The Kenyan spoke next. “What will that do to the price? I imagine we will have to pay more for the increase in caliber, will we not?”
Kotto grinned. “I would imagine, like in any business, that an increase in quality will cause an increase in price, but to what extent the price will rise, we’ll find out shortly.”
JONES
settled into the soft leather seats of the Payne Industries jet and closed his eyes for a moment of retrospection. During his military career, he’d been on hundreds of life-threatening missions, but this was the first time he’d ever felt hopeless before a flight. For one reason or another, he knew he was completely unprepared for what he was about to do.
And it was a feeling that he didn’t like.
When he was a member of the MANIACs, they were always given advanced reconnaissance before they were dropped into enemy territory. Maps, guides, safe houses, and specific objectives were always provided before they were put into danger. But not today. No, on this mission Jones was willing to ignore every protocol he had ever been taught because his best friend needed his help. He was flying to a city he’d never visited to look for a girl who probably wasn’t there, and the only thing they had to go on was a tattoo of the letter
P
.
“This is crazy,” he said to himself.
As he opened his eyes, he saw Payne hang up the phone at the front of the cabin and return to his seat, which was across the aisle from Jones.
“Go on. Get it off your chest,” Payne said, knowing his friend wasn’t happy.
“Are you sure this trip is wise? I mean, don’t you think it’s a little bit impulsive?”
“Not really. As I told you before, Levon talked to some of his boys in the city, and they assured him that Holotats are used by several of the local gangs.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t guarantee that Ariane is going to be down there. For all we know, the gang could have members in cities across America like the Bloods or the Crips. It could be a local thug from the Hill District that we’re looking for. Heck, the
P
could stand for
Pittsburgh
.”
“True, but that doesn’t explain the Louisiana license plate, now does it?”
Jones shook his head. He wasn’t really sure how to explain that. “But don’t you think that this is jumping the gun? We have no idea what we’re getting ourselves into.”
Payne smiled. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve assumed that his friend was afraid of flying. “What’s troubling you, D.J.? We’ve been to thousands of places that are more dangerous than New Orleans, and I’ve never seen you act like this.”
“Well, I’ve never felt like this,” Jones admitted. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I can tell we’re about to walk into a hornet’s nest. And the fact that we weren’t allowed to bring any weapons into the airport makes me feel unprotected.”
“I figured you’d feel that way. That’s why I just gave Levon another call. Since he has a number of contacts on the street, I assumed that he’d have some gun connections.”
“Does he?”
“He said he’d see what he could do, but I think that’s his way of saying he’ll get it done.”
A few hours later, the jet landed on an auxiliary runway at Louis Armstrong International Airport in Kenner, Louisiana, which spared Payne and Jones from dealing with the hassle of the main terminal. After grabbing their bags from the plane, they walked to the nearest rent-a-car agency, where they picked up the fastest rental available, a Ford Mustang GT convertible.
The airport was only fifteen miles west of the Crescent City, so the drive to New Orleans was a short one. Following Interstate 10 all the way into Orleans Parish, Payne followed the directions Greene had given him. Before long they were navigating the streets of the central business district.
As Payne and Jones expected, the contrast between the tourist areas and the outlying neighborhoods was disheartening. Hurricane Katrina had ravaged the entire city in August 2005, and since that time most of the governmental funds had been funneled into the city’s businesses and infrastructure, not the residential sections or suburbs. In many ways, the reasoning was sound. Tourists were the lifeblood of the region, and the only way to get them to return was to restore the areas that they wanted to visit.
One of those places was the Spanish Plaza, the spot where they would meet Greene.
Donated by Spain in 1976 as a bicentennial gift, the plaza was one of four foreign squares that paid tribute to the roles that France, Italy, England, and Spain played in the history and culture of New Orleans. The focal point of the site was a man-made geyser, encircled by an elaborate cut-stone deck and illuminated by a rainbow of lights that lined the scenic monument.
As Payne and Jones strolled down the plaza’s steps, they saw Greene, wearing a pair of white Dockers and an ice blue Tommy Hilfiger shirt, looking even larger than he did during his NFL playing days.
“Levon,” Payne called as he neared his friend. “Thanks for meeting me.”
Greene, 6’3” and 275 pounds of muscle, stood from the bench where he’d been resting his knee. “No problem, my man.” He grabbed Payne’s hand and pulled him close, bumping his shoulder while patting him on the back with his free hand. It was a greeting that was quite common in the sports world. “You’re looking good. You still playin’ ball?”
“Not as much as I used to. But I manage to work out whenever I can. Of course, I still have a long way to go before I’m a badass like you.”
Greene smiled and turned his attention to Jones. “By the way, my name’s Levon Greene. And you are?”
Jones grabbed Greene’s hand and replicated the greeting Greene had given Payne—except Jones did it with much more vigor. He was thrilled to meet one of his biggest sports heroes. “I’m David Jones, a friend of Jon’s and a big fan of yours.”
“That’s always nice to hear, especially since I’m a huge fan of yours as well. I can hardly believe that I’m actually talking to the lead singer of the Monkees!”
Payne couldn’t help but laugh. He occasionally teased Jones about his name’s similarity to Davy Jones, and it was something that D.J. couldn’t stand. However, Payne had a feeling that the remark would produce a much different reaction coming from Greene.
“Oh, I get it!” Jones said as he playfully punched Greene on his arm. “The Monkees! That’s pretty damn funny. I bet I used to look a lot whiter on TV, huh?”
Greene laughed, then returned his attention to Payne. “Have you guys eaten yet? There are a number of places in this city where we can get traditional Louisiana food, like jambalaya or gumbo. Or, if you prefer, we can just head over to the French Quarter for a beer and some naked breasts. Trust me, whatever you want, I can deliver. Just name it, and it’s yours.”
Payne glanced at Jones, then back at Greene. He’d been less than forward with Greene on the phone and decided it was time to give him a few details about their mission. “Levon, I have to tell you something. This isn’t going to be a pleasure trip. We’re down here for one reason and one reason only: to find out about your local gangs.”
Greene grimaced, confused. “Man, what is it about this damn tattoo that brought you guys down here? What could possibly be so important?”
Jones noticed the anguish on Payne’s face, so he decided to answer for him. “Early this morning Jon’s girlfriend was kidnapped from her apartment building. On the surveillance video, we noticed the tattoo that Jon described on one of the criminals. There was a witness who saw his girlfriend thrown into the back of a van that had Louisiana plates. We’re down here to try and find her.”
Greene grunted. “Damn, I had no idea. What did the police say?”
“Not much,” Jones answered. “They’re doing everything they can in Pittsburgh, but until we receive a ransom demand or find some conclusive evidence about the gang, they aren’t willing to contact the FBI or any other law enforcement agency.”
“So, you two are here to snoop around? What are you planning to do to get her back?”
With determination in his eyes, Payne rejoined the conversation. “Whatever it takes.”
CHAPTER 16
BECAUSE
of his size, Greene claimed the shotgun seat of the cramped Mustang, forcing Jones to sit in the back. Normally Jones would’ve bitched and moaned about losing his front-seat status, but since Greene would’ve needed the flexibility of a Russian gymnast to contort his 275-pound frame into the backseat, Jones didn’t mutter a single complaint.
After getting into the car, Greene spoke first. “I was able to purchase the artillery that you guys wanted, but it cost me a pretty penny. If you want, we can pick it up now.”
Payne agreed, and Greene directed him to the nearby parking garage where his black Cadillac Escalade was parked. The SUV was equipped with a gas-guzzling 400-plus-horsepower engine, limousine-tinted windows, and enough speakers and subwoofers to register a 3.5 on the Richter scale. “This here is my pride and joy,” Greene exclaimed. “It was the last extravagant gift I bought myself before my injury. Ain’t she sweet?”
“She’s a nice ride, and it certainly looks like you take care of her.”
Greene nodded as he opened his hatch. “My daddy always used to say, if you take care of your car, your car will take care of you.”
Jones slid up next to the ex-linebacker and glanced inside the spacious cargo hold. “My God, your trunk’s bigger than the seat you’re making me ride around in.”
Payne rolled his eyes at Jones’s remark. “What did you get for us, big man?”
“You said you needed some reliable handguns, so I picked you up a couple of Glocks. I didn’t know which model you’d prefer, so I got a 19 and a 27. The 19 uses standard nine-millimeter ammo, which many people like. Personally, I prefer the 27. In fact, it’s the kind I carry for protection. It’s chambered in forty-caliber Smith & Wesson, which I think is ballistically better than the nine-millimeter.”
Payne smiled his approval as he picked up the charcoal gray Glock 27 from Greene’s cargo hold. The ridged polymer handle fit snugly into his experienced hand, and as he held it up to the overhead lights, he stared at the gun with the wide-eyed fascination of a kid with a new toy. “You made a nice choice. No external safeties to worry about. It’s light, dependable. Perfect.”
“I guess that means I’m stuck with the 19, huh?” Jones didn’t have a problem with the weapon, but after riding in the cramped backseat, he was in the mood to complain about something. “Did you get us anything else?”
Greene leaned into the trunk and pulled out a large maroon suitcase. As he fiddled with the case’s combination lock, he spoke. “You told me that money wasn’t an object and that you needed a couple of weapons with some serious firepower, right? Well, I hope this is what you had in mind.” Greene opened the case, revealing a Heckler & Koch MP5 K submachine gun and a Steyr AUG assault rifle.
Jones reacted quickly, grabbing the MP5 K before Payne could get his hands on it. “My, my, my! What do we have here? German-made, three-round burst capability, nine hundred rounds a minute. A nice piece of hardware.”
“That’s not all,” Greene declared. “I picked up the optional silencer as well.”
“Great!” Payne said. “That means he can kill a librarian without disturbing any readers.”
“Not that I’d
ever
kill a librarian,” Jones assured him.
“They’re special people.”
Greene ignored their banter, focusing on Payne instead. “Jon, this Steyr AUG is one of the best assault rifles on the market. It has an interchangeable barrel, so you can use it accurately from a distance like a sniper or up close like a banger. And the cartridges—five-point-five-six by forty-five millimeters—can be bought in department stores, for God’s sake! It’s very versatile.”
Payne picked up the rifle and attached the scope with the skill of a soldier. Once it was in place, he held the eyepiece to his face and put a fire alarm across the garage in his sight. He held the weapon steady, sucked in a deep breath, then paused. “Bang!” he mouthed before dropping the AUG to his side. “You’re right. This is a fine choice, and all the weapons appear to be in pretty good shape. What did the purchase run you?”
Greene pulled a handwritten invoice out of his pocket and gave it to Payne.
Payne glanced at the sheet and smiled. “What kind of a street dealer writes out receipts? Does he have a return policy if we’re not completely satisfied?”
“Actually, I wrote the stuff down so I wouldn’t forget. I’m not that strong with numbers.”
“Me, either,” Payne admitted. “That’s why I try to avoid them at work.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you do for a living?”
“I’m the CEO of a multinational conglomeration. We specialize in everything from new technologies to clothes to food products.”
Greene laughed in a disbelieving tone. “Okay, whatever. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. Besides, I’m too hungry to worry about it. Why don’t we get out of here?”
Jones agreed. “Sounds good to me. Should we take one car or two?”
“Why don’t we take two?” Payne said. “There’s a good chance that we’re going to be putting ourselves in danger before the end of the night, and I’m not comfortable asking Levon to help us any more than he already has. It’s one thing to ask him for guns and a place to stay, but it’s entirely different to put his life in danger for two guys he barely knows.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Jones seconded. “Things could get a little bit nasty if we meet up with the wrong people.”
“Come on, D.J., let’s put our stuff in the back of the Mustang, then we can follow Levon to dinner.” Jones nodded, then walked toward the car with a handful of weapons.
