The Devil's Luck

by W E DeVore

  “I’m all ears.”

  “When you go see her, let Rex put as much of his foot in his mouth as will fit. Maybe even egg him on. Set him up for it before you head over. Tell him that you hate Jeffries. What a condescending bitch she is. She’s a lesbian that just needs a big man to show her what she’s been missing. You know the drill.”

  “You want me to be a misogynistic prick?” he asked, looking like he’d just eating something sour.

  “No, I want you to talk to Rex like you’re a misogynistic prick. Then, when he goes off on Jeffries, you be your enlightened, egalitarian self, and she’ll adore you for it.”

  “No, she won’t,” he said. “She’ll never buy it.”

  “Yes, she will. The only reason she’s keeping you at arm’s length now is because she thinks you’re a player, and honestly, after that performance the other day, I’m still not so sure that you’re not secretly boning half the women in the city right now.”

  Sanger blushed. “Then what?”

  “After Rex swallows his shoe whole and Jeffries reads him what for, you get her alone and convince her that you have an in with Wanda that she doesn’t have. Something that will get you more access than she could get on her own.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Why your mama, of course,” Q said.

  Sanger laughed. “You’re going to have to clue her in. She won’t mind, will she?”

  She shook her head. “Arlene mind having a son like you? No. Not one bit. It’d be a nice change from the losers she’s always picking up the pieces after.”

  “And what if Jeffries thinks I’m like Rex and am playing her?”

  She thought about his concerns and reasoned, “I don’t think she will. Look, cowboy, when you’re sincere, which is most of the time, it’s right there. Anyone can see it. It’s what made me trust you, even when Gabrielli was trying to railroad Ben onto death row. She’ll trust you, too. Just be yourself, like you are with me.”

  “It’s easier with you,” he said. “You know me.”

  “I didn’t know you after you and Gabrielli questioned me about Ben, and I still trusted you. Like I said, it’s right there.”

  “And why am I doing this?” he asked. “It was a suicide, Clementine. You know it was.”

  “I know. But busting a secret gun-running operation should be your trophy, don’t you think?” She raised both eyebrows and flashed him a wild grin.

  He shook his head. “You trying to get me promoted or something?”

  “Yes. I want you to make captain by the time you’re forty, so you’re off the streets and home making babies with Yvie.”

  “You’re as bad as Ben.”

  She leaned across the seat and kissed his cheek. “If you’re trying to insult me, you’ll have to do better than that.”

  “Good-bye, Clementine,” he sang.

  “Later, Sanger.” Q hopped out of the cab of the truck and skipped up the steps to her house.

  As Sanger pulled away, she fought the urge to stop him, telling herself that her concerns were unwarranted. Sanger had pulled at least a half dozen bad cases since Tori’s suicide and he’d managed through it. But something about Mike’s death picked at the edge of her brain, and she couldn’t turn away from it. Something had driven a congenial, jovial man to suicide, and for some reason, she didn’t want Aaron Sanger anywhere near it.

  She shook off her worries as misplaced grief and told herself that she was overreacting. Sanger’s sudden return to the world of laughter and human interaction should have comforted her, but as long as she’d known him, he’d been serious and sullen. The joyous and playful side he’d hidden from her just confirmed what she’d always suspected: that Sanger would have been happier if he’d followed in his father’s footsteps and become a rabbi.

  Chapter 8

  Truth or Consequences

  A few days later, Q rested back in the bathtub, sipping a glass of dark rum to soothe her aching throat. She’d spent the better part of every day that week rehearsing the melodies she’d have to sing for Dark Harm, and her vocal cords were vehemently informing her that they much preferred New Orleans jazz to Gothic-tinged Top 40 alternative. It was the wild Middle Eastern-style runs that were doing the real damage. She inwardly cursed as she realized she was going to have to sing most of them while being elevated twenty feet in the air.

  Back to the gym.

  When she’d fronted another Derek Sharp project, The Rebel Angels, she’d had to lift weights to tone her arms and strengthen her core to pull off Derek’s vision. At least, this time around, she’d be able to go to the gym with Ben and Sanger. Working out was her least favorite thing to do, and if she had to do it, she tried comforting herself knowing that she’d be in the company of her two favorite people.

  She heard the front door open and Ben’s familiar footfalls on the stair treads. He walked into the bathroom and stood in the doorway, staring at her through the steam rising off the water.

  “You’re in a bath,” he said.

  “I am.” She grinned at him. After the miscarriage, she’d been told that baths and sex were strictly prohibited until her follow-up visit. She and Ben had both soon realized that showers and celibacy were not a combination that either of them enjoyed.

  Ben started to undress.

  “You’re in a bath,” he said, again, grinning.

  “Don’t get too excited,” she said. “We still have a problem.”

  His face fell. “What?”

  “I’m all alone in this bath.”

  Ben’s grin returned, and he stripped the rest of the way, climbing in behind her. She turned to lay against him, caressing his face with the back of her hand.

  “How did it go at the doctor’s?” he asked.

  “Fine. All clear. I’m off the bench, coach.” She moved to kiss his neck and he sighed.

  “What else did she say?”

  “Later,” Q said, sliding her tongue to his earlobe and her hand between his legs.

  Ben groaned as his body responded to her touch.

  “What time do you have to be back at the Cove tonight?” she asked.

  “I’m not going back to the Cove tonight.”

  “Shouldn’t you call someone in?”

  Ben brought his mouth to hers and moved his hands down to her hips. “Later.”

  He pulled her to him and her body opened for him as he slipped inside her. Q screamed and moved faster against him. She wrapped her arms around the back of his head and brought his mouth to her breast.

  “Oh god, I’ve missed you,” she whispered. “Let’s make a baby.”

  He suddenly stopped her from moving and lifted her off him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Q curled her legs to her chest as her failed orgasm quivered uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

  Ben exhaled slowly. “What did the doctor say?”

  She looked down. “That we should use protection for at least a month until my birth control kicks back in. And we shouldn’t try for six months after.”

  He took her hands in his and said, “What else?”

  “That I should have some genetic testing done. Before we try again.”

  “Were you going to tell me?”

  She shook her head slowly, not wanting to admit the truth. “I want it back, Ben. Please.”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her. “What’s the rush? You trying to get out of those Dark Harm shows or something? Because I’d rather not be beholden to the Son of Perdition for ten Gs.”

  She laughed. “No. It’s just... I never wanted kids until I met you and even then, I was only doing it because you wanted it so bad. But now... I got a glimpse of something that I never thought I wanted and it’s all I can think about.”

  He lifted he left hand and slid off her engagement ring. He held it out and pointed to the engraving on the inside of the band. “What does that say?”

  “Bashert,” she said, reading the Hebrew letters.

  “What does t
hat mean?” he asked.

  “Destined. Meant to be.”

  He slipped the ring back on her finger next to her wedding band and kissed the diamond. “Somewhere, some way, we have a child. I know it. I knew it the moment I met you. Our bashert is waiting for us. But not right now. Right now, you need to let your body heal. You need to play these gigs with Derek. You need to try and accomplish all those things you’ve been working so hard for. And you need to take those tests.”

  “I don’t want to,” she said. “What if it’s something bad? I don’t want to borrow trouble.”

  “What if it’s something that can be fixed? Easily?” Ben pulled her to him and held her against him. “Why are you so worried about this?”

  “My maternal grandmother died of uterine cancer at forty, Ben. That’s one of the tests they want to run. If I come up positive, they’ll have to do a hysterectomy.”

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  She shook her head. “Never. I didn’t want you to worry unless there was something to worry about.”

  He tilted her head up to look at her. “There’s nothing to worry about. Either way, you’ll be fine.”

  “Says the man that’s not going to have his insides scooped out.”

  “I don’t love your insides, I love you.”

  Q grinned and turned to straddle him. “I think you love some of my insides.”

  “I’m pretty sure that part stays put,” Ben replied, grabbing her hips. “Now, you listen to me, Mrs. Bordelon. You are going to be fine. We are going to have a baby. But not right now. Right now, I want you all to myself.” He pulled her to her feet and picked her up, carrying her into the bedroom. “Besides, I thought musicians like rehearsing.”

  She stroked his face with her hand and was overcome with the love she felt for the man that held her in his arms. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

  He lay her on the bed and reached over to open the nightstand drawer. Reaching in, he retrieved an entire box of condoms and tossed it into her hands.

  “Just how many of these do you plan on using, Mr. Bordelon?”

  He grinned at her and slid his tongue from her neck to her inner thigh. “Every last one of them, Mrs. Bordelon.”

  ◆◆◆

  Q stretched in bed as Ben’s kisses moved lower on her torso.

  “Food, I said I needed food,” she scolded.

  He flashed her a manic grin. “How long have we been in this bed?”

  Her stomach fussed at him and she said, “Long enough. It’s almost five o’clock. You’re really going to bale on Josh on a Friday night?”

  “Yes, yes I am.”

  “Ben, I’m hungry,” she whined.

  “So, am I.” He opened her legs and kissed her inner thigh, moving his tongue towards his intended meal.

  She moved out from under him and went to her closet to put on some clothes. Ben rolled over onto his back and raised himself up on his elbows.

  “You’re serious,” he said.

  She turned and put her hands on her hips. “Yes, I am. We’ve been in that bed for almost twenty-four hours.”

  “That’s not true, darlin’. We were in the bathtub for at least two.”

  She tilted her head in annoyance. “You know what I mean. I’m hungry. I need food.”

  He sighed and got out of bed. Q admired her husband’s body as he walked to the antique vanity at the foot of the bed.

  “My god, you’re beautiful,” she said, watching him pull on a pair of fitted boxers. She leaned against the bedroom door and exhaled in contentment. “You’re really not going to work tonight?”

  “Nope. I’m taking my wife out to dinner. On a Friday night. What do you think about that?”

  Q’s jaw fell open. “Wait. Like a date? Like a real date-date?”

  Between Ben’s work schedule and Q’s gig schedule, she could count on one hand the times they’d actually gone on what most of polite society would consider a formal date.

  He took two long strides towards her and tweaked her nose. “Yes. Like a date. Like a real date-date. It was Josh’s idea even. Well, Josh and Yvie’s.”

  “How does Yvie factor into this?”

  “She stopped by the Cove yesterday before I came home and invited us to double with her and Aaron. I told her I couldn’t because of work, but Josh said to go. Said he’s got it covered.”

  Josh Mason was Ben’s business partner in every way that mattered, even if he refused to make it official, choosing instead to act as the manager of the Cove. Ben’s theory was that he didn’t have the money to buy a stake in the business. Q’s theory was that he didn’t want the responsibility.

  “That reminds me,” she said. “What does Josh say about you selling the Cove?”

  “He doesn’t like it, but he’ll go along with it, if that’s what I decide. Mike’s widow sold the Emporium and now that investment group is applying all kinds of pressure for me to sell, too.” He put his hands on his hips and watched her face carefully. “But I don’t think I’m going to do it, darlin’. I know it’s a lot of money, but it’ll change the neighborhood. I keep thinking about that old woman that lives two doors down from the Cove.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ms. Clara brought me plates of dinner almost every day when I was fixing up the Cove and living in the apartment out back of it. There was a six-foot hole in the ceiling from where a tree came down during Katrina and it was a mess. She’d come over to check on me to make sure I was safe every afternoon like clockwork.”

  “Well, don’t you think they’ll want her to sell, too?”

  “Not her. Her landlord. She’s been renting that place for going on twenty-five years. What will happen to her? If I sell, they’ll go after every other place on the block. Most of those people rent.”

  “Not the couple from Seattle that owns the house next door.”

  “Yeah, fuck those two,” he grumbled. “I got fined five thousand dollars the last time Derek and you played at the Cove because of them.”

  Q moved to the closet and searched for a pair of slacks to put on. “To be fair, there were like seven hundred people in the parking lot. You were well over capacity.”

  “By twenty. I was over capacity by twenty.”

  “You called the dude a dickhead Yankee and told him to go back to where he came from. What did you expect him to do?” she asked.

  “He insulted you. What did he expect me to do?”

  She turned to see if he was telling the truth. “He what?”

  “He called you a slut.”

  “He did not. You’re making that up.”

  “Ask Josh,” he said. “He came over and said that the next time, and I quote, ‘Derek Sharp and his little slut put on a show,’ I’d better keep the volume down and the crowds under control or he’d call the fire marshal.”

  “And you didn’t punch him?”

  “I was being neighborly, like you told me to be. So, I told him that he should have thought about crowds and noise before he bought a house next to a nightclub and that slut happened to be my wife and if he was going to be a dickhead Yankee and insult a man’s wife in his place of business, he should go back to where he came from and fuck right off.”

  Q wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her. “Totally worth five thousand dollars. How much do you think that company will offer him for his house?”

  “More than it’s worth.”

  “Then I definitely don’t want us to sell.”

  Ben grinned and kissed her. “Come on, darlin’, I’m taking you out and showing you off.”

  ◆◆◆

  As usual, the bar in The Jockey Club was packed tight with a crush of people waiting for a table in the restaurant. The most popular place for Mid-City locals to get a fine dining experience since its days as a jazz club in the big band era, it still stubbornly refused to accept reservations except for the most special of special occasions.

  Ben and Q threaded their way through the c
rowd, looking for Sanger or Yvie. A buxom redhead backed into Q, shoving her away from Ben. She turned and smiled drunkenly at him, placing one long, red-lacquered fingernail on his chest to trace the buttons on his shirt. “Why, hello there, handsome.”

  Ben glanced sideways at Q, still several bodies away and well out of easy reach. He gave the woman a polite smile and said, “Evenin’, darlin’. Excuse me.”