Batiste

by Victoria Danann

  When the two pops sounded in the night, he said, “What was that?”

  One of the bikers smiled at Jack, the tow truck driver and said, “Probably just backfire. Nothin’ for you to worry ‘bout. Stars and Bars want you to have a little somethin’ extra for your trouble.” Handing Jack an additional five hundred dollars, Booger DeBerry said, “Your discretion is appreciated by the club. You were never here. Right?”

  Jack took in a deep breath, being late to realize he’d gotten into more than he bargained for. At that point he had one option. Agree. “Yeah. Sure. Can I go now?”

  Booger narrowed his eyes. “You gonna be quiet about this? Like a little mouse?” Jack nodded. “Then you can go, little mouse. Run. Run. Scurry away.”

  Jack wasn’t sure that Booger was altogether sane. He was sure that, if he was able to drive away, that he would gladly keep his trap closed about whatever had happened out there.

  Booger was last to leave the scene. Hands covered with fingerless black leather gloves, he used Scar’s own cell phone to call Batiste, who he found under contacts.

  “What?” Batiste answered.

  “Got your girl, bébé. Better come get these two boys what was with her.” The call ended abruptly.

  “What’s wrong?” Pickup asked, seeing that all the color had drained out of Batiste’s face.

  Batiste didn’t answer. He practically ran for the door with Pickup right behind repeatedly saying, “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  Heading for his truck and not his bike, Pickup followed and climbed into the driver’s side. He had no idea where they were going or why, but he was joined to the president of his club in a way that superseded friendship or even family. Wherever Batiste was going, whatever he was going to do, Pickup would be there and have his back.

  The black SUV had been pushed off into the bar ditch before the scene was deserted. Other vehicles, if there were other vehicles passing by that night, would have just assumed somebody got drunk, ran into the ditch, and abandoned the car.

  Batiste and Pickup knew better. They recognized the SUV that had left the Devils’ compound less than an hour earlier.

  “Oh, shit,” said Pickup, almost afraid to breathe.

  Batiste didn’t bother to turn off the truck. He slammed the transmission into PARK and jumped out, leaving the door ajar.

  He jerked the SUV back door open first. No one there. By that time he already knew what he was going to find when he opened the driver’s door. The two bodies had ended up tangled half on the seat and half in the floor when the SUV was pushed down into the ditch.

  Batiste looked around, knowing that he was not going to find Angelique, but the mind plays funny tricks on people when they’re in shock.

  “Get somebody who can keep things quiet to come pull this car back home. Need it done right now.”

  Pickup nodded and pulled out his phone. He didn’t know a tow truck driver, but he believed that they could pull the SUV up with chains and Low’s own Ram 6.4 hemi. He wouldn’t be using it again. It might as well help deliver him from discovery by strangers.

  He called Rooster and told him what was needed, conveying urgency without details. Rooster got the message. Dev Merit was in the main lodge room when that call came in. Rooster wasn’t especially fond of sharing Devils’ business with an outsider, but he didn’t see any way around having Merit know about the situation, whatever it might be. So he told him to come on along.

  Before Pickup ended the call with Rooster, Batiste said, “Tell him to bring me a burner.”

  One car came by while they were waiting. A guy in a baseball cap rolled down his window and asked if they needed help.

  Pickup smiled. “Thanks. Already got folks comin’. Should be here any second.”

  The stranger waved and went on his way none the wiser.

  The two didn’t have to wait much longer for company.

  While club members were in the ditch with lights attaching chains to the SUV, Batiste was using a burner phone to make a call that was his worst nightmare. He not only had to confront the fact that Manatee had Angelique, he had to tell her father that he’d let it happen.

  Rou took it about the same way Batiste had. The phone went quiet for so long Batiste was afraid Rou was either dead or unconscious. “Callin’ SSMC now. You can get me on this phone if you need me. Doan fret now. I’m gettin’ her back.”

  Rou finally spoke. “You gonna get her back jus’ like she was? From these kinda people?”

  Batiste dragged in a long shaky breath, knowing he couldn’t promise that. “I’m gonna get her back,” was all he said.

  “You forget that business thing, you hear? The only reason for livin’ now is gettin’ my girl back. Goes for you. Goes for everybody. Here and there. You hearin’ me?”

  “Agreed. This is what we’re doin’. This and nothin’ else.”

  “And when we find these motherfuckers we’ll be makin’ sure their mischief is done for good.”

  Rou ended the call with that, like he’d set out a proclamation that would be followed without question. And Batiste didn’t question it because he was inclined to feel exactly the same way. He looked up when he heard the hemi start. It wasn’t much of a strain for that big engine to pull the SUV up and out of the muddy ditch.

  Batiste motioned Dev over. “Call your prez. Tell him nobody’s comin’. Tell him why.”

  Dev nodded, looking as grave as if he’d known Angie all his life. He walked down the black top a few feet, called Brant, and relayed the news.

  “This is bad business,” Brant said, “using women. Lot of things can be tolerated. Using women as bargaining chips isn’t one of them.” He sighed. “’Fraid we’re gonna be forced to make an example of Stars and Bars.”

  “Well,” Dev said, “it’s not like they don’t have it coming. If you take a vote to throw in with the Devils all the way on this, my proxy is yes.”

  “Noted.”

  “Okay to delay the launch?”

  “Goes without sayin’. You stay there until further notice though and keep a close eye on Batiste. He’s awful young and a thing like this could bring any man to his knees. Especially if he feels responsible.”

  By the time Dev walked back to the scene, the SUV was out of the ditch and Army was removing the chain.

  Somebody was going to have to get into the car with the bodies of fellow Devils and drive that bitch back to camp. When Batiste saw everybody standing around looking dumbstruck, he said, “I’ll do it.”

  He had to move Scar out of the way and it wasn’t fun. Scar hadn’t been dead long enough for rigor mortis to set in, but there is something eerily daunting and forbidding about a vacated body. People are prepared for cold and utterly still. People are not usually prepared for the shock of flesh with no energy, no vibration, no hum of life that’s evident from touch. For all but a few who are born immune to the effects or get used to it, it makes the skin crawl.

  The SUV motor turned over right away.

  “God bless Ford,” he heard Pickup say.

  With a tight U-turn, Batiste headed back to camp. He called Brant on the way. Brant didn’t give him sympathy, but did offer to step up their efforts to find the Stars and Bars.

  The others were right behind Batiste. When he stepped out of the SUV, he motioned Pickup over.

  “How’d they know we were movin’ Angelique?”

  Pickup looked confused for a second before saying, “We have a rat.”

  Batiste nodded. “That’s the only way.”

  “Who?”

  “Not you. Not me.”

  “Not Scar. Not Low.”

  “Not Rooster. Not Blaise.”

  “Not Army or Lazare.”

  “Not Jack Etienne. Not Catfish.”

  They went through the entire list of Devils with only two names left.

  “Doan think it’s Dev,” Batiste said.

  “That leaves one possibility.” Pickup looked grave. “Whatchu want to do?”

  “Let
’s take care of Scar and Low. Then we’ll take care of Coon.”

  “Okay.”

  Batiste assigned Rabid the job of driving the SUV to parts shop in a warehouse district of Baton Rouge. It was the sort of place that maintained a reputation for discreetly disappearing vehicles by using an online parts match service to scatter pieces around the globe.

  Before he drove away, Batiste retrieved Angie’s bag from the cargo area and her purse from the backseat.

  Lazare and Coon were put on gate duty. They closed up after Rabid drove away and the remaining four members who were on site gathered up enough firewood to build an impressive bonfire.

  Out on the north side of the camp, about two hundred feet out, there was a small clearing Brer Batiste had called the boneyard. Younger members of the Devils didn’t even know about it. While that bonfire was consuming the bodies of two of their brothers, four who were feeling grim but glad to be alive dug a hole. Just before daylight, the fire had died down to coals and scant remains. They used the shovels to scoop up the coals, embers, ashes and bones then buried it all. The dirt suffocated the coals. By the time they left, having scattered some dead logs and grass and leaves over the ground, the site wasn’t giving up any secrets.

  Saycie had been ordered to drop what she was doing and leave for the day. Without question she gathered up a few things and took off in her old Pontiac.

  Walking back, Batiste said to Rooster, “Good thing those boys doan got wives.”

  “Yeah,” Rooster said quietly. He’d been especially close with Scar. “What we gonna do ‘bout this?

  “First, we’re gonna find Angelique. Then we’re gonna send these vermin to their final destination. Every last one.”

  “Sounds right to me,” Rooster affirmed.

  When the members arrived back at the lodge, Batiste sent Blaise and Army down to relieve the two on gate duty. When Coon and Lazare walked in, they fell on Coon and restrained him while they tied him to a chair. They then tipped the chair over and carried him to the small concrete walled room that had been built into the bike barn.

  Pickup opened the door and flipped on the lights. The room had a window high up, about fifteen feet off the floor, but it was still sweltering hot. They placed the chair to which Coon was tied in the middle of the room. He hadn’t stopped blubbering for an instant the entire time.

  Batiste stepped forward. “If you doan be silent, I will make you wish you were.” Coon went instantly quiet. “You with Stars and Bars?” Coon looked around the room with panic-stricken eyes. “That one’s easy. Jus’ be sure you answer true.”

  Coon started to stammer and Batiste lost patience. He reached out without looking. As if he was in telepathic communication with the Batiste, Pickup put the handle of a knife in his hand. Batiste laid the cool blade against Coon’s face. “This help you remember?”

  Coon pulled back and nodded. “Yeah. My sister. She’s only fourteen. They told me they were gonna take her if I didn’t…” He started to cry.

  Batiste looked at Pickup. That was not what he’d been expecting to hear. All considered there was no way he could not be sympathetic.

  “So you decided you’d give them my girl instead.”

  “No.” He was shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “You should’ve come to me. Told me ‘bout this. How did they approach you?”

  “I was gassin’ my bike up. Four of them rode in. They stood around the pump and told me to act natural, like we were havin’ a friendly conversation. They told me they knew everybody in my family. Then they started talkin’ about Cecile and what she looks like. Where she goes to school. Stuff like that. They said they could take her and have a real good time. Said all I have to do to keep that from happenin’ to her was listen and let them know when Angelique was leavin’ the compound.”

  “Okay. I understand. This could happen to anybody. But now you need to help us get her back. Right?”

  “Right.” He nodded enthusiastically.

  “Where are they?”

  “I doan know.”

  “Who’d you talk to?”

  “Doan know that either.”

  Batiste glanced at Pickup. “How’d you talk to them?”

  “Got a phone.”

  “That phone on you now?” Batiste asked.

  “Under my mattress.”

  Batiste nodded at Blaise who immediately left to go get the phone.

  “When did you call them to say Angelique would be traveling?”

  “Last night. Heard you say.”

  Batiste could have sliced himself open, pulled out his own entrails and set them on fire for being so careless. So stupid as to trust a prospect who’d been with them less than a year.

  “Merde,” he mumbled, rubbing a palm over his face. “How long ago did they recruit you?”

  “When they learned she was comin’ here.”

  Batiste looked from Pickup to Rooster. “How you think they knew she was comin’ here?”

  “Doan know.”

  Batiste stormed out, everyone following except for the man tied to the chair. “Christ,” he said to Rooster. “Mandeville’s got one, too.” He shook his head as he was pulling out his phone. “We been gettin’ sloppy. This is what happens when you get too comfy with peacetime.”

  Rou answered the phone with a sound that was more a growl than a hello.

  “You got a rat over there. Manatee knew when you sent Angel to me. Knew when and where. We’re questionin’ our leak here. You find your rat, but doan kill him. We may be able to use him.”

  Batiste ended the call without waiting for an answer. There wasn’t any curse or judgment Angel’s father could heap on him that would be worse than the hatred he was feeling for himself.

  CHAPTER SEVEN The Cage

  Angelique woke to find herself in a small room with old brick walls and dim light. No windows. She was lying on what appeared to be a war era army style cot with a thin, stained and more than likely ancient tick mattress. When she tried to sit up, her head started swimming. The patchy shadows in front of her vision, sometimes called ‘stars’, were a warning sign that she might black out if she wasn’t careful. So she began the process of sitting up carefully, a little at a time.

  Even though her body seemed to be reacting badly to whatever sedative was in the tranquilizer, she experienced disorientation for only a few seconds. She remembered exactly what had happened.

  Once she was up and sitting on the side of the bed she was able to survey the damage. The cotton capris that had been white were covered in dried mud. The ache in her left thigh reminded her that she had run into a tree stump left jagged and sharp by a lightning strike a long time ago. The inside of her right forearm had deep scratches, the result of tripping over a log fallen to the ground only to land on another.

  The right side of her face was also tender and swollen from having hit something. She didn’t recall that injury, but it could have happened when she blacked out from the dart meds. It also hurt to swallow. She tried clearing her throat and discovered that her voice was hoarse and raspy. She also had no memory of anything that would account for that.

  A quick inventory of the room revealed there was nothing but the cot. And an old rusty coffee can.

  There was no doubt in her mind who’d taken her and why. She listened for sounds. Nothing.

  She needed to pee and, though she loathed the idea of using the coffee can for that purpose, didn’t see any other option. Hoping she could take care of business before someone came, she hurried to go in the can.

  There was nothing to do but sit back down. And wait.

  CHAPTER EIGHT The Meeting

  Batiste walked back into the room where Coon was being held.

  “What else do you know?”

  “I don’t know nothin’ else. Honest, Prez.”

  “Doan call me that.”

  “I’m not with them. Not workin’ for them. I was just protectin’ my family.”

  “We’re suppose
d to be your family.”

  “I know.” He started to cry. “I know.”

  “They didn’t tell you what they want? In exchange for Angelique?”

  “All they said was that they only want what’s comin’ to ‘em.”

  Batiste looked at Pickup with eyes that seemed to glow from the rage burning behind them. He clenched his jaw. “And that’s exactly what they’re gonna get.”

  He walked out of the bike barn again into a light rain that had started to fall. “Meet up,” was all he said.

  “SSMC, too?” Pickup asked.

  Batiste stopped. “Yeah. They’re involved. He doan get a vote though. Get everybody here. I’ll be there in a bit.”

  Pickup nodded and pulled out his phone to get the members who weren’t on site there ASAP. It was early in the morning, but every man who belonged to a club like the Devils knew you belonged to the club first and foremost.

  He veered off to the other side of the lodge and headed for the room Angelique had vacated just two hours earlier.

  He looked around.

  She’d made the bed. That made him want to smile and wanting to smile made him want to put his fist through the wall. He felt his fingers pull up, but decided he was going to choose to be in control. He couldn’t help Angel by losing his head. And he’d rather break the bones in his hands on Stars and Bars members than walls.

  He walked over, picked up one of the two pillows and buried his face in it. Angel didn’t wear perfumes but she used a verbena scented soap she got in New Orleans. It was fresh and feminine and the scent lingered. He breathed deep again and again before he put the pillow back in its place.

  Making a mental note to tell Saycie not to wash the sheets or touch anything in that room, he replayed their last few moments together. She hadn’t wanted to leave, but he was sure he knew what was best.

  I made her go.

  His eyes lit on her purse. He opened it and took out the phone. No password. He got the number from account settings, created a contact in his phone, created one for him in her phone, then put it back and zipped up her purse.