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Handing me his walkie, Richard asks, “Are you looking for something in particular, Mr. DeLuca?”
Smiling at him, I respond, “No, Richard, but if you can give me a little privacy, I would appreciate it.”
“Of course, sir,” he says, unclipping it from his belt, then handing it to me before leaving the office.
Glaring at two of my men closest to the door, I order, “Watch him. Make sure he doesn’t use his cell phone or any other devices.”
“Yes, sir,” they echo before going after Richard.
Squeezing my hand, Sydney inquires, “Do you think he has something to do with this?”
“I don’t know, but you know as well as I do, when shit goes down like this, everybody is a suspect."
She nods, looking around the room as I switch the channel to fifteen and hold the talk button on the walkie.
“Batista, where are you?”
Moments later, he replies, “Downstairs.”
Still holding onto Sydney’s hand, I led her out of the office with Booker close behind us. If Batista had the men downstairs, then that means they tried to leave the casino. Hopefully, he has left them with enough life to answer my questions.
Going to the private elevator, I find the hidden panel on the wall. After typing in the private security code that only me and Batista know, we step inside. If the Feds raided the casino, they could never find the access to this elevator. It’s so camouflaged, the door looks like the art décor on the wall. One would have to know where to touch the wall for the key panel to appear.
One thing about Louisiana, we’re not known to have basements but since Shreveport isn’t on the Gulf like New Orleans that floods during the hurricane season, I had one built at Blue Bayou.
Inside the elevator there are only two buttons. One for up and one for down. I hit the down button. The door closes and we begin to descend.
“Pretty clever, Mr. DeLuca,” Sydney says as I pull her close to me.
“You have no idea,” I return, not wanting to give her all my secrets. Hell, I just found out about her untraceable bullets and nonresistant clothing earlier. Neither one I was privy to, so what else was she holding onto that could be of value to our union?
Moments later, the elevator comes to a halt. The door slides open, and there are two men bound in chairs in the middle of the floor, one older and the other much younger. Batista stands before them with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up and four of my most loyal men standing around them.
“So, what do we have here?” I ask, escorting Sydney farther inside and Booker taking up the rear.
Walking towards us, Batista replies, “Two sorry sons of bitches who thought they could come to the casino, asking questions and no one would think otherwise.” Moving his eyes towards Booker, he inquires, “Here to join in the fun?”
Booker steps to him, smirking, “Can’t let you have it all.” They shake hands before one of the men starts shouting.
“Fuck you, fuck him and the darkie with him,” the older man hisses with a heavy Creole accent before spitting on the ground. Yeah, he’s Smitty’s kin alright.
Batista and Booker draw their weapons as they charge at the man, but I stop them.
“Wait, he has nothing else to fight with besides his words, so let’s see what he has to say.”
Glaring at the man, Batista states, “He’s lucky you showed up when you did because I was about to cut his fucking tongue out.”
“Fuck cutting his tongue out, I was going to put a bullet in his head,” Booker adds.
Tapping their shoulders, I tell them, “Go get a drink from the bar. From the looks of it, you both need one.”
“Indeed,” Booker says.
“After dealing with these assholes I could use one,” Batista sneers, then notices Sydney by my side. He smiles. “It’s good to see you, Sydney.”
Sydney smiles back at him, saying, “It’s good to see you too Batista although I wish it was under different circumstances.”
Batista laughs, “Well, dealing with that one,” he points to me. “I think we’ll be seeing each other under more of these circumstances than the norm.”
