Batiste Read online

  Sitting on the side of the bed he selected the brand new contact he’d just programmed. He listened through a cycle of rings before hearing her message, which was short and sweet.

  “If you don’t know who this is, hang up. If you do, leave a message. Or not. Everybody got to be free.”

  Hearing her cheerful voice and her semi-belligerent greeting made his eyes sting. A short bitter laugh tried to make its way to his vocal cords, but couldn’t quite work up enough momentum to be heard.

  He waited for the tone indication that he could record a message. “Hey, it’s me. Just. I’m sittin’ in the room where you’ve been sleepin’. Missin’ you and wishin’ more than I know how to say that you were still here instead of where you are now. Could say I’m sorry… What I mean is, I am sorry. More sorry than I got words to say. If there was a way to turn back time I’d be wiser, but you’re the one who’s paid the price for what I’ve learned.

  “I’m gonna promise you two things. When you come back to us, you’re never gonna spend a second thinkin’ this might happen again. Gonna make that an impossibility. You got my oath on that. The other thing is that, I’m never gonna try to tell you what to do again. Swear it for true. You’re Angelique Bellefeuille. And you’re nobody’s property.”

  He swiped a tear away, grateful he was alone with no one, not even the dogs, to see. After stuffing the phone back in her purse, he pulled himself together and left the room.

  Everyone was seated when Batiste entered the meeting room. Army, who’d been waiting for him, closed the door. Not that it mattered. Everyone who wasn’t on the property when the call went up had hightailed it to the camp and was in that room. Everyone except Coon. Of course the windows were open to screens so closing the door was more symbolic than anything.

  The room was the size of a typical conference room and had an old conference table that Brer Batiste had rescued from a used office furniture consignment outfit in Houston. The top had been leaning against the wall in their back junk room. It wasn’t fancy. It had visible gouges, nicks, scratches, and places where the top was either stained or discolored by some bleaching agent.

  Batiste had always thought it was a perfect match for the Devils. It wasn’t fancy. It was plain and had visible flaws but was substantial in every way that counted.

  Sometimes meetings were rowdy, but not that day. It was as still and quiet in the room as it would be if no humans were present. The only sound was birdsong from outside. All of them looked grim but expectant, as they waited to hear what Batiste would say.

  It was a rarity for a non-member to be privy to a voting meeting of a motorcycle club so, in the interest of manners and respect, Dev stood, leaning against the far back wall, with his arms crossed and plans to stay out of the discussion no matter what turn it might take.

  “The way I see it we have three issues,” Batiste began as he took his place at the head of the table. Normally he would sit, but for whatever reason he remained standing to say what was on his mind. “The first and most important is getting Angelique back. The second is what to do about Stars and Bars after we get her back. The third is what to do about Coon.

  “Let’s go last to first. Coon. Here’s what we know. It’s not just that he can’t be trusted. It’s that he betrayed us. I’m strugglin’ with what to do ‘bout that. We can’t keep him, knowin’ what we know. And we can’t just let him walk outta here knowin’ what he knows ‘bout us either.

  “I’ll let that rest on your minds a bit while we talk ‘bout number two. There’re lots of reasons why it goes against custom to threaten families and grab women. One of those reasons is ‘cause, once that starts, how does it ever have an acceptable outcome? For anybody?

  “It doan. Reasonable people can work that out. Stars and Bars? They’re not reasonable. They’re lookin’ for war. If it was just money they wanted, they would’ve left Scar and Low alive. We have ways of dealin’ with that kind of behavior, as you know, but this? Threatenin’ families? It’s what you call a slippery slope.”

  Several of the members murmured agreement and nodded to each other.

  “Sons over in Austin feel the same.” Everybody turned and looked at Dev, who confirmed that by nodding. “After we get Angelique back, we’re gonna reconvene and take a vote on what to do. So you got a little time to decide. But I’m tellin’ you now, I say none of them live to take another woman. Not a daughter, or wife, or sister, or mother. Not a cook or a housekeeper or a nanny or a bookkeeper. I say we send a signal that women are off limits.”

  Again, some of the members murmured to each other.

  “Right now I’m gonna redial this number. The one that called to say they got Angel and left Scar and Low for us to find. We’re gonna find out what they say they want, then we’ll figure out how to proceed.”

  He sat, took a deep breath, and redialed the number while the other men looked on. It rang five times before there was a, “Yeah. Figured you might call.”

  “What do you want?” Batiste saw no reason to be anything but to the point.

  “What’s comin’ to us.”

  “So I hear. And what is that exactly?”

  “A hundred and fifty thousand.”

  Batiste blinked at that. “Why is it you figure you have a hundred and fifty comin’?”

  “We were supposed to be dealt into the bounty for fifty. The other hundred is for my trouble.”

  “What trouble is that?”

  “Well, there was the inconvenience of havin’ to scoop up this woman and say bye bye to your friends. Now there’s the trouble of keepin’ club members away from this little Cajun cunt. They’re on a steady diet of bitches who are well broke in so a little change of pace looks mighty appealin’. I mean, who don’t like variety? So that other hundred’s for keepin’ the rank and file off her. ‘Course I can’t promise the prez won’t insist on some kinda privilege of office. He has a thing for sweet and lightly used.”

  The Devils had been watching Batiste’s ears turn red and couldn’t miss that his chest was rising and falling more rapidly with every second he listened to what was being said. But whatever was said at the end caused him to stand up so fast his chair fell over. Every witness could tell by Batiste’s breathing pattern that he’d advanced beyond infuriated to seething.

  “Put Manatee on the phone.”

  “He’s busy.”

  “He’s not too busy to talk about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Put him on the phone.”

  “You’re not callin’ the shots here, coonass.”

  “Put. Him. On.”

  Batiste heard the three tones that indicated the call had been ended. He yelled a frustrated growl and pulled back with his right arm like he was going to throw the phone. Pickup deftly grabbed the phone out of Batiste’s hand as slick as a pickpocket.

  “Sorry, boss,” he said, “but you’re gonna need this phone for the next call.”

  Batiste heard what Pickup said, but it was faint and seemed far away. His emotions were a powerful churning cocktail of rage and fear that was pervading his brain chemistry and causing him to experience reality through a haze of red. And not just his sense of sight was affected.

  It sounded like he’d been transported into a tunnel where the only sound that was distinct above the wind was the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He couldn’t rid himself of images of Angelique being molested by Manatee’s gang.

  “Just,” Pickup was calling. “JUST!”

  Batiste had a faraway look in his eyes, like his spirit had gone elsewhere. Pickup was shaking Batiste when the phone rang.

  “Merde,” Pickup said.

  Everyone was locked in indecision. Their leader had checked out mentally and the only connection they had to Angelique was calling. On the third ring, Dev Merit walked quickly to the head of the room, picked up the phone and said, “Here.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “The banker. Is this Manatee?”

  The voice at the other end chuckled. “Yeah,
banker. It’s me.”

  “How do you want to make the exchange? The money for the girl and, by the way, we’re not givin’ up the money without the girl.”

  “Tough talk.”

  “Not really. You got Devils’ property that we want back. Unharmed. We’ve got the payoff you want. You got a proposal?”

  “Yeah. Deliver the money. Then we’ll release the girl.”

  “Only way this works is if we negotiate in good faith. That proposal is not good faith.”

  “What is?”

  “Put the girl in a location where one of us can find her. We’ll send four members to a different location with the money. You can send four to pick it up. When we get a call that we have the girl, we’ll hand it over. Truce on all sides. Simple exchange. No tricks. No shots fire.”

  “Truce, huh?” Manatee chuckled then said smoothly, “You mean like a gentleman’s agreement?”

  “That is exactly what I mean.”

  “Why am I not talkin’ to Bellefeuille? He too much of a pussy to make arrangements for his own little girl?”

  “Look. If you want some kind of revenge fuck, that’s a different deal. You want to talk about that, I’ll put our Enforcer on. If you want money, then you talk to me.”

  After a pause, Manatee said, “Alright banker. Tomorrow. I’ll call with details. Just keep in mind. Anything goes awry, there are plenty of other female relatives who might like to find out how real men ride.”

  And there it is, Dev thought. He’d been expecting that threat almost word for word. It was how Manatee-types thought and how they operated. So typical as to be practically boring. Although he took a moment to be grateful that he didn’t have any female relatives. At least none that anybody knew about.

  He ended the call and turned to the Devils, who had looked on in stunned silence while a stranger and member of another club negotiated the release of their sister club’s princess.

  “You heard,” Dev said to the group.

  “Where are we gonna get a hundred and fifty in cash by tomorrow mornin’?”

  “We’re not,” Dev said as he blinked slowly. “We’re going to write them a check. Put it in a big bag. And it’s not gonna matter that it’s insufficient funds because the SSMC has a guy who used to be a Ranger sniper. You’re gonna ask to borrow him and he’s goin’ to agree with the cause ‘cause his prez does.

  “This man’s looking like he’s in shock.” Dev pointed to Batiste. “Lay him down flat and put something under his feet. About this high.” He indicated a foot or so. “Get a blanket and put it over him.”

  To their amazement Batiste allowed them to rearrange his body without a fight.

  “He’s not to have anything to eat or drink until we’re sure he’s come out of this,” Dev went on. “And he better do it fast if he wants to be the one to go in and get that woman.”

  When they’d carried out Dev’s instructions regarding treating Batiste’s symptoms, Pickup pulled him away to the side. “First of all, thanks for the quick thinkin’. I guess we’ve gotten used to relyin’ on Just. We need to get sharper. But I got a question about your plan. Writing them a check? Countin’ on a sniper? Isn’t that kinda risky?” Pickup looked over at Batiste. “If you think this is bad, I’d hate to see what would happen to him if things went south with Angie Bellefeuille.”

  “Yeah. I hear ya. I don’t really think of myself as a mastermind sort. That’s why we’re gonna call Brant right now and let him sort out the details.”

  As if on stage cue, Batiste’s phone rang. Pickup looked at it. “It’s Fornight. You want to take it?”

  Dev nodded and answered the call. “It’s me.”

  After a brief hesitation, Brant growled, “What’re you doin’ answerin’ this phone?”

  “He’s indisposed.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Dev related everything that had happened since the meeting had been convened and was, technically, still in session since it hadn’t been adjourned.

  “Christ,” Brant said.

  “Can you sort this out?” Dev asked.

  “I got a choice?”

  “You could kick it to the other guy. Bellefeuille. But he’s probably not in any better frame of mind to work out details than this dude here.”

  “This dude? You mean Batiste?”

  “Yeah. That’s who I mean.”

  Brant took in a deep breath. “I actually had a reason for callin’.”

  “Oh?”

  “We found the bikes.”

  “The bikes?” It took a couple of seconds for Dev to get the reference. “The Stars and Bars’ bikes?”

  “What other bikes would I be talkin’ about? They’re parked nice and showroom neat in a warehouse in Nederland.”

  “Jesus. How’d you find ‘em?”

  “Put out word that there would be a nice reward for information leadin’ to the information on the whereabouts of Stars and Bars members. One of their old ladies who’d been scraped off was bitter, but still friends with the other old ladies.”

  “Nice.”

  “We could chop ‘em up and get enough for parts to cover the one fifty. Easy.”

  “Sure if you’re goin’ that route. You gonna steal ‘em?”

  “Don’t know yet. Gotta think this thing through, but I guess I better do that on the road. We’re headin’ your way, but leavin’ bikes behind as they tend to be a little conspicuous. We also don’t want to be spotted by Stars and Bars people. So I’m thinkin’ we’ll go north. Maybe get rooms and stay the night in Opelousas.”

  “Spread out.”

  “Yeah. A few here. A few there.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Keep that phone close by. Looks like you’re the man.”

  It took two hours for Batiste’s eyes to begin clearing. He blinked and his chest jerked in an involuntary deep breath.

  “Why the fuck am I on the floor?” he said to Pickup who was sitting in a chair a few feet away.

  “Guess you really didn’t like what those fuckers had to say. You kinda checked out.”

  Batiste kicked the magazines out from under his feet and sat up. “Get me my phone. I need to call that cocksucker back.”

  “No need, boss. Dev took care of it.”

  Batiste gaped at Pickup. “Dev took care of it?” His brows drew down into a scowl that threatened to obscure his eyes completely. “Talk.”

  Pickup relayed the whole story and brought the young prez up to date.

  “I need a drink,” Batiste said.

  Pickup shook his head. “Not unless Dev says it’s okay.”

  Batiste looked at Pickup like he thought Pickup had been possessed. “I don’t check with motherfucking Dev to get permission for a whiskey.”

  Pickup raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. It’s your funeral.”

  Considering everything that had transpired in the past few hours, Batiste didn’t think it was the right time for black humor. He narrowed his eyes at Pickup as an admonishment, threw the blanket off, and got to his feet, albeit slightly unsteady at first. Pickup was quick to grab hold of Batiste until he stopped swaying and had good footing.

  “Where is he?” Batiste practically snarled.

  “Who?”

  “Dev!”

  “Don’t get excited. He’s probably havin’ a drink himself. Christ knows he deserves it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He jumped in and did what had to be done. You went on some kinda walkabout. Everybody else was like deer in headlights.” Pickup shook his head. “Gotta say, boss. I don’t think we’ve a lot of what you’d call leaders among us. Guess that includes me. Didn’t know what to do so I did nothin’. But Dev knew Angie might bear the brunt of no response. So he waded in. You gotta respect that.”

  Batiste let that sink in. Christ if Pickup wasn’t right. In a flash he’d gone from believin’ he was the engine propelling the Devils to a better life to questioning everything about h
is fitness to be president.

  “Yeah. You’re right. When this is over, we may want to rethink who should wear this patch.”

  Pickup looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone before giving Batiste a look of dead calm. “That’s the one thing this club is not rethinkin’. Everybody has moments of bein’ human. Now you got a choice. You gonna be a whiney little bitch or go out there and act like prez of the Devils?”

  Batiste shot Pickup a venomous look. “Fucker.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Gimme that phone.” Pickup handed it over and watched as Batiste called Brant Fornight. When Brant answered, Batiste said, “Never dealt with somethin’ like this. Can you walk me through it?”

  “’Course,” Brant said without hesitation. “Here’s where we are so far.”

  Brant described their thinking on making an arc out to the north so as not to be spotted by Stars and Bars. They didn’t need to be alerted that the two chapters of Cajun Devils were being joined by Sons of Sanctuary.

  The last thing they wanted to do was provoke Manatee into making a stupid move that might come at Angelique’s expense.

  “Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Brant said. “When he calls back with locations, you say yes to whatever location he names for picking up the woman. Then you say no to whatever location he names for handing over the money.”

  “Go on.”

  “Know a rice farmer over at Basile. He’s gonna be on vacation the next couple of days. Now part of his farm sits right between 1159 and 3277. Got two dirt roads that run through the farm. Manatee’s people will park at Davis Road. You’ll park at Eunice Road. You’ll start walkin’ till you meet in the middle. It’ll look like there’s nothin’ and nobody around. But there’s a farmhouse a mile and a half away. We’ll have somebody there who can shoot from that distance. He won’t shoot to kill. We need ‘em alive so we can find Manatee and his snake hole.

  “As soon as you’ve confirmed that the woman is safe, we’ll package the S and B contingent and transport them to an interrogation facility of our choosing. Now you take heart. You’re gonna get that girl back. And you can thank your lucky stars that you’ve already learned the most valuable lesson there is. There’s no substitute for friends.”