Page 28 of Iggy

“Because the Swamp Rats fronted the money for the investment in the first place,” smirked Rose. “Neela is in a lot of trouble. Huge trouble.”

“That only means she’s going to be more intent on getting to Olive,” said Iggy. “How does this help us?”

“Simple,” smirked Ella. “We’re going to create a fake company, fake investment. We’ll send the information to the broker, guaranteeing a return that he won’t be able to walk away from. We make the millions for them that will turn her away from Olive, at least for now.”

“The Swamp Rats will get their investment money back, which will knock them out of the picture, at least for us. Once that happens we go for the jugular with the Graveyard Saints. We have it on good authority that once the Swamp Rats are paid back, Neela’s intention was to run with the money. All of it,” said Jean.

“How do you know that?” asked Iggy.

“Simple,” smirked Tinley, “we got into the federal records. They knew all of this. They knew about the shady investments, they knew about the money owed to the Swamp Rats, and they knew about Neela wanting out.”

“Wait. Are the feds following money, not criminal activity?” asked Iggy.

“Give the boy a blue ribbon,” smiled Rose. “That’s all they’re worried about. Didn’t it seem strange that the director and agent you spoke to weren’t familiar to us at all? They didn’t seem to give two shits whether or not they were running guns, drugs, or women.”

“It was a bit odd,” said Rush. “They’re not following criminal activity with gangs or terrorists. They’re a bunch of glorified accountants. No offense to those in the room.” The group laughed, shaking their heads.

“Only a little offended,” smirked Jean. “We also found the mole on the inside. Goes by the name Bunny. She’s been Neela’s play-thing for years. I’m talking nearly two decades.”

“Fuck,” muttered Iggy. “Someone has been on the inside for nearly twenty years?”

“We think someone forgot about her,” said Rose. “No one is left inside for that long. Either that, or Bunny enjoys her job and doesn’t want to leave. Either way, we think she could be helpful. But we have to get to her.”

“That’s where we come in,” said Skull standing in the doorway with Razor and Gunner.

“I’m coming with you,” said Iggy. “I want to speak to this woman as well.” Skull gave a subtle nod.

“She’s agreed to meet with us at a little bar in Laplace. It’s out of the way, and according to her it’s a total yuppy bar. Not something the Graveyard Saints would be caught dead in. We’ll let you know what she says.”

“What’s this woman’s real name?” asked Ham.

“Real name is Beverly Gaines but she goes by Bunny in the club,” said Gunner. “Her record as an agent was stellar. She’s probably fifty or fifty-five now, we’re not sure how much of her data has been tampered with.”

“Iggy? You follow the instructions of Skull and the others. This isn’t their first rodeo with gangs like this. The meeting could be a trap. If she’s been on the inside this long, she may have some love for the club, not the law.”

“I get it,” he nodded. “I just want to hear what Neela’s real intentions are for Olive. I don’t doubt she wants to sell her to the Swamp Rats but settling a twenty-million-dollar debt with one female doesn’t add up to me and I’m the man that thoroughly believes she’s worth twenty million.”

“I’d agree with that,” said Jean. “It makes me believe she’s got more women hidden somewhere but doesn’t want to tell anyone. Or. Or, she’s got guns and drugs she could settle the deal with. Either way, she’s in trouble.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The bar in LaPlace looked like it had been built out of storm damage and bad decisions. It didn’t look like a ‘yuppy’ bar at all but maybe by Bunny’s standards it was.

It leaned low beneath a rusted tin roof at the edge of a two-lane road where the swamp pressed close enough to breathe through the walls. With the rain still coming down, they wondered if it would get washed away in the next good wind.

Mosquitoes gathered in the porch light though the sun had not fully gone down, thick black commas circling the yellow glow. Gunner saw the yellow glow of gators’ eyes in the distance, lightning leaving a trail of electricity in the distance.

A hand-painted sign over the door promised cold beer, boiled shrimp, pool, and no trouble, which told Gunner the place had hosted plenty of the last thing at one time or another.

Gunner parked his bike beneath a dead cypress and let the engine tick itself quiet. Skull rolled in beside him with his shoulders hunched forward, Razor came next with mirrored shades hiding eyes that missed nothing, and Iggy killed his headlight last, leaving the four Shadow Warriors standing in the rain and damp heat with road dust and mud on their boots and suspicion already between their teeth.

“This the place?” Iggy asked, looking at the sagging porch, the bug zapper snapping blue over a trash can, the warped screen door patched with duct tape.

“Bunny picked it,” Razor said. “Which means either she trusts it or she wants us uncomfortable.”

Skull spat into the gravel.

“Woman named Bunny working twenty years inside the Graveyard Saints doesn’t survive by being cute.”