by Sala, Sharon
“Show me what I am to do.”
He took her to the kitchen, showed her the food and the list with his contact numbers. “Nothing is off limits to any of you. If you want it, it is yours, understand?”
She lifted the lid from the skillet, eyeing the dish of hamburger meat, sweet peppers and pasta and then replaced it gently.
“You cooked this.”
“Yes, it’s not the best but—”
She put a finger to her lips. “Never apologize for doing a good thing,” she said softly. Then she put a hand in the middle of his chest and briefly closed her eyes. “You are a good man, Brendan Poe. Be watchful.”
“Thank you, I will. Now come meet my mother and sister,” he said, and led the way into the spare bedroom.
When they walked in, Delle was sitting up, and Linny was brushing her hair.
The moment they entered, Linny froze. Her lips parted, but nothing came out of her mouth.
LaDelle was another story. Her eyes widened, and then a big grin spread across her face as she leaned forward about to lunge from the bed.
“Claudette?”
The woman flashed a wide, happy smile.
Brendan stared. “You two know each other?”
Delle was laughing as Claudette slid onto the side of the bed. “Yes, Lord yes, we know each other,” Delle said, clutching Claudette’s hands. “We are within twelve hours of being the exact same age, and we slept in the same bed until Claudette got so big Mama had to get her a bed of her own.”
Claudette was laughing. “For which I was most grateful since you continued to wet the bed until you were almost four.”
Linny grinned. “Mama wet the bed?”
Claudette smiled and beckoned for her to come close. As soon as she could reach her, she pulled Linny into her lap.
“Every child wets the bed at least once, is this not so?”
Linny nodded, fascinated by the woman’s manner and looks.
“Okay, Mama, I’m still waiting for an explanation,” Brendan said.
“Claudette is my half-sister, Brendan. Daddy had two families, which no one knew about until Claudette’s mama died. She was barely a year old when Daddy brought her home. Mama put Daddy out of her bed for a whole year, but she took Claudette in her arms like she was one of her own.”
Brendan grinned. “I have an aunt?”
Claudette stood. “Yes. Yes, you do, Brendan Poe. If it is not to your liking, I—”
She never got to finish what she was saying.
Brendan threw his arms around her, kissed her on both cheeks, and then hugged her again.
“Finally! Family I can be proud of,” he said.
Delle felt shame, but at the same time a relief. This day was long overdue. Her marriage to Anson Poe had separated her from everyone she’d known and loved, and if Anson knew Claudette was here, he’d be livid. The thought made her smile.
Brendan shook his head. “Okay, so now I owe Mama Lou even more than my life. She’s given me back family as well, and she’s never gonna let me forget it.”
Claudette lifted her chin, ready to take charge.
“Go to your job, Brendan Poe, and rest assured I can handle any and everything that might possibly occur.”
He left with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step.
****
The Black Garter was in the middle of a block on Rampart Street. The entrance was painted black, and there were no windows to see what was going on inside, partly because of the semi-nudity of the dancers, and partly because the people who were inside had privacy issues of their own.
The décor skirted gaudy, hinted at macabre, and bordered on just enough reality to be interesting. The undertones of a drumbeat played in the background beneath a constant loop of Cajun music. The cocktail waitresses wore black slacks and black lace camisoles with barely there red bras peeking through the naughty lace. It was meant to keep emotions hot, while the constantly circulating air conditioning kept bodies cool.
There was a raised stage behind a half-circle bar where a nearly naked dancer twisted and writhed to a wild jungle drumbeat. The fact a python, white as the dancer was dark, dangled around her neck was almost noticed after the fact.
The two other bartenders who usually worked Juliette’s shift were Toni and Wynn, and they all worked within the open arc between the bar and the stage.
There were two bouncers on every shift, three if it was a weekend or a convention was in town. Tonight, Brendan was on duty with Deuce, an ex-pro football player who’d grown up in the area.
Brendan stood near a wall in the middle of the room that gave him free access to watch the people on the floor as well as people at the bar. There was no access to the stage from the front of the house, but it didn’t stop the occasional customer from trying to climb the bar to get to the woman and her snake.
Deuce was in the process of removing a very drunk customer from the premises for putting his hand down a waitress’s bra when Brendan saw a heavy-set man come inside and head for the bar. He reminded Brendan of a hairless ape: long arms, short legs, and a bald head jammed onto shoulders too big for his body.
It was the same man who’d been coming in every night for a month and making a point to take a seat at the end of the bar where Juliette worked. He wouldn’t look at her, or anybody else, until he’d had at least one drink. After that, he stared at her for hours on end, watching her like a mongoose watches a cobra, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Brendan knew the man made Juliette uneasy, but he’d never said or done anything that would get him removed from the premises. And, until he did, he had free range to come and go and look all he wanted.
****
Julie saw the man approaching and shuddered inwardly. The moment he sat down at the bar, she looked for Brendan across the crowd. Once she caught his eye and realized he’d seen the man come in, too. She relaxed.
The man she privately referred to as “the troll” tapped the bar loudly to get her attention.
She turned, her voice cool and business-like. “What’ll it be?”
“The same,” he said softly without looking at her face.
Julie sensed he liked knowing she was familiar with his tastes, and detected a small glint of satisfaction when she put the first gin and tonic down in front of him. Even though she quickly moved on to the next customer, trading wit and quips with her regulars, the silence between her and the troll grew ominous by the absence of conversation.
Sometimes she would get busy and forget he was there, then hear that sharp tap, tap, as he rapped the bottom of his empty glass against the bar for a refill. But it was the second drink he ordered that got to her, because once the first was gone, he watched her non-stop.
He always stayed until fifteen minutes before closing, at which time he paid his tab plus a ten-dollar tip, and walked out without a stumble, even with five drinks and a bowl of pretzels in his belly.
What Julie didn’t know, and Brendan had yet to find out was that, when Chub Walton left the bar, he stood in the shadows of a nearby alley, waiting to see her come out. He also knew where she lived and followed her home every night. He knew she had a thing with the big, dark-haired bouncer, but that didn’t bother him. He didn’t want her forever. He just wanted her once. Women didn’t last beyond that. Growing up, his mama had always accused him of being hard on his shoes. She’s had no idea he would be hard on his women as well.
For now, Chub was satisfied to anticipate. It was part of the game, which made it better for the main event, and this night was no different. When closing time drew near, he paid up, left, then went to the alley to wait.
A short while later, the big bouncer and the little blonde walked out hand-in-hand to where their cars were parked. After a quick kiss, the guy got in his SUV and followed behind her all the way home.
Chub followed a distance behind them, cruising past only after they went inside, and then made his way home.
****
Two d
ays later
Anson was doing a walk-through of Wisteria Hill with a pad and pen, making notes of things that needed to be fixed or replaced. He hadn’t looked at the place like this in years and it had long since lost the connotation of home. It was just the place where he ate, slept, and fucked. He’d left the child rearing and the house to Delle, and made sure the money he gave her was barely enough to clothe and feed them. But if he was going to get her back, this had to be done. She had to come home on her own to make the rest of his plan work.
When he finally sat down to a solitary supper, it was to the last of Delle’s gumbo. After this, he was going to have to cook his own food, or buy it in town. Once he finished eating, he began making phone calls, wasting no time in getting started.
Within two days, he had a crew repairing the roof, another repairing the exterior in preparation for a paint job, while a third crew was tearing out the old kitchen flooring to install new tile. The last crew was prepping the interior walls of the house, readying them to be painted as well. Once all that was completed, he had a local interior designer on standby to hang new curtains and drapes. His family and neighbors would view it as a much-needed renovation, but to Anson, it was nothing more than a very expensive trap.
****
When Sam and Chance showed up for work that morning and saw what was taking place, they were in shock. They stood on the threshold in the kitchen, staring in disbelief.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked.
“What’s it look like?” Anson asked as he circled the work crew and headed for the door.
“You’re fixing the floor?” Chance said.
“Good observation, but it’s not just the floor. It’s the whole damn place,” Anson said. “Let’s go outside to talk.”
They followed him out and then into the yard.
“What the hell, Dad?” Sam asked.
Anson shrugged. “I’m fixing the place like Delle wanted, and putting in some air conditioners, too. It’s damn hot inside.”
“It’s been hot for as long as I’ve been alive,” Sam muttered, still pissed at Anson for what he’d done.
Anson looked up, his eyes narrowing in a warning Sam recognized. “Don’t challenge me,” Anson said softly.
Sam stared back until, to his shame, he was the first to look away.
Anson shifted his focus to Chance, but he refused to meet his father’s gaze. He grinned, knowing they’d been properly cowed.
“Well, now. Let’s talk about what’s up today. Chance, I want you to check the grow sites up north. Sam, you take the ones to the East. If either of you see anything off, let me know. Last time I was up north, I swore someone had been there. It could be some Cajun up the bayou decided to snag a little weed thinking it wouldn’t be missed, but I’m not running a charity. Pay attention. When you come back, there’s a shipment of bamboo to get ready. The invoices are on the clipboard in the shed.”
The brothers glanced at each other and then walked away.
As soon as everyone was otherwise occupied, Anson got a flashlight and headed for the attic. When he opened the door, the movement sent dust motes swirling. The heat in the highest floor of the old mansion was basically unbearable, but he didn’t intend to linger. Sweat beaded almost instantly on his upper lip, and soon ran out of his hairline and down the middle of his back, as well. He wiped his face with a handkerchief as he moved farther inside, wrinkling his nose as he went.
The musty smell came from the accumulation of centuries: old furniture, dressmaker’s dummies from at least three different eras, a half-dozen chests, Christmas decorations from the family before them, boxes and boxes of crap, and a multitude of old paintings from his long-dead ancestors.
He caught a glimpse of movement that made his heart skip a beat before he realized he was looking at himself in a full-length mirror. He stared, then frowned and looked away from the signs of visible aging on his face.
The single window facing the East was covered in grime, leaving the room and contents in a sepia-colored half-light. He walked the length of the attic and back, ducking a birdhouse hanging from the low ceiling, and what looked like a handmade wind chime. He hadn’t been up here in years, but he seemed to remember playing in a small storage space his mother had called a cubbyhole. After pushing a few chests and boxes around, he finally found it and got down on his knees to open it only to find that it was stuck. He pulled harder on the little knob, then harder again until it finally opened up with a loud squeak.
As he peered into the darkness, he thought again about what he was planning and for a few seconds contemplated the idea of relenting on revenge. But then, he heard a loud bang as one of the workers dropped something downstairs, remembered the gun going off in his face, and shifted focus.
Hell no. I won’t let this go.
He aimed a flashlight into the darkness, saw even more boxes inside, and began pulling out everything he could reach until he’d cleared away a large space. Satisfied, he pushed the door shut, shoved a chest back in front of it, and headed downstairs to check the progress in the kitchen.
The workers were down to the subflooring.
“Hey, how much longer in here?” he asked.
The foreman stood up, wiping sweat off his face as he eyed the room.
“We’ll lay all the new wood tomorrow, then your tile the day after. I picked it up before I came out this morning. It’s in the hall if you want to make sure it’s what you ordered.”
Anson liked playing lord of the manor almost as much as he liked being drug boss. He strode back into the hall, opened a box, and pulled out a tile, running his hands over the smooth surface as he admired the pattern. Fleur de lis was a damn fancy design for a kitchen floor, but that’s why he’d picked it.
“Yeah! It’s the one,” he yelled and then went out the front door, pausing on the verandah to assess the grounds.
He hadn’t looked at Wisteria Hill from this vantage point in years, but it was a reminder of the prestigious family into which he’d been born. It looked rough now, but it could and would look good again.
He glanced at his watch and made a mental note to have Chance put that belly mower on the little tractor and knock down some of this grass.
It was nearly noon. He was hungry, but not in the mood to eat alone. As soon as the workers stopped for lunch, he got in his truck, drove into New Orleans through the old part of the city, then down a narrow one-way alley, and parked behind a certain two–story brick building. The back stairs creaked at every step as he ascended. He knocked twice and waited.
The door opened, revealing a tall, thin woman wearing a long, yellow sundress. She had a black patch over one eye and wore her very curly hair cut close to her scalp. He eyed the stiletto knife in a scabbard at her waist, but frowned when she barred the doorway.
“What do you want here, Anson Poe?”
He didn’t like being challenged like this, but was well aware she knew how to use that knife, so he took a roll of money out of his pocket and flashed it openly.
“The same thing any man wants here, Lisette.”
Lisette Branscum lifted her chin defiantly. “Last time you were here, I told you never come back.”
He stood his ground. “Last time I was here, I made a mistake in judgment. I was hoping we could get past that.”
“Last time you were here, you put one of my girls in the hospital. You’re no good for my business.”
“Like I said, it was a mistake. A man can reform.”
She stared at him without comment.
He tried again.
“I had a hankering for one of Jean-Luc’s shrimp po-boys, and for dessert, a blow job compliments of your pretty Corinna.”
“You can go downstairs and order your food in Frenchie’s like everyone else, but you are no longer welcome upstairs.”
Anger rolled through him, flushing his already sweaty face. This challenge felt too much like the shot that knocked the hat off his head. He wasn’t going back to the little c
afé she ran on the floor below. He wanted the special treatment she gave to the second-floor guests. He put the money back in his pocket and spit on the step between them.
Her eyes narrowed. She took a step back and swung the door shut in his face.
Inside, he was seething, but he knew she’d gotten the insult loud and clear. He stomped back down the stairs to his truck and drove out of the alley. Yet one more person who’d crossed him and was going to wish she hadn’t.
He picked up some barbeque instead from a local diner, and just for the hell of it, he drove by Brendan’s apartment on his way out of town. When he saw the SUV parked in the usual spot, he pictured them all happy and cozy inside the fancy air-conditioned apartment, eating and laughing, maybe laughing at him.
He took the next turn and headed home, eating as he drove. But when he got to the turn-off leading to Wisteria Hill, he drove past and farther up the road. The workers would go on without him for a while. He had more pressing matters to which he needed to attend.
****
Voltaire LeDeux lived as far off the beaten path as a man could live, which was just far enough for strangers to get their asses lost and suffer the consequences. He was, for all intents and purposes, anonymous. He had no birth certificate, because his mama had birthed him all by herself in the bed in which he now slept. He’d never been to a public school in his life, and the one time someone had come to insist his mother was breaking the law by keeping him at home, she’d run him off the property with a shotgun. He got the message he weren’t welcome and never went back.
As a result, he’d never been listed on a census. He didn’t have a social security number because he’d never worked. He existed entirely from the food he hunted or grew.
