“Yes, Officer. I heard the old man passed away. But I’m paid up for the year.”
Beau holds out the photo of the countess and asks if Young had ever seen her before.
The grass cutter nods, says he has. His gaze moves up to Beau’s chin but no higher.
“Where? When?”
Young folds his arms. Defensive move and tells Beau he’s seen the countess twice. Both times at the D’Loup house, once while he was cutting the grass, once while he was trimming the bushes. When he trimmed the bushes, she was in the backyard with the old man, sitting on the back porch. He saw her leave once. In a yellow cab.
“Did she speak to you?”
“She didn’t notice me.”
He shows the picture of Fritz Erik Reinach of Zurich and Young shakes his head. He looks up at the sun, covering his eyes.
“I have to go to work now. Is there anything else?”
Beau thanks him and steps back to his SUV. Young pretends he’s not watching but does.
Why’s he nervous?
Nervous doesn’t mean guilty. Many men, especially older black men, were nervous around cops with good reason. Could Young have seen something? Beau knows he’ll have to revisit this.
STELLA, WHO GREETS Beau with a report of Scamp’s misadventures with a series of arowls and rowls and chittering when he comes in, stands in the kitchen now, waiting for her man to reach into the cupboard and give her three little chewy cat treats. He does and she snatches up one and a white-gray streak runs in, plows into Stella to snatch one of the treats. Stella hisses and swats the kitten but it gets the third treat and Beau has to scoop his girl up, take her to the small white wicker kitchen table to put up her there and give her the replacement treats. Scamp latches on to his pants leg and Beau has to pry the little bastard off, give it treats before returning the treats container to the cupboard.
Jessie stands at the counter in one of his dress shirts, pale yellow, that hangs almost to her knees. Most of her hair is up in a ponytail again, some strands dangles in her eyes. She’s barefoot both hands in a huge wooden salad bowl. She turns her face to him and they kiss.
“Smells wonderful.”
“Check the muff.” He opens the oven, peeks in. The roast beef muffuletta lies open-faced on an oven pan. He sees the oven’s on low. Just enough to warm it up.
“There you are.” Stefi hurries in, heads for Scamp who scampers away and she rushes after him, out of the kitchen.
He steps back to Jessie.
“Prepare for a genuine Wop salad, my love. This I do well.”
It’s a complicated mix of three different lettuces, one she says is Romaine, Creole tomatoes sliced into wedges, 2 cups of olive salad, cloves of thinly-sliced garlic, boiled shrimp, steamed asparagus spears properly chilled after, grated Romano cheese
“Sardines?”
“Anchovies.”
“You’ll love the dressing. Olive oil, red wine vinegar, Italian herbs and Worcestershire sauce.”
He pulls the muffs out and Stefi joins them in the dining room without her kitten. Stella is hiding as well. The toasted muffulettas are delicious and the salad incredible and Beau thinks back to all the fast food he’s eaten aboard Sad Lisa over the years. Hell, since his mother went back to Dakota.
“I’ve got a date tonight.”
Jessie ignores her little sister who looks at Beau but he’s as dead-pan.
“He’s coming at 11 because things don’t get going until midnight in New Orleans.”
Stefi takes another bite of salad, chews, adds, “You’ll like him. His divorce will be final in a few months. He’s 33 and likes cats.”
Still nothing from Jessie or Beau.
“I met him online. He’s a somnambulist. Studied at Harvard.”
Jessie covers her mouth with a hand, her eyes shining at Beau.
“I’m serious.”
Jessie finally says, “Somnambulist? Nice try. That’s a sleep walker.”
“It is not. It’s like a psychologist.” Stefi points her fork at Beau. “Johnny, help me with this. You can check him out at the door.”
Beau takes a large bite of muff, smiles as he chews. The other two takes bites.
Beau nods to Jessie when he finishes chewing. “If anyone comes to the door tonight, I’ll handle it.”
“What?” goes Stefi. “Show him that Obdidian knife?”
Beau shakes his head. “Obsidian. No. I won’t show him anything. Won’t say a word. I’ll just look at him. Like this.”
John Raven Beau’s grandfather gave him a secret Lakota name when he was six years old. No one knows this name except Beau’s Sioux family. Not even Beau’s father knew the name because the Sioux never let the white man know their secrets. Beau’s secret name is Sharp Eyes and he shows Stefi by looking at her with an inexpressive face, his eyes blank, emotionless and cold.
Jessie looks at his face. “You do know she’s joking?”
“I’m not.” Beau to Stefi. “As long as Jessie is in my life, which will be a long, long time, you, Miss Stefi, are my little sister, Couillon. And we Sioux are ferocious when it comes to family.” Seconds tick and he finally blinks, slowly.
“Ferocious.”
Then he gives her the wily, wide Cajun smile and his eyes light up.
“How do you do that?”
THE DREAM COMES in snapshots and Beau knows he’s dreaming. Sword fighting six bearded men in turbans while Jessie’s there to hand him another sword as the bad guys keep slapping the swords out of Beau’s hands. They have long, curved scimitars and he uses a broadsword. Beau’s in some sort of knight get-up with chain mail and a long blue cloak with a large gold fleur-de-lis. Jessie’s in a pink gown with a tall, pointed hat with a sheer scarf attached, of all things. The scarf flies in the wind and Beau sees Jessie is now naked. They stand on a cliff and the turbaned swordsmen bounce around like jackrabbits, knocking Beau’s broadsword into the air and off the cliff, striking a seagull on its way down and blood explodes in the air, like one of those 70s movie where gunshots blow projected blood. Jessie tosses Beau another sword. People in the grandstands applaud. As he catches it with both hands, one of a swordsman slices his left arm and the broadsword falls to the grass and the swordsmen close in and Beau pulls his Glock from under his cloak and shoots all six, two in the chest each and he looks at Jessie who says something about why didn’t he think of that earlier. They start to walk away, hand-in-hand only to see a hundred swordsmen running at them, scimitars swinging overhead and Beau and Jessie turn and run to the cliff and leap off and use her dress as a parachute – she’s in a dress now – all the way to the sea and he wakes thinking he’ll have an hellacious hard-on but no and no muscle spasms in his hands or arms but his arms ached as if he’d done 100 push-ups, his legs burned as if he just finished a marathon.
Jessie leans over. “You OK, Babe?”
“Yes. Your dress saved us.”
“What?”
THE TRADITIONAL METAL stove-top espresso maker is the only way to brew espresso, Jessie explains as they gather at the wicker table for breakfast. Beau finishes his French press coffee using a vintage cafetiére drip coffee pot, patiently spooning in hot water to let it slowly drip, one spoon at a time to make extra strong Cajun café noir and joins her. Stefi already has her cappuccino she made with an electric machine. The muffins are warm from the oven.
Stella is at her dish eating Friskies salmon and shrimp pate, while Scamp is at his dish with his Friskies beef and lamb slices with gravy. The little tyke growls as he eats and Stella looks at him. No table manners.
“You put sugar in yours?” Stefi asks, still scrolling on her iPad. “May I have a sip.”
He passes it to her and she sips, nods, “More bitter than espresso.”
“I use coffee-and-chicory, not ground espresso.”
Jessie’s scrolling her iPad and Beau opens his newspaper.
“I’m getting you an iPad,” Jessie tells him. “You’re reading yesterday’s news. A half hour ago
a Mississippi Highway patrolman was ambushed outside Columbus, Mississippi. Wait, that’s Columbia. He’s in ICU with ‘life threatening wounds’. Assailant unknown.”
“You’ll love your iPad.” Stefi holds hers up. “Thousands of pictures of kitties.”
JESSIE WISHES SHE can bring Beau to their tradition Italian Sunday dinner but this will be a summit between her mother and sister. After a long run to Audubon Park to work out the kinks in his legs, Beau showers, grabs a book from Jessie’s library and lies on the sofa. Bourbon Street, a novel about a stripper from Mississippi who wants to be a gun moll back in 1947. Stella jumps up on the back of the sofa and curls there. The book starts out well only his even breathing lulls him to take a nap.
Alizée wakes him and he’s been out three hours. Stella hisses and he realizes Scamp is draped across his chest. He answers his phone.
“’Allo. Ez zis Chief Inspector Beau?”
“Yeah, who’s calling?
“Brigitte Leneuville. Analyst. Interpol. We spoke on zee telephone Wednesday before last.”
Interpol. Woman with the thick, sexy French accent. So this is Miss ‘Poof. I am only 22. I am not a Ma’am yet’.”
“Yes, we did. What’s up?”
“What? Oh, we cannot find you. We are at baggage claim. Concourse D.”
Now? Fuck.
He snatches Scamp as he sits up and the kittie starts purring. He puts the kittie on the sofa cushion and Scamp curls up.
“How many are you?”
“Just zee two. Me and Monsieur Luc Brissot. Chief Analyst.”
“Y’all have a hotel reservation?”
“Zee Roosevelt. Is zat a good place? Luc stayed there when he was young. I want to go to zee Hilton.”
“Grab your bags and go to the coffee shop. I’ll be there in a half hour.”
He hears a male French voice in the background.
“M. Brissot say we can take a taxi to zee hotel.”
“I’ll pick you up at the coffee shop in a half hour.”
“Okie. Dokie.”
Okie. Dokie? Goddamn cowboy movies. They love Jerry Lewis too. Then again, so does Beau.
Stefi rushes in to search for Scamp as Beau’s leaving. Jessie moves up to him and puts her forehead against his shoulder. He tells her where he’s headed, wanna come?
“I need to lie down.”
“I’ll call you.” They kiss and he hustles to the SUV.
IT TURNS OUT to be supper for eight. Their French guests ask for genuine New Orleans cuisine and it’s Jessie who comes up with Café Dreaux, a small place half hidden between a warehouse and Saint Abadiu Catholic grammar school on Elysian Fields.
They are brought to the place’s lone long table at the rear of the café overlooking a back patio with a defunct fountain and overgrown with camellia and azalea bushes and two large magnolia trees. Their waiter is a light skinned black with a wide smile who says he’s Edgar.
Stefi declares, “This place is old.”
Chief Analyst Luc Brissot pats the top of Stefi’s head. “I live in small chateau built in the year 1102. It is not 300 years since Sieur de Bienville founded la Nouvelle-Orléans, is it not?”
“This guy for real?” Stefi moves around the table to sit next to Beau. She’s in faded jeans and a black T-shirt with white letters – Hey Jude, Don’t Make it Bad. Not to be out-Beatled, Jessie wears a dark red T-shirt with black letters – Nothing’s Gonna Change My World along with a black satin miniskirt. She’s all long hair, long legs and boots. A 60s wet dream.
Beau’s wears a gray dress shirt unbuttoned over a black T-shirt and black 511s with his gear hidden beneath the gray shirt – Glock, extra magazines, cuffs. Jordan wears a blue sport coat over khaki 511s. Clair D’Loup wears another sundress, white, along with white heels. Ferdie Loeb is in a pale green sport coat and dark orange slacks, no tie, sits next to her. Luc Brissot is in his 60s, a thick-bodied Frenchman with an unruly mop of gray hair atop an unusually large head. He has a thick moustache but not as thick as his eyebrows which resemble caterpillars in dire need of haircuts.
Jordan manages to sit between Claire and 22-year old Brigitte Leneuville. Not a bright move on Jordan’s part as he has to twist his head back and forth. Then again, their federal agent isn’t very sharp. Beau wishes Juanita were there but she’s on her second date with her cruise man, two nights in a row.
Brigitte is pretty with a sly smile and large brown eyes that lingers when she stares. She wears a shirt dress with three top buttons unfastened to her ample bustline and three bottom buttons unfastened up her legs. The gold highlights in her light brown hair, cut just above the shoulders, stand out as she sits beneath the low hanging lights.
“What do you recommend?” Brigitte asks Beau who defers to Jessie who defers to Edgar who brings them iced tea, Bordeaux for the Frenchies, hot baguettes pre-cut and butter before the gumbos. Edgar doesn’t write their orders but brings the correct gumbo to each, seafood for the Frenchies, chicken for Stefi, crab for everyone else except Beau who opts for Andouille and is surprised the Cajun sausage gumbo is pretty damn good.
Edgars gets the main courses correct as well, the Frenchies opting for seafood platters, Jordan and Claire have crawfish etouffeé, Jessie has trout almandine, a sirloin steak for Loeb, Beau gets braised wild duck – mallard. Stefi opts for a cheeseburger and fries
Brigitte points her fork at Ferdie.
“Monsieur Lo-eb. You are married. Oui? No?”
“No.”
“But you have girlfriend, oui?”
“Yes.”
“She pick what you wear tonight. Oui?”
“Yes.”
Beau braces himself. Doesn’t want to get caught with a mouthful.
“Es she a take-charge woman? Maybe jealous for good looking man like you.”
“Uh. A little.” Loeb looks at Beau for help. “Why do you ask?”
“She dress you like that so no other woman would want to sleep with you.”
Stefi slaps the table, can’t laugh with her mouthful.
Brigitte goes, “I would sleep with you only I have my sights on the big guy over there.”
Jessie puts her fork down slowly, dabs her mouth with a napkin and says, “Do you know anything about Sicilian women?”
Brigitte’s mouth turns into a little ‘O’. “You are Sicilian?”
“Si.”
“I withdraw statement.” Big smile now.
“She’s a trouble maker,” says Stefi.
“Oui. That I am. Es more fun in life when create trouble. Oui? No?”
Jessie shakes her head. “Don’t give her any ideas. She’s trouble enough.”
“How old are you?”
Stefi tells her.
“When I was 14, I was big trouble for my family. My big sister is a movie star and they ignore me.”
Stefi nods. “I have two big sisters and both ignore me too. One was Miss Louisiana.”
Luc Brissot refills his wine glass for the third time.
“Movie star?” Jordan’s eyes gleam. He points his fork at Beau. “He used to sleep with Judy Barlow.”
Fuck me.
Claire’s eyes grow wide. Jordan points to Jessie now.
“Doesn’t she have Brigitte Bardot lips?”
Brigitte Leneuville squints her eyes at Jessie.
“As a matter of fact, she does. Poof. Ziff I had any chance with the big man.”
“Is that why you came to New Orleans?” asks Stefi. “To find a man.”
At least she didn’t say ‘to get laid’.
Brissot opts for another bottle of wine while the Americans go for hot chocolates and cappuccinos.
“No. Miss Stefi. We come to investigate stolen art and talk with Miss Claire about her family.” To Claire now – “The family of your great-grandmother, Hilda Brunnen, were Nazis. One was Werner Brunnen, war criminal. SS officer involve in massacres of civilians, including a massacre horrendous.
She’s got their attention now.
“Lieutenant Otto Brunnen served in the 2nd SS Panzer Reconnaissance Battalion.”
Brissot injects, “Part of the Das Reich Division.”
Brigitte continues, “Wiped out entire village of Oradour-sur-Giane in June 1944. Right after D-Day. 642 villagers, men, women, children killed or unaccounted.”
Brissot adds, “We are here to check all the things left behind by Albert Wolfschlucht whose family change name to D’Loup.”
Claire D’Loup asks Edgar for a Sazerac on the rocks.
THE PLAN IS for Juanita and Jordan to pick up the Interpols on the way to Silvers Vault Complex while Beau picks up Claire – only the Frenchies haven’t had breakfast and Claire gets an urgent phone call from Marvin Fisher. Beau tools her over to the Law Offices of Marten, Stoat and Fisher where they find Fisher in his office.
“Please, sit.” He holds up a white envelope, reads what’s written on the outside. “Two weeks after my death is confirmed, this document is for Claire D’Loup’s eyes only.” He gets up, brings the envelope and a letter opener to Clarie.
There is a sheet of paper inside and a two long silver keys. Claire reads it, hands it to Beau who reads the flowing script –
My darling Claire. It is in the attic. 56 floor boards from the attic door. Wall on the right. board with rusty hook in it. It is yours now. Love, Albert.
“That’s it?” Beau asks the attorney.
“Yes. Yes.”
“No more surprises?”
“No. No.”
“I don’t like surprises.” It’s not until now does the old lawyer realizes Beau’s anger. “I’m serious, counselor. Pull another stunt like this and I’ll be back with search warrants for your office, your home, your country club, any place you frequent and you won’t like the way I’ll leave it when I’m done.”
The old man sits up. “I was just following my client’s wishes.”
“I know. If you have any more rabbits in your hat, now’s the time to pull them out.”
“I do not see why you are angry.”
“It’s called Louisiana Revised Statute 14:30. First degree murder and murder is my fuckin’ business.”
A CRIME LAB technician meets them outside the D’Loup house on Prytania Street. Claire lets them in just as Juanita pulls up in the black SUV with Jordan and the Interpols. Beau and the tech climb into the attic which isn’t stifling hot yet this time in the morning. The floorboard planks look like 2X6s and they count to 56 then move to the wall on their right and there is only one board with an old hook in it. It takes the tech a while to pry the board up and spot the metal box inside. The have to pry four more boards to get the box out. The tech takes photos. The box is almost 2’ square and maybe 10 inches tall, weighs maybe 40 pounds, dusty and it takes a while to wedge it out, take it down to the dining room table where Claire spreads a fresh tablecloth.
The Great Beau Page 14
