The Devil's Orchard

by Ali Vali

  “Why so formal today? You usually take such pleasure in saying my name so I sound like a backwoods pig farmer.”

  “Annabel it is, then. Is there something in particular you’d like to talk about?”

  “If that was you last night, it might’ve misfired. Explosions of any kind attract more federal agents, and it becomes sort of an acronym convention.”

  “If you’re talking about what I saw on the news this morning, I hope you do bring in all the troops you can.” She slowed her gait to make sure Annabel didn’t twist an ankle by catching her low heels in the cracks spread across the front of their building. “Maybe if stuff like this keeps happening, you’ll reassign some of these guys someplace they’d do more good. I’m not so dangerous that I need to be watched twenty-four hours a day. It’s such a waste of taxpayer money.”

  “No, this,” Annabel pointed to Cain, then herself, “is a waste of my time and taxpayer money, but do you have any idea what happened last night?” Annabel followed her inside and nodded when she pointed to the coffee service in the corner of the large open space.

  They’d sit out there since Cain didn’t want anyone with a badge in her offices. “I can repeat what I read in the paper and saw on the news, but I’d hope you have more information than that.”

  “So you couldn’t tell me who owned those places?”

  She brought back two full cups with a tray of sweetener and cream. Any more of this and she’d have to retire and become a Southern belle whose life revolved around genteel pursuits. “We’d get along so much better if you all would spit out what you want rather than trying to play these bullshit games. Let’s try that approach. What do you want?” So much for her Southern belleness.

  “The places hit last night, according to the DEA, allegedly belonged to the Luis family. From what the neighbors say, whoever owned them was moving inventory in and out in large quantities. Since no one ever reported anything out of fear, these locations weren’t under surveillance.”

  Cain watched Annabel’s mouth as she spoke and the way it set to a grimace when she finished. Annabel appeared to be a woman with a great weight, which, if she had to guess, was caused by the accumulation of failures she’d experienced since her predecessor Barney Kyle was relieved of his post. Desperate people were usually dangerous, but because of Annabel’s position, she seemed almost gun-shy.

  “Sounds like the beginning of a drug war,” she said, when Annabel didn’t add anything else.

  “Or someone with a grudge against the owners.”

  “So I’m your first stop…again?” She smiled, finding the predictability of these people laughable, even though in this case Annabel was right.

  “I’m not blaming, I’m asking if you’ve heard anything. For someone who owns a bar, you’re surprisingly in the know about stuff like this.”

  The answer was another surprise because it rang true. “I can promise you that drugs and the people who sell them are subjects we agree don’t have a place in this city. It’s not realistic that you or any police organization will get rid of all of them, but whenever I can help you take someone like Juan Luis down, I will. I even spoke to the police department when Rodolfo Luis was found dead, and they asked for my help. All I discovered then was he was a major player who was partnering with Big Gino and his sons.”

  “We found Rodolfo,” Annabel said, and finally smiled. “Gino and family are still MIA. Do you know Big Gino’s wife still calls me about her grandson? She’s accepted that her husband and sons won’t be coming back, but that baby haunts her.”

  “Let’s get back to what you need,” Cain said so she wouldn’t get sucked into this conversation.

  “Hit a nerve?”

  “You don’t think much of me, but to hang the death of a child on me is a stretch even for the FBI. I have children and one on the way, so there are things I’ll never be guilty of, no matter where your limited imagination skitters off to.”

  “Fair enough.” Annabel spread her hands out and dropped them as if exhausted. “If you have contacts on the streets that tell you anything about this, I’d appreciate if you’d share that information with us. If your predictions of a drug war are true, the city’s going to become a cluster of chaos. Nothing thrives in chaos, Cain.”

  “Give me a few days and I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  Her assistant walked Annabel out, so Cain headed for her office. It was about the time Lou had set for the next part of her plan, and she only trusted the phone in there for his update. What Annabel failed to see was that war was at times chaotic, but also cleansing. The smaller dealers, who by nature were the most aggressive and vicious, didn’t survive, and only the fittest of the larger operations were left standing. It was easier to see your enemies coming when you thinned the herd.

  “So, Annabel, the war is on its way whether your people are ready or not.”

  *

  “Mr. Rhodes.” The customs agent stared at the passport in his hand, then at Jerome. “Are you here on business or vacation?”

  “Vacation,” he said as he scratched his face, not used to the stubble of his new beard. He didn’t panic because Gracelia’s forger was too good for this idiot to figure he was holding a bogus document.

  “How long will you be in the country?” the agent asked, his eyes back on the passport.

  “Two weeks tops. My plans are flexible, though.”

  After another long hesitation, he stamped the document and waved him through. Had Gracelia been with him it might’ve taken longer, but he’d convinced her to give him a week before she came to meet him. He needed the time to bring her son in line and try to find a new partner. Staying where he was, surrounded by idiots, was suicidal, and he had no interest in that.

  “Those two,” he told one of the crew waiting for him in baggage claim. “Where’s Gustavo?”

  “He wait for you at the hotel.”

  “Let’s go there first.” He got in the car and shook Pablo’s hand. He doubted Pablo had the opportunity to do what he’d asked, but he planned to keep hammering at him until he owned him. “Anything?”

  “I speak with Miguel Gonzales and he promised a meeting with Señor Delarosa when you come. He sound interesado.”

  “Good, now tell me about Gustavo. What’s he been up to?”

  “He become a movie-star fan, so we ignore him. He no is a harm.”

  “What movie star?” He had to give Gustavo credit. His new face might’ve woken up some of his listless brain cells, and with time he could have maybe found out something about Cain by following someone close to Remi Jatibon. But Gustavo had run out of time. It was Jerome’s goal to reel him in and ship him home to Gracelia. They could sit and spin revenge plots all they wanted together, with no hope of carrying any of them out.

  “Dallas Montgomery,” Pablo said, mutilating the last name but confirming he was right. “He go every day to see the film, the men say. They complain it too hot for that shit.”

  Jerome had broken down his theory of Casey’s partnership with the Jatibon family for Gracelia and Gustavo, but something must’ve gotten lost in translation, because if Gustavo thought Cain would trade Emma for some piece of ass Remi Jatibon was bedding, he hadn’t learned anything. The only reason to follow Dallas was a move toward Cain. Gustavo had definitely inherited Gracelia’s drive when it came to what they wanted, but he didn’t have a fucking clue how to get it.

  Gustavo had picked a place they’d never used, and the shabbiness of the lobby and the people in it made him think you could kill someone in the middle of it and no one would claim to have seen a thing. Jerome looked everyone who glanced his way in the eye, a trick from his FBI days. People with something to hide had a tendency to turn away from someone who did that.

  “Where is my mother, puta?” Gustavo asked as soon as he opened the door, using his usual curse for him by calling him a bitch.

  Gustavo appeared unkempt, had bloodshot eyes, and smacked his lips when he wasn’t talking. The bindings keepi
ng his sanity in place appeared strained and at a breaking point. Obsession complicated by heavy drug use was a recipe for disaster.

  “Back home waiting for you.” Jerome motioned for the men to wait for him outside. “She sent me to tell you that time’s up. This shit you’re doing is hurting business.”

  “You got here yesterday, and you think you can fucking tell me what Mama wants?” Gustavo laughed as he stripped his jacket and shirt off. He tucked his gun into the front of his waistband, and Jerome almost wished the stupid shit would pull the trigger and die from blowing his dick off. “You forget already who you listen to?”

  “If you mean yourself, then you need to get your nose out of that nice box you love. Your mother and I came to an agreement, and you were the first thing she caved on. Either go home and pretend you’re important to the business,” he said as he chose the cleanest-appearing chair, sat, and crossed his legs, “or not.”

  “Or not?” Gustavo laughed hysterically as he slapped his chest. “What you mean?”

  “Your mother needs to grow the business more than she’s willing to give in to your craziness. Face facts, amigo. Some things are out of your reach. Emma Casey is number one on that list.”

  “Don’t talk for my mama. You are not important to her like me.” Gustavo slapped his chest again hard enough to leave the mark of his handprint.

  “Call her if you don’t believe me, but before you do, make sure you know everything that’s happened.”

  Gustavo was almost panting as he stood closer to him, so he put both feet on the ground in case the guy got really stupid. “What you talking about?”

  “Three of our places got blown up last night, and no one survived. Once the cops figure out that you locked up those women in only their panties like dogs, they will hunt you down.” He’d deal with the others for not telling him. He’d actually heard about it on the news feed on the plane, and the demeanor of the newswoman on CNN was similar to a starving dog with a meaty bone being waved in front of it. The woman practically salivated as the investigators sifted through the rubble. This story wouldn’t die a quick, quiet death.

  Gustavo stared at him as if he’d suddenly switched to Korean. “You speak shit.”

  “Here.” He handed over his phone. “Call them and tell one of your lap dogs to bring you a refill.”

  “That bitch,” Gustavo yelled. “She did this to me.”

  “Shut the fuck up and start packing.” The door opened and the order echoed out to the hallway. He screamed at Pablo when he entered without knocking. “What?”

  “Someone killed many of our people.”

  “I know that, and you should’ve told me at the airport.”

  “No, señor, on the street. The men we have on the street, they die.”

  “Shit.” Jerome stood and dialed another number. “Find out what the hell happened and get back to me,” he said to the guy who answered. “Pack and get out of my sight. Everything in place went down in a day while you were busy waving your dick at a woman who hates you.” Gustavo reached for his gun, but Pablo beat him to it and drew first. “Do you need a babysitter to see you get back to Mama?”

  “Fuck off.” Gustavo spat at him but kept his hand away from his gun.

  “Who called you?” Jerome asked Pablo as he walked back to the car.

  “He say he not shot, but everyone else dead. I call and no one answer, so I think they dead too.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The call didn’t come from one of their guys. In his gut he knew that was true, and it put him in a bad spot. He couldn’t negotiate with Delarosa if he didn’t know it was him, and he didn’t know it wasn’t him. No one gained an edge if he didn’t have information.

  “He spoke Spanish to you?”

  “Perfect.”

  It couldn’t be Cain, and he couldn’t narrow down who it was with so little to go on. “Get out there and see what’s going on.”

  “And Señor Delarosa?”

  “I’ll deal with that myself, but don’t worry, I’m not cutting you out of that deal.” He shut the door on Pablo and waited until he was calmer to make a call. “You know what to do, right?”

  “Yeah, no worry.”

  “You should worry a little if you want to stay alive.”

  *

  Nicolette Blanc linked her fingers together as if in prayer as she gazed out at the grand homes on St. Charles Avenue. When she’d attended Tulane University, she enjoyed walking this street and those around it because the area reminded her of home. New Orleans as a whole had a sense of history and old traditions not found in too many places in the States.

  She’d left Luce behind, not in the mood for her out-of-control jealousy, especially after she’d tangled with Cain and been completely shut out. Luce was used to giving an order and everyone in their organization falling over themselves to be the one to get it done. It’d taken her a while to garner that type of respect, and Nicolette had often compared her to the one woman she’d never been able to bed no matter how hard she’d tried.

  Cain had fascinated her from the moment she’d seen her walking across the front lawn of the campus with a beautiful girl hanging to her so tight it appeared like Cain would disappear if she let go. It hadn’t taken much after that to find out who Cain was and what the Casey name meant. Luce had worked for the respect she had now, but Cain had been born with the type of charisma that people were drawn to and made them want to please her. Nicolette certainly had wanted to, even after years of rejection.

  They pulled up to an ornate gate, which showed only a small glimpse of the house beyond it. The tall, solid wall reminded her of the defenses Cain had raised against her when she’d approached her about their families doing business together.

  “Can I help you?” The man at her window had the thickest neck she’d ever seen on a human, but his white shirt and tie still appeared tasteful and sedate.

  “Nic Blanc for Cain Casey. I don’t have an appointment, but I don’t mind waiting if she can give me a few minutes.”

  “Wait here, ma’am,” he said, as if she had another choice. He had a short conversation with someone before he returned. “Go ahead in and park over there.” He pointed to an empty spot. “If your driver’s going in with you, make sure he’s clean. Any guns you insist on will be taken and not returned, so don’t make that mistake.”

  The garden to the side and the toys close to it didn’t compute with what she remembered of Cain, but she put that out of her mind when the front door opened. It wasn’t Cain, so the grand reunion she’d dreamed about for years with Cain coming to her and sweeping her off her feet wasn’t going to happen.

  “Welcome, Ms. Blanc, please come in,” the woman said. “Mrs. Casey will be with you shortly.”

  “Mrs. Casey? Cain’s married?”

  “When I say Mrs. Casey, I mean Emma Casey, and she is Ms. Cain’s wife, so she is married.” The woman left her, but the guard close to where she sat kept his eye on her.

  After a long fifteen minutes, a visibly pregnant petite woman stopped close to her and held her hand out. “Welcome to our home, Ms. Blanc, I’m Emma. I’ll be happy to help you since Cain is out at the moment. What can I do for you?”

  Nicolette didn’t often dismiss someone after a glance, but this woman wasn’t worth more than that. Everyone couldn’t be perfect, and Cain had finally fallen from the heavens with this choice. Weakness in anything or anyone was the beginning of their ruination. This woman would be Cain’s.

  “You should’ve mentioned she wasn’t at home,” she said, and didn’t care if her aggravation seeped into her tone. “I’ll call next time.” She walked out, not bothering to take Emma’s hand. When she got outside, the mountain she’d figured they’d have to climb to get back into Cain’s good graces was shaved to an ant pile.

  Emma stared at her front door and laughed. It gave her a sense of pleasure to know Cain had never been with the French asshole who’d walked about
with the same authority she guessed royalty was used to. From Hannah’s squeals coming from the direction of the kitchen, the object of Nicolette’s desires had arrived. “Is Blanc’s car still out there?” she asked the guard close to the door.

  “Yes. Would you like me to call her back in?”

  “No, but thanks for asking,” she said as she winked and walked to the back of the house.

  She hung back when she saw Hannah on Cain’s lap, recounting her entire day at school. Any worry she’d ever had that their daughter would have trouble bonding with Cain had died days after they were all under the same roof.

  Cain, no matter what was going on, dedicated at least an hour every day to Hannah. All that time had erased the skittishness her mother had taught their daughter, and like Hayden, Hannah had embraced her role as a Casey heir with the gusto only Cain could infuse in her. Hannah had become confident in a way that no one experienced unless they were rock-solid sure of their safety net. It wasn’t hard to fly high if you knew Cain was there to catch you.

  “Mom, I told my teacher you and Mama would do it,” Hannah said, her hand in Cain’s.

  “We’d do what?” she asked after she kissed Cain on the lips.

  “We’re hosting a pizza and cupcake party next week for Miss Hannah’s class,” Cain said with a smile. “It’s close to the end of school, Mama, so we have to celebrate that.”

  “You missed someone who wanted to celebrate with you.” She traced Cain’s ear with her finger, which made her want to strip and beg Cain to touch her.

  “You sure it’s not you, lass?” Cain said, in a way that convinced her she could read her mind.

  “You just missed Nicolette Blanc,” she said, and described how the woman had treated her. “I haven’t felt like a piece of fluff since our first date, but that woman managed it in a five-second conversation.”

  “I think someone convinced her as a child that she was a descendant of Marie Antoinette, but must’ve not told her how that story ended.” Cain sat her on her other knee. “I’m sorry about that. I should’ve briefed the guys out front to make her go through the office.”