Neon flashed from the front of the Havana Club as Eddie and Tony stood outside the Mustang, their arms raised, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Tony finally got a chance to talk.
“Boys, this is a little drastic for getting caught parking in the wrong spot.”
“Shut the hell up! You know what you did.”
“What did we do?” Eddie asked.
“Last time you were here, you told us you were the D.A. You ain’t the D.A. He was here the next night.”
“Then who do you think I am?”
He didn’t immediately respond, raking five fingers across his gelled hair as he glanced at the person next to him.
“Who do you think he is, Ray?”
“I don’t have to think, Johnny Boy. I know. You’re the reporter that flamed us with that crazy story you wrote.”
Ray was six inches taller than Johnny Boy and looked like a pro linebacker for the Saints. His canted nose did little to disparage that assessment.
“I promise you, I’m not a reporter,” Eddie said.
“Oh yeah?” Johnny Boy said. “Where you from?”
“Right here in N.O.”
“What do you think, Petey?”
Petey was a slightly smaller version of Ray, but looked enough like him to be his brother. The earring dangling from his earlobe didn’t cause him to appear friendly. His response was disturbing.
“He’s got a New Jersey accent if I ever heard one.”
“Now wait a minute. I grew up in New Jersey, but I live here now.”
“Like hell you do!” Johnny Boy said. “You caused us a shitload of trouble with that article you wrote. You shoulda left well enough alone and stayed in New Jersey. Now you got hell to pay.”
“You have the wrong man,” Eddie said. “I may not be your D.A., but I am a D.A., and I work for the Feds.”
Eddie could see the missing tooth when Johnny Boy smiled, glanced at Ray, and then back at him again.
“Yeah? Then let’s see some I.D.”
Eddie reached in his jacket. “I must have left my wallet in my car.”
“Coincidence, huh?” Ray said.
“Exactly what it is.”
When Eddie took a step forward, Petey smacked him in the face with a pistol grip. Tony reached to grab him but sank to his knees when Ray tapped him on the back of the neck with a leather-wrapped club. Johnny Boy fished inside Tony’s pockets until he found his car keys, tossing them to the other man.
“Tie him up and throw him in the trunk. We need to get rid of the car.”
A black sedan pulled up behind them, the driver, another bruiser, motioning Eddie to get in the back seat.
“Where are you taking us?”
Johnny Boy snickered. “Someplace you never been before, and you’re never gonna leave once you get there.”
“You intend to kill us?”
He flipped a cigarette from a pack and lit it before answering. “Your friend’s just gonna die. You gonna die too, but not before you beg us to kill you.”
“Look...”
“Save your breath. You gonna need it for screaming, and believe me, you gonna do lots of that.”
After strapping Tony’s hands behind his back with a cable tie, they threw him in the trunk of the Mustang. The black sedan pulled out of the parking lot, followed by Petey driving Tony’s auto. Johnny Boy was riding shotgun in the front seat of the black sedan, the bruiser Ray in the back seat with Eddie. Eddie had little chance of overpowering his captors. Neither man was taking a chance, both pointing their pistols at his head.
“You can lower those popguns,” Eddie said. “I’m not going anyplace.”
He cracked a smile when Johnny Boy said, “Shut up, and enjoy the ride.”
They were soon out of town, heading west on a back road, the glow of streetlights in their rearview mirror, a Bob Seegar ballad wafting into the backseat from a tinny speaker. Ten minutes later, the car turned on a dirt road. From the way the car was bumping and rocking, the Parish hadn’t graded it lately, if ever. When the car stopped, Ray opened the back door. He didn’t bother walking around the car. Instead, he grabbed the collar of Eddie’s shirt and dragged him across the backseat.
“Joy ride’s over,” he said after kneeing Eddie in the groin.
Petey pulled up in Tony’s Mustang as the three men were leading Eddie toward the bayou. Hearing the commotion, a night bird issued a shrill cry and flew away from one of the cypress trees growing in shallow water. As they disappeared down the trail, Petey turned off the headlights. The dirt pathway led to the bayou, and Johnny Boy held up a hand when they reached it. A stiff breeze blew off the water, cooling sweat dripping down Eddie’s forehead.
“Right here’s good enough,” Johnny Boy said.
The driver of the black sedan was even bigger than Ray. When Johnny Boy stepped out of the way, he and Ray began working Eddie over with their fists and knees.
“Watch it, Kenny. Don’t knock him out,” Johnny Boy said. “He needs to suffer a little before we crack his kneecaps.”
Kenny and Ray needed no instructions. Soon, Eddie’s groans ceased, every other night creature becoming quiet as the beating continued.
“Enough,” Johnny Boy finally said. “I forgot the hammer. Can you get it for me, Kenny?”
Eddie was on his knees, his head hanging as droplets of blood dripped on the sand. He fell backwards when Kenny kicked him.
“Back off! Now!” Johnny Boy said.
“What difference does it make?” Ray asked.
Johnny Boy didn’t bother answering. “Get me some water. I want him wide awake when we bust his kneecaps.”
A wooden ladle, apparently used many times for the same purpose, lay in the sand near Eddie. Ray grabbed it and headed for the bayou. When he returned, he tossed water on Eddie until his eyes opened. When they did, he rotated his head as if trying to see if it were still connected. Something splashed in the bayou, the noise disturbing nearby birds roosting in a tree.
“I think we woke the gators,” Johnny Boy said, prodding Eddie with the toe of his Italian loafer.
“The really nasty gators come out of their winter holes when they smell rotten meat.” Johnny Boy grinned and winked at Ray. “And before long that’s what you’re gonna be.”
“It’s cold out here,” Ray said. “Let’s finish him off and get the hell outa here.”
“Get your dick back in your pants. “We ain’t going no place till Kenny brings the hammer.”
###
Tony rubbed his head when his eyes popped open. Once he realized where he was, he tugged at the cable tie binding his wrists. The sturdy strip of plastic had already cut into his flesh as he began feeling around the dark trunk for a sharp surface. Finding a metal ridge, he sawed at the plastic tie until it broke.
The car’s trunk was dark, except for the red glow of taillights, flashing when the person driving his Mustang hit the brakes. The car slowed as it traversed a bumpy road, rattling down an uneven stretch. His head throbbed, and he could hear Paco’s cat meowing.
Tony poked against the backseat of the Mustang, finding it wouldn’t budge. Probably not a good idea as the man behind the wheel had a loaded pistol. There was a trunk release, but he decided to wait until someone appeared to let him out.
The car finally stopped, taillights fading into darkness when the driver turned off the keys. The car rocked when a door opened, and the man exited. Tony waited for him to open the trunk. Instead, he heard doors of the other car opening and closing, and the sound of feet shuffling in loose sand. After waiting five minutes, he decided they intended to keep him there until they’d finished with Eddie. Grabbing the release latch, he popped the trunk.
Sparkling stars, unfettered by the glow of city lights, filled a clear winter sky. From the fetid odor, Tony guessed he was near a body of water. Dragging out of the trunk, he crept around the car to its passenger-side door, searching for the police-issue club he kept under the seat. When the cat’s nose met him in the darkness, he gave her a long stroke.
“Hey, Silky. Kinda creepy, huh?”
The cat purred and rubbed against Tony. Before he found the club, someone behind him spoke. It was Petey.
“Don’t know what you’re looking for in there, but I got a gun pointed at your back.”
“I got a thousand bucks in my wallet. I thought I’d left it back at the club. I found it, though. It’s yours if you let me go.”
“Back outa the car real slow. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.”
Tony grabbed the cat and turned around. “Sure thing,” he said, tossing the hapless creature directly into the man’s face.
Petey shrieked. “Oh, shit!” he said as he raked at sharp claws digging into his face.
Tony sprang from the front seat, kneeing him in the groin. When the cat ran under the car, Tony head butted the man. Petey sank into moist sand, his gold earring glinting in muted starlight.
“Good going, girl,” Tony said, petting the cat when she ventured out from under the car.
After frisking Petey, he confiscated his gun, then stopped and listened. Somewhere in the distance, something splashed, followed by the hoot of an owl. Now he was sure they were on a lonely dirt road, probably near a swamp or bayou. He also heard the thuds of fists against flesh.
Already armed with Petey’s pistol, he fished under the seat for the club. When the cat jumped back into the car, Tony stroked her arched back.
“Better stay here, Silky girl. That old bird might swoop down and snatch you if you wander around outside. I got some business to take care of, but I’ll be back.”
The cat seemed to understand as Tony shut the door behind him. He found more electrical ties in Petey’s jacket and used them to secure the man’s wrists and ankles. Before leaving him, he stuffed his mouth with a rag he kept in the trunk.
“Dammit!” he said when a branch snapped beneath his foot.
The sound he’d created apparently didn’t matter, the other men too engaged with their primary task of working over Eddie. His surroundings illuminated only by slight starlight, he was barely able to see the path. He kept moving until the glow of a lantern coming through the trees and brush caused him to stop. When he bumped into Kenny, returning to the car for the hammer, he thumped his head with the club.
Something cracked, maybe the club, or perhaps Kenny’s skull. He slumped into a heap in the damp sand. Tony nudged him with his toe as he heard Eddie mumbling something about alligators. Pressing through thick brush, he saw the clearing illuminated by a flickering lantern. Eddie was on the ground, in the dirt, the two men standing over him taking turns kicking him. Neither noticed Tony approaching through the darkness. At least until he fired a shot into the air.
“I’m a cop, and I’ll kill the first one that reaches for a weapon.”
“I don’t think you got the balls,” Ray said.
When the gun sounded again, the man dropped to the ground, grabbing his thigh.
“Anybody else worried about my balls?” he said. “Now walk away from Eddie. Over by that tree.”
“You gonna kill us?” Johnny boy asked.
Tony tossed him a handful of electrical ties.
“Hook him up. You know how to do it. And make it quick before my trigger finger gets itchy again.”
“You kiddin’ me? You shot him. He’ll bleed to death.”
“Shut up and do what I say before I put a bullet through your leg,” Tony said.
“What you gonna do with me?” the man asked after he’d completed his mission.
“Let you live, but only because we both work for the same man.”
“Who you think I work for?” Johnny Boy asked.
“Frankie Castalano, unless I miss my guess.”
“You work for Mr. Castalano?”
“You got it,” Tony said. “And you just came real close to making a career ending mistake. If Mr. Castalano knew what you and your boys tried to do, you’d be the gator bait. Now come here and turn around.”
“What are you gonna do?” Johnny Boy asked.
“I ask the questions, not you. Do what I tell you, or I’ll drop you where you stand.”
Johnny Boy moved closer, facing the bayou. Tapping his head with the club, Tony gave him no time to think about what was about to happen.