Free Cajun Gothic (Blood Haven) by Nya Rawlyns

asked, “You think there’s something going on in the
Council?”
    I was thinking power-play, maybe the BDSM or Goth’s
were looking to acquire ready-made assets. The Mafia families had to make do
with muscle to keep the peace. It might be a whole new ballgame when it came to
manipulating hidden desires and obsessions, something the subcultures catered
to quite successfully.
    Ivan waited until I looked up and said, “I don’t
know how to explain it. The girls seen some stuff… well, nobody believed them.”
    “Except for you and Sasha.” He nodded yes. Thinking
out loud I said, “They were numbers three and five, the first two happened two,
three weeks before Svetlana. Same deal. Drained dry. I need to know who their
pimp is…”
    “His name’s Jorge. He runs the Haitian connection.
His girls are sluts; they ain’t clean.” The man shifted in the seat, clearly
debating how much more to share. Finally he said, “Jorge’s been looking to
expand. We heard he was taking talks with the Council to see to moving a Haven
into his jurisdiction.”
    “And…”
    “Well, lemme just say his words weren’t falling on
deaf ears.”
    Curious about the timeline, I asked, “So when did
all this start?”
    “After the Holidays. We heard there were new players
in town, but they didn’t seem to have anything to do with us. But in April was
when things got hot.”
    Shit. My suspicion about whoever’d been offing the
hookers in the Big Easy moving north might be right on the money, just faster
than I’d figured. If this was some organizational infighting, I was going to be
out of my depth in no time flat. I might have to be a good citizen and share
with O’Hearn because as far as backup plans went... it was me, myself and I.
    I still wasn’t clear on how Sasha rolled with all
this. I took a chance and asked outright.
    “You brought it to our door. After your visit on
Saturday, Sasha picked up a stalker. And I got a feeling the house is being
watched. The girls, they talked to her. She knows what they know.”
    Which apparently wasn’t much and seemed all out of
proportion to any damage she could do.
    I muttered, “She’s a whore for fuck’s sake, who’s
gonna listen to her ?”
    Ivan moved fast, faster than anyone built like him
should. The switchblade and his foul breath vied for pride of place on my neck.
I mumbled an apology but knew I’d racked up some negative cred that would be
tough to work off.
    When the testosterone ebbed enough he could back off
and give me some breathing space, I asked, “What exactly do you expect me to do
here?”
    “Make it right. Either you stop what’s going down,
or you find somebody who will.”
    “And what do I get in return? Free blow jobs? Pity
fucks?”
    Flipping the switchblade closed, he grinned down at
me.
    “You get to live.”

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    The Power of Three
     
     
     
     
    T he girl behind the counter gave
me a flirty glance but looked away quickly when the bell above the door chinked
dully. That I sat with my back to the door was a good indication of my
befuddled state of mind. It wasn’t something I’d do in normal circumstances.
    Clarity slid into the booth opposite me.
    She was average height, maybe five-six, ten, fifteen
pounds over ideal. Business efficient, she wore a blue, pin-striped suit with a
pencil skirt, custom-fit to hide the extra pounds, not that the weight
detracted from her looks, not at all.
    I’d put her mid-thirties at first glance. Reddish
blonde, done up in a tight bun that looked positively painful. She removed
wire-framed glasses, leveled clear blue eyes on my face and slid a business
card across the plastic tablecloth.
    Fingering the card, I stared back, waiting.
    She let me stew for longer than was comfortable,
then decided opening negotiations might be prudent.
    “Mr. Shephard, I represent Dark Haven, Inc.” She
didn’t give her name. I didn’t ask. “My employer has a proposal that might be
of interest.”
    I