayou Brethren. There was money on the games, which made me nervous. One of the most common motives behind fighting and murder was money. Add alcohol, the chances of either happening increased exponentially.
I tried not to think too deep into it and instead completed my assessment of the room. High bar tables lined the perimeter of it, and what girls were present lounged on the tall stools tucked up under them. Sativa was present and accounted for, which was annoying but not unexpected.
I scanned the other faces and found Singer, her man, Basilisk, and, of course, Carver, who spotted me and lit up. It took everything in me to force a thousand-watt smile while my gut wrenched just at the sight of him.
“Hey!” I called cheerfully, let him wrap his arms around me, and returned his kiss with what I hoped was the right amount of enthusiasm.
“Hey, baby,” he said and gripped my ass, giving it a painful squeeze and a shake. “Mm! Can’t wait to get some of that later tonight,” he growled next to my ear, and I laughed like that sounded good when it honestly sounded anything but. I didn’t know how I was going to get out of it this time, but I was sure that something would occur to me.
Saint and I had talked about it, and we’d agreed. I’d already gone just as far as things needed to go for me. That if my dot arrived anywhere that wasn’t for commercial use, or if it arrived at my hotel, and he didn’t get a text in the next ten minutes after my landing there, that he was coming and bringing hell with him.
He and his brothers had all agreed. Carver would be the first of many, and that they would pick them off one at a time.
That was my new mission – to gather intel on as many of their movements and personal lives as possible, but not to the detriment of my bodily autonomy. Never again on that front.
I would do what I had to, but the assurance that the boys on my team were done with me having to go that far warmed me. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone had my back.
After a lifetime of going under the bus, I felt like, for the first time ever, I was in the driver’s seat.
“Carver, your shot!” one of the other Brethren hollered, and Carver winked one of his blue eyes at me and turned me loose over near Singer.
“Hey, girl, how you doing?” I asked, sliding up onto a vacant stool on the other side of her from Basilisk. If I had to guess, he got his name from the stone-faced stare he tended to give people.
“Hey,” she said back and her smile was a brittle one.
“You good?” I asked.
“Yeah! Yeah!” She forced a smile, and I caught Basilisk looking at her in a way that I didn’t like.
When you know, you know, and it was totally apparent – they were having some sort of problem. I was curious but wisely kept my mouth shut. I’d get it from her sooner rather than later.
I was right on the money when Singer got up and said, “I gotta use the bathroom, and Louie needs a drink. We’ll be right back.”
“Hurry it up,” Basilisk said, and I smiled and nodded, gesturing to Carver at the far pool table that I was going with Singer and pantomiming I was getting a drink. He waved me off and leaned in to listen to something that Spite, one of the Bayou Brethren’s enforcers, was saying.
Those two were something… Spite and Malice were their road names, over some card game that involved two decks of cards to play. As far as I’d heard, the names were fitting as the two of them were absolutely chock full of both spite and malice, and tended to do some seriously heinous shit just for the fun of it.
I wouldn’t be surprised if one or the both of them were active serial killers. There were rumors about screwed-up issues from early childhood – as in the serial killer trifecta of bed wetting, harming small animals, and starting fires.
I didn’t doubt it. Each one of them on their own gave me the creeps. Both of them together gave me the full-on heebs.
I let Singer lead me out of the back room and down the narrow hall to the ladies’ room, where there was, of course, a line. We stood in it, and I asked her, “Girl, are you good?”
“Yes… no… I don’t know,” she said and hugged herself.
“What’s going on?” I asked gently.
“You know I got a past, right? Like heavy drug use in my teens, a bad eating disorder, shit like that.”
“I didn’t, but it’s okay. We all have our histories,” I said.
“Basilisk keeps wanting me to get on E when we fuck, and I just don’t want to even go down that road. I’ve been there, and I don’t want to go there again. I’ve worked really, really, hard to stay clean, and I don’t want to risk it, you know?”
“No, yeah, I know! I totally get that. Is he just not taking ‘no’ for an answer?” I asked.
“No – I mean, he’s taking the ‘no’ but he’s not happy about it and is being a real dick, making me feel bad about it.”
“Honey, no! You have no reason to feel bad. You’re doing what’s right for you!” I put my hand to her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t need that shit to have fun,” I said. “He can do what he wants. He’s a big boy, but Jesus. He needs to leave you the fuck out of it.”
“I just don’t want to slip up, you know? I worked really hard to get out of that life, and I know this one ain’t so great, shaking my ass on a stage, but for the first time ever, I’m making good money, enough money. I ain’t gonna be able to do it forever, and I’m trying to make enough that I ain’t gotta, you know? I don’t want to go back to turning tricks and starving half to death just to get my next fix.”
I nodded and hugged her tight.
“You stick to your guns, okay? Don’t give in. You got a plan, and you stick to it. There’s nothing wrong or dumb about making a better life for yourself.”
“Thanks,” she said and sniffed, knuckling under her eyes to keep her mascara from blurring.
“Any time, and if he keeps getting up your ass about it, there’s nothing wrong with walking away. You don’t need that shit.”
“Aw, hon, pretty of you to say and think so, but that’s not how this life works, you know? You don’t get to walk away. Once you become an ol’ lady, they own you .”
I was going to say something, but the line moved, and Singer and I were next, the stalls opening up for us. I went pee, even though I didn’t really need to. It just seemed like a good idea, considering that before long, I would have to and I didn’t want to have to wait forever in line again.
The rest of the night went… okay. It seemed like everyone was in some type of mood, and chaos was the order of the day. Everyone was just getting mad at each other and picking fights over things for no reason. Most disturbing of all, there was Lazarus, sitting back in the corner, egging it on and instigating things just to watch the chaos ensue and his own people burn like it was top-tier amusement.
I didn’t find anything about cruelty for the sake of cruelty fun or funny. It wasn’t my scene, and the heat and crush of bodies, along with the curtain of pouring rain out there, made the bar seem more claustrophobic than usual.
In short, it was not a good time. Then the fight started, and, of course, it was Sativa and some unknown – probably a tourist.
The fists were flying, the hair was being pulled, and her weave was taking a big hit, all with the Bayou Brethren circling and cheering . Some of them even going as far as to place bets while the bar’s bouncers tried to wade through the crush of bodies to break it up and throw the two women out.
I’d had enough by that point, and even though Carver had a hold of me, I decided it was time for me to exit stage left.
“Hey, babe, I’ve gotta use the bathroom!” I called, and it took like three tries to get through to him and to get him to let me go so I could.
Bathroom, my ass. I immediately skirted the small back room like I was headed in that direction, but then ducked into the crowd and made for the fucking door, leaving the whole damn mess behind me.
I’d rather get drenched and drop a gear and disappear as Saint liked to say . Even if the only gear I had to drop was putting my Crocs in sports mode… you know, if I actually wore those hideous things.
I ducked out the front door to the bar and caught sight of a few Bayou Brethren smoking where Lazarus had been. I turned the other direction and dashed up the street and around the corner, vaguely in the direction that I needed to go.
I knew that Carver was probably going to be pissed and that I would need to come up with some kind of an excuse, but ugh, yuck.
I was soaked within seconds and dialing Saint as I walked, trying to keep an eye out so I wasn’t spotted.
“Hey you, are y’ okay?” he asked as soon as he picked up.
“Hey, yeah, it’s just pouring, and I’m trying to get away from the bullshit. I just don’t have it in me to put up with it anymore tonight.”
“Where you at? I’ll come get you,” he said.
“Uhhhh, close to – shit, hang on, I can’t see the sign. It’s pissing down out here.”
“You know what, never mind. Just find you some cover, and I’ll come to your location in the app. We’ll see how accurate it is.”
“Sounds good,” I said, relieved, and kept walking, looking for something sufficiently crowded to blend in but not so crowded as to be stupidly overwhelming.
“Coffee shop,” I said. “I see a coffee shop.”
“Good, go in and try to dry out, get you some caffeine, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Look for Hex’s truck. You know what it looks like?”
“Yeah, vaguely,” I said.
“Call you when we get close,” he said.
“Thanks,” I shot back, and we didn’t bother with any other pleasantries. I was over today. I just wanted to go home… which was not my hotel room. It was wherever I could get dry and cuddle up with Saint.
I melded into the crowd at the coffee shop, and by the time I reached the counter, Carver was blowing up my phone. I rejected the calls and sent him a text, saying I was sick, really wasn’t feeling well, the whole vibe was off, and I just needed to go.
He kept blowing up my phone with calls until I knuckled under and answered.
He was not happy, but he wasn’t exactly being a dick about it. I told him that by the time I was done nearly shitting myself to death in the bathroom, everyone was so thoroughly engrossed in the drama with Sativa that I had just planned to catch up with him once I was back home and had the time to get cleaned up.
Was it my finest moment pretending I’d just sharted to make my escape? No. Was it effective? Hell yes. He thanked me sarcastically for the overshare and swore as he was hanging up on me, so yeah, he was pissed. What a fucking gentleman. Your woman is sick, and that’s your answer? You’re pissed off because you were gonna get laid, and now you can’t?
I pictured Louie and Carver parting ways and in the very near future.
I sat at a little two-person table, jotting down my notes on what I’d learned about who that night – which was more than you would expect. I swear to God, these guys thought their women were idiots, and to be fair, some of them really were . Lookin’ at you, Sativa.
Then there were the ones like Singer, and I felt genuinely bad for her. I couldn’t imagine fighting as hard as she had to overcome her host of problems only to end up with a guy who wasn’t only totally unsupportive of her sobriety but was actively trying to break it .
My heart broke for her, especially considering that while she didn’t seem like the absolute brightest bulb in the string, she was actually trying. Not only that, she also seemed so incredibly innocent. Still! Despite all of the shit that she’d clearly been through.
My phone started to buzz across the table, and I looked up and out the fogging window to watch a big Dodge Ram pickup creep by. I snatched my shit and dashed out into the lessening rain and up to it, knocking on the passenger glass and startling the shit out of Hex, who was in the passenger seat. The locks popped, and I dove up and into the back seat of the truck to the sound of Saint laughing his ass off, losing his shit, and hollering between his gasping breaths, “You should have seen the look on your face, man! You screamed like a little fuckin’ girl!”
“Man, what would you fuckin’ do?” Hex demanded, but he was laughing too. It was worlds away from the vibe I’d left behind. I started laughing. I couldn’t help it, and it was good. Cleansing. In a way that the rain drumming on the truck outside just couldn’t seem to get right.