Chapter Four

Several months later Buckwheat Zydeco’s live version of ‘Hot Tamale Baby’ exploded from all four speakers tucked in the corners of Billy Ray’s Creole restaurant. What was it that Billy Ray had always said – you weren’t human if you can listen to zydeco without moving your feet? Raven was sure he didn’t say it first, but he adopted the saying as his own. And hot damn if it wasn’t true, she thought.

She tapped her foot as she waited for table five’s order. Zydeco, Billy Ray, and her friends were home to her. Leaving California was the right decision. Like the song said, she was definitely, at this very moment, all right. The evenings were filled with the zydeco bands Billy Ray hired to play and the best shrimp gumbo this side of the Red River.

But his dream came at a high price that he paid with his nightmares. She knew he had them. She had them, too. Stealthy, evil little things that slunk into her skull while she slowly fell asleep, the images dragging her so far down that she couldn’t even scream.

The bell jingling over the restaurant’s door reminded Raven where she was. She didn’t notice the tall man who walked in and sat in her section. But Imogene, who had come to stand beside Raven, did. She wasted no time calling Raven’s attention to him.

“Oh my, my,” Imogene said with one hand on her round hip and the other across the open collar of her silk, light blue shirt.

Raven glanced in the direction of Imogene’s gaze. She chuckled. The man who had sat down was not only handsome, but sexy in such a dangerous way that Raven thought if Imogene were wearing pearls she would have clutched them.

He shrugged out of his jacket to reveal a broad, muscled chest covered by a tight button-up shirt. She couldn’t tell the exact color of his eyes at this distance, but with the early afternoon light pouring through the tall windows, Raven wouldn’t be afraid to bet that regardless of the color, his eyes were as attractive as his face. He saw them both staring at him and winked. Imogene responded with the thousand-watt smile she used on camera at her job as a local TV news reporter.

But now, she spent most of her time at the restaurant for what she called ‘helping Billy Ray’. Raven suspected that it was the PTSD Imogene was running from, and a potential relationship with Billy Ray that she was running toward. Raven kept her face frozen in just the way Floyd taught her when coming into contact with something new and possibly dangerous. Now, don’t go smiling at no snakes, Birdy Girl, he would say, not until you sure a rattler ain’t attached to the other end of its tail.

“He’s all yours,” Raven told Imogene.

“As if he were yours to give away.”

Raven balanced two plates on her right forearm and clasped another one in her right hand, a move she had been practicing for the past month. Since Billy Ray liked to serve his food steaming hot, she could feel the heat starting to burn a tattoo onto her forearm. Raven grabbed another steaming plate with her left hand.

“Yep, you’re right about that,” she said, looking with satisfaction at the plates. “Not mine to give away. But kind of disappointing if you ask me. Just what this place needs, another cop.”

“Oh.” Imogene turned to her. “Do you know him?”

“Nope,” Raven said and started to walk away.

“Then how can you tell he’s a cop?”

Any other time Raven wouldn’t have been so indiscreet. But Billy Ray’s was jumping. The imitable and now ubiquitous Buckwheat Zydeco at Chastain’s Creole Heaven was pumping through the speaker. The music was accompanied by the happy but raucous hum of what was starting to be the restaurant regulars. She caught snatches of conversations around her and bursts of laughter. No one was paying attention to the help. And she certainly didn’t think the object of their discussion could hear them from across the room.

“I can tell he’s a cop because he has that predator look about him.”

“Cops are predators?”

Raven grinned, not knowing how much like Floyd she looked at that moment.

“I know that’s surprising, but cops and criminals both hunt. They just hunt for different things. And besides, his head is on a swivel. He’s hyper-aware.”

Raven could tell that Imogene was about to say something else, but Raven cut her off.

“These plates are hot. Gotta keep moving.”

“Be my guest.” Imogene stepped out of the way. “And I’m giving him back to you.” She glanced toward the kitchen to where Billy Ray’s back was visible. “My dance card is full.”

Raven shook her head and took the plates to the corner of the restaurant that had been nicknamed the ‘old folks’ corner’ because some of Byrd’s Landing’s oldest citizens claimed the live-edge slab of mahogany as their own. Raven teased Billy Ray about the expense, reminded him of his mantra to refuse new, to reuse and re-purpose. He just said he liked the idea of serving his shrimp and grits on a slice of Africa.

When there wasn’t any eating going on in the old folks’ corner, you could hear the slap of dominoes against the hardwood, or a cackle of victory as Mama Anna destroyed her spades opponents. And every once in a while, there was the musical roll of dice and a few dollars changing hands.

“Hey, hey,” she said as several sets of brown hands reached for the plates. “Be careful. Hot. Hot.”

“I can see,” said an old man in a beret covered in Korean War patches. “Very hot.”

“Now don’t go abusing the help,” Raven said. “Nowadays they call that sexual harassment, Mr. Joe.”

“Well, the help shouldn’t look so good,” someone else said.

“Shut up, ole man.” This came from Mama Anna, who was sitting at the very end of the mahogany live-edge slab. “You wouldn’t know what to do with it if it fell on you.”

“Probably gum it to death,” the man sitting next to Mr. Joe said.

To this there was a lot of foot stamping and table slapping. Even Mr. Joe laughed before pulling out a handkerchief to wipe sweat from his face.

“Y’all some nasty old people,” Raven said. She placed a fist on her slim waist. “Now I see you got water. Need anything else?”

“Sho’ smells good,” Mama Anna said.

“Smell better than yo’ cooking,” Mr. Joe said.

“You ain’t never tasted my cooking, nor will you ever,” Mama Anna responded.

Raven broke in the laughter that had erupted with, “Anything else?”

She pulled straws from the pocket of the white half-apron fitted snugly around her jeans.

Everyone turned their attention to the food. They inspected the plates of gumbo and shrimp creole as if in very serious contemplation of her question.

Then Mr. Joe said, “Yo’ phone number?”

There was more laughter as Raven walked away. She heard Mama Anna say, “Joe, you crazy,” before hollering after Raven, “Bring me some hot sauce, baby.”

Raven walked to the sideboard chuckling to herself. She grabbed a bottle of Louisiana Hot and brought it back to the table. They were too busy with the food to notice her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a conversation like that – one that made her smile so much that she was sure that for the first time in a long time her eyes sparkled.

But she never felt so safe before, so peaceful. For one of the few times that she could remember, she was happy. Maybe that’s what Billy Ray had brought to the town by opening this restaurant. It had become an oasis in a place otherwise beset by crime, corruption, and weather so uncomfortable that you would think the heavens were doing it as a punishment.

“Raven.”

She looked up to see Billy Ray with a half-smile on his face. He jerked his head to the lone man sitting at the table near the door, the man she and Imogene had noticed earlier. Raven nodded and made her way over to him while saying hello to several people. She knew he watched her. She could feel his eyes on her as she drew near. Cop, she thought. Definitely cop. In her experience no one but a cop would look at a person that way, making what Floyd used to call ‘them Sherlock Holmes conclusions’, something about not only seeing but observing. That was the way Floyd chose his victims. He would stalk and observe. Wait for a vulnerability and then strike.

Or maybe, the happy side of Raven interrupted her thoughts, the mysterious man sitting by himself just likes the way you look. She shook that thought away, and she did it fast. She was just starting to get her life – a new life – together. She didn’t need a man to complicate it. And there was no way that she would allow herself to be careless. She would always look for the rattler.

He glanced at her as she said hello and slid a menu in front of him. Brown. His eyes were dark brown and intense. She took the order pad from her back pocket and reached for the pencil behind her ear.

“You need a minute with the menu? I can get you something to drink first.”

He picked up the single sheet of thick paper she had placed in front of him. “Not a lot to choose from.”

“Some would say, but everything Billy Ray cooks is good, and quality.”

“Billy Ray is the….”

“Owner.” She had the feeling that he was trying to stall. She didn’t like it. “What can I get you to drink?”

“I don’t need a drink first,” he said. “I think I can go ahead and order now.”

“Okay.” She waited with the pencil poised over the pad.

He sighed again. “I don’t know what’s good here.”

“I just told you, everything.”

She made herself smile to mask her frustration. It wouldn’t do for her to ask another customer if they could read. Billy Ray’s patience only stretched so far.

“Anything specific?”

“That depends,” she said. “What do you like?”

A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. His teeth were straight and white. He was looking at her in a way that would give Imogene a heart attack. But she wasn’t Imogene. She tapped the eraser end of her pencil against the pad and waited.

“Well,” she prompted.

The smile faltered and was replaced by another. This second smile was more authentic. She could almost see the cogs spin behind his eyes as he considered another line of attack. Flirting, she realized. It had been so long since she flirted with anybody that she didn’t recognize the beginnings of it. But she was in no mood to practice.

He rushed on. “I really don’t know what I want. It’s my first time here and I’m just looking for good food. The, what do you call it, the rooming house recommended it.”

“So, you’re staying at Mama Anna’s rooming house, not the hotel?”

Mama Anna had a rooming house on the outskirts of town, not an Airbnb, but an old-fashioned rooming house where you inquired about rooms at the front door and dinner was served free every night. She started letting rooms to visitors and people down on their luck when she could no longer afford the upkeep or the property taxes. Her daughter ran it now, which was the reason Mama Anna could spend so much of her time at Billy Ray’s.

“Yeah, I’m here on business but wanted to stay someplace local,” he said. “You know, get the local flavor.”

She waited but said nothing. It wasn’t lost on her that she was also staying at Mama Anna’s, and she needed to be careful. There was something about this man that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

“I just don’t know what’s good here,” he said, giving her what Floyd would call a sorrowful puppy-dog look.

“The seafood gumbo is always on point,” she said. “It’s always hot, and we’ll probably run out soon. If that’s too spicy for your first time, Billy Ray makes a mean po’boy. How about we get you some po’boys?”

“That sounds fine,” he said as the conversation hummed around them. “Does Billy Ray do all the cooking?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

He shook his head. “Why would I know him?”

“He used to be a cop.”

He stared back at her blankly. “I didn’t know that. The rooming house just said it was a good place to eat.”

“Mama Anna’s daughter isn’t a bad cook,” Raven countered.

“I know. But she doesn’t cook every night. And sometimes, you know, she just phones it in. The other night she made some tamale pie out of a mix and a can of chili.”

Raven knew but she kept her mouth shut. She wondered why she hadn’t seen him around at the rooming house, but then again, she kept to herself there, ate in her room, used the back exit a lot. Most of her time was at Billy Ray’s.

“You want something to drink with those po’boys?”

He leaned back and placed both arms along the booth. “Man, you’re a tough crowd.” He laughed.

She didn’t respond.

“You got any IPA?” He said it like a challenge.

“Plenty. I’ll bring you a couple of shrimp po’boys and the best IPA we have in the house. Ice cold. Will that do?” she said as she swept the menu away from him. She didn’t care if it did ‘do’ or not, that was what he was going to get.

“I guess it’ll have to,” he answered.

She gave him another look before tucking the pencil behind her ear and walking away. She could feel him watching her as she weaved through the tables. Handsome, she thought. And funny probably. Raven liked funny. Her dad was funny.

Later, after she brought him his food, she leaned against the bar watching him as he destroyed the sandwiches Billy Ray had made for him. She thought about Jean Rinehart. Her dad had picked up her stepmother in a restaurant. Abe’s Diner out in the country. Look how that turned out. Jean became just another one of ole Floyd’s victims. Raven chuckled before pushing the thought into a corner of her mind and turning the key to the closet where she now kept such morbid memories. When her mind was clear again, a voice said, You don’t have to marry him, but what about having a little fun?

But Raven wasn’t thinking fun. She was thinking cop in spite of that blank look that he gave her when she asked him if he knew Billy Ray. She should try a little harder to find out who he was and what he was doing in Byrd’s Landing. She released her lean against the bar and went back to the table carrying a clutch of paper napkins.

“Thank you,” he said through a mouthful of sandwich. And even though he was chewing as he spoke, he did it in an attractive way that Raven couldn’t help but think was put on.

“This one is about gone.” He displayed the greasy cloth napkin that Billy Ray insisted on using at the restaurant. “Who knew butter could taste so good?”

She smiled, not too warmly, and picked up the empty beer glass. “Another?”

“Just a minute.”

He touched her wrist, and she gave him back the glass.

“Now I’ll have another,” he said after draining the glass of the foam that had been laced along the bottom.

As she took the empty glass from him, she said, “So, you said you were here on business? Where are you from?”

“California.”

Raven felt her mask slip before she could right it into place again. It was only for a second, but she wondered if he noticed.

“Have you ever been there?” he asked.

She had the feeling that he was studying her very carefully. She picked up his now empty plate. Anyone else, maybe one of the regulars, Raven would have asked if he had licked it. She didn’t have to wonder too long what he would do with that line.

“A few times,” she said vaguely to forestall any more questions in that area.

“Business or pleasure?”

Raven’s laugh was genuine. “Yeah,” she said. “From the last waitressing convention. It was a blast. What brings you to Byrd’s Landing?”

“You really want to know?”

“Did I really just ask?”

He looked around the restaurant in an exaggerated check to see if anybody was listening. He motioned for her to lean in closer. Only when she was close enough to smell him did he say, “I’m a scout.”

She waited.

“I’m here on a secret mission.”

“Let me guess,” Raven said, straightening and laughing, “CIA agent?”

“Shhh!” he said, using the opportunity to grab her wrist. “You’ll blow my cover.”

“Cover?” Raven said, the laughter dying down a little.

“Yes.”

So, she was right. Cop. But his playful manner confused her.

“Not CIA,” he said. “I work for a company that makes movies. I’m a location scout.”

“What’s so secret about that?” Raven said, the amusement returning to her voice, the sparkle back in her eyes.

“I scout locations for a very large movie franchise. I can’t tell you which one because, you know,” he stopped and looked around. “The competition.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because you got that look about you, walking into a room noticing everyone and everything that’s there, one of those eager beaver cops who’s never off the clock and can’t stay away from the gym.”

“You know a lot of cops?”

“I know a few,” she said.

“Gyms aren’t just for cops.” He gave her a pointed look. “Sure you know that.”

Raven didn’t reply. He had her there. She spent almost every free hour at the gym or running the trails in Ronald Gold State Park. She’d also been learning jujitsu for both fitness and fun. Aside from Billy Ray’s, the gym and the state park were her only two other happy places.

“So, location scout, huh?” she said finally.

“Yes, we don’t advertise to keep the competition from knowing what we’re up to.”

“But you’re telling me?”

“You’re not the competition,” he said.

“I see,” she said, beginning to turn away.

He tugged at her sleeve. She looked down to see him handing her a business card.

“Give me a call if you ever want to go hunting with me.”

* * *

Later, when the restaurant had calmed down, she took the business card from the back pocket of her jeans and studied it. Billy Ray came to stand beside her.

“Who was that, anyway?” he said, his eyes flicking toward the table where the man had sat.

“Mr. Wynn Bowen. Location scout.”

“Locations for what?”

Raven shook her head. “Big movies. Franchises. Showbiz,” she said and wiggled her fingers to show jazz hands.

Billy Ray gave a skeptical grunt. “I don’t like him.”

“You didn’t even talk to him.”

“Didn’t have to. I saw him talking to you. I don’t like his look. Be careful.”

“Wow,” she said. “Paranoid much?”

“I am,” he said. “And if you know what’s good for you, you would be, too.”