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“Is he alone?” asked Luke, standing at his desk. He pressed the button to bring everyone into the room and put the call on speaker.
“Naw, he ain’t alone. Looks like he brought a coupla’ hookers from Bourbon out here. So far, they’re just drinkin’ and orderin’ food. Didn’t come with any other men, but I see a gun on him, and I’m pretty sure he’s got a few knives.”
“We’ll be there as fast as we can. Try to keep him there.”
“You know it, brother.”
“I’m coming,” said Trak, staring at Luke.
“Fine. Let’s go.” By the time they got to the dock with the faster boats, more than thirty men were ready to head to The Well. “We don’t want him dead. We want to talk to him. Try to control yourselves.”
The men all stared at Luke as if he’d lost his mind. He only shook his head, hoping they didn’t lose their shit.
For a weekday afternoon, The Well was jumping. Music was blasting from the decks as patrons enjoyed the music and hot delicious food. Luke, Trak, and Noa walked up the ramp of the first deck, spotting Grady at the bar. He nodded and pointed to the second deck above them. While the others moved around to the back stairs, the three men went up the front.
The man was easy to spot, seated with two women who were barely clothed. Noa walked toward them, staring down at the man.
“You’re in my light,” frowned the skinny man. Noa looked at the two hookers and jerked his head.
“Get out. Move. Now.” The two women scurried out of the way, and Noa looked back at the man.
“You’ve fucked up, big man. I ain’t afraid of no tree,” he smirked. He started to push off from the table and then howled in pain as a large bowie knife pierced his hand, holding him firmly to the top of the picnic table.
“Luke! Now I gotta clean that table,” said Grady.
“We’ll replace it,” he said, shaking his head at Trak.
“He was going to move,” said Trak. “I didn’t want him to move.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? One of them hookers your sister or something?” Trak stared at the back of the man’s hand, his knife perfectly positioned beside the tattoo.
“Where did you get the tattoo?” asked Trak.
“What?” he said, looking up at the men, confused. “It’s just something I got as a kid. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” said Luke. “Or should I call Perez and tell him you said that?” Now the man was completely panicked.
“No, look, I’m telling the truth. It was something I got as a kid. Fuck,” he said, trying to stand. He screamed and then sat back down. “Please, don’t call him. I left that life behind me years ago.”
Noa stared at the man, his big body creating a complete shadow.
“When and how did you leave that life?” asked Noa.
“I was just nineteen. It was four years ago. We were in a fight on the west side of Houston with the Rattlers. I got shot, and I just played dead. The cops got there, and I crawled away. It was my chance to get the fuck out.”
Luke and the others stared at the man, shaking their heads. He looked around and knew he was fucked.
“You guys feds?”
“No. Perez is in the area,” said Luke. The man’s eyes grew wide, obviously terrified.
“No,” he said, attempting to stand again. He grabbed the hilt of the knife, trying to pull his hand free. “No, I have to get the fuck out of here.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” said Trak, pressing down on the knife. “You’re going to tell us everything you know about Perez.”
“Fine. Fine, I’ll tell you what you want to know, but then you have to let me go. I have to get the fuck out of here.”
Trak gripped the knife, pulling it without mercy. Noa tossed the man a handful of napkins, and he wrapped his hand.
