Louisiana Stalker

by J. R. Roberts

  “Ma’am—” Jeannie started.

  “It’s all right, Jeannie,” Capucine said, “if Mr. Adams is to do what I ask of him, he must know everything.” She looked at Clint. “Isn’t that true?”

  He smiled across the table at her and said, “That would be extremely helpful, Cappy.”

  SEVEN

  “How does the sheriff know you need someone?”

  “Well, I told him.”

  “And did you tell him what you need this bold man to do?” he asked

  “I did not,” she said. “I did think, at one time, that perhaps he was the man to help me, but I decided that he was not.”

  “Because what you want is illegal?”

  “Because I did not think he was capable of what I needed,” she said. “But I thought he might know a man who was.”

  “And did he?”

  She hesitated, then said, “He did know a man, but it did not work out.”

  “And what happened to that man?”

  “He has become part of the problem.”

  “Ah . . .”

  The waiter came over with a fresh pot of coffee, and they fell silent until he had withdrawn.

  “So he told you he’d be on the lookout for someone else?” Clint asked.

  “No,” she said, “I did not trust his judgment after . . . that, but he sent me a note telling me that the Gunsmith was in Baton Rouge. Naturally, I acted immediately and had Jeannie deliver my note.”

  “And here we are,” Clint said.

  “Yes, here we are,” she said. “All three of us.”

  “And Jeannie,” Clint said, “she knows all the details?”

  “Oh, yes,” Capucine said, “I trust her implicitly—with all the sordid details.”

  “The details are sordid, are they?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And you plan to reveal them to me here?”

  “No,” she said, “not here. Someplace more private. I asked you here simply to meet you, spend time with you, and then decide if I would tell you the story. And see if you would agree to listen to it.”

  “What if you tell me the whole story and I don’t agree to help?”

  “I think you will agree.”

  “But if I don’t, I’ll know all the details.”

  “And that will make four of us,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take that chance.”

  Clint picked up his cup and drank from it, then refilled it himself. He offered the coffeepot to both ladies, who refused.

  “All right,” he said, “I’ll listen. Where?”

  “I have a pied-à-terre in the Garden District.”

  Clint looked at Jeannie, who happened to be looking at him at the moment.

  “A small, private set of rooms that no one knows about,” she offered.

  “Ah.”

  “Jeannie knows where it is,” Capucine said. “She will tell you when you escort her home this evening.”

  “Oh? Will I be escorting her home tonight?”

  “You will,” Capucine said. “I have another stop to make.”

  “Is that wise?” he asked. “I mean, for you to go out somewhere alone?”

  “I won’t be alone,” she said. “My driver will be with me, and as a matter of fact, I am going to be meeting my husband for drinks.”

  “Ah,” he said, “I see.”

  “So,” she said “if you will join me tomorrow afternoon, I will send a carriage for you. I will pay the check while you and Jeannie start for home.”

  Clint had the distinct feeling he and the assistant had just been dismissed.

  • • •

  They found Henri waiting for them out front with his cab. He hopped down to be a gentleman and help Jeannie up into his vehicle.

  “Where are we headed?” he asked Clint.

  “The Cajun House,” Jeannie said.

  “That’s my hotel,” he told her.

  She looked him in the eye, something she had not done all during the meal. In fact, now that they were away from Capucine Devereaux, her entire demeanor seemed to have changed.

  “I know that,” she said. “I’m not quite ready to return home yet. I thought we could have a private drink at your hotel. Is that all right?”

  “Uh, that’s fine,” Clint said. He looked at Henri. “You heard the lady.”

  “The Cajun House,” Henri said. “Comin’ up.” But instead of climbing onto his perch, he lowered his voice and asked, “And how was the meal?”

  “It was fine,” Clint said, “but give me a good old American-cooked steak every time.”

  “Ah,” Henri said, “that can be arranged.”

  Henri got himself situated and Clint climbed into the back of the cab, sitting across from Jeannie.

  “Why don’t you sit over here next to me?” she suggested.

  Yes, he thought, shifting his seat, definitely a different demeanor.

  EIGHT

  They rode to the Cajun House with Jeannie’s hip pressed firmly against Clint’s. He could feel the warmth of her through their clothes.

  “I’ll bet you could tell me what your employer’s problem is right now,” he said.

  “If I wanted to,” she said.

  “And?”

  “I don’t want to,” she answered airily. “That’s her business.”

  “Isn’t her business also your business?” he asked. “I mean, isn’t that what being an assistant is all about?”

  “Well, yeah, it is,” she said, and then added, “during business hours.”

  “And when exactly did business hours end for you?” he asked her.

  She put her hand on his arm and squeezed.

  “The moment we left Chez Louis.”

  “By the way . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there actually a Louis?” he asked.

  She laughed, and didn’t answer.

  • • •

  As they entered the hotel lobby, Clint started for the bar, but Jeannie—who had linked her arm in his—yanked him back forcefully.

  “The bar is this way,” he told her.

  “Yes,” she said, “I know, but . . . isn’t your room this way?”

  “My room?”

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes wide and innocent, “can’t we have a drink in your room?”

  “My room is nothing fancy,” he warned her. “Certainly not what you’re used to.”

  “As long as it has a drink,” she said, and then added, “and a bed.”

  Her intention was clear, and while he had no objection to it, he felt as if he was in the company of a third woman, one who was not at supper, at all.

  “Just let me stop at the front desk.”

  “All right.” Reluctantly, she released his arm.

  He went to the front desk, where the young desk clerk was smiling at him.

  “I’ll need a bottle of brandy and two glasses in my room right away.”

  “Yessir!” the young man said. “Comin’ up.”

  Clint started away, then stopped and said, “Whoever brings them up, if I don’t answer the door, tell them to just leave them outside the room.”

  “Yes, sir!” the young man said with an even bigger smile.

  “And wipe that smile off your face!”

  Clint walked to Jeannie, took her arm, and led her up the stairs.

  • • •

  After Clint and Jeannie left, Capucine signed for the meal—which her husband would pay for later—and stepped outside. Her driver was waiting with her carriage. He opened the door for her, and she stepped into the enclosed car.

  “Where to, ma’am?” he asked.

  “The Club,” she told him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He drove her to the C
lub, stopping at a rear door, as he usually did when he took her there. He held the carriage door open for her, helped her out, then opened the back door of the building for her.

  “Shall I wait, ma’am?” he asked.

  “No, Eric,” she said, “I’ll be getting a ride home later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He closed the door behind her, climbed aboard the carriage, and drove away.

  • • •

  Once she and Clint were in his room, Jeannie said, “Seems to me a man like you would have stayed at the Palace, or some such place.”

  “Much too fancy for me,” he told her.

  “So you’re not a fancy man?”

  “I’m not.”

  “So why the suit?”

  “I may not stay at the Palace,” Clint said, “but I’ll go there to gamble.”

  “And dress the part, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t want to get turned away at the door,” he said.

  Jeannie was wearing a wrap, which she now took off and set aside on a chair. The sweet scent he’d smelled at the restaurant was in the air, so he now knew it was her, and not Capucine.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Well what?”

  “Will you undress me,” she asked, raising her hands above her head, “or would you like to watch while I do it myself?”

  NINE

  “Why are you doing this?” Clint asked Jeannie.

  She put her hands on her hips.

  “Do you always ask a girl why she wants to sleep with you?” she asked.

  “Not always.”

  “Why now?”

  “I’m curious.”

  Jeannie hesitated a moment, then lifted her chin and said, “Well, she’s eventually going to get you into bed. I just want to beat her to it.”

  “I see.”

  “Did you think it was because I was in love with you?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, “I didn’t think that. But what makes you think she’ll eventually get me into bed?”

  “It’s what she does,” Jeannie said, “and I’ve never known of a man who told her no.”

  “I might be the first.”

  She laughed.

  “You accepted her invitation to supper,” she said, “and you agreed to meet with her tomorrow in private. And suddenly you’re going to start saying no?” She raised her arms again. “Now, what’s it going to be? You or me?”

  He studied her for a long moment, then said, “I’ll do it.”

  • • •

  The man at the table stood up as Capucine entered the room and said, “Hello, darling.”

  “Oh, do sit down,” she told him, gesturing with her hand then sitting across from him.

  He did as he was told.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Pour me a brandy,” she said.

  He did so, and poured himself one, from the decanter on the table between them.

  “Where’s Jeannie?”

  “She is with Mr. Adams,” she said, “hopefully fucking his brains out.”

  “Do you think he was interested in her?”

  “Of course,” she said. “He’s a man, isn’t he? He was interested in both of us.”

  “How was supper?”

  “Extremely delicious, as usual,” she said, “and very, very interesting.”

  “Interesting?”

  “Mr. Adams is a very interesting man,” she said. “Not at all what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “Well,” she said, “I expected something of a, well, barbarian.”

  “And he was not?’

  “Not at all,” she said.

  “But he can’t be a gentleman.”

  “That depends on what you’d call a gentleman,” she said. “Let’s just say he had excellent table manners, and leave it at that.”

  “Well, all right, then,” the man said, “but . . . did he agree?”

  “He agreed to meet with me tomorrow,” she told him, “in private.”

  “But did he agree to help you?”

  “We didn’t discuss it in detail, not at the restaurant,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “Too many ears.”

  “So then you won’t really approach him until tomorrow?” he asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you think he’ll agree?”

  “Oh, he’ll agree, all right,” she said confidently, sipping her drink.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  She batted her eyelashes at him and said, “Have you ever known a man to say no to me?”

  • • •

  Clint approached Jeannie, slid his hands around her waist. He found the catch there and released it, then drew the zipper down. The dress came away from her body, exposing her breasts. He was surprised not to find support garments underneath. He thought all the women in Louisiana wore them.

  “I don’t like corsets,” she told him, as if reading his mind. “They make me feel . . . confined.”

  He pulled the dress off her. There was a wisp of a garment around her hips, and he tugged that down to the floor. She stepped out of it and kicked it away, kept her hands over her head, which lifted her smallish breasts. He cradled them in his hands, the nipples hard against his palms, and squeezed them. She closed her eyes.

  Her skin was pale and smooth. He kissed her neck, and her shoulders. The sweet smell of her skin was heady. Abruptly, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, and she said, “Yes!”

  TEN

  The mayor of Baton Rouge looked up from his desk as his engineer, Ed Pearson, entered the office.

  “Ed,” he said, “hey. Have a seat. What can I do for you?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Come up, speak up, man,” the mayor said. “I’ve got things to do, you know.”

  “Yes, sir. We, uh, have a problem.”

  “With what?”

  “Well . . . the river.”

  “We have a problem with the Mississippi River?” the mayor asked.

  “Uh, yes, sir,” Pearson, said, “that’s the river I’m talking about.”

  “Don’t get smart with me, Ed,” the mayor said. “What do you mean, we have a problem?”

  “Well, it’s raining upriver—hard.”

  “And what’s that got to do with us?”

  “It’s affecting the river.”

  “In what way?” the mayor asked. “Don’t make me drag this out of you, Ed.”

  “The river is rising—it’s rising fast.”

  “Don’t we have levies?”

  “We do, but they’re not strong enough or high enough to withstand the river at the rate it’s rising.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “We need to reinforce them.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I’ll need extra men.”

  “Hire them.”

  “Don’t you need to check this with the town council?” Pearson asked.

  “Do you think the river will wait while we call a meeting of the council?”

  “Well, no, sir.”

  “Then get your men and put them to work,” the mayor said. “If Baton Rouge floods, it’s not only your job, it’s your head. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then get out—and send in my secretary.”

  Pearson rose and rushed out of the room. Moments later Mrs. Posey, the mayor’s secretary for his two-and-a-half terms in office, came in.

  “Sir?”

  “I need the members of the town council to meet—today. Send word.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, “right away.”

  As she hurried out, he wished that everybody who worked
for him would react that quickly when he spoke.

  • • •

  Capucine Devereaux stood up and said to the man across from her, “You have to give me a ride home.”

  “No problem.”

  “Now.”

  “What’s the hurry?” he asked.

  “I need to check on my girls.”

  “I thought Jeannie was with Adams.”

  “She is.”

  “Isn’t she your best girl?”

  “She is,” she said. “What has that got to do with the others?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, “I’m just saying—”

  “Well, don’t,” she said. “Come along, I need to get back.”

  “Can I finish my drink?”

  “No,” she told him. “You don’t need any more to drink.”

  He stared at her, shaking his head, as he got to his feet.

  “You think Clint Adams will respond to this bossy attitude of yours?”

  “Clint Adams will respond to me the way most men do,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

  “Come on,” he said. “We’ll go out the back. We wouldn’t want the respectable members of this club to see you leaving. They might revoke my membership.”

  As they both moved toward the door, the man suddenly reached out, grabbed Capucine, and backed her into the wall, pressing his body against hers.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

  “You know what I’m doing,” he said, leaning his face into her neck.

  Abruptly, she reached down, grabbed his testicles through his trousers, and squeezed.

  “Jesus, Cappy—” he said, but she squeezed harder and choked off his words.

  “If I squeeze just a little bit harder,” she told him, “you won’t walk straight for days. Now, back up and get off me.”

  He backed away, his hands held up and out, and she released her hold on his jewels.

  She turned and went out the door, assuming he’d be following.

  ELEVEN

  Jeannie Bartlett was a very talented girl.

  The shy woman who had been at supper with Clint and Capucine was gone. In bed, she was inventive and daring.

  Her body was supple and flexible beyond any he had ever encountered. At one point he was driving his penis into her, and she had her ankles up behind her head, spreading herself as wide as she could for him.