Lou’s had a reputation in Knoxville. Even I knew that from having just worked in town for a little while. Lou’s was the place you went if you needed to find the mafia.
Travis parked and got out of the car. I followed him. As we got closer to the entrance, he stopped and faced me. “Maybe you should wait in the car,” he said. “This might go poorly.”
“I’m sticking with you,” I said, trying to sound brave even though I didn’t really feel it.
He smiled. “I know that. But still.”
“No. Let’s do this.”
He gave me a long look and then nodded. “Okay then.”
I followed him and we pushed inside, walking into Lou’s.
I’d been here once before, back when I first came to town. I’d come here to find the Dixie Mafia, almost exactly like this. And just like that night, the place was crowded with mean-looking men who glared at us as we walked inside. An old jukebox was playing country music in the corner, and everything looked like it was older than the ocean. Chipped wood, faded varnish, and deer heads were the decorations of choice.
Travis moved through the crowd, barely looking around, and stopped at the bar. I stayed close to him and leaned up against the wood, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. That was hard, though, since I was one of maybe four women in the whole place, and definitely the youngest.
“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked Travis.
“I’m here for Culver.”
The bartender paused and glanced at a guy sitting at the end of the bar. He looked back at us. “How’d you know that name?”
“Tell Culver that Travis Rock is here.”
The bartender paused and then walked over to the man he had glanced at, a guy in his forties, balding and fat. The man glanced at us and then disappeared into a back room.
Not long after, the fat man returned. He walked straight up to us and didn’t say a word, just gestured with his head for us to follow. Travis glanced at me and gave me a little smile before following the man. He held the back door open and we stepped into the room.
It was dim and smoky, with a large TV on the back wall playing a football game. Five men sat at a poker table. Hoyt and Guff were there, plus three other guys I’d never seen before.
And sitting in the back corner watching the TV screen was Culver. He looked up as we entered.
“Ah, there he is, Travis Rock.” Culver stood up and the other men all stared.
“Culver,” Travis said. “Boys.” He nodded at them.
They ignored him.
“To what do we owe this visit?” Culver asked, walking over.
“I got an update on my progress,” Travis said.
Culver smiled his creepy grin and gestured. “Go ahead.”
“Visited the Caldwell compound the other night. Killed one guard, nearly killed another. I saw the shipment.”
Culver nodded. “Good. So you know where it is.”
“I do. But here’s the thing. There’s way more than just fifty grand worth of stuff and drugs in there. Frankly, it’s at least double that.”
Culver continued smiling. “Probably true.”
“I can’t steal all that without help. I need a team of guys if I’m going to pull it off.”
Culver nodded at the boys playing poker. “They can help with that.”
“No,” Travis said firmly. “I’m hiring my own team from guys I trust. But I’ll need cash.”
Culver frowned. “Why would we give you more money? You’re trying to work yourself out of debt.”
“Five grand,” he said. “I’ll hire the muscle, get your shit back. You know you’re going to be making a big profit off this.”
“We’re already at a loss. You’re helping us break even.”
“I’m helping you steal your own shipment plus whatever else they had in there, which will definitely make this worth your money.”
Culver stroked his chin and glanced at Hoyt, who simply crossed his arms and shrugged. Culver looked back and stared at me.
“What do you think, Miss Hartley? Is our boy here going too far?”
“I trust him,” I said simply, too afraid to say more.
“I’m sure you do.” Culver looked away. “Guff, Heber, take these two out back and shoot them.”
Guff and another man stood up. Travis, however, reached for his holster, his gun in his hand but not drawn.
“Hold on now,” Travis said. “That’s a mistake.”
“You’re pushing my patience, Travis. We want this job done. We don’t want to invest more money. I simply decided to get rid of you two and to use my own local talent to pull this off.”
The man named Heber stepped up to Travis, his hand on his gun. Travis stared the man down. “You draw, you die,” Travis said. “Not a man in here can outdraw me, least of all you.”