Page 3 of Loki's Flame
“Reggie,” he said hoarsely.
“Well Reggie, tell me where the guns are, and you might live to see another day.”
I noticed Taz and Whiskey sneer at that suggestion. As my Sgt at Arms and Enforcer, they were used to cracking skulls, but they knew I liked to dangle hope out so that I could snatch it away. That’s half the reason I liked to waterboard anyone who crossed us. It sent a message that the Valhalla Heathens were not to be fucked with, ever!
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know, Prez,” he said.
“Wrong answer!” I began pouring more water down his throat and watched with grim satisfaction as he writhed on the table, sputtering as most of the water made its way down his throat. I waited another 2 seconds when I stopped again. Reggie coughed so loudly, I wondered if he’d hack up a lung. I stepped away from the table to allow the kid time to get himself together. It filled the room with tension as we waited to see what he’d do to save himself. Most let fear overwhelm them to speak a string of lies, but it never worked out for them in the end. I didn’t give a fuck if this kid lives or dies, but I will give him enough rope to hang himself.
Reggie’s voice was raw as he sputtered, “they’ll kill me if I tell you anything. Can you protect me?”
I brushed my hand over the stubble on my jaw. Shit, just got interesting. Who the fuck is this kid more afraid of? The sound of Bones’ cell broke the tension as he stepped out of the room. My thoughts churned as my brothers and I had a lot of enemies.
Whiskey stepped up to the kid with his knife and glided it down his cheek, “how ‘bout you let me carve him until he gives us a name?”
Reggie jerked his body against the chains. Kid was a pretty boy, he’d gotten a lot of attention at the club with his green eyes, dark hair, and caramel skin. If we had a guy segment at the club, he’d have made some actual cash for sure.
“Nah, Whiskey, you know how much I love watching the light go out of their eyes after they drown on this table,” I said, letting amusement shine through my voice. The smell of urine permeated the air as the realization hit Reggie that he would not make it out of here unless he played ball. Shit, he may not make it out of here even if he does.
Bones walked through the metal door signaling me and I knew he'd found something.
I moved back to the table and grabbed the new jug, brimming with water, and was about to pour when Reggie started singing like a canary, “it’s the Rogue Boys. They threatened me if I didn’t help them. You gotta believe me Prez, I had no choice.”
“That’s a fucking shame, kid. I had hopes for you!” I said, as I let the water pour out haphazardly from the container. It’s not long before his jerking movements stopped, and the light went out of his eyes.
Contrary to local legend, I didn’t actually get off on killing people. But I damn sure ain’t afraid to get my hands dirty when a traitor is in our midst. I’d built the Valhalla Heathens from the dirty cesspool of New Orleans’ dark and skanky crevices.
“Prez, we got eyes on this gang in the 7th Ward. Word is Prospect was in juvie with their leader, some cat named Devon.” Bones said.
I followed Bones, my VP, out of the room and down a corridor to the back entrance of the warehouse we owned, which was steps away from the Mississippi River. Taz and Whiskey would get rid of what used to be a potential brother. It’s a fucking shame we’d have to wreak havoc down in the 7th Ward before the day was out.
I straddled my Heritage Classic as I called over my shoulder, “Church in 2 hours. In the meantime, send a message to our new friends that they have 12 hours to deliver our goods or it's gonna burn hot and bright in the ward tonight.”
Chapter 3
Bridget Ivy
As soon as I got to New Orleans, I rented a room in a cheap motel and got a waitressing job at Crescent Bar on Dauphine Street in the French Quarter. Most nights were bustling, and I felt confident before long I’d learn who the major players were in the city. I was keeping my inquiries as low key as possible because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. That was the reason I was using my middle name: Ivy. I was hoping Rex would be in tonight. He was a college kid who sold weed to keep his own habit up. I’d met him last week, but hadn’t been able to ask too much yet.
My heeled feet were killing me as I made another sweep of my tables. The uniform was a short black skirt with a white blouse. I’d cut my hair to just above my shoulders and put it up in a small ponytail with pink barrettes keeping the strands back off my face, which looked cute against my sandy blonde hair.
As I was coming back from the bar with a sex on the beach for one of my tables, I noticed two guys head to a small table in the back. They both wore dark jeans and t-shirts with what looked like a red devil on the front. I thought it was odd they dressed alike, but this was New Orleans, after all.
“Hey Ivy,” Crystal said as I got back to the bar. “Lotte needed to go home. Her kid is sick. Can you cover her tables for now? I think I can get Jimmy to come in.”
“Sure, I’ll take care of it,” I smiled at her. Crystal was kind and made some of the best drinks. I was always glad when I got shifts with her. Ted, the other bartender, often got complaints.
When I made my way to the back table, I noticed both guys kept looking to the main door as they talked in hushed tones.
“What can I get you?”
“Whatever’s on draft,” the heavier one said, barely looking at me.
Alrighty then, I thought as I made my way back to the bar to get the drinks. While I waited, another guy came clumsily in the door, almost knocking over a chair that wasn’t tucked back into a table. He was tall, with dark hair cropped close to his scalp. His expression did not look good. I wondered if he was running from something?
Just as I got back to the table, I heard, “Reggie’s dead, I just know it.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, but I tried to control the features on my face.