“What kind of things?” Jones asked.
“Everything. If it happens in the city, they’ll know about it. They’ll be able to fill you in on the tattoo you’re looking for. Plus, if you’re lucky, they might be able to tell you something about the kidnapping. Of course, since that didn’t happen down here, details might be limited.”
Payne considered Greene’s words carefully. “Will your friends be willing to talk to us?”
Greene shrugged. “That’s something I don’t know. Most of the time, they’re pretty receptive about helping me, but in your case, I don’t know. You have two things working against you.”
“And those are?”
“You’re white, and you’re from the North. Some people down here don’t take kindly to those two things.”
Payne nodded. “I can understand that, and I figured as much. But at the same time, I have two things that will help my cause.”
“Like what?” Greene asked.
“First of all, I have you guys on my side, and since both of you are black, that might help us with some of the bigger racists we come across.”
“That’s true, but it might not be enough.”
“And secondly,” he said as he laid a thick wad of cash on the dashboard, “I’m willing to spend my entire fortune if it helps get Ariane back.”
Greene eyed the stack of bills that sat before him and grinned. “You know, I think you’ll get along with my boys just fine!”
“I had a feeling I would.”
“But before we go anywhere, there are still a few ground rules I’m gonna have to insist on before we meet my people.”
Payne scooped up his money and nodded. “I’m listening.”
“This is my hometown, the place I’ve chosen to live for the rest of my life. So I don’t want you doing anything that’s going to hurt me after you guys leave. That means I don’t want you roughing up any of my contacts, and I don’t want you making me look bad in any way. I have a reputation to uphold in this city, and I don’t want it tarnished. Okay?”
Payne and Jones agreed to his conditions.
“And finally, if I’m going to help you out, you need to promise me one more thing: absolutely no police involvement of any kind.”
“Why not?” Jones asked, slightly suspicious.
“The people that we’ll be dealing with aren’t exactly friends of the law, and if word gets out that I’m teaming up with the local authorities, then my sources will dry up. And trust me, that won’t help you find the girl, and it won’t help me after you’ve left.”
“No cops, no problem,” replied Payne, who was willing to agree to just about anything. “Now, unless there’s something else, can we get this show on the road?”
AFTER arranging a meeting with his best source, Greene directed his friends through the narrow streets of the Vieux Carré, the historic neighborhood also known as the French Quarter.
“Some people get confused when they come down here because the term French Quarter is misleading,” Greene said. “Most of the architecture around here is Spanish in design, built in the eighteenth century. Most of the original French settlement was burned during a rebellion a little more than two hundred years ago. And thankfully, much of it survived Katrina.”
From the backseat, Jones glanced at the buildings and noticed nothing but bars, strip clubs, and T-shirt shops, and none of them looked very old. “Levon? Are you telling me that Spain had nude dancing back in the seventeen hundreds?”
Greene laughed. “If they did, I doubt the conquistadors would’ve ever left. No, this is the one part of the French Quarter that has been ruined by modern-day greed. If you want to experience the true character of this area, you need to explore the side streets. That’s where you’ll find the flavor of the early settlers.”
Payne suddenly looked at Greene in a whole new light. He always knew that Greene was intelligent, but he never realized the ex-linebacker had a passion for history. In the past, their playground conversations never got beyond street basketball and life in the NFL. “I have to admit, Levon, I’m kind of surprised. You never seemed to be the type of person who cared about the events of early America. Now you sound like a tour guide.”
“I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be a compliment or not.”
“Yes,” he assured Greene, “it’s a compliment.”
“Thanks. I guess ever since I hurt my knee I’ve had the opportunity to do a lot of things that I wouldn’t have done earlier in my career. One of those things is historical research. I’ve been reading a lot of books on the past, trying to picture what life used to be like down here before the nineteen hundreds. As you can imagine, it was a much different place.”
Payne nodded as they pulled up in front of the Fishing Hole, a nightclub where the marquee boasted “the Prettiest Girls in
Nude
Orleans.” After parking, the three men walked to the front door and were quickly greeted by a bouncer who recognized Greene. With a slight nod, he allowed the trio to enter the club for free. Payne and Jones followed Greene into the smoke-filled lobby and were immediately taken aback by the first thing they saw: the couch dance room.
Similar in design to the orgy rooms of the Roman Empire, the room consisted of ten couches scattered around a spacious chamber. For a twenty-dollar tip, a naked vixen led an eager man to one of the black leather couches. During the course of a song, she would attempt to seduce him by rubbing, sliding, and grinding against his fully clothed body. Her goal was simple: convince him to purchase another song. And it wasn’t a tough sale. Mix horny men with inexpensive alcohol, naked women, and heavy petting, and there’s a better chance that a guy will file for bankruptcy before saying no to a beautiful stripper.
Strolling between the couches, Payne and Jones gaped at the erotic scene that unfolded around them while Greene chuckled with childlike delight.
“It’s kind of hypnotic, isn’t it?” asked Greene. “I always enjoy watching the crowd that stands along the walls. You’ll see an awful lot of perverts with their hands in their pockets, if you know what I mean.”
Both men knew what he meant, but that didn’t mean they wanted to watch it.
“What are we doing here?” Payne asked. “Is it for the scenery, or did we come here to meet somebody in particular?”
“Actually, both. The main guy I wanted you to speak to is the owner of this club. And since I didn’t want you fellas to come to New Orleans without having a chance to experience Bourbon Street, I told him that we would meet him here. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”
Jones continued to stare at the naked females and shook his head. “Nope, doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, I’m tempted to borrow twenty bucks.”
Payne grabbed Jones by the arm and pulled him into the hallway. “Come on, D.J., get your mind in the game. If we start to lose focus, we could miss something important.”
“Sorry,” Jones muttered, his face flushed with embarrassment. “But the only time I see stuff like this is late night on Cinemax.”
Greene led Payne and Jones through a back corridor, and before long they were strolling through the dancers’ dressing room. Surprisingly, none of the undressed women were bothered by the men’s presence. When they reached the back corner of the room, Greene spoke to the security guard who stood outside of a private office. “Let Terrell know I’m here. He’s expecting me.” The guard quickly opened the thick metal door to get authorization from the club’s owner but noticed that he was on the phone.
“It’ll be one minute, Mr. Greene. Mr. Murray is finishing up a call.”
Greene nodded, then returned his attention to Payne and Jones. It was time to supply them with some background information on the man they were about to meet. “Terrell Murray is one of the most influential men in New Orleans, even though you’ll rarely hear his name mentioned in high society. He tends to stay out of politics and high finance and prefers to deal with the seedier side of the city-strip clubs, prostitution, gambling, and so on. Very few things of an illegal nature get done in Orleans Parish without his permission or knowledge, so there is a very good chance that he’ll be able to point us in the right direction.”