Now in New Orleans, he seemed determined to win the election for mayor, in spite of not being from the area. It wasn’t easy to do. If you weren’t a local, New Orleans residents probably weren’t going to vote for you.
“I’m gonna grab us some waters,” said Jean. He walked into the small convenience store and noticed the woman behind the counter crying, holding her abdomen.
“Ma’am? Are you alright?” he asked. He turned toward the door and yelled. “Hey, Doc? I need you in here.”
“It’s alright. I’ll be alright. That damn man,” she mumbled. Doc rushed to her side, helping her to sit behind the counter.
“What happened?” asked Doc.
“He’s damn determined to force me to put election signs in here and get people to vote for him. I ain’t votin’ for no outsider that’s tryin’ to tear down our park.”
“I’m going to lift your shirt, alright?” asked Doc softly.
“You ain’t gonna see nothin’ good, sweetie. But you’re a cutie, so go ahead.” Jean smirked at his friend as he lifted her t-shirt. Her abdomen was bruised, evidence of someone punching or kicking the woman.
“When did this happen?” growled Jean.
“Uh, is he mad at me?” she asked Doc.
“No, ma’am. But he damn sure is mad, and that might be the worst thing Mr. Snow could have done.”
“You knew who I was talkin’ about?” she frowned.
“Yes, ma’am. We’re about to ruin Mr. Snow’s parade,” said Doc. “Go, Jean. Ya’ll go find him, and I’ll take care of my friend here…”
“Winnie.”
“Winnie. I’ll take care of Winnie.” Jean nodded at Doc and headed out to the Square. He had an armload of bottled waters and set down a fifty-dollar bill.
“That’s too much!” yelled Winnie.
“Don’t worry about it,” smiled Doc. “Coming in here was worth every penny of it.”
“What’s going on in there?” asked Ian.
“Snow and his buddies beat up the old lady that runs the store. Apparently, he was trying to force her to carry his election signs and support his candidacy.”
“He damn sure likes to lay his hands on little old ladies,” frowned Miller. “I think it’s time we met him face to face.”
Antoine held up a finger, cocking his head. The others listened, then heard it as well. Someone with a bullhorn was trying to gather a crowd. They looked around the outer square, then saw the open truck slowly moving toward them.
“I believe that’s our man,” frowned Nine. “A little old-fashioned for my tastes, but then again, if he has no digital footprint, he could get away with a lot more than most people.”
The truck stopped, and Snow was doing everything in his power to gather a crowd. His tactics were old-fashioned and clumsy, almost as if he’d never run for office before. He was waving at women and children, giving out balloons and candy. It was all very strange.
“It’s time for a change, folks! We need to move out the trash and bring in modern condos and office space. It’s been toolong of doing things the old way here in New Orleans. We want to attract the right kind of people to our fair city. Not the trash!”
“Go away, boy,” yelled an old man on the corner. “We told ‘ya. We ain’t votin’ for a man who knows nothin’ about our city. You call our city and our people trash again, and I’ll show you what this old man can do.”
Nine watched as one of the men on the truck hopped off and circled toward the old man. He held a baton, which no doubt was the cattle prod.
“I got him,” said Alec.
Alec worked his way toward the old man, arriving just as the bodyguard reached for him. But instead of his cattle prod making a direct connection, it was blocked, stripped from his hand, broken in half, and then shoved in his mouth.
“Hey! Hey, what are you doing?” yelled Snow.
“I’m teaching your dog a lesson,” said Alec. Snow nodded toward three other men who were promptly met by Miller, Ghost, Antoine, Gaspar, and Nine.
