French Quarter

by Stella Cameron

  “I love humility in a man, Mr. Charbonnet.”

  “Mmm.” He shut his eyes. “I see dark places, and dark things that move in those dark places. There’s hot music playing, and your body is hot, and so is mine. Chère, I want to throw you down, get rid of all that virginal white, and leap aboard for the kind of ride I doubt any man even dreams of—even in his best wet dreams. Argh, I said it again!”

  “Jack, you make me …”

  He opened his eyes and regarded her expectantly. “Don’t stop. I make you?” He turned up a hand and urged her to finish the thought.

  “You make me wet where I shouldn’t be wet, and you make my breasts feel swollen, and my nipples sting, and all my veins pulse. I can hardly sit still because of what I feel…You know, what I feel.”

  Jack felt short of breath. “Let’s do it.”

  “I want to. I do.”

  “Come on, then.” He kissed her again, and while he kissed her he fondled her breasts. “We didn’t do it in the bath yet. Or in the shower. Or outside. I’ve got a house by Lake Pontchartrain with a gallery high off the ground, only the stars at night and the sun in the day as an audience. My mother’s father left it to me. I spent a lot of time there when I was growing up. Oh, Celina, tonight’s supposed to be clear. Lots of stars, sweet thing. It wouldn’t take long to drive up there.”

  “I’m feeling very overheated, Jack.”

  “Good. In a rowboat. Rocking gently.”

  “Until we turn the thing over,” she told him, struggling not to smile. “If performances to date are any measure, we’d be on the bottom of the lake feeding the alligators in no time.”

  “I’ll settle for bed, then.”

  “No.”

  He wasn’t joking anymore. His penis threatened to break his zipper. Α simple solution presented itself. He unzipped his pants, opened them, and something else presented itself.

  ‘‘Jack!”

  “That sounds like approval. Why, thank you, ma’am. Come here.”

  “It’s daylight and we have wings to do.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.” He pulled his shirt over his head.

  “Oh, Jack,” she moaned. “Oh, you’re doing it to me again.”

  “I intend to.” He beckoned to her. “Come here. I’ve got something for you.”

  She hesitated, turned her back, turned to him again, and approached very slowly. But she ate him up with her eyes. Her pink cheeks made her look very young. Her lips were moist and slightly parted. Her breasts rose and fell with each short breath.

  When she stood beside him, he pulled her face down and kissed her again, and slipped a hand beneath her top to maneuver her bra undone. She gasped when her breasts were freed, and he lifted the top to allow him to apply the tip of his tongue to the very tip of each nipple. She wriggled, and grasped for something to hold on to. What she found suited both of them.

  Celina took her own slacks and panties off, but Jack lifted her astride his thighs. She came with his thumb on her clitoris, and his penis stroking deep—and with his face buried in her beautiful breasts, and he was right with her.

  They collapsed together in the chair.

  Minutes passed. Jack cooled a little, but not so much that he wasn’t already thinking of the next time.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t marry you,” she murmured.

  “Huh?” He pushed her upright. He didn’t remember taking off her top, but it was on the floor. “You can’t what?”

  “Oh, I was going to make some cute joke about if we get married we’ll both be dead in a couple of weeks. Exhausted. Probably we’ll have heart attacks. Forget it.” She arched forward to rub her breasts slowly from side to side over his chest. “That is heavenly. I’ve been fooling myself. I didn’t know this side of me at all.”

  “It’s my influence,” he said smugly. “You find me irresistible.”

  “When do Amelia and Tilly get back?”

  “Not for at least an hour.”

  Her eyes cleared instantly. “An hour? Jack, why didn’t you tell me? Oh, look at us.”

  “I’m looking.”

  “We’ve got to hurry. And you’ve got to be careful in front of your daughter. She’s very impressionable, even more impressionable than most children her age.”

  “We’ll be careful. Her grandmother—Elise’s mother—loves having her for the weekends though, and she’s been complaining that I don’t let Amelia visit often enough.”

  “You won’t be sending your daughter away to accommodate our sex lives,” she told him.

  “You are so right. I will not be doin’ that. I just wish you wouldn’t be in such a hurry to run away from me every time I try to touch you. And refuse to enter into anythin’ I suggest. And I’m hurt you felt you had to make love and rush away like you just did.”

  She frowned, and glanced down to where her white thighs splayed over his darker skinned, black-hair-sprinkled skin, and where his black pubic hair tangled with her red curls. She said, “You can be quite sarcastic, Mr. Charbonnet.”

  He caught her by the waist and slowly lifted her up while they both watched their bodies part.

  This time it was Celina who initiated the kiss. “You and I have some things to talk about,” she told him when they paused for breath. “We’ve proved we do this sex thing really well. But beyond that our lives are a mess, Jack. We’re still plumb in the middle of a drama.”

  She had no idea just how many dramas. One, singular, didn’t come close. “We haven’t begun to address how we’ll get around Garth Fletcher’s little bombshell. I can’t stand having everything at Dreams on hold like this.”

  He stood up and pulled on his pants while she picked up her own clothes and began to dress.

  The phone rang, but he ignored it.

  He felt Celina looking at him and raised his brows in question.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “They’ll give up soon enough.”

  “What if it’s Amelia?”

  Jack paused in the act of putting on his shirt. “Jeez,” he said. “What am I thinking of? That’s the problem. I’ve quit thinking entirely.” He dashed for the phone and yanked the receiver off the wall in midring. “Charbonnet.”

  “Yeah. Get here, Jack, or I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

  He pressed the phone hard against his ear. “Is that any way to speak to an old friend.”

  “This isn’t a friendly how-are-ya,” Win Giavanelli said. “This is one of those times when I wouldn’t be making a call at all if I didn’t want to save your hide—or the hide of someone you care about.”

  Twenty-three

  “You got anything you want to tell me, Jack?”

  When Win Giavanelli was an unhappy man, he avoided eye contact. Win wasn’t looking at Jack today.

  “You losin’ your hearin’ or somethin’?” he asked, shredding a napkin and piling the pieces into a small hill in the center of his sauce-smeared place. La Murena might boast a fantastic fish menu, but Win was a meatball man.

  Jack pulled out a chair he hadn’t been invited to use and sat down. “My hearing’s very good, thank you, Win. You called with some warnings I didn’t like getting. You wanted to see me. I came.”

  “And I asked you a question. How come you’re a stranger to La Murena these days? What the fuck ain’t you botherin’ to tell me about your life? Ain’t we good friends? The best of friends? Didn’t I make it my business to be sure you were okay, even when you were—especially when you were a snot-nosed kid?”

  “Always, Win. And especially when I was a kid. I am grateful for that.” Grateful because Win’s unexpected conscience had kept Jack safe from the goons who would almost certainly have wanted to close his eyes for good. Jack knew Win had told his trigger boys that Jack had been too young to be a threat to them; he also knew they couldn’t be sure of that. These were men who only put their money on a sure thing.

  “So how come things happen and you don’t come to Win? You don’
t care about family connections no more? You think you don’t need me no more, maybe? Dangerous thoughts, Jack. This is a dangerous town for a man with dangerous thoughts. You gotta remember the rules. You know that. I always been good to you. Looked after you. For old time’s sake—and because I like you. I want to keep you safe. Didn’t I always keep you safe?”

  “I’m a man, Win,” Jack said, capturing a fragment of napkin that floated away, and placing it carefully on Win’s pile. “A man has to do for himself.”

  Win brought a beefy fist down on the table. “You think you can take care of yourself? Your papa thought he could take care of himself. Look what happened to him and your poor, dear little mama.” He crossed himself and shook his head. With his eyes closed he murmured a prayer. “I shall always blame myself for what happened. Even though I never had any part of it—never would have had any part of a thing like that. But I shoulda known there was some rival activity. We got too fat and happy. They moved while we were havin’ a siesta and… well, no point goin’ into that. You suffered enough. We all suffered enough. But don’t you forget who it was took you outta there in one piece. They’d have come back for you, Jacko. They thought you seen too much.”

  “I’m grateful, Win. I’ll always be grateful.”

  Win grunted, and drank from a tumbler of heavy red wine.

  Jack sucked in his gut and forced his heart to slow down. Win had never given any indication that he thought Jack might actually have seen what happened to his parents—or, more important from the survival point of view—that he knew who made what happened, happen. When they’d come for his parents, Jack was supposed to be with his grandfather at the house by Lake Pontchartrain. Only later had the truth come out that Jack hadn’t gone to the lake that weekend. Win had found out from Granddaddy that Jack was at home. Then the young don had gone in search of the boy, and when he’d found him hiding, had believed the story that Jack had heard gunshots and had run for cover in the pool house. Afterward Win had persuaded the triggers who did the job that Jack hadn’t seen anything. Only things had been said, things that let Jack know there were some uneasy thugs who didn’t believe he hadn’t looked through the windows of the pool house and seen what they did to his mother in the turquoise water where she’d been swimming.

  “I was sorry to hear about Errol Petrie,” Win said.

  “You already told me that, but thanks.”

  “You gonna be runnin’ things for the little dyin’ kids now.”

  Jack was accustomed to Win’s less-than-subtle verbal skills, but still he winced. “I intend to make sure Errol’s work is carried on.”

  Win nodded slowly, sagely. “A man oughta have a hobby. I gotta get me one sometime. Jack, I been hearin’ things about you, things that don’t make me happy.”

  “Who’s been doing the talking, Win?”

  “It don’t matter. We’ll just say it’s a source I gotta take notice of. You been puttin’ it around I’m lookin’ favorable on you, Jack?”

  For once the older man’s meaning wasn’t clear. “It’s not something I’d have a reason to discuss, but I thought you did look on me favorably.”

  Win, vast and pasty, his thin, still-black hair slicked in strings over his skull, sucked a cherry off its stalk, chewed, spat out the pit, and wiped his fingers on the tablecloth before bending to use it on his mouth.

  “Drink,” he said, indicating a second tumbler of red wine. “I shoulda taken some time explainin’ the facts of life to you, but I wanted to keep you out of it—in your mama’s memory, and because a man’s gotta do what he thinks is right. When I say someone thinks I look favorable on you, I mean they was suggestin’ I might be considerin’ you to take my place one day.”

  Jack came close to grinning with triumph. “What would give anyone an idea like that?” It was working.

  “I’m askin’ you if you might have suggested somethin’ like that.”

  “Who would I suggest it to? And why would I do somethin’ like that? I’m not a member of the family. I know Sonny Clete is your boy. Always has been. It’s understood. Sonny and I get along just fine. He drops by the boat from time to time and shoots the breeze. Why would I say somethin’ stupid like that?”

  Win’s tiny black eyes glittered out from holes in his pudgy white face. He grunted. “You tell me.” Another cherry gave up its flesh, stem, and pit.

  “Talk to Sonny,” Jack told him. “He’ll tell you how well we get along.”

  “You get along so well, you told him you don’t pay no contributions to the family funds?”

  “You mean protection? Win, what would Ι need to pay protection for? You and I are partners in the Lucky Lady. Fifty-fifty. You get half of the take—on everything. One partner doesn’t ask another partner for protection.”

  Win chewed steadily on a mouthful of bread. He waved the rest of a thick slice into the air. “Maybe there’s been a misunderstandin’. I’ll look into it. Different subject. Listen up, Jack boy. You know Dwayne LeChat?”

  “Yeah. Everyone who lives in the Quarter knows Dwayne.”

  “Is he some sort of buddy to a guy called Antoine?”

  Jack turned cold. “Not that I know. Oh, they know each other because Antoine worked for Errol, and Errol and Dwayne were friends for years. Why?”

  “Nothin’, just explorin’ a notion. How about Celina Payne?”

  Careful. “What about Celina?”

  “You know her at all?”

  “I’m engaged to her.”

  Win threw what was left of the slice of bread on the tablecloth. “Since when?” He shoved his dirty plate aside. “See that? Ι never eat in the middle of the day, but you got me eatin’ because I’m upset. I’m hurt, Jack. How come you don’t come to me with good news? Ain’t I like a father to you? Don’t a son make sure he honors his father by givin’ him that kind of news before anyone else?”

  “I’ve been busy,” Jack said. His heart wasn’t slowing down. “Errol’s murder was a terrible thing, and it left me with a lot to clean up.”

  Win ran his left hand down his face until it rested over his mouth. His face shone, and beads of sweat stood out on his scalp.

  “Win,” Jack said, “you don’t look so good. You should get out more. Get more fresh air.”

  “Did this Antoine talk to you? About something he thought he saw?”

  Jack’s palms were moist. “What kind of thing?” He drank some of the wine and made sure he looked steadily into Win’s eyes.

  “You tell me.”

  Jack put down the glass. “You made a threat to me on the phone. You intimated a threat to someone I care about. That’s why I broke away from something important to get here.”

  Win pointed a short forefinger at Jack. “You gotta work on the respect, Jack. I don’t gotta give a shit about what you’re doing. If I say come, you come.”

  “I did.” He kept right on looking into the other man’s eyes.

  “I been hearing stories, and you better be grateful I’m lookin’ after you, Jack. So walk this walk with me, okay?”

  “Okay.” Jack nodded. He’d never considered Errol’s death might have been connected to organized crime in the parish.

  “This Antoine. He never talked to you about seein’ somethin’?”

  “No.”

  “And this Dwayne—the queer—did he talk to you about Antoine seein’ somethin’?”

  Win’s private dining room was too warm. The man himself rarely left the place anymore, and the air smelled used. Jack said, “I see Dwayne regularly. If Antoine had said anything of note to him, he’d have told me. He hasn’t.”

  “How’s Amelia?” Win raised his sparse eyebrows and examined his fingernails.

  Instant tightness closed on Jack’s chest. “She’s wonderful, thanks.”

  “Happy she’s gonna have a new mama?”

  “Delighted,” Jack lied.

  “That’s nice. And Celina Payne’s a real looker, huh?”

  Turquoise water and blood. And dead ey
es open to the sky.

  “Jack? I asked you a question.”

  “Celina’s very attractive. But she’s a great woman. She’ll be good for Amelia and me.”

  “That’s nice. Look, Jack. Sometimes things happen. Things I may not have anything to do with directly, but they are my concern. You understand?”

  “Maybe.”

  ‘You’re a smart man. If someone close to me gets some action going I don’t know nothin’ about, I don’t like that. But if he says he’s sorry and he’s been a faithful soldier, then I’m gonna forgive—and I’m gonna help him out if he’s in a tight spot. I’m gonna support him. Are you still followin’ me, Jack?”

  “Are we talking about Antoine? And something he could have seen? Something to do with one of your people?”

  “It don’t matter. The details don’t matter. I’m lookin’ out for you. That’s all you gotta think about. For you and Amelia—and attractive Celina Payne, who’s gonna he Amelia’s new mama.”

  Jack rarely felt sick, but he felt sick now. He was going to have to be very, very careful. “Thanks for looking out for us, Win.”

  “Yeah. Now, you do what I tell you. You think about every word that comes from your mouth to Sonny Clete’s ears. Got that?”

  “Sure.” Jack shrugged.

  “This ain’t no joke.”

  “No.”

  “And you talk to your very attractive Celina, and ask her if Antoine managed to talk to her about anything before he took a vacation from work.”

  Ice wouldn’t melt in Jack’s veins. He frowned, worked on looking puzzled. “Antoine hasn’t been to work for days. How do you know that? He didn’t tell Celina or me he intended to take time off.” Without showing too much interest, he needed to see just how much Win knew about Antoine. “Did you hear where Antoine went? And for how long? We’re short of help in Royal Street.”

  “I regret your problems with your help, but I can’t help you further with that.” Win was fascinated by his fingernails this afternoon. “Talk to Celina. And watch your mouth. I love you like a son, but I gotta lot of people dependin’ on me. I gotta put their welfare first.”