She sighs, and I realize she’s not happy. But I also know she understands this needs to be done. I have to be there. And I’m thankful when sleep steals me quickly.
It’s still dark when I slip into the backseat of the car, along with Kahn and two of his men, Fletch and Amir. Both have been with us for years, and now that I’m out on a job with them, I can appreciate just how nerve-wracking it is because anything could go wrong.
I know this.
I’ve always known this.
But being on the front line is different.
The vehicle weaves its way through the empty streets. I didn’t think it would be this quiet, especially for a city like New Orleans, but thankfully, we’re under the cloak of darkness when he finally pulls up to the enormous building that’s shadowed by night.
There aren’t any stragglers around which is good. As we exit, my feet crunch on the hard ground. The gates of the convent are shut, but a couple of our guys, all dressed in black, make a move to slide it open, which it does, with a squeak.
We wait.
With bated breath, guns in hand, and masks covering our faces, we slip through the crack between the two ornate gates. The property looks even bigger up close. A garden that’s filled with trees which offer great hiding places, but then again, if someone is trying to escape, it may not be so good.
There’s a couple of benches under a few of the trees, and one closer to the entrance, where the large sign hangs, and I know what it says without needing to read it—St Jude’s Church & Convent.
We move quietly, but quickly toward the entrance. There are three from what we saw on the blueprints, and we station a few men at each. Kahn takes the lead, with Alex—who arrived a few hours ago—and I following behind him as he manages to get the heavy wooden door to slide open.
Silence greets us when we step into the dark space. From the sliver of the moon which illuminates the stained-glass windows, I can make out the pews lined from the back of the church to the front. Beside a metal rack of flickering candles is the pulpit, and to my left are a couple of confessional booths.
We each take an aisle, Kahn the center, Alex the left, and I take the right. As we make our way closer to the altar, I notice the crosses on the floor. When I reach another wooden door, this one smaller, I try the lock, which clicks open, leading me into an office space.
Using the flashlight, I move to the desk and shine a light on the top, where there are papers strewn haphazardly across the surface. It looks like random application forms with girl’s names on them. Some have photos which make my stomach roll.
Leaving those, I head to the right of the room, where there’s a filing cabinet. Two of the drawers are locked, causing frustration to burn through me. Luckily, the last one is open. Rifling through the tabs, I find names printed on each one, and my chest tightens when I find names with the letter B because staring back at me is a name I never expected to see in here—Bardot.
I’m not sure what it means, but I pull the file out and stuff it in the front of my hoodie. It seems the family my brother and I are trying to take down are linked with the church.
I head back out into the church to find Alex and Kahn waiting for me. “Let’s go.” I try to ignore their stares. We make our way out into the courtyard which forms a circle. This is where the convent is. The girl’s rooms are meant to be surrounding this fountain, which has a statue of Mother Mary looking down at anyone who stands beneath the flowing water.
The other men slip into the courtyard from various directions, and with one final breath, we signal to move. And that’s when all hell breaks loose. The doors are kicked in, screaming erupts from the young women who thought they would be in bed for the night.
Two men stumble out in sweatpants, and they’re immediately taken by the Italians. Alex’s men move quickly, and soon, most of the girls have been ushered through to the exit, with each man explaining why we’re here and where they’ll be taken.
I notice relief on their faces, but when I glance over at Kahn, the anxiety has his fists clenched, and his face is drawn with pure heartbreak. I go to him, knowing he won’t want to talk, but just offering silent support.
We watch as the anti-climax of wanting to find Lorenzo settles over the men. The priests who were here are taken away, and something tells me there’s more to all of this than meets the eye.