by Sandra Hill
The prosecutor, Dean Avery, led him through the easy questions to set forth his part in the case.
Then one of the defense lawyers . . . there were six . . . laid into him. The cross-examination was brutal, led by Rita Nicastro, Esquire, from New York City, a plump thirty-something woman with a mustache, poured into a no-nonsense gray suit.
“Is it true, Detective LeDeux, that you were once a stripper in Atlantic City?”
Whoa! This one went for the element of surprise. “Yes, ma’am.” He put special emphasis on the
“ma’am.” He could tell that annoyed her. “For two weeks, ma’am.”
She arched her bushy eyebrows, mostly for the benefit of the jurors. “Got fired, did you?”
“No, ma’am. I quit.”
“Oh, why was that? Too shy?” A titter of laughter passed through the courtroom.
“Your honor,” the prosector objected. “What does his shyness have to do with this case?”
The judge waved the objection aside.
“Hardly shy. Nope, I only did it on a bet.”
“A bet? So, you’re a gambling man. No, don’t answer that. Were you in the Playpen on a bet, too?”
“No, ma’am. That was my job.”
“Your job was to be a prostitute?”
“To pretend to be a prostitute.”
“Are you saying you never had sex for hire?”
“Never.”
“And if I were to say there were several women who would testify that you did?”
“They would be liars . . . ma’am. Or paid to testify to that effect.”
“Your honor, I object!” Ms. Nicastro and five other lawyers shouted.
“Sustained,” the judge said. “None of your lip, Detective LeDeux. Stick to answering the questions.”
He’d known Judge Lightley for ages. In fact, he and his son Fred, better known as Zippo, had been friends in high school.
“Yes, sir.”
“You testified earlier that you witnessed both men and women paying for sexual favors. Could you be more explicit?”
He raised his eyebrows and looked at the judge.
Judge Lightley sighed and said, “Go ahead . . . within reason. Keep in mind, there are ladies in the room.”
John had been prepared for this question, and he wrung his hands virtually with anticipated pleasure. “I saw Mimi Delacroix, one of the prostitutes—”
“I object!” said six lawyers. Ms. Nicastro added, “Miss Delacroix has not been proven to be a prostitute.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but Miss Delacroix has a rap sheet a mile long.”
The judge put up a halting hand before the defense lawyers could object again. “Detective LeDeux, this is a second warning. Answer the questions. No opinions. Jurors, you will disregard that characterization.”
He nodded. “I saw Miss Delacroix go down on six men for fifty bucks a pop. She did a figure eight on another man and a corkscrew on yet another, both for a hundred bucks each.”
There was a collective gasp throughout the courtroom.
“Then, there was Suzy Foo. For twenty bucks, she sucked the toes of a woman lawyer from Biloxi.
Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Ms. Nicastro; I didn’t name the female lawyer.
“Elaine Hebert engaged in a ménage à trois with two men, but declined to do their dog. It was a German Shepherd. The going price for threesomes was three hundred dollars.
“Then there were the men. Jasper Wilson was the most popular. Whoo-boy, that man could get mondo erections. Women didn’t mind payin’ the two hundred dollars for a half hour of his time, if their smiles on exiting were any indication.
“Jules Sebastian was in the process of havin’ a sex change operation. So, those with a taste for acey/deucy got him for a bargain fifty bucks.
“Jon Paul Savonne spoke French while doin’ the deed, and got some uptown ladies to pay a hundred dollars for the lagniappe.
“Evan Sinclair had a tongue like that guy from Kiss. Need I say more? He was almost as popular as Jasper.”
The courtroom was going wild with laughter and talking while he blathered on, ignoring the pounding of the gavel, the objections of the lawyers, and the prosecutor’s staff putting their faces in their hands. Newspaper reporters were grinning from ear to ear, taking notes frenetically.
When the judge and the bailiff finally brought the courtroom back to order, Judge Lightley glared at him. “Are you aware that you are this close—” He held a thumb and forefinger about one inch apart.
“—to sitting in the lockup for contempt? And I don’t just mean for the day.”
“Sorry, your honor.”
“Lawyers, up here now for a sidebar. Detective LeDeux, do you think you could manage to keep your mouth shut ’til we’re done?”
“Yes, sir.”
After the consultation, the prosecutor gave John a silent message to behave himself, and all six defense lawyers gave him a pointed glower.
He was still sitting in the witness chair when the judge turned back to him. “Detective LeDeux, this trial is not a joke. You will limit your remarks to direct answers to questions.” He turned to the jury then and said, “Jurors, you are to disregard the inflammatory nature of Detective LeDeux’s testimony.”
Hah! Like they were ever going to forget those descriptions!
After that, John was grilled on how he had witnessed these activities. “Through a peephole.”
“Are you a voyeur?”
“No. Except . . . ” He glanced at the judge for permission to elaborate.
“Go ahead,” Judge Lightley said on a long sigh.
“Except I like the occasional X-rated movie.”
Ms. Nicastro named the five defendants in the case and asked if he had ever witnessed any illegal activities in which they had been directly involved.
He gave specific dates, times, and what he had seen.
At the end, she got him to say that he was temporarily off duty with the police force, the implication being he had done something wrong.
“Where do you reside at the present time?”
John hesitated and gave his father’s address in Houma. He’d like to see some Mafia thug try to take his dad down.
Ms. Nicastro frowned. “Are you saying that you have been living there for the past three weeks?”
“Not exactly. I’m . . . uh, on vacation.”
“Where are you vacationing?”
“Here and there.”
“Your honor,” Ms. Nicastro complained to the judge.
The judge glanced at him. “Well?”
“I’ve been fishin’.” That was at least partially true, and here in southern Louisiana, “gone fishin’”
was a legitimate excuse for just about anything.
“With Detective Woodrow?”
“Nah. His here and there for fishin’ is different from my here and there.”
The judge declared that would be a sufficient answer, knowing full well why the Mafia wanted to know where he was hiding.
“You’re excused, Detective LeDeux.” Under his breath, the judge added, “God help us all.”
That night, the evening newspapers headlined him: “Cajun Cop Adds Sizzle to Trial.”
The things kids say . . .
It took another day before John was able to leave Baton Rouge, what with all the meetings with his department, as well as the prosecutor’s. Once the prosecutor, Dean Avery, had reamed him out, they had a good laugh together over his testimony.
Now, he was sitting in Remy’s helicopter at a small Dallas private airport with his son at his side.
They would be flying to Remy’s home heliport and from there taking the hydroplane to the cabin. For him, ’til the trial was over and the bad guys were in jail. For Etienne, just an overnight visit.
The kid was so excited as the copter took off, it was a good thing he was belted in or he would have been bouncing up and down. No fear at all. Just talk, talk, talk.
�
�I have a toy helicopter. David gave it to me. Wanna play with it sometime?”
“Do you have a gun? Didja ever shoot any bad guys?”
“I want a dog.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“I hafta pee.”
“Where’s my mom?”
“Kin I sleep with you t’night in a tent?”
“Betcha I kin catch five fishes next time. My friend Pete dint believe I caught an eel. Maybe we could take some pictures.”
“I want a dog.”
“My grampa has a big bubble by his too-too . . . a her-knee-yah.”
“David has a big too-too. I saw it when we peed against a tree at the campsite.”
“Wanna piece of bubble gum?”
“Do you have any tattoos? I really wanna get a tattoo. A pirate one. Or else I wanna get a peg leg.”
“My mom has curly hair over her pee-pee.”
“Do girls fart? My mom says only boys fart, but Pete sez his sister Glory Ann cuts the cheese in her sleep.”
“I want a dog.”
By the time they arrived back at the cabin, about noon, John was wondering if the kid ever shut up, and where did he come up with some of this stuff? Remy, on the other hand, could barely control his laughter . . . not at Etienne, but at him having a son who was going to be as wild and outrageous as he ever was.
Celine and Tante Lulu were waiting for them. The rest of the team was working at the site.
Wading to the plane, Celine lifted out her son. Then she kissed him and hugged him as if she hadn’t seen him or talked to him for years, instead of days.
The boy skipped—he never just walked—up to the cabin alongside Tante Lulu, who tempted him with the offer of beignets and chocolate milk. Remy went off to see the progress of the Pirate Project.
Leaving John alone with Celine.
“I heard you were your usual charming self at the trial.”
And he, charming devil that he was, snarled out, “Who the hell is David?”
Talking to the Cajun brick wall . . .
Celine stayed back at the cabin with Tante Lulu while John took Etienne to the work site, with the promise of lots of mud and pirate gold.
She soon realized what a mistake that was when Tante Lulu started in on her.
The two of them were washing up, drying, and packing the morning stash of gold coins into storage containers. Not as much as the first finds, yesterday and the day before, but still impressive. There were also a few necklaces and rings in this last batch. Nothing spectacular, and all of it gold. No precious stones. Still, a nice change.
“Ya gonna marry up with this David fella?”
She rolled her eyes. Here we go again. “No. He’s just a friend.”
“Etienne talks about him a lot.”
That little stinker. “He talks about the garbage man a lot, too.”
“So, what kinda friend is he? The sleepin’ over kind?”
“I am not going to answer that question. We date occasionally. He’s a reporter on assignment in Afghanistan right now.”
“Well then, ya gonna marry up with Tee-John?”
Good grief, she’s persistent. “No.”
“Why not?”
Aaarrgh! Because he hates me, for one thing. “I’m not in love with him,” she blurted out, as if it had anything to do with anything.
“You will be.”
Is that a fate worse than death, or a fate to be desired? “You can’t know that.”
“The thunderbolt has already struck, honey.”
Celine would like to tell her what she could do with that darn thunderbolt.
“Besides, St. Jude is already a-workin’. You Catholic, hon?”
“I was baptized Catholic, but I’ve lapsed.”
“Once a Catholic, always a Catholic.”
There was no sense arguing with the old lady.
“A mommy and daddy should be together with their chile.”
“Lots of single parents raise children today.”
“Not in my fam’ly.”
“You can’t force things just because you want them a certain way.”
“Won’t be no forcin’ necessary when the thunderbolt and St. Jude are at yer back. I already started on yer bride quilt. Since ya doan have a mama, I figger Charmaine kin give ya advice, be the mother of the bride, that kinda thing.”
Charmaine, the quintessential bimbo? “That’s nice.”
“That Tee-John is gonna make the prettiest groom. Whoo-ee, the gals from here ta Texas gonna be cryin’ when he walks down the aisle.”
“I thought it was the bride who walked down the aisle, and she’s the one supposed to be pretty.”
“That goes without sayin’. I gots an antique weddin’ gown that was never used iffen ya might be interested.”
Tante Lulu made that offer in an offhand manner, but Celine could tell it was important to her. Was it possible . . . ? “Yours?”
Tante Lulu nodded.
“Me ’n Phillipe was gonna be married when he got home from the war, but he died on D-day.”
“If I were going to be married—and I’m not—I would be honored to wear your gown. However, you’re a lot smaller than me.”
“I usta be taller. I had boobs and a butt at one time, too. Anyways, gowns can be altered ta fit. I’ll show it to ya next time yer back at my place.”
This conversation was making her way too uncomfortable. “Listen, Tante Lulu, you should know that John is talking about a lawsuit.”
Tante Lulu waved a hand dismissively. “He’s jist upset. He’ll come around.”
Celine wasn’t so sure about that. “I think I’ll go see how Etienne is doing at the work site.”
“One more thing,” Tante Lulu said. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Etienne. He’s the bestest gift I’ve had in a long while.”
It was with tears in her eyes that Celine left.
The joys of parenthood, oh, my! . . .
Fatherhood was wearing a bit thin for John.
Picking up the little snot by the belt at the back of his shorts, he carried him over to the stream and dropped him in to wash off about ten pounds of mud.
Sputtering and laughing, Etienne stood in the shallow water and said, “Do it again.”
“No. That’s enough. You’ve gotta settle down, Etienne. You don’t throw mud. You don’t say bad words when someone corrects you. You don’t put gold coins in your mouth. And the next time I say,
‘Come here!’ I mean now.”
“Yer mean.” His bottom lip quivered, and he burst out bawling.
“Oh, God! Now what?” He picked him up, sopping wet, and began to carry him the short distance to the work site camp. Halfway there, Etienne stopped crying and struggling, laid his head on his shoulder, and went limp. Totally asleep. Just like that. Tantrum to zonkers in one second flat.
Meanwhile, the whole front of John was wet.
He’d just laid Etienne down on a pallet inside one of the tents and sunk to the ground outside with exhaustion, when Celine showed up.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice shrill with concern.
“Shhhh. He’s asleep.”
She peered inside. Then, satisfied that her son was all right, she sank down to the ground next to him. “So? What happened?”
“Nothing. He just had a meltdown after two hours of Energizer Bunny nonstop activity.”
“In other words, the usual.”
“How does your grandfather handle him?”
“He has help, and Etienne goes to play school three mornings a week. In the fall, he starts kindergarten. But, yeah, by the time I get home, my grandfather is beat. You have to understand, though, Etienne is being well cared for. I’m lucky to have my grandfather’s help.”
“I wasn’t criticizing.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you suggested yesterday. Maybe, instead of lawyers, we should be talking to a mediator.”
&
nbsp; “In order to mediate, you have to be willing to compromise. So far, all I’ve heard is how I need to go slow and be nice. I’ve been nice for twenty-eight freakin’ years. Time for some bad.” Even he realized how juvenile that last sounded, but like his son, he was having a meltdown, too, except his couldn’t be corrected with a nap.
“I am not going to let Etienne live with you; that is totally off the table. Furthermore, I can’t let him stay with you for any extended period of time, either, not ’til I see how . . . well, how things go.”
“Why don’t you say what you really mean?”
“I mean, I can’t be sure you’ll even want to be a real father, once the novelty wears off. And I can’t have him exposed to your lifestyle.”
“Now you’ve gone too far. What do you think I do in my spare time? Engage in orgies? Oh, God, you do, don’t you?”
Her face pinkened with embarrassment. “Not orgies, precisely, but a steady parade of women.”
“Unbelievable . . . that’s what you are. Celine, I hadn’t had carnal knowledge with a woman for a month before we did the deed.”
“A whole month? Poor deprived boy!”
He gritted his teeth before speaking again. “Be careful of that corner you’re backin’ yourself into, chère.”
“I won’t be threatened by you.”
“That wasn’t a threat. Just a bit of friendly advice.”
“John, be reasonable—”
“I’m tired of being reasonable, too.”
“A couple hours in his company and you’re already wiped out.”
“I’ll get better.” Then he muttered under his breath, “I better.”
She smiled at him.
She had a really nice smile. And he hated that he couldn’t allow himself to like her smile. “You know, I was startin’ to like you before you pulled this crap.”
“Same here.”
They were both quiet for a while.
“What do you mean, ‘same here’?” Man, he was pitiful. She’d just about gut punched him with the news of his son, betrayed him essentially, and made him so mad he had to clench his fists to keep from shaking her, and here he was asking if she liked him.
“I mean the same thing you did. I was starting to like you. It might have led to something more. No, it wouldn’t have. But still, my opinion of you was changing a bit.”
