Wild Jinx

by Sandra Hill

  “I’ll tell the gang. I know they’ve felt uncomfortable about what you might disclose about their private lives.”

  “Especially John.”

  “Especially John,” Ronnie agreed. “Keep this in mind, John is a good guy. He’ll do the right thing.”

  That’s what scared Celine. “What is the right thing?”

  Ronnie shrugged. “I just meant that he’s not going to do anything that would hurt you or your son.”

  “Maybe not Etienne, but . . . ”

  “Take it from someone who’s been married and divorced to the same man four times. This is only a speed bump in your love life.”

  “Oh, we aren’t in love, or anything even close. In fact, look closely, and you’ll see pure hundred proof hatred shooting out of John’s eyes right now.”

  “You know what they say about that fine line between love and hate.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like Tante Lulu.”

  Ronnie laughed. “Bet she’s planning the wedding already.”

  “She would like to, but I told her, and John told her, that it isn’t going to happen.”

  “That’s not going to stop her.”

  Celine groaned.

  Jake, Angel, Adam, and even Caleb came up to offer their opinions and advice to her, too. All of it pretty much the same thing. Hold on, things would work out.

  The question was: What did things “working out” mean?

  Finally, John strode up to her and demanded, “So, is everyone tellin’ you that you’re Mother Teresa and I’m a horse’s ass?”

  She blinked with surprise. “Whaaat?”

  “You heard me. I’ve seen everyone comin’ up to you, all sweet-like, pattin’ your shoulder, givin’

  you hugs, then turnin’ to glare at me.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re the one who’s glaring.”

  He was standing, hands on hips, while she sat . . . a domineering position. “Meet me downstream from the cabin after dinner. We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “You can’t be that dumb.” With those insulting words, he turned away from her and was heading back to dig some more.

  “By the way, John,” she called to his back. “You are a horse’s ass.”

  He wasnʼt ready to make nice . . .

  John wished he’d been able to go off by himself after his son left this afternoon, but work had called, especially when Ronnie and Jake arrived.

  As a result, he’d felt as if he were walking a gauntlet of questions, congratulations, sympathy, advice, and all around intrusiveness from the project members. And he hadn’t had a chance to vent his spleen with Celine yet . . . not fully.

  If he had his druthers . . . a Tante Lulu word, for sure . . . he would be off drinking himself into a knee-walking stupor. Unfortunately, there was no strong booze here. And he’d never been that much into drinking his pain away.

  Famosa had shocked the hell out of him by confiding, “I had a kid once.”

  “What?” he’d practically squawked. “What do you mean . . . had?”

  “I got this girl pregnant when I was in college . . . like you. But unlike you, Molly told me right away.”

  “Oh, please, don’t start bein’ nice to me, Famosa. I don’t think I could take it.”

  Ignoring him, although he’d probably have liked to flick him the bird, Famosa had continued,

  “Know what I did?”

  “I don’t want to know. Go away.”

  “I slapped five hundred dollars in her hand and said it wasn’t my problem.”

  “Is this supposed to have some relevance to me?”

  “Shut up, redneck, and listen for once. I assumed she had gotten rid of the kid. Hell, I probably just didn’t want to know. A few years ago, I ran into Molly . . . a heart surgeon now at Johns Hopkins.

  Turns out she had the baby . . . a girl . . . with spina bifida.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “She only lived three months, but Molly stayed by her side in the hospital twenty-four/seven.

  Where was I? Probably on summer break . . . skin diving in the Bahamas.”

  “Oh, my God!” he’d said again.

  “The message here, LeDeux: I never got a chance to correct my mistake. You have a living, breathing, healthy son. There were mistakes all around. Grow the hell up.”

  Now John was waiting for Celine to finish dinner and meet him for a heart-to-heart. He hadn’t been able to eat himself, too agitated by the day’s events.

  He was sitting on a dead cypress tree. There were lots of fallen tress in the bayou, always replenished by new ones. And, yes, he’d checked for snakes before sitting down. They’d come across at least a dozen today while digging for the gold, only one of which had been poisonous, but Peachey had taken to popping antacids after the first three.

  The moss hanging from the live oaks lining the banks swayed in a slight breeze. Creepy. Like a dead woman’s hair. Any other time, he would see the beauty in this swamp land, but this evening it just seemed gloomy and gray.

  Celine came up on him without warning. Usually he was more alert. She studied the log for a moment, then must have figured it had to be safe if he was sitting. She plopped down next to him.

  “Tell me about Etienne. From the beginning. And I mean before he was born. Did you give birth in a hospital? Which one? Was it a long labor? How much did he weigh? Did you nurse him? Does he have a middle name?”

  She stared at him steadily, unsure if he really wanted all the details.

  He did.

  “I found out I was pregnant when I was three months along. You had used a condom, in case you thought you hadn’t.”

  “I wasn’t that blitzed.”

  “Whatever. We both had too much to drink.”

  “Did you ever consider telling me?”

  “I did. I wrote a note and left it in your apartment mailbox, asking you to call me. You never did.”

  He frowned. “When was that?”

  “Early June. Finals week, actually.”

  “Celine! I’d already left for Jersey. All my class work and tests were taken early. I didn’t even bother to come back for graduation.”

  “Surely someone would have passed the message on to you.”

  “Are you kidding? You expect that kind of reliability from college guys? During the chaotic tail end of the school year? I never got your message.” He stared at her incredulously. “And that was your only attempt?”

  “A couple months later, Gramps sent me a local newspaper photo of you winning some dance contest at Swampy’s Tavern. You had your arm around a woman . . . it seemed telling to me.”

  He furrowed his brow, trying to remember, then exclaimed, “Ferchrissake! It was Charmaine, my sister.”

  “How was I to know that? You looked so carefree, so wild, so you. I figured there was no room for a baby in your life . . . especially a baby born of a one-night stand.”

  “Don’t even freakin’ try to say you were doin’ me a favor.”

  “I wasn’t. It was my baby I was doing a favor.”

  “You had no right—”

  She stood and was about to walk away. “Look, this is accomplishing nothing. You want a blame fest . . . write me a letter.”

  “I’m sorry.” He motioned for her to sit back down. “Did you ever consider an abortion?”

  “I did. I won’t lie about it. I was scared, and I had no money. No clue how to care for a baby.” She shrugged.

  There was a story there. John just knew it. But that could wait ’til later. “And?”

  “I couldn’t do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Dammit! Give me a break here, John. I had your baby. That’s all you need to know.”

  “I don’t think so. What happened after that?”

  “I had to tell my grandfather.”

  “Oh, boy, that must have been fun, especially with his opinion of the LeDeuxs.”

  “You have no idea!” She laughed in remembran
ce. “I had lived with my grandfather since I was in tenth grade, after my parents died.”

  John recalled that Celine’s dad had committed suicide and wondered how that had played into all the decisions she’d made later. A fifteen-year-old girl had to have felt abandoned. Was that one of the reasons she’d chosen to keep Etienne?

  “I knew my grandfather’s opinion of the LeDeuxs, and my having sex with one of them spelled betrayal of the highest order. But once he calmed down, he offered to take care of me and the baby, let me go back to finish college, give me all the support I needed, financial and otherwise. Provided I never involved you or any of the LeDeuxs in Etienne’s life.”

  He wanted to rail at her for agreeing to such an immoral act, but stopped himself.

  “I was in labor for twelve hours, but it was a natural childbirth, not caesarian. And his middle name is John.”

  He nodded his thanks for that small favor.

  “His favorite movie is Pirates of the Caribbean.”

  “Isn’t that a bit adult for a kid his age? Oh, don’t get your mouth all pruned up. I wasn’t questioning your parental choices.”

  “Pruned up?” She fought a smile. “He watches the bleeped-over version. Seventeen times so far.”

  “To show how far removed I am from kid-dom, I didn’t even known there were curse-deleted DVDs. This I’ve gotta see, though. Johnny Depp saying ‘darn.’” There was a lot he was going to have to learn about being a parent, and quickly, he realized. That was assuming he was going to be involved.

  “I guess that means I need to clean up my language around him.”

  “Yep. He’s like a parrot. Repeats everything he hears, especially if he thinks they might be bad words. His favorite kind.”

  “My father swore like a sailor. Still does. Every sentence has to have a foul word. And he never gave a rat’s ass if I was around or not. In fact, I think he taught me the F-word when I was Etienne’s age.” He hadn’t meant to reveal all that and glanced quickly to Celine to see if she was maybe thinking he didn’t have the genes to be a good father. Or that he was engaging in a pity party.

  “I have to watch my language, too,” she said. “We all slip sometimes.”

  “Stop being gracious, dammit.”

  “And that’s a problem . . . why?”

  “I don’t want you bein’ nice to me, because then I would have to be nice, and I’m still too upset to be nice.”

  “You think you don’t know much about . . . uh, what did you call it? . . . kid-dom, but that was pure kid-speak nonsense.”

  “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing . . . that I still have some kid in me.”

  “You’re right. Etienne will love having a father who’s still a kid.”

  Was she insulting him?

  She put a hand on his forearm and squeezed.

  He shoved her hand away.

  They sat in silence for a few long moments, surrounded by the heady smells of lush flowers, trees, and the stream itself. They watched as the evening rituals of the bayou started up. The nighttime animals were beginning to come out. Bats, of course. Dozens of varieties of frogs, each with its own distinctive sound; René could probably identify them just by their vocal cords. There were other nocturnal creatures: flying squirrels, owls, foxes, skunks, opossums, raccoons. They would have to go back to the cabin soon, before the mosquitoes were out in full force.

  “This all comes at the piss-poor worst time for me. See what I mean about my language? I said that without thinkin’. Anyhow, I can’t plan anything until this trial is over. Even if the chief allowed me to come back now, I wouldn’t be able to be around you and Etienne or my family ’til the Dixie Mafia guys are no longer a threat to any of you. They’d like nothin’ better than to get at me through someone I cared about. Afterward, though, I’ll need to be around Etienne.”

  “I’m more than willing to have you visit, or even have him come to stay with you occasionally on weekends or vacations.”

  “What planet are you livin’ on, babe? I meant live with me. You can visit him, not the other way around.”

  “You can’t be serious. I wouldn’t give up custody of Etienne, and don’t even think of threatening me with legal action. No court is going to take a child from its mother just because she didn’t inform the father of paternity.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that. Fathers have rights, too.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about raising a child.”

  “I’ll learn. Besides, I have a good lawyer.”

  “Would you be so cruel as to separate a child from its mother?”

  “Would you be so cruel as to separate a child from its father?”

  “John, you’re not thinking straight.”

  “No kidding. You drop a bomb and expect me to be clear-headed and logical.” His voice rose to a falsetto as he continued, mimicking her now, “By the way, John. You have a son. Now, be nicey-nice.

  I’ll let you come over for a play date sometime if you’re good,” followed by, “Shiiit!”

  She inhaled and exhaled several times, clearly trying to tamp down her temper. Well, la de da, he was in a temper, too.

  “Listen, I haven’t thought this through yet, but why can’t Etienne move into my cottage? You could see him whenever you want. Hell, you can stay overnight sometimes if you want.”

  She laughed. She actually laughed at him. “That’s big of you. Bet your girlfriends will love that.”

  “Stop bein’ so sarcastic.”

  “Who’s going to watch Etienne when you’re working?”

  “I’ll get someone.”

  “That’s just great. His father’s a stranger, and he’ll hire strangers to stay with him.”

  “Okay, Ms. Know-it-all. Let’s compromise. What are you willin’ to give up?”

  Her chin went up, and her jaw jutted out.

  “Okay, maybe that was a bit drastic. How ’bout he lives with you weekdays, but he lives with me all other times, when I don’t have to work. Weekends, holidays, summer vacation.” He congratulated himself on how generous he was being, considering his fury.

  “Never! Even if I were willing, it would be too disruptive to Etienne’s routine. No way!”

  “Even I know how resilient kids are.”

  “He wouldn’t understand.”

  Okay, I tried. Enough with the generosity. “Bullshit! He’s a smart kid. He halfway suspects by now that I’m his dad.”

  “This is ridiculous. You’ve only just met your son and you’re making all these plans. What about the DNA tests?”

  “I still want the tests done, but I’d have to be blind not to see the resemblance.”

  Now that she was going to have to dump her idea of winning by default . . . as in his not claiming his son . . . she tried a different tack. “Have you considered how this would change your life, or even if you want it to change? Slow down, for heaven’s sake.”

  “How can I slow down? I’ve already lost five years.”

  Her face went mulish. Well, he could be mulish, too.

  John stood. He’d had enough of this crap. Before he walked away, he told her, “I would suggest you hire a lawyer.”

  Chapter 18

  They wanted him to testify, and, boy, did he testify! . . .

  John’s personal life was put on hold the next day with the order to return to town immediately, incognito, and report to the courthouse in Baton Rouge. The trial had been sped up and was about to begin.

  He wasn’t the only one required to go to all these convoluted lengths in order to testify. There were at least a dozen others, including the police, ATF, and FBI. They would be without disguises once on the stand, but coming to and leaving the courthouse, they were sitting ducks for Mafia snipers.

  At this point, it was the upper hierarchy that were on trial: the club manager who was considered a

  “soldier,” a counselor or consiglieri, an accountant, and two sons of the “godfather,” who acted as

  “lieutenants.�
� They were being charged with prostitution, narcotics (one kilo of coke found on the premises), gambling (a slot machine in the back), blackmail, extortion, bribery, racketeering, possession of illegal firearms, and various other sundry crimes, like resisting arrest and disorderly conduct, the hope being that at least some of the charges would stick. Ten “soldiers” had already been tried and sentenced for lesser crimes, which meant they would probably be out of jail in a year.

  The cases against customers of the club and lower level employees had already been adjudicated in lower courts, most of whom only got a bullet, or one year, negotiated down to probation and hefty fines. A night in the holding pen had been enough to scare the bejesus out of most of them. Prostitutes .

  . . those who hadn’t copped a deal with the prosecution . . . had been fined or given summary jail sentences.

  Celine was pissed, to say the least, that she hadn’t been able to contact a lawyer yet and that she wasn’t being permitted to attend the trial as a reporter. It had been her story to begin with, she’d complained endlessly last night. As a concession, the chief was giving her an exclusive background story every day for the next week to call in to the newspaper, provided she didn’t tell her boss where she was getting the confidential info, or that she’d been in hiding with Police Detective John LeDeux.

  If it had been up to him, he would have told her to go fly a kite.

  John got prepped in one of the side rooms before being called to the stand late that afternoon. Tank had gone just before him. As they passed in the hall, Tank rolled his eyes, indicating that John was in for it.

  John’s role in the investigation and bust had been minimal, but the defense lawyers were gunning for him, probably considering him an easy mark because of his reputation. Although cameras were not permitted inside, John could see that an artist was sketching him. God only knows what label they would put on him today, even though he was dressed respectably in a navy blue jacket, khaki pants, a button shirt, and a tie. He even wore wire-rimmed reading glasses, for effect. A regular GQ geek cop.