Page 64 of Bourbon & Blood

“What?” he demanded.

I sighed and hung my head.

“A hotel room!” I barked. “You booked a fuckin’ hotel room at the fuckin’ Ritz a while back!”

“Yes! Yes! The Ritz!”

“You didn’t stay there, though, now, did you?” I asked.

“No! No! It wasn’t for me! I just booked it.”

“For who?” I demanded.

“F-f-f-for a donor! A donor to Mr. Bashaw’s campaign!”

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“I don’t know!” he cried, his voice high and shrill.

“Wrong answer.” I punched him in the eye.

He screamed and cried, hollering like a little girl.

I looked up at Saint and Cypress behind him. Saint shrugged his shoulders over the wailing and weeping of the scrawny, pathetic, little man. Only thing runnin’ for the hills faster than his constitution was his fuckin’ hairline. Fuck, I hated these little weasley types.

“Now let’s try this again,” I said coldly.

“Please don’t hurt me!” he begged, like I hadn’t heard that before.

Cy rolled his eyes, a notepad and pen in his big hands, ready to take notes.

“Tell me what I wanna know, then,” I said without mercy.

It was fixin’ to be a long night at this rate.

In the end, we wrung everything we was gonna outta that boy and we didn’t get no closer.

He was a lackey for the gubernatorial campaign for Maya’s daddy. He’d booked the hotel at the behest of Mr. Bashaw’s lawyer, a one Bryan Cornelius; and that was it. He was told to book it for that specific night at that specific time, for a Mr. Daryl Winters. That Mr. Winters was comin’ into town for a night from Shreveport an’ was supposedly a donor for Mr. Bashaw’s campaign.

One traded look with Saint over the man’s head told me I wasn’t the only one smellin’ bullshit; but that bullshit wasn’t comin’ off this guy. He’d just bought it hook, line, and sinker.

One of the things about bein’ in the business we were in, was knowin’ all the players when it came to the underworld dealin’s in and around the city we called our turf. Be it drugs, money, or pussy, we knew who all was involved and we damn sure got our cut to leave ‘em the fuck alone or to deal us in.

Was just a fact ‘o life livin’ in the Big Easy.

You lived here, you dealt with us one way or another… an’ we had never heard of this Winters guy. Cornelius did ring a bell, though.

I took no joy in killin’ the son of a bitch we held captive; but there weren’t no way we could leave his ass here an’ alive. Not when he could ID us. Just weren’t no way. He was just another name on a long list of missing that included Maya Bashaw’s name at the moment.

Still, as soon as Cypress and I was done choppin’ him up and scatterin’ the parts out there in the Bayou for the gators to finish, we looked at each other.

“What now, boss?” Cy asked me.

“Seems I’m stayin’ in the city tonight,” I answered.

“An’ tomorrow?” he asked.

“Let’s just deal with tomorrow when it gets here,” I said. “For now, let’s just get back to the club.”

---