Bayou Pirates Read online

  I glanced up at Holm, who leaned down next to me to talk to the guy.

  “We can’t offer you a deal,” he said quietly. “You just shot at two federal officers. But the judge will be more lenient if you cooperate. You know how these things go, I’m sure.”

  The guy scowled but gave us a begrudging nod. I got the feeling he had a rap sheet that could stretch all the way from here to Miami, but cooperation could never hurt.

  “Fine,” he said, almost groaning out the word as he winced in pain. “Look, I don’t know where he lives, but he was staying in the hotel down in the Quarter. You know, the big fancy one where all the tourists stay, with the thing on top.”

  I thought I remembered passing by a building that fit that description on our way to the police station.

  “Do you know why Williams is staying there?” Holm asked. “Is he alone?”

  “I don’t know, man. I just do what I’m told,” the guy complained, and I rolled his eyes.

  “Alright, alright,” I said, waving a hand in dismay and giving up on the guy. He looked like he was about to expire, anyway.

  As if on cue, the ambulance rolled up below, red lights flashing even inside the laundromat. Holm ran downstairs to greet the paramedics and usher them up to the roof.

  By the time they got to him, the gangbanger had already passed out. A particularly fit young male paramedic crouched down to feel his pulse.

  “Is he gonna make it?” Holm asked him.

  “Hard to tell,” the paramedic said, pursing his lips. “He’s still alive, but the pulse is faint. We’ll keep you updated.”

  “Thanks,” Holm said, and we promptly followed the paramedics back downstairs and outside, where we found Barrett and his CI, Tyler Evans, waiting for us near our car.

  I was glad to see that we’d parked far enough away from the front doors for our rental car to have escaped damage from the gunfight. I’d hate to tell Diane she had to wrangle more money out of Sheldon to pay for the rental car.

  “How’d it go?” Barrett asked.

  We relayed everything the gangbanger had told us. He nodded slowly at the mention of the hotel.

  “I know which one he’s talking about,” he said, pulling a tiny pad of paper and a pen out of his pocket and scribbling an address down on it. “Here you go.”

  He handed it to me, and I glanced down at it.

  “This the hotel?” I asked. He nodded.

  “Yeah, just plug it into your GPS, and it should take you there,” Barrett said. “I don’t know why Williams is hiding out there. It’s not exactly a seedy place, and they usually cooperate with the police.”

  “You coming with us?” Holm asked, eying Tyler with some distaste.

  “I’ll meet up with you later,” Barrett said, giving the CI a similar look. “I have to deal with this one, get him set up with a protective detail. He won’t trust anyone else.”

  “Understood,” I said with a nod. “We’ll check in with you as soon as we have something.”

  “Be careful, guys,” Barrett warned as we turned to head over to our rental car. “Daryl Williams, he means business. We’ve been trying to bust him for years but have never been able to catch him red-handed. He’s crafty, good at what he does, and always uses other guys to shield him from the law.”

  “We’ll see what we can do to fix that for you,” I assured him. “Before we’re done here, he’ll be behind bars.”

  CHAPTER 15

  When we pulled up to the hotel, I stared up at it to see that there was a giant statue at the top of some old guy in a long wig with a sword at his side. This must’ve been what the gangbanger was talking about when he said the hotel had ‘the thing at the top.’

  “I wonder who that’s supposed to be,” I murmured as I climbed out of the rental car and flashed the valet my MBLIS badge.

  “That’s Jean Lafitte,” the young man, who looked like he was probably still in high school or maybe college, said, puffing his chest out a little with pride at this. “He was…”

  “One of the most famous pirates in history,” I finished for him, shocked that I hadn’t realized this before. “He ran a whole smuggling operation here in New Orleans. And his death is shrouded in mystery.”

  “That’s right,” the kid grinned. “People have come up with all kinds of stories, trying to figure out how he died and where his treasure’s buried. As for me, I think he’s immortal and still around here somewhere. Rumors of his death have been greatly exaggerated.”

  “Is that so?” I asked with a chuckle. “That would be quite a story, wouldn’t it?”

  “Just one of many from around these parts,” the kid agreed. He had a thick southern accent that suited him just fine.

  I showed him my badge again, and Holm followed suit.

  “We’re with MBLIS, a federal law enforcement agency,” I explained. “We’re here to investigate one of our cases.”

  The kid’s eyes grew wide with excitement.

  “Really?” he asked. “Here?”

  “That’s right,” Holm chuckled. “We’re going to need to talk to your manager.”

  “Right, sure thing,” he said, moving quickly to open the door for us. “Do you want me to move your car, or do you want to leave it here?”

  “We’ll leave it here if that’s okay,” I said, giving the kid a wink. “You never know when you’re going to need to make a quick getaway in this business.”

  The kid looked like it might as well be Christmas morning at this. I chuckled as Holm and I walked inside the hotel lobby. There was no doubt he’d be telling his friends about this encounter for years.

  The hotel manager was at the front desk, with a name tag on his suit jacket identifying him as such. Holm and I approached him and flashed our badges again.

  “We’re with the Military Border Liaison Investigative Services,” I said. “I’m Agent Ethan Marston, and this is my partner, Robbie Holm. We’re looking for a man by the name of Daryl Williams, and we believe he’s a guest here at your hotel.”

  The man, who had mousy brown hair and looked to be somewhere in his mid-forties, raised his eyebrows at this.

  “You’re… looking for one of my guests?” he asked, clearly confused. “I can assure you that I haven’t seen any kind of suspicious activity, and if one of my employees had, I would know about it.”

  “Can you just check and see if there’s anyone here under that name?” I asked impatiently, leaning against the front desk. “Not that I imagine he was bold enough to use it when he checked in.”

  “Very well,” the manager, whose name tag read ‘Devon Myers,’ said curtly, as he turned his attention to the desktop computer in front of him. Then, shortly, “No, there is no one here by the name of Daryl Williams.”

  “Alright, we’re going to have to ask you some questions about your guests,” Holm said, pulling up a picture on his phone of Daryl Williams that Detective Barrett had sent us on our way over.

  “I can assure you, gentlemen, that this is an upstanding establishment,” the manager reiterated, his voice shaking slightly. “I hope you understand that it could really hurt our business for our guests to see law enforcement poking around here.”

  “And we hope you understand that we’re working on an important case, here,” Holm said sternly. “Lives are at stake. You wouldn’t want your hotel to get wrapped up in something like that, now, would you?”

  “That would be bad for business,” I added with a small smile.

  Myers blinked at me several times as this sentiment sunk in.

  “Very well,” he said at long last as he pursed his lips. “Show me the photograph.”

  Holm let him get a better look at it, and he gave a little huff.

  “That is Mr. Sydney,” he said shortly. “He is one of our best guests, always orders room service for every meal. I hope he’s not mixed up with anything too unsavory.”

  “Just the biggest drug bust in years,” Holm said dryly. “What’s his room number?”

&nb
sp; Myers looked positively shaken by this information, pressing a hand to his chest and letting out a small gasp.

  “There are no drug kingpins in my hotel,” he told us through gritted teeth. “How dare you insinuate…”

  “We’re not insinuating anything,” I interjected, holding up a hand to silence him. “We have it on good authority that Mr. Williams—or, as you call him, Mr. Sydney—ordered the extortion and potential murder of countless trusted Confidential Informants for the New Orleans Police Department this morning, in this hotel no less. Do you know if he’s still here?”

  “I… I…” Myers stammered. “I haven’t seen him leave.”

  “Alright, so how about that room number?” Holm asked, raising his eyebrows at the man.

  He looked between Holm and me several times before giving a high-pitched sigh and punching on the computer’s keys again.

  “Top floor,” he relented. “Suite 4117. It’s our most expensive room, the only one on the whole floor. Just please don’t mess up my hotel. This key card will open it.”

  He held out a plain white card to Holm and me, and I pocketed it.

  “If anyone’s going to be messing up your hotel, it’s Williams,” I said dryly as Holm and I headed off in the direction of the elevators. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  The lobby itself was large and extravagant, with golden walls and ceilings, and decorations that looked like they could be from a pirate’s ship lining the walls, including golden ship’s wheels and treasure chest-like coffee tables. It wasn’t tacky, though. It was clear from the outset that this was a fancy place, even if it did stick to a theme.

  The inside of the elevator had enormous fish tanks surrounding all sides of it so that as we rose, we felt as if we were in the middle of the ocean. Fish of all kinds swam around us in schools, and I couldn’t help but watch in amazement as we climbed up the near-countless stories of the hotel.

  “Let me guess, this isn’t where that Sheldon character made our reservations,” Holm mused as he, too, examined the enormous fish tanks.

  “No,” I said, checking my phone to make sure. “We’re in some regular old Best Western a few blocks down from here.”

  “Figures,” he said, rolling his eyes. “The drug dealer gets the palace while the guys trying to catch him get stuck in some dump.”

  “I don’t know about a dump,” I chuckled. “Just a regular old hotel.”

  “Yeah, well, still,” Holm grumbled. I just laughed.

  Finally, the elevator screeched to a halt on the very top floor. A small panel above the floor numbers flashed, and I waved the key card that the manager had given me in front of it. The doors began to open, and my hand instinctively went to my weapon holstered at my side. Holm did the same.

  We both held out our weapons as the doors opened to reveal an empty living room suite that stretched across what must’ve been half the floor. The carpet was fluffy and off-white, and paintings of old ships hung on the walls. There was a flat-screen TV hanging against the right-hand wall, across from all manner of upscale furniture. There was a vast kitchen off to the left, also empty.

  I stepped out onto the carpet, Holm following close behind me, and the elevator doors dinged shut behind us.

  “Daryl Williams,” I called. “This is Agent Marston and Agent Holm with MBLIS. We’re going to need you to make yourself decent and step out into the main suite, unarmed.”

  There was a sudden, scrambling shuffling noise that emanated from one of several doors against the opposite wall. The manager hadn’t been kidding. This suite was enormous, which meant that Williams might be far from the only one hiding out in this place.

  I took several more steps until I was standing just about a foot away from the door where the sounds had come from.

  “I mean it,” I called. “Come out with your hands up, now, or we’ll come to get you ourselves. And don’t even think about trying any funny business. We’ve got you cornered.”

  All of a sudden, several of the doors all swung open at once, while the one Holm and I stood in front of remained closed. So much for having him cornered.

  Five gangbangers, all sporting weapons of their own, encircled us now.

  “What was that you were saying about having us cornered?” one of them sneered. “Looks like we’re the ones that have you cornered, agents.”

  The man spat out that last word as if it was some kind of curse. He grinned maniacally at us, though I noticed that he had bloody bandages wrapped around his abdomen. He wasn’t in the best shape.

  I looked around at the other gangbangers. None of them were looking too hot, I realized. They all had bags under their eyes, and several of them had similar injuries to the smirking guy to my left. They did have weapons, though, and they outnumbered us by three.

  “We’ve got backup on the way,” I warned. “You might want to think twice before you pull those triggers.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” the same guy sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  But still, we were at a standstill. No one wanted to make the first move since everyone had their weapons out at such a short range.

  As if on cue, the elevator doors rattled open once again, revealing Detective Barrett and several uniformed officers with their own weapons drawn, shields to protect themselves in hand. Seeing the predicament we were in, they rushed forward to line the other side of the room, obstructing any path the gangbangers may have had out of the suite.

  “What was that you were saying about having us surrounded?” Holm asked the gangbanger who had spoken to us with a chuckle.

  I was pleased to see that the sneer was wiped off the guy's face now.

  “Maybe we should stand down,” one of the gangbangers, a particularly attractive petite woman with short, spiky dark hair and a nose ring, suggested.

  It was interesting, as we almost never saw women in this line of work. I wondered in passing how she got into it.

  The formerly sneering man’s eyes darted from Holm and me to Barrett and the police officers and then back again. Finally, he let out a long sigh and began to slacken his taut shoulders and lower his weapon.

  But before he could tell his guys—and girl—to stand down, one of the gangbangers closer to the police officers, a young guy with a shock of blonde hair and trembling shoulders, panicked and began to shoot.

  “Dammit,” Holm cursed, whirling his gun around to point at the kid, but I had a better shot at him.

  I shot once, twice, three times in his direction, and he crumpled to the ground, but not before one of his friends decided to respond in kind.

  The sound of the shots rang in my ears in the enclosed space and kept ringing long after they were gone.

  The guy returned fire, and then it seemed like everybody was shooting at once. I ducked down to the ground to avoid a torrent of bullets coming in my direction and reached out to drag Holm down with me, though he was no doubt way ahead of me and already well on his way to cover.

  Together, we scrambled back behind one of the long velvet couches across from the television, where we stayed crouched down and out of the line of fire.

  I poked my head back around the couch to survey the scene. The police officers were returning fire from behind the shields they had brought with them, which was good thinking on Barrett’s part.

  The detective, however, had been hit. He was still returning fire from behind the line of police officers, but blood was practically gushing out of a wound on his left shoulder, and I was surprised that he still had the strength and wherewithal to hold up his gun. It seemed Diane had been right about this guy, after all.

  The gangbangers were a different story. The guy I had hit was still down, quivering on the ground and looking like he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The sneering guy who had already been wounded sometime before we showed up, was also down, slumped against the back wall with blood gushing from his newly reopened wounds.

  The woman, smartly, had taken cover behind a nearby love seat
. She caught my eyes and then looked away from me quickly. While she was still clutching her own weapon at her side, she didn’t look like she had any intention of using it, opting instead to stay out of the fray.

  This left two gangbangers standing. They had both rushed back behind the kitchen counter to take cover from our returning fire. One was unscathed, while the other had an open wound in his arm, leaving him to try to balance his weapon precariously in his left hand. For some reason, he was still firing back at the police officers even though he didn’t have a firm grip on his firearm. Idiots.

  The two men kept ducking down and then back up to avoid Barrett and the officers’ incoming fire while still being able to return some, though the one guy’s aim was seriously impaired, and he kept hitting the couch on our other side instead of the officers. The shields protected the police from the other guy’s fire.

  They were completely ignoring us now that we were out of their direct field of vision, though, focusing instead on Barrett and the officers. This left Holm and me with a pretty good opening.

  I turned to look at my partner and raised my eyebrows at him. He nodded back, showing that he understood what I was thinking. We’d been working together long enough at this point that we didn’t always need to talk in order to communicate well.

  As one, Holm and I each ducked around either side of the couch and fired at the two remaining gangbangers just as they were ducking back behind the counter after their last round of fire. We took them down easily, hitting them each in the shoulder.

  There was a long moment of silence as the officers also stopped firing, and everyone took in what had happened. I could hear ragged breathing coming from all corners of the room, along with the continuous ringing in my ears from all the gunfire.

  Slowly, I rose back to a standing position as Holm did the same. I emptied my gun and refilled with another magazine from my pocket. I always kept an extra on hand for days like these.

  “Alright, folks,” I said, re-holstering my gun. “I think we’re done here.”

  I glanced over at the woman. She dropped her gun and pushed it out into the middle of the room, holding her hands up in the air to indicate that she wasn’t going to put up a fight like her buddies.