Whispers in the bayou... Another night slid through the rotten teeth of Laveau, and the bayou whispered secrets between the slick brick alleys. Word dripped from the marina that someone snuck illicit cargo off a battered trawler—boxes that glowed faint in the dark, guarded by men who didn’t blink at gunfire. Meanwhile, at the Barracuda, an argument between a wildcard regular and a Syndicate hardcase left a shattered glass and more than one black eye for the floor to clean up. And atop the old jazz bar’s balcony, a shadow broker met with desperate souls, peddling rumors that the Penitentiary’s silence is about to break. Watch your back—Laveau’s hungry.
