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“Brother, I doubt their parents would be willing to do that,” said Whiskey. “Besides, those boys are bigger than us. If I were planning to kidnap kids, it wouldn’t be the three of them unless I had an offensive line with me.”
“What’s the intel on traffickers in the area?” asked Gabe.
“That’s just it,” said Code, “all is quiet on the western, eastern, southern, and northern fronts. It’s fucking weird. I sent Otto and Pork down to the shipyards to see if they’d seen anything unusual. DEA says they’ve had one ship that was transporting drugs, but it was inside a shipping container that was filled with household appliances. The drugs were secured behind the walls of the appliances.”
“But no kids? No women?”
“None,” said Code, shaking his head.
“This is fucking bizarre,” said Nine. “Okay, so we have the tattoos in common, AP classes or STEM, good kids, all from basically the same area. That’s it.”
“That’s it,” said Antoine. There was a knock on the door, and the three boys walked in.
“Walker, Leif, Forrest, what are you boys doing here?” asked Gaspar.
“Uh, well, sir. We had a field trip into the city today. We’re studying the period of WWII, and we visited the WWII museum and memorial, then went to the aquarium.”
“Sounds like a good day,” smiled Whiskey.
“Yes, sir. It was, uh, good,” said Leif. He looked at the other boys, all three looking down, then back up.
“Leif, what are you trying to not tell us?” frowned Nine.
“Well, sir, I promise we didn’t do anything or say anything on our own, but there was this guy outside the museum asking if we wanted free tattoos.”
“Tell me you didn’t,” said Gaspar, frowning at the boys.
“Oh, no, sir, we definitely did not. At first, he said it was free. Then he said that it would be three hundred dollars when we started talking to him. Walker asked if he could get something really cool, like the Saints logo or something, and he wanted it on his abdomen, you know, out of sight. He said he could do anything we wanted, but not there. He said he only did tattoos on arms, shoulders, upper backs, or calves. He told us we’d have to meet him on Tremé and Basin, near St. Louis cemetery, tonight if we wanted anything done.”
“And what did you tell him?” asked Whiskey, folding his huge arms across his chest. His own tattoos flexed and moved as if they were coming alive.
“We said that we’d think about it. This other guy walked up and whispered in his ear, and he nodded, then said, ‘never mind.’ He just gathered his stuff and walked away.”
“You were too big,” said Nine. “I think we are right about this. We talked about this earlier. You guys are too big. Whoever is going after these kids isn’t going for kids that could fight back.”
“What did he look like?” asked Gaspar.
“He was Asian. Definitely Asian. Black hair, kind of long, just brushing his shoulders. Dark eyes, lots of tattoos. While I was talking to him, Leif took some photos of some of the tattoos. They were good, really good. Dragons, lions, Chinese symbols, something that looked like a temple,” said Walker. “He was wearing a tank top, so we were able to get a good look at them.”
“Send the photos to Callan,” said Nine.
“Yes, sir. Did we do something wrong?” asked Forrest, a look of worry and a little fear on his face. He looked every bit the Robicheaux that he was.
“No, son. We just don’t want you to get hurt. We know you’re worried about your friend, and we’re trying to find her. But if any of you were taken, this could get ugly fast. Instead of having Gray Wolf out there, it would be VG. All of them.”
“Sorry, sir,” said the boys in unison. They all shook their heads.
“Don’t misunderstand us, boys,” said Gaspar. “You did the right thing. You got some intel that we didn’t have before, and hopefully, it will help us. But for now, don’t reach out to that individual again, and for fuck’s sake, don’t get a tattoo.”
The boys laughed, nodding their heads as they exited the office. A few minutes later, Callan walked in, holding up his phone with the photos on it.
“Is this a fucking joke?” he asked.
“No,” frowned Nine. “The boys were approached by that man, asking if they wanted a tattoo. Why?”
“I know this dude,” said Callan. “He used to work for me. Great fucking tattoo artist, skilled. He wouldn’t do this shit. He wouldn’t do something like this with kids.”
“Unless he was in trouble,” said Gaspar.
