The Bordello on the Bayou

By Stephen C. Hill

“Bordello on the Bayou” is a story of a DJ who gets caught up in a gangster world of prostitutes, big money, gambling and the murder of his friend. Book One

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen C. Hill
• Release date: Jul 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9780986009235

Stephen C. Hill

Born in Atlanta, Georgia. Graduate of Georgia State University. Divorced. Lives in Sarasota, Florida.

Book preview

BOOK ONE

Thank you for choosing to read the first installment of a four novel series.

This E Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. I hope you enjoy the story.

If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for your friends.

I ask that you please respect the hard work and endless hours of deep thought and creative thinking to tell this story.

All the characters and situations appearing in this work are fictitious.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

No malice, slander, libel or harm is intended toward any person, company, brand name or location.

I do make mistakes, especially with some research and my grammar may waiver a tad, here and there.

All rights reserved

Copyright 2013

ISBN# 978-0-9860092-3-5

The Bordello on the Bayou

Prologue

My name is William Bill Hendricks.

My stage name is Wild Bill!

I am a professional disc jockey, who has traveled throughout the Eastern United States performing for school dances, night clubs, weddings, conventions and large scale events.

I have more than 30 years of experience mixing and producing music for dancing.

Between Disc Jockey engagements, I often take a side job, such as driving deliveries: Auto parts, legal documents and food.

My life has been a series of ‘ups and downs’ and currently my life is in a down cycle.

My attitude is you have to go with the flow.

Having little or no money has affected my life, dramatically

The problem is I am aging out of the music scene and I have had a problem getting any work as a Disc Jockey. I need a good paying Disc Jockey job to right the ship, until I can get established in another complimentary career field..

I have worked for clients in High Society and worked for those in the worker class.

Traveling as a Disc Jockey has provided a good living to me, until the real estate crash in the early 2000’s.

I have seen, heard and experienced many situations. Some of which would curl my late Mother’s ears.

I have accepted a job in a night club to work full time, in Metairie, Louisiana,

a bedroom community of New Orleans, Louisiana.

Metairie has beautiful town square with tree lined, moss covered trees, tropical flowers, cobblestone and paved walkways and alligators.

Lovely sunrises and sunsets glistening off of the canals filled with aquatic life, birds and did I say, alligators.

The owner of the night club has rented a room for me for the month and advanced me $2000 dollars of the $4000 dollars agreed upon as a contract price for my services.

Victor Montenegro has never met me, yet, he says I come highly recommended.

Thank you, whoever you are.

Upon my arrival in Metairie, I called the number I had for the owner. The person who answered said, Victor would be returning in a few days and that I was to relax and see the city. The person I was talking with added that the club would be opening soon.

I asked when?

Victor will call you.

OK, I said, as I clicked my phone off.

Having been stiffed on engagements before, I placed an ad on Craig’s list, explaining my interest in delivering food, small packages or documents for people.

Chapter One

I’m looking for a driver, said the woman on the other end of the line.

Thinking I can handle almost any small parcel driving job, I said I’d meet, for an appointment.

We set the time for 3:00 pm the next day and my mind started racing.

She gave me the address.

I’ve got a job interview to drive!

With the money I got from the advance on my contract and my meager savings account, I figured I could spend a month in Metairie and then head back home, all the while paying my Atlanta apartment rent, insurance, phone bill and food..

That was a quick response to my ad.

I didn’t care about the degree of difficulty, as long as everything was above board.

Not going to be involved with anything illegal, like delivering drugs or trafficking human beings.

Her voice sounded nice but, you really never know.

What do I wear?

I know I need to shave and, oh, should I wear a tie?

The reason for the frenzy is my lack of work.

My bank account crashed along with the market during the economic downturn of the early 2000’s.

I had invested heavily in real estate with my music earnings.

I literally lost everything, I owned.

I sold whatever possessions I had in order to eat.

All of my clothes, nice suits, dress shirts, shoes and the accoutrements, down to my favorite 14ct. gold cufflinks..

I always possessed good manners, but now, I had to scramble to look professional.

So I threw together my get-a job upscale look sharp wardrobe.

When you need money to eat, any object or bodily fluid can be sold.

Prostitution crossed my mind but, a balding 50 year old is not considered HOT in any circles.

Thinking of being a gigolo to women, I asked myself, who am I kidding?

I thought of other options but, I wasn’t interested in facing jail time.

I need this job, if only, as a part time gig.

Parsing together my interview outfit, the sound of my new job employer‘s voice began to ring in my head.

I had heard music in the background, when she paused to give me my appointment time.

She has a sweet southern drawl.

For some reason, I felt she needed a driver to take her shopping and to the grocery.

Not a difficult job.

Being a valet to a wealthy woman would be an easy gig.

Ah, there are my dress Topsiders.

Better try them on.

The thought of having a woman boss, rambled through my brain.

Do whatever she asks regarding the job.

Some bosses are crazier than others, so learn to bite your lip and remain quiet.

I clicked back from daydreaming and focused on my task at hand.

If you don’t have something and you don’t have any money to buy something, then the choice is simple.

Make what you have work for you.

Trying to be something you are not, will soon be exposed.

I have learned that you make your first and lasting impression in the first 30 seconds of meeting someone new.

I felt good, about getting this job and I can use the money.

I hope she'll see through my well worn outfit and hire me.

Chapter Two

‘Do it right the first time’ is a quote, I have always remembered.

In my case, being on time is the best way to start off on the right foot.

My obsessive compulsive personality drives me to be on time.

I do my job correctly and expect for others to be responsible in meeting our agreements.

Not always the way work gets done but, I like to make an effort.

Inwardly, I laugh at myself for gettin' dreamy again.

Her voice and the phone call about the job, made me wonder.

Who is this person, who needs someone to drive for her?

It was a Craig’s list ad and I'm not certain, whether it's a personal driver or a company driver?

Could be a come on or a game to rob me.

Ok, I’m pick up my hat, and my iPad and say to myself, let’s find out if this job offer is legitimate, I’ll do some sleuthing, like, Sherlock Holmes!

I’ve got the address, so I’ll drive by the address and check it out.

The address is on the other side of town in the downtown Metairie business district.

Not a residential neighborhood.

Will my old beat up, always breaking down, Buick Century sedan get me to work.

I wonder if I’ll drive a delivery car for this woman?

The condition of my car always bothers me.

And driving deliveries can add to the wear and tear on an older model car.

However, I refuse to pay an outrageous interest rate (28%) in order to buy a better car.

My financial hardships opened my eyes to the division between the classes.

I lost my SUV and had to make payments on the Buick, whose owner agreed that the IRS and finance companies sucked. No remorse, if you don’t pay.

If you are poor, expect to have to pay more to exist.

Truth is, I didn’t have enough money to buy another late model car, in better shape than mine.

I’ll just have to pray I can get the job and if I have to use my car, I’ll ask for an additional fee to put toward repairs.

Maybe I can get the club job going and also drive as a second hustle to save enough for a sizable down payment or at least a lease.

The address is in a commercial area?

The map icon says The Chicken Kitchen is on the main artery named Metairie Ave., next to a Walgreens drugstore.

Oh good, a restaurant that serves chicken.

I love good fried chicken.

They need a delivery driver, oh this is good!

Nothing I haven’t done before; being a food delivery guy, nothing special!

I can do this!

Chapter Three

I eased my car into a parking lot space, across the street from the address.

I can easily see the front door.

The Chicken Kitchen, looks like a normal everyday restaurant business.

It property could be on any main street, of any suburban city in America.

The restaurant was a one level building, adjacent to a three story building, with a Walgreens drug store on the ground floor.

From what I could see of the exterior of the restaurant, the Chicken Kitchen had some cute outdoor tables with beer company advertising displayed on the opened umbrellas. Tropical plants were in flower boxes and under the front picture window. Large potted palms stood guard at the front door.

From my vantage point, I can see the familiar logos of the credit card companies; Visa, Master Charge and American Express on the outside entrance doors.

There are about thirty parking spaces in a lot, next to the building.

There is a side lot and probably an alley in the back for deliveries.

Someone with a brown paper bag and a drink carrier is coming out of the side door.

Maybe business is so good, they need a second driver.

I can make tips off the deliveries and be able to eat every day.

This could be the job to keep me going until the club opens!

Living in a rented motel room for $100 a week, on the road, is as inexpensive as it gets. However it is boring for me when I have too much time to goof off.

I enjoy interacting with people.

And I am tired of eating pasta day after day, it’s cheap, but fattening, although it’s better than the alternative.

I can handle some fried chicken.

Nothing unusual for me to work a delivery job, when the music jobs were scarce!

I was well known in the Radio/DJ business and now I have to hustle to find work.

I was so popular that I created a Musical booking agency for other artists and Disc Jockeys/ It did very well for a number of years.

My clients liked my taste in music and wanted to book me every week, I could only be in one place at a time, so I recruited live bands and more Disc Jockeys to my roster, who would play or were playing my style and flavor of music.

Five things happened to change my life!

I began to age out of doing live DJ shows for schools, which was my bread and butter.

A competitor, who had twenty agents to my three, outspent me and eventually took over my market area and stole my best talent, so I closed my talent agency,

No matter how much I tried, I just could not be comfortable performing at weddings. Same script, different bride and always a bad drunk or two, who inadvertently or deliberately wanted to take over the party with his music or attitude. So with no weddings, no bands and no schools calling, I resorted to working in clubs again.

I lost my ass when the real estate market crashed.

And the Coup de Gras was my second wife. Loved her to death and she loved to try to cause my death, several times.

A folksy radio commercial comes on the radio and the announcer says;

At the "Chicken Kitchen, we can't be beat for our burgers.

We grill over real charcoal and use high quality meat!"

We also serve delicious, seafood sandwiches, Catfish, Crab cakes and Shrimp!

Nothing tastes better than their good ‘ol hot chili cheese fries.

The barbecue sauce is divine. We are open late and have an ATM!

We accept all major credit cards...Come party hardy at the Chicken Kitchen 550 Metairie Avenue, next door to Walgreens.

We’re open late, seven days a week. If you can’t stop by, we deliver!"

And some crazy little theme song is playing underneath the announcer’s voice singing;

"You’ll love Lickin’ our chicken, Lickin’ our chicken at the Chicken Kitchen!

Chapter Four

As I turned down the radio, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young woman walking on the sidewalk, toward my car. I had the windows open because, as I learned, it gets very humid in Metairie and my air conditioning was on the fritz/

As she walked past my car, I noticed her hourglass figure, a large black tote bag, black high heels and patterned stockings.

Her blouse was an exquisite purple with gold striped blouse matched with a tight, form fitting black skirt, separated by a wide black belt. She was carrying her phone and had bracelets hanging from her wrists.

She had long dark hair to her shoulders. I couldn’t see her eyes, which were covered by some nice looking sunglasses.

I continued to stare. I would have said something but, she caught me by surprise.

The woman was medium height and from my view, she would be someone I would like to get to know. Maybe I might get lucky, if I delivered some chicken to her home. Yum

She suddenly stopped at the alley I had used to get to my parking spot and adjusted her skirt, flipped her hair with her free hand and then continued to walk across the street, stopping at the front doors of the restaurant.

Her purple blouse moved ever so slightly, when she adjusted her skirt, exposing the outline of her ample breasts.

Her look profiled a secretary or a professional woman, except her black skirt was a bit too tight.

Nice looking woman! Wow!

She stood at the door for a moment, turned to look across the street and some sea birds where cackling, when she opened her bag and took something out. I saw the barrel flash and heard the rap-rap of a small caliber pistol.

Both birds fell off their perch, on a cable running from a telephone pole to the third floor of the building, next to the restaurant. She shot one of the birds in mid-flight.

She looked over at me and I signaled a thumbs up. She smiled and sashayed into the restaurant. She was a very good shot. Not someone you would want to have to use their weapon, unless you were on their side.

A busboy or kitchen worker came out of the restaurant doors with a plastic bag and a broom, in his hands.

He swept the bird carcasses into the plastic bag and retreated into the restaurant. I sat for a moment expecting a patrol car to drive by the scene but, none appeared,

This is definitely not like my hometown.

After that display of excellent marksmanship and day dreaming of an erotic encounter, I cranked the old Buick up and decided to check out the surrounding neighborhood.

I'm killing time, until my appointment tomorrow and talking out loud to myself.

It looks like the restaurant backs up to an industrial park and there are signs for a school nearby.

Plenty of little chicken-eaters to deliver food to, when Mama doesn’t want to cook!

She was some kinda good looking woman. Whew.

Welcome to Metairie!

Good!

I continue driving and discover a shopping mall, a 24 hour pharmacy and a coin operated laundry.

I only came to this town to work as a DJ in a club. Although when I would make my debut in Metairie, Louisiana was still up in the air.

Seeing women like the mysterious bird hunter made the day rush by.

Chapter Five

So how do you kill time in a small town in Louisiana?

You become a tourist to pass the time.

You eat, sleep, watch TV, listen to the radio or play video games.

You can write or even practice spinning records in your room.

You visit the local library.

To keep your mind busy, you visit the local historical sites or museums.

Drinking in bars gets old and sometimes can be dangerous! Besides who want to drink alone?

Fortunately for me, I had decided to write a career book about what it takes to begin to work as a Disc Jockey. My book was something I had saved on my laptop for times like this.

When you are in a small town, you might as well have a target painted on your face and your car.

Everyone wants to know your business. Where you are from, why you are here and are you staying or leaving?

The police, or in this case, the local sheriff, will know every car tag in town.

I once had a county sheriff tell me his officers knew every car in a residential population of 50,000.

I asked how?

He said, My deputies cruise the local tavern and restaurant parking lots and run tag checks on every car, they do not recognize.

I thought they just looked for speeders, stolen cars, and expired tags. In a ssuburbia, everyone can be a snitch. Although, getting caught snitching, might net you a visit, to meet the alligators, in the nearby swamps!

You are wrong Sir! Our job is to protect and serve. We like to keep the voting public safe. We’re here to catch you, if you do something wrong!

Guess that is why the well known crooks always seem to be found in the bigger towns.

Lost in the crowd, Safety in numbers, so to speak, I said to myself.

I suppose the bad guys believe, if they don’t bother anybody, no one will care.

With all the new technology, why do people continue to commit crimes?

If you can't outrun the radio, avoid facial recognition technology, fingerprints and DNA evidence, how are you going to get lost in a crowd, where no one can find you?

Appears to be difficult to just disappear, nowadays!

So now, I am living in a little town and I'll have to watch my P and Qs.

I have been known to enjoy a cocktail, so I need to be cautious.

Just hoping I can catch on at the, Chicken Kitchen.

I wonder if they serve beer or booze or both at the restaurant.

Ok, so much for the reconnaissance of my new temporary home, as I turn around and retrace my route.

I'm ready to crash for the night!

My appointment is tomorrow and I want to get this job.

Chapter Six

Big day ahead! I hop out of bed and I need some coffee. I love coffee!

Of all the worldly things I have to have daily, besides a shower, is coffee.

Gets me going every day and I love the smell and the taste.

Funny to me, how the smell of something, like coffee, can trigger a pleasurable memory.

Many of the women in my life, I remember, not for the wild times, but for the coffee in the morning.

A beautiful woman waiting in bed and a great cup of Joe is the way to start a great day.

One of two isn’t so bad, at this point.

Got all my clothes together, know where I have to be and I’m going to score this job.

Whenever you interview for a job, if possible, learn something about the company you are going to work for.

So I opened up my iPad tablet and went to the yellow pages and looked up the Chicken Kitchen again.

Within a couple of clicks, I was at their website and checked on their menu.

Plenty of red meat, chicken-three ways, fish, and chili cheese fries.

Catfish, clams, shrimp and then that crazy little commercial began to play as a musical bed for the website.

"You’ll love Lickin’ our chicken, Lickin’ our chicken at the Chicken Kitchen! Catchy but, so stupid!

Well, it is small town America and another part time job and the memory of the luscious woman, who walked past me, yesterday.

Do they serve booze at the Kitchen?

No, only beer!

Damn! I’ll have to find someplace that serves Southern Comfort!

The site had a few more tabs, so I clicked through.

Ok, started doing business in 1947 by a man named Bob Massey.

The restaurant was on Metairie Ave., the entire time but, had moved further up the main drag toward downtown in 1964.

The move pleased the local churches, according to a newspaper clip, I read.

I checked Google to see if there was any more pertinent information.

Let’s see, open seven days a week, ATM Machine, Wi-Fi, Party rooms, and we deliver!

Looks good! The joint could be fun place to work, for the time being.

Place didn’t look that big.

When I get a chance I’ll explore the interior!

I closed the site and moved to read the news from my hometown Atlanta, Georgia.

I looked at the BILLBOARD music magazine site and a few others and the phone buzzed.

Hello, this is Bill Hendricks!

I heard someone talking but, with mobile phones the audio quality can be horrendous, at times.

Dropped calls are part of owning a mobile phone.

Can you speak up? I can’t hear you very well!

Oh, hey, how’s it going at the club?

Great, when do you think we will open, I ask the man who had hired me, over the phone?

Oh, about 5 weeks, tapping my calendar app.

I mentioned the extended time and he answered that my contract will be renewed every month until the club opens. And the room rent will be paid, plus a $1100 kicker for being patient.

Sounds good, Mr. Montenegro, I’m looking forward to opening the club for you.

I am hoping to be hired at the Chicken Kitchen, as a day time delivery driver for a few weeks, I said to him..

Don’t know a thing about the place, I answered an ad!

I sat listening as the owner of the club, Victor Montenegro told me some things that alerted my cautious nature.

Really, Video Poker for sex!

I’ve never ever heard of that before.

What, you get a full house and you get your rocks off?

Do you get anything extra, for a Royal Flush, I said jokingly?

I heard him laugh and I laughed with him!

I listened in amazement, as he explained the operation of the Video Poker -Whore house.

"It’s not a wham-bam-thank- you-Ma’am, see ya later, whore house, he explained. It’s like a South of the border, Bordello.

You can gamble the entire night, have sex and then, have breakfast in the morning.

You can stay for weeks if you have the money", he contributed.

"You can have as many women as you want and no House money is involved.

Technically, since no money is exchanged and there is nothing in the Louisiana law which states, other compensation is illegal, the Chicken Kitchen Bordello is a money maker."

He said it was a gray area and the owner had to work closely with the local law enforcement folks to stay open.

My immediate thought was bribes, but who knows how it stays open?

I learned the top-shelf Bordello girls were available depending on how much money you pumped into the machines!

Holding the phone away from my ear, as he was getting louder, he sketched out the laws and why the place can remain in business. The joint has a Federal gaming license, and he added you have to be vetted electronically to even enter the upstairs.

The Chicken Kitchen is a high class operation!"

I said to him, I'm not too certain about working in a whore house,

He repeated that the Chicken Kitchen was a high class operation and was known throughout the Southeast.

I remembered the words of some of my Black musician friends;

Some women are just plain ol’ crazy, outta their minds, all in it, for the money or the position in life!

I said to him, well, I’m going to deliver chicken and dinners, I think?

I’m not really big enough or mean enough to be a pimp!

And I’m not going to jail for prostitution.

I could hear him laughing at my embarrassment.

I was serious but, I guess he thought I was scared.

No, I haven't met the owner.

No, I wouldn't know her, if she walked up and said Hello.

She sounded nice on the phone, I said.

Yes, her name was Belle Massey.

He was very complimentary of the owner.

He said she was a good business woman and that she ran a tight ship.

She expected loyal and tight-lipped employees.

I was thinking to myself...yeah…especially if you have prostitutes working for you.

I wanted to ask him about the woman I had seen earlier and he didn’t seem to know her, from my description. He replied you don’t have to worry about seeing girls at Belle’s place, they are everywhere but, don’t get caught fraternizing with them, she is strict and obsessed with protecting them.

I thanked him for the information and said I was looking forward to meeting him in person and getting to DJ, as soon as possible,

I wanted to get off the phone bt, he had other ideas.

He asked if I had any experience working with prostitutes.

I chuckled and said my first experience was as a college freshman, at a place called Effie’s in Athens, Georgia.

It cost $10 bucks to get laid, I said.

I heard his belly laugh fill his empty night club.

I told him I had worked in