“That’s a decision we haven’t made. If all continues to go well, there’s the possibility of expansion within the next few months.” Kotto took another sip of wine while waiting for further questions. When none came, he changed the course of the discussion. “I realize that some of you were disappointed with the last shipment. Mr. Drake and I discussed the issue, and I apologize for any problems it might’ve caused. I would like to assure you that you will have no such problems with the next delivery. It is the best quality we’ve ever prepared.”
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
.
“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
could stand for
.”
“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
