The Left Series (Book 2): Left Alone (37 page)

“Do you know a girl called Batfish?”

Julia shook her head as she poured the fourth shot. “Sorry…no. Never heard of her.”

“Of course you haven’t. Faceless, nameless people in the remains of a city where everyone is shit-faced and run by a drug dealing pimp,” I slurred.

“Hey, go easy or you’ll get yourself into trouble,” Julia hissed.

“I really don’t give a fuck.” The Bourbon was fuelling my bravado.

“Is this jerk bothering you?” A hostile, male voice boomed behind my right shoulder.

I turned to see a tall, long haired guy with a hooped ring in each nostril, leaning aggressively towards me. His dark, narrow eyes bore intently into mine. I held his stare, unblinking, showing the asshole I wasn’t afraid of him. 

“No, he was just leaving,” Julia said. She tapped my hand holding my glass. “You were just leaving, weren’t you?” She tapped my hand with every word.

“Yeah,” I grunted. “I’m just leaving.” I finished my drink, bumped by the aggressive guy and made my way back to the staircase.

I watched my feet as I descended the wooden steps, making sure I wasn’t going to trip and tumble head first down the staircase. I stopped halfway down when I heard the sound of raised, forceful voices above the background jazz music. I looked down into the lower floor area and saw Smith and Headlong standing side by side against the front wall with their hands held beside their heads. The now conscious, slow talking giant stood in front of them, jabbing his forefinger a few inches from Smith’s face. He was flanked by two big black guys pointing large, shiny, chrome finished hand guns in Smith and Headlong’s faces. Smith and Headlong were jabbering protests and my guess was that none of those involved could hear anything the others were saying.

I stumbled down the remaining steps, knowing I had to intervene. The days of calling the cops and sorting out any fracas in a civilized manner were long gone. I approached the quarreling huddle, ensuring I kept behind the slow talking giant and the two black guys.

I pulled out my own hand gun, a 9mm, Smith & Wesson M &P, from the back of my waistband and flicked off the safety.
Shit or bust
. I held the weapon in both hands and raised it behind the heads of the three guys in front of Smith and Headlong.

“Don’t fucking move!” I yelled, standing a few paces behind the trio of aggressors. I kept the hand gun moving left and right to cover any sign of sudden movement. “Put those fucking guns down and back the fuck off.” The bar went silent and people slowly moved away from the area of confrontation.

Traces of my London accent returned as I barked commands and the Bourbon had produced a harsh, menacing tone to my voice. I may have even sounded convincing. Surprisingly, none of them tried to be a hero. The two black guys dropped their weapons to the ground and placed their hands on their heads. The slow talking giant turned towards me with an expression of shock on his face.

“You can’t point a gun at me.”

“I can point a gun at whoever the fuck I like,” I growled. “Now, all three of you get over by the bar.”

The black guys moved first, shuffling to the countertop with expressions of resentment. Smith scooped up their hand guns and trained the barrels on their midriffs. I shuffled around, keeping my aim on the big guy. The giant held his arms out by his sides and slowly followed his colleagues to the bar. Headlong drew his hand gun to add to our firepower. 

“You’re all in big trouble now,” he said. “Mr. Lazaru is not going to be happy with you three.” He shook his head slowly.

I was bored of listening to the guy and thought about shooting him in the face. We were in the shit way above our heads so we might as well go down fighting.

“You two ready?” I asked, without looking around at Smith and Headlong.

I heard a mumbled response and edged close to the door.

“We’ll find you. You got nowhere to run, we’ll find you,” the giant threatened, through a menacing smile.

“What do you think this is? Hide the fucking peanut?” I retorted.

Headlong slipped out of the front door first, then Smith and I followed. The giant gave me wink as I disappeared from his view.

“Batfish wasn’t there,” I sighed. “Now what?” 

“Now, we get the fuck out of here, very quickly,” Smith barked. “Let’s split, they’ll be looking for three guys together. We’ll meet up back at the truck as soon as we can and take it from there.”

“All right,” Headlong muttered.

“Good luck, guys,” Smith whispered.

All three of us separated and took off through the crowds. I rapidly lost sight of Smith and Headlong and didn’t know which direction to go. I remembered the truck was at the top of Bourbon Street but heading in a straight line in view of Lazaru’s clubs and bars wasn’t a good idea. He’d said he had “
eyes and ears on every street corner
.”

Now we were on the run and we still hadn’t found Batfish. Shit! Our situation had gone from bad to worse.

Chapter Sixty

I darted down some random side street to the right to try and get out of the immediate spotlight. The street I was now on was darker than the neon infused hubbub of Bourbon Street. I kept my head down and strolled purposefully and as quickly as possible, with my hands in my pockets without trying to look conspicuous.

Beckoning calls and grunts came at me from dope dealers, trying to peddle their wares from dark alleys and doorways. I ignored all of them and carried on down the road, regularly crossing to each sidewalk.

My mind raced as I tried to comprehend the consequences of our actions and what possible measures we could take to avoid our fate. I put myself in Lazaru’s shoes once he got the news of trouble. He’d warned us when we were standing in his office about causing problems. He’d be looking for Headlong, a scruffy, short haired guy. There were plenty of people matching his description in the city. Also, two guys dressed in military clothing – not too many of those about, as I recalled. I needed an overcoat or a jacket, and a hat would be good.

I turned left down another dark side street, desperately trying not to lose my bearings. I tried to picture a map of the area and where the truck was parked in my mind. No doubt Lazaru would send out a patrol to search for us if we weren’t apprehended on the ground in Bourbon Street.

“Hey man.” A thin, shaven headed guy, wearing a black fleece jacket approached me. “Want to buy something to make you feel happy?”

“No, but I’ll buy that jacket from you for the same price as you’re selling your gear.”

The guy shrugged. “Okay, man. Give me a fifty and it’s yours.”

I felt inside my pocket for some bills. I didn’t want to pull out the whole roll in front of the guy in case he stabbed and robbed me.

I handed him two twenties and said it was all I had. He weighed up the deal and decided he was still gaining, selling a cheap, twenty dollar jacket that he probably got for free, for double the price. He pocketed the bills in his denims, removed his drug paraphernalia from his jacket pockets and slipped it off. I snatched the jacket from him and carried on walking briskly down the street, shrugging on the garment as I moved.

I kept to the shadows under the balconies but every damn street seemed the same and I was fast becoming lost. Maybe Smith and Headlong had already been captured by Lazaru’s men and I was the only one still at large. I knew how Dr. Richard fucking Kimble must have felt. I bought a gray colored beanie hat for ten dollars from another dealer down the next road and wondered if my disguise would help me look just like another street druggie.  

The sound of a song playing from a nearby building stopped me dead in my tracks. The record was ‘
Here Comes Your Man
’ by The Pixies, a melancholy song that was one of Batfish’s favorites.

I edged towards the sound of the music until I found the source. I stood outside a narrow house and the music came from a second floor, dimly lit window behind a small balcony.

“Hello?” I called up to the window. No response. “Hello, you up there listening to The Pixies,” I yelled a few octaves louder.

The music stopped and a female trod cautiously out onto the balcony. Her face was shadowed as she moved in front of the faint glow inside the room behind her.

“Good song,” I said, staring up at the balcony. “I like The Pixies.”

I thought I could maybe ask the girl for some directions to where I was headed.   

“You got a point to make, asshole? If not, go jerk off somewhere else.”

The insults caused my heart to jump. I recognized the tone of voice.

“Batfish!?” I squealed. “Batfish, is that you?”

“Yeah, I’m called Batfish. What’s it to you?”

I removed the beanie hat and opened my arms. “Batfish, it’s me, Brett.”

“Brett who?”

“Brett Wilde of course. How many Brett’s do you know?” I still couldn’t believe it was actually her.

I heard a gasp and a snivel. “Brett, you came!”

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Are you going to let me in?”

“I can’t, the door is locked from outside.”

“Hang on, I’m coming in.” I took out the Smith & Wesson and fired two shots at the front door lock.

I hoped I hadn’t alerted any of Lazaru’s patrols with the sound of gunfire. I glanced up and down the street but couldn’t see anyone watching me. The front door opened slightly and I bundled my way inside the house. The front room was dimly illuminated by thick, white candles burning on stands fixed to the wall to the right. Battered wooden furniture lay scattered amongst the cramped floor space. Two young women cowered away from me as I entered the room, their dark eyes wide and scared.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” I soothed. “I’m here to collect my friend.” I pointed to the narrow, wooden staircase to the left of the room.

I heard the thudding of feet on the staircase and raised the hand gun towards the noise. The two girls let out muffled, frightened whimpers.  

“Will you put that fucking gun down, Brett,” Batfish scolded. It really was her!

I hadn’t seen her for a few days or maybe it was a week, I didn’t remember but I’d had to drag myself through so much shit to find her, it felt like she’d been taken years ago.

She ran down the rest of the staircase, I grabbed hold of her and squeezed her tight. I realized tears were streaming down my face. She held my head between her hands and looked into my eyes. Her deep blue eyes, staring into mine made me realize how much she meant to me.  

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she whispered. “Now, stop blubbing and tell me where Smith is.”

The feeling of elation soon dipped when the reality of the situation kicked back in.

“Ah, we’re in a world of shit at the moment,” I sighed. “The goons who run the city are after us. There’s Smith, me and this other guy who was a bad guy…well, he still kind of is a bad guy but now he’s helping us and…”

Batfish held up her hand to stop my babbling. “Just tell me the escape plan, Brett.”

“Well, there isn’t one really. We have to rendezvous with Smith and the other guy, called Headlong, at a truck on the corner of Bourbon Street and Esplanade Avenue.”

“That means nothing to me. I don’t even know where I am at the moment. I’ve been locked in this house with these two ever since I got here.” She pointed at the two girls still cowering in the corner. “They’re proper Cajun and don’t speak much English. You got a cigarette, Brett?”

I took one myself and tossed her the pack. “You don’t know where they’re from?” I remembered the Cajun guys back down river and wondered if the girls were from their camp.

Batfish lit her smoke and shook her head. “They unloaded us on the docks and brought us here and locked us in. Some jerk brings us food and says we’ll be put us to some use real soon. I don’t like him, he’s kind of creepy.”

“Hopefully, you’ll never see him again. Anyway, we better get going if we want to meet up with Smith. I don’t know how long he’ll wait or if he even made it back to the truck.”

“What about them?” Batfish nodded towards the two girls. “We can’t just leave them here.”

Batfish was right, of course, but four of us reeling around dark back streets without a clue where we were heading, was only going to draw more unwanted attention.

Chapter Sixty-One

I couldn’t refuse to take the Cajun girls with us but they took a bit of persuading. I had to mimic driving in a truck and then sailing on a boat to convince them we were leaving. I didn’t even know if that was the plan. I didn’t even know if Smith and Headlong had made it back to the truck. I remembered Headlong had the keys, what if he’d been caught and we all met up at the truck but still couldn’t get away? Several disastrous scenarios raced through my mind and I had to push them out of my head before I suffered a panic attack.

The slender Cajun girls both wore long, white skirts and one wore a white top and the other had on a light green blouse. They couldn’t have looked more eye-catching if they tried. I put the beanie hat back on but removed the fleece jacket and handed it to the girl wearing all white. At least that way, it might confuse our pursuers.

The girl put the jacket on and we got ready to move. I stood in the front doorway and glanced up and down the street.

“The coast looks clear,” I said.

“Okay, Wilde. Get us to that truck,” Batfish whispered from behind me.

The four of us stepped out into the street and I was immediately lost. I tried to remember the map in my head but all I conjured in my mind was a jumbled mess of dark alleys, side streets and the emaciated faces of dope peddlers. One of the Cajun girls pulled the front door closed behind us.