If there’s a ring smuggling people again, it makes sense that it’s happening out of Under the City.It’s a where all the wrong people go to gamble and drink.They have access to the ocean and a small pier right outside their door.
Most importantly, the joint is owned by fucking Dominick Landry.
***
I forgot how cold the catacombs are this close to the ocean.
They’re always dark and damp, of course, even when you’re in the brightest sections.Old beyond measure, their walls have seen far too much.In theory, the tunnels and levees down here were built for flood control, to keep a city caught between the Atlantic and the Mississippi from flooding.New Orleans, you see, shouldn’t exist.This is swampland, and sits below ocean level in most places.It was a bad idea from the start, as far as construction went.
But the location, sitting at the mouth of the Mississippi and next to Lake Pontchartrain, and right up against the Gulf of Mexico, meant that whoever controlled this land controlled all shipping in the area.They dictated what came in and out, be it people or goods, and could charge whatever they wanted for the right to use the port.
And money, it turns out, trumps everything.Including whether a city should or shouldn’t be placed on land that can hardly hold it because it floods so often.
The Big Easy is therefore full of canals, levees, and underground tunnels that flood when the tides are high, and that should have been the end of it.
It wasn’t.Because men like me realized that the tunnels, when not flooded, meant an easy way to get around without anyone else seeing you.Then they realized that you could also smuggle things underground, rather than taking the risk of keeping them on the surface.And the rest, as they say, was history.These walls have seen everything from tobacco to cotton to the men and women they brought in to pick the cotton, and I’m sure they’ve seen things I haven’t even imagined.
Right now, I hope they’ll give up some of their secrets.
Like what’s happening to girls in Under the City.
I press my back to the wall behind me, snarling as the dampness of the rock seeps into my jacket, and motion toward Daniel.He brought a few men with him, but not many.We aren’t on official Boudreaux business, and are in the midst of infiltrating a Landry hot spot.I might be the most important Boudreaux other than my father, but I still don’t want to be caught here.Dom Landry and my father have been enemies since they were kids, and Dom’s hatred of the Boudreaux extends to me.It eased up when I was set to marry Brooks, but Dom blamed me for her sudden exit from New Orleans, and I’ve never bothered to try to mend the relationship.
After all, I have plans to take him down one day.Why be friends with someone you intend to destroy?
“What’s the plan, boss?”Daniel breathes into my ear.
I consider the question for only a moment.We know a girl disappeared in a parking lot that held a truck labeled as belonging to Under the City.We know Dom Landry owns and runs the club, and I’ve heard rumors about the kind of clientele he invites here.But that’s it.
Part of me wants to rush into the club, guns firing and sword swinging, and demand to be shown the merchandise.
The bigger part of me prefers a more subtle route.Because unlike Dominick, I like to operate in the shadows.
It makes it easier to hide what you’re doing.
“We get to the club, find someone, and question them.”
Daniel is silent for a beat.“That’s it?Find someone and question them?”
I turn, grab his shirt, and push him against the wall.“Do you have a better idea, Daniel?Because I’m getting awfully tired of being told no one has information for me, and I’m doing my best with what little we have.”
His eyes shutter and he shakes his head quickly.“If I had a better idea, you’d already know it.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I drop his shirt and spin away from him, my eyes on the door to the club.“It’s the middle of the day and the club is closed.We’re not going to find bartenders or waitresses in there.If someone is here, they’re doing something other than running the club.And if our suspicions are correct, that will mean they have information for us.And we’ll do whatever it takes to get that information.”
No one answers me, but I assume they understand what that means.
Ten seconds later, I surge toward the door, my eyes racing through the space and my hand on my sword.
***
I slam the man back against the rough stone again, taking too much pleasure in the way his head sounds against the rock.
“Tell me what you’re doing here, Simon,” I growl.“Because the last time I checked, you didn’t exactly do entertainment.You’re not here to tend the bar or perform on stage.That’s not your bag.”
The man in front of me moans in pain and sags a bit, but I pull him up and force him to face me.We found him quickly, thank God, and I recognized him immediately.I’ve known Simon leBanc for a long time.We ran scams together when we were kids, though we parted ways when I realized that he was from the wrong side of the tracks for what I had planned in life.These days, he deals with shadier families than mine, doing deals that no decent man would consider.
