by Ali Vali
“Why?”
“Because it marks you as belonging to me. Don’t ask me to explain that because I can’t, but it means something special to me, something others will understand.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to lie down or something? You’re talking crazy.” He reached up as if to feel her forehead.
“Bruce, has your father ever told you anything about my father?” She looked into his eyes as if daring him to lie. “Anything he found hard to explain?”
“He just said your father was his best friend, and then one day he left and never came back. Dad said he always felt protected when he was with Tony, like nothing could ever happen to him. He still misses him like crazy, but he gets regular letters from him.” Then it seemed to hit him.
“The last time I was home for a visit, he was out working in the small garden he tends every year. You know, the one he keeps to stay out of Mom’s way? It was hot so he opened his shirt and I noticed he was wearing one of these.”
“The bond my father and yours share is special to him, and in his absence to tend to other family business, it’s one Dad misses as well.” Kendal rarely had a relationship with members of two consecutive generations, but Bruce Senior had asked Anthony Richoux to look out for his kid when he told him he was leaving. Bruce the elder might have been a dockworker all his life, but he seemed more aware of the world around him than his son, whom Kendal had paid to educate.
Bruce Senior hadn’t been able to hide the shock when Bruce had brought her home for the first time after they’d gone into business together. He hadn’t said much except that he was happy for his son. She knew Bruce Senior had figured it out, but the old man couldn’t explain how her face was the same as the “man” he knew and loved as a friend. He’d just shaken her hand and whispered, “Welcome back.”
“He has one of these, doesn’t he?” Bruce asked again, with his hand over his heart where the medal had come to rest.
“Anthony gave him one a long time ago.”
“Are you and your father religious?”
The question struck her as funny and she let out a laugh. If he only knew the gods she still prayed to on occasion had existed long before the thought of Christianity was even a blip on mankind’s radar. “Not really, but St. Michael became a family tradition a while back, and it’s tradition to give him to people who mean a lot to us.” Moviemakers had cashed in on the monsters they thought they’d dredged up from the dark side of their imagination, and the rituals to kill the ghoulies were laughable to her, but St. Michael had become a symbol of her protection through the years. Some chose to ignore it, but the smart ones realized the sword raised and ready to strike wasn’t a myth. “I can’t force you, but it’s a sign that I care for you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. So do you promise not to take it off?”
“I promise, especially if it means so much to you.”
“It does.” She put her hand over his on his chest before she pressed the Down button for the elevator. “Go on, and have fun.”
A fresh drink was waiting for her when she got back, and she nodded her thanks to the bartender as she unbuttoned her jacket and took her seat. The table she’d chosen was almost in a corner but stood in front of a window facing the street. It was still too early for the after-work crowd, and the cigar bar was a little subdued for the regular tourist, so aside from a few hushed conversations, Kendal sat in peace as she sipped.
“Would you care for a cigar, Ms. Richoux?” The bartender set another glass down, since the one in her hand was half-full. Everyone in the hotel seemed to know who she was, so the service had been perfect. “We have an excellent selection of Dominicans.”
“Do you smoke?”
“Cigarettes, ma’am. I never got used to cigars.”
Kendal pulled out her wallet and placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “I’ll take a Cohiba, but it has to be Cuban. If I’m going to risk my health, I might as well make it worth my while.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Richoux, Cuban cigars are illegal. We carry the brand, only it has the Dominican Republic label.”
She shrugged and started to pick up the money. “I may get a free night now, asking for something you can’t deliver. Guest satisfaction and all that.”
The man smiled and took a travel humidifier out of his apron pocket. “Yes, ma’am, we take guest satisfaction very seriously. Enjoy.” It seemed she wasn’t the only one who ran background checks on potential clients. The owner of the establishment took everything into account for a guest and their vices.
“What’s the old expression?”
“Here, it’s ask and you shall receive. It’s a city-wide motto,” the waiter joked as he clipped the end for her and provided a light.
The smoke filled her senses and the taste made her remember the next part of Angelina’s story. She handed over the money, wanting her privacy back.
Chapter Seven
New Orleans, November 1725
“Don’t forget to smile. Then maybe the girl will want to see you again,” Lola said as Jacques mounted his horse.
He’d sent word to the du’Pon family that he’d join them for dinner, and he was trying hard to fight a case of nerves he couldn’t explain. With his best suit packed, he saluted Lola and took off at a trot toward New Orleans. At dusk the next night, he knocked on the du’Pons’ door, suddenly very glad he’d come when Angelina let him in.
“Marquis, how nice to see you again. I was hoping you hadn’t run into any other maidens in need of rescue whom you might find more appealing.”
“And miss an evening with you and your uncle, Mademoiselle du’Pon? I don’t believe there’s anyone more appealing to keep me away.” He stood with one hand behind his back and his hat in the other.
Thanks to Angelina’s clean face he was able to enjoy the blush his words caused. Angelina was truly a vision in a pale blue dress that brought out the green of her eyes. “I’m beginning to think you like making me feel a bit off-kilter, sir.”
“And I believe you agreed to call me Jacques, Mademoiselle du’Pon. Or have you perhaps reconsidered?”
“I didn’t forget. I just didn’t want you to think me presumptuous.” She rested against the door and simply gazed at him. “Would you like to come in, or would you have my uncle think I’m a bad hostess by keeping you confined to our porch?”
“I don’t know. It might make good fodder for the next edition of his paper.”
“I’m going to enjoy having you around. That is, if you grace us with your company in the future.” She opened the door completely to let him pass and smiled when his other hand revealed a beautiful bouquet of camellias. He followed her into the parlor and blushed when Angelina gave him a full smile. “Are those for me, or did you wish to give them to my uncle?”
“I like Tomas, but these are for you. I hope they’re to your liking.”
“They’re my favorites, thank you.” The servant standing behind Angelina took the flowers, and his hat before, leaving them with only Dee doing needlepoint in the corner. “Please have a seat and I’ll get you something to drink.”
“Is Monsieur du’Pon not joining us this evening?”
“He sent word earlier that he’s running late, so I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with my company for the moment. I hope you don’t mind.” She poured two glasses of sherry from the bar and faced him.
“That’s like asking a small boy if he’d like another treat. I hope you don’t find the company lacking. Sometimes I feel I should get away from Oakgrove more often, so I can discuss more than planting and harvesting.” As she handed him the glass, her fingers felt soft when they touched his.
“I’m sure both of our concerns are unwarranted. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again. Would you tell me about Oakgrove?” Angelina took a seat across from him, smiling when he stood until she was seated.
From her expression and the way she nodded as he spoke, Angelina seemed to enjoy his animated description
of the plantation he’d poured his life into for five years. Louisiana was still a wild place outside the city when he’d arrived in the territory, so it had been a Herculean effort to clear the trees off the property he’d fallen in love with. Now, with the help of the irrigation system he’d devised using the river, Oakgrove was producing substantial harvests. The farm was in its infancy, but his choice crops were making a good profit.
“You sound like you don’t have enough time in the day to do all you have planned.”
“I’m finding that the life of a farmer can be as fulfilling as that of a warrior or, should I say, soldier.”
“Were you a soldier? In France, I mean.”
“In a manner of speaking. Duty calls us to service at times, whether we want it to or not. Here I’ve tried to create something I can look on years from now and be proud of. The only thing that bothers my heart is the ever-growing slave trade.”
“That sentiment won’t make you a lot of friends here, Jacques. Whether you agree with the practice or not, those who wield power will never give up that right, not without a fight, anyway.” Angelina spoke softly, as if someone were lurking in the hall ready to pounce and punish her for her words.
He nodded and leaned back in his chair. “And what of you? What are your feelings on the subject?”
“I’m just a woman who owns nothing, monsieur. No one cares what my opinion on the subject might be.”
“I care.”
“Then you’re in the minority again.”
He laughed, thoroughly enjoying the conversation. Women like Angelina were rare; most of the ladies he’d met in New Orleans cared more about the latest fashions than the welfare of others. “I usually am, but it makes life more interesting.”
“Then we are birds of a feather, Jacques. Surely God won’t bless any society that allows someone to own another human being. It makes me so sad to see families torn apart on the block day after day.”
“I’m a hypocrite, I know, since I legally own so many, but I never split up families. I visit the auction blocks with my foreman Lionel, whom you met the other day, and my house overseer Lola whenever we’re here to see if the relatives of any of our family are available for sale. Sometimes they’re in such bad shape that the crowd thinks me mad, but reuniting families is cause for celebration at Oakgrove. It isn’t much, but I try my best.”
Angelina rose from her seat and walked toward the decanter to refill Jacques’s glass. When she was beside him, she placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed in soft affection. “Your best sounds like it’s made a world of difference, so you’re no hypocrite in my eyes. I feel the same way about Dee. We’ve been together since we were children, and her family lives here with us.”
“Thank you, dear lady, that means a lot to me.” Angelina moved back when she heard the front door open and Tomas’s cane tap in the foyer.
“Ah, Jacques, you made it. Pardon me for being late, but it was an exciting day at the paper. Has Angelina been keeping you company?”
“She just now let me in. I was barred to the yard until she saw your carriage approaching,” he joked.
“Oh, you.” Angelina stepped closer to Jacques again and slapped his arm in mock indignation. “Don’t listen to a word this heathen tells you, Uncle Tomas. I’ve been nothing but the perfect hostess.” She moved toward Tomas and kissed his cheek in greeting. Jacques noticed her flirtatious behavior.
“Is she telling the truth?”
“About me being a heathen? Most definitely.”
They shared the first of many laughs as the evening progressed. Jacques retold some of the stories from his earlier conversation with Angelina, but she listened with the same rapt attention. Before any of them wanted, the evening drew to a close and Tomas sent for Jacques’s horse.
“I hope you join us again, young man. Perhaps you can find time for us?” Tomas asked.
“I’d enjoy seeing you both whenever it pleases you.” He included both of them in the statement, but his eyes never strayed from Angelina’s. “This week I’ll actually be staying in town for a few days to arrange for the sale of our sugarcane harvest. Could I persuade you to join me for an evening out?”
“We’d love to,” Angelina said before Tomas got a chance.
For the rest of the year, it was rare to not find Jacques sitting in the du’Pons’ parlor enjoying a cigar with Tomas after dinner as Angelina needlepointed or knitted. Every so often she’d interject some witty comment to scale down whatever he and Tomas were arguing over. When the weather permitted, Jacques took Angelina for walks before their meal, always with a couple of trusted servants trailing behind as chaperones. After months, he and Angelina often strolled arm in arm, lost in conversation. Angelina had without effort become the envy of every woman in the Louisiana Territory.
New Orleans, present day
In the years since that special time, Kendal had rarely found as good a verbal sparring partner as Tomas or such a beguiling companion as his niece. The overwhelming sense of longing swamped her again as she stubbed out the Cohiba. Tears, which for so long had been a memory, welled in her eyes again. I’d give almost anything to see you again, she thought.
When she focused again she found Angelina’s poor double sitting in the chair opposite hers with a strange expression. Giving Kendal time to compose herself, the bartender appeared and asked if Piper wanted anything. He seemed almost angry on her behalf that Piper had disturbed her.
“Come to finish your tirade, Miss Marmande?” she asked, clipping the new cigar the young man had left. A fresh drink had appeared along with it, and since Piper wasn’t leaving, Kendal longed for the days when liquor could actually get her drunk.
“Actually, I came to apologize. If you don’t have me thrown out before I finish, that is. I was rude earlier and don’t have any excuse for my behavior.”
Kendal smiled and tried not to gloat. She would have given Mac enough money to salvage his empire just to have seen Piper’s face when she learned what Kenny Delaney had planned. She’d finished her research on Piper after lunch and found Piper had never mixed business with the inside of her bedroom, so in this instance she must’ve found her situation bleak. Those who’d been lucky enough to share Piper’s bed had played strictly by her rules, if all her information was correct, and those liaisons had been few.
“Your being here can only mean one of two things, or perhaps a combination of the two.”
Her triumphant tone apparently made Piper lose any trace of remorse. “What’s your guess?”
Kendal guessed she was holding back a string of curses. “Macarthur reprimanded you after I left, and you found a snake crawling in your bed.” She exhaled and blew a large smoke ring, followed by a smaller one that landed in the middle. “Am I on target?” A stream of smoke followed, cutting straight through the center of the rings like an arrow hitting its mark.
“I don’t even have to be here for this conversation if you know every goddamn thing there is to know.”
She didn’t show any sign that the display of immaturity bothered her as she stared at Piper. “Can I ask you something?”
“Do I have a choice?” Piper asked hostilely, rolling her eyes and apparently waiting for her to rub her mistakes into her wounds.
“Yes, you do, and so do I.” She stood, which sent the bartender running over. “Please put this on my tab. We’re done.”
“You’re leaving?” Piper asked.
“Contrary to my reputation as a heartless shark, I don’t enjoy playing with my prey. Nor do I enjoy the company of people who clearly detest everything about me. You hate me because I’m taking advantage of a business opportunity, and I can understand and appreciate that since I’m looking at your family’s company. It doesn’t, however, mean that I intend to sit here and take shit from you.”
She leaned over the table like she had at their first meeting, making Piper press her back to her chair. “You want me gone from your life, fine. Consider it done. By tomorrow, though, you�
��ll have ten other sharks circling the building and you’ll long for the devil you know. Good luck, Miss Marmande. You and your grandfather will need it, because Kenny’s going to carve you up without considering you or your workers.”
Piper wanted to stop her, but no words would come out of her mouth. Only after Kendal disappeared out the door did she dig out her phone and call the car waiting downstairs.
“You strike out, boss?”
“In a big way. Keep an eye on the exits. Ms. Richoux says she’s out of the deal, but she’s put a lot of effort into us. She’s not going anywhere.” She fished out a bill for her drink that the bartender promptly gave back before leaving her alone. “It’s time I know as much about Richoux as she knows about me.”
“Will do, boss. I’ll call you later.”
Chapter Eight
From her position Hill Hickman could see Kendal standing at the valet station just inside the motor entrance of the hotel. “I’ve got you pegged as the limo type.”
Expecting a boring sedan, Hill was shocked when the valet drove down a very large black motorcycle. Strapped to the back was a black leather jacket with gloves tucked into the pocket. Kendal handed her suit jacket to the valet and donned the heavier, warmer garment before roaring out of the garage headed out of town. At a red light she pulled out her phone and made a quick call. With a scanning device, Hill listened in from two car-lengths back.
“Bruce, pack it up and head home tonight, if you can. Take the team with you and scrub Marmande from our hot list.”
“What? Why?” Bruce asked in such a high pitch Kendal had to move the phone away from her ear.
“Because I’m no longer interested. They could give me the whole damn thing and I still wouldn’t want it. Mr. Marmande can keep that spawn he calls family, and they can both stew in the mess they’ve created.”
“We can’t just walk away. It’s like throwing millions down the toilet.”
“This isn’t up for discussion, so get back to the office and find something else. This deal is dead.” The light changed and Kendal walked the bike to the curb, making Hill have to pass her.
