Finish The Story Contest: a familial gathering

This ending is part of the Finish the Story Contest, the 13th contest so far. Click here to see the contest...

The Prompt by @f3nix

What the fuck is doing a punk-rock band like the Tortillas de Pelo – a bunch of idiots who think a jam session is a type of orgy –in New Orleans, the homeland of jazz? You won’t believe it, but this is the simplest part of the whole story.
There’s no doubt that the Tortillas play like dogs. The fact is that "play like dogs" is still too euphemistic to describe the kind of noise that this band of demented produces: a concoction between an alpenhorn’s bellow, played by a crack whore, and the fornication of a pigeon with a dying elephant.
The only consequence can't be other than their chronic broke-ass status.
The money made in Saint Judas was drying up faster than their beer reserves and they quickly needed an idea, before their musical independence was jeopardized. In case the band couldn't self-sustain anymore, the alternative would have been to go back working as clerks in the filthiest sex shop of all New York, property of a third cousin of Machete.
That’s why - in front of the chance of a payment that, for once, was not limited to the booze during the concert - Mendoza did not hesitate to sell the Tortillas as refined jazz musicians and to conclude an engagement for a wealthy cocks’ private party in Louisiana. This was not before having sold to the organizer, a certain Madame Laveau, a whole amount of references, later confirmed by an old alcoholic xylophonist in debt with Mendo for a couple of favors.
After all, what did it take to learn a bit of fuckin’ jazz? They would have had plenty of time during the long trip aboard their rusty van to try something.

The Chevy left The Big Easy behind, spinning along Interstate 10 as a suppository stuck in a well-oiled colon. Mendoza stood thoughtfully at the back of the van, laying his back on his Marshall tube amp and using a tangle of wires like a pillow. From the window, the monotonous landscape did not show much of the bayou beyond the trees, beckoned only by a group of herons.
The singer thought back to that absurd weekend, all those hours of travel just to be thrown out from the sumptuous farmhouse immediately after their first song "Spiderman has hemorrhoids". He did not understand: the arrangement in a jazz fashion should have worked. Fortunately, they had not left empty-handed from that party of pricks. Machete had stolen a strange mask that had all the appearance of being ancient and very precious.
In fact, readily resold in the French Quarter, the mask had yielded them a nice nest egg. Everything that had happened after the sale of the object was very confused in his mind and had to do with Cajun boudin and cracklins, sailing in rivers of Brandy and Gin. He also remembered anatomically confused female details and, in the chaos, the blissy and sweaty face of Tres Culos, who was watching him clinging to a huge seventy-year-old-heavily-made-up lady like a lemur to a baobab.
He smirked… this was part of a true punk-rocker’s life, too. The fresh air filled the van and laid a regenerating feeling of unrealized adventures on his tired face and... fresh air?!
"Tìo Billy... for the dangling Jude’s nuts! Tell me that TC is there in front close to you"asked the singer, his voice imperceptibly trembling.
"What the fuck are you talking about, Mendo? Isn’t he there with you, farting as usual? " In answering, the drummer's voice had lost courage and momentum while something was becoming clear even for a Machete in the grip of his obsessive-compulsive riffs: Tres Culos was missing.
The sound of the nailing Van recalled a moan. The same prolonged moan that, at that moment, not far from the interstate 10, filtered through the basement of an old ruin among the cypress trees of the bayou.

Ending by @theironfelix

Tres culos wakes up in a blur chained to a pipe. Yet able to make out a cage in front of him with two white suits posted at it with shotguns and a third white suit to his left. Yet that Suit was distinct with a bowler hat on top and a black rose attached to his breast pocket. The Suit seeing him wake speaks first:

"Well Sonny Jim, you're awake. Bit of a mess, yes, but I think sober enough to tell me what I need. I found out that you had a mask thanks to a lil' ole lady that you slept with, but please hold your bile in. So: tell me where the mask is or I'll have my pet at it with you... gunners please wake it up."

The gunners proceed to bash the cage with the buts of the rifles and the creature reacted violently before subsiding. The creature appeared as a four-arm human donned with another white suit and a fancy animal mask covering its face. But before Tres Culos could respond to the Suit's demands, Machete, Mendoza and Tìo Billy burst into the room to save Tres Culos but Madame Laveau steps in as well. Yet the gunners point the guns all at them but the Suit shouts:

"Stop, hold it. What the... Big Sis Lav?"

"Monsieur Laveau, compose yourself. I wasn't your sister the second Father bastar...

"Compose yourself as well Big Sis. I see you have the mask I want, what are you willing to bargain?"

"Usually I don't consider ventures like this, but as I saw you in the vendor last night with that mask and as soon as I saw these punks running back to me, something was up. And here I thought I was going to sell this to your rival..."

"Stop busting my balls Big Sis!"

"Oh poor you. Anywho, Monsieur Laveau: free up the kid, don't touch any of my clients and don't you dare be in any of the cities I deal with."

"Fine I'll take the mask for that bargain, but you won't deal in any areas I operate in. Deal?"

"Hmm, I accept it. Now get out New Orleans and take all your crap with you."

"Gunners, release the boy and you know what to deal with my pet as we get out of here."

As the gunners released Tres Culos, Madame Laveau was intrigued of his pet and asked:

"What pet?"

"Government's!"

"Monsieur! The insurrectionists will guillotine you and the government will box you to GitMo!"

"Not if they don't know about it - but i'll keep that in mind, anyways I'm on my way... Hope New Orleans was nice to visit, come back anytime!"

And he snarls off while cars pull out of the area while she marches off elsewhere. Leaving the punk band to stare at each other with confusion. Thus they drove off in search of the next town to hit, yet never able to forget the sight they've seen.

The End