Chapter Fifteen

Remy fumed all the way to Duane’s Specialty Meats. One thing he could say about Cajuns, they’d still patronize a butcher shop with custom cuts rather than running to the nearest chain store. A massive smoker puffed behind the freestanding building cooking the next batch of brisket and ribs. Duane himself in his stained apron came from out back when Remy’s entrance rang the bell over the door. He leaned his fleshy arms on top of the refrigerator case displaying loops of boudin sausage, thick-cut pork chops, and generous rib-eyes rubbed with Duane’s special seasoning. Judging from his flushed jowls, sweating forehead, and odor of charred hickory, he’d come from stoking the smoker. “What can I get you, Remy?”

“Five of those rib-eyes.” He let his eyes rove around the shop while Duane packaged the meat in old-fashioned butcher paper. Loaves of LeJuene’s brick oven, chewy French bread sat sleeved in white wrappers twisted at the ends by the register. He added two to his order. “Give me an order of gratons too.”

Duane shoved a scoop into a bin of greasy cracklings, bagged, and sealed them. “That it?” At Remy’s nod, he totaled the bill, ran the debit card, and shoved the purchases into a large plastic bag.

“You forgot to add in the gratons.”

“A little lagniappe for you. Thanks for your business.”

Often, it paid to shop local. Next stop, the market run by a Vietnamese couple whose family owned a boat. The catch at Nguyen Fresh Fish was better than any place in town, but you had to take whatever the Gulf provided recently. Really, he was going out of his way for Todd. Small, persuasive Mrs. Nguyen tried to convince him to buy a whole fish because the bones made it tastier, but he took a couple of pounds of seasoned, boiled shrimp and two redfish fillets instead. Wouldn’t want Todd to choke on any bones—or would he?

The guy clearly adored Julia, following her every order like an orphan afraid to be put out on the street. The intern had garnered many more encouraging words on his novice plastering than Remy, even if she had to go over some spots again. Todd wouldn’t know what to do with a strong, vibrant woman like Jules if she offered herself to him. The thought that he might be jealous crossed Remy’s mind. Ridiculous!

He went to a small grocery next—not that Chapelle had any big ones—and dumped bags of salad, bell peppers, and red onions into his cart. Throw in some olives, toss with a light bottled dressing, and he’d have what passed for a vegetable dish. He guessed he could grill some thin asparagus spears coated in olive oil and garlic salt too. Enough! Done. What he’d envisioned as an intimate evening with Julia had turned into a cookout for five men and one woman.

With everything but the gratons and bread stowed in his refrigerator, Remy showered, and put on pressed khakis and a short-sleeved cotton shirt in a deep green that flattered his dark coloring. He’d pre-heated the gas grill on his deck and set out the cracklings in a basket and the shrimp in a bowl of crushed ice covered by napkins to keep off the flies just before his guests arrived. The uncles shamelessly showed off hairy legs and toes in baggy shorts and heavy sandals topped by company tees. Marv and Todd came attired much like Remy right down to the deck shoes. And Julia—short shorts over tanned and toned legs, a tucked-in tee, wedge sandals on her feet and her red-highlighted hair piled carelessly on top of her head in a way that made Remy want to take it down. Let the party begin!

The uncles sank their beers into the ice chest before cracking open a couple. Julia, Todd, and Marv accepted the red wine sitting on the small table where Marv had placed his offering of the leftover rum cake and dark chocolate brownies he claimed paired well with the Cabernet. Everyone unfolded a chair and made themselves at home, crunching on cracklings and peeling cold shrimp to be dipped in cocktail sauce with an extra dash of hot sauce. Only Todd hung back, avoiding both.

Sammy placed a crackling in Todd’s palm. “Go on, they taste like bacon.”

“Yes, bacon. I really don’t eat…”

“Try it!”

Julia took the offensive crackling and pressed it to her intern’s lips. “Just chew and swallow. You’ll like it.” Of course, he obeyed, and chased the graton down with wine. Then, she showed him how to rip the head off a shrimp and peel its tail. All the while, Remy toiled at the grill, not rushing the steaks but getting hotter and hotter himself. The grill cages with the asparagus and Todd’s fish mixed with onions and bell pepper, seasoned with Cajun spice, sat to one side waiting their turn. That guy was so much extra trouble.

Todd didn’t spit out the crackling, but didn’t take another. He complimented the shrimp. “We don’t get seafood like this in Chicago.”

“That where you from? I studied architecture up there. Hey, how about peeling a shrimp for the chef, Jules.” She did him that service, and Remy made sure his lips touched her fingertips. Neither uncle noticed, though maybe Todd did. Just staking his claim.

“Really, I grew up in Oak Park, a great place to learn reverence for preservation with Frank Lloyd Wright once living there.” Julia fed the kid another shrimp as if he were her trained seal being rewarded for doing a trick.

“Believe me, I appreciate his work, but times move on. Say, why don’t you go inside and take a closer look at my Black Diamonds plans. Explore the house if you want. It’s my design. Oh, and bring the salad from the fridge on the second floor when you return. Marv, how about putting the garlic bread in the oven and watching it for me.” Both men left the scene to do as suggested.

Sammy stretched out his thick, muscular legs. “This is the life. A house on the water, no noise, no traffic fumes.” He popped another graton into his mouth.

Remy flipped the steaks and did some probing. “Where do you live when you aren’t on a job site?”

“Same place the Rossi family has always lived since they got off the boat from Sicily. We have our own block in the French Quarter, used to call that whole section Little Palermo with so many Italians there. People don’t know New Orleans is the most Italian city in the U.S., or once was.”

Sal chipped into the conversation. “Yeah, we come from a long line of masons, bricklayers, and plasterers. Our people built a lot of those fancy tombs in the cemeteries. Works of art, they are.” He polished off the last of the shrimp.

“The Quarter has all kinds of rules now. You can’t do this, you can’t do that when it comes to rehabbing, so our places still look like the originals spiffed up a little, but modern on the inside thanks to Regal Restorations taking off big time.”

“Do you have a place there, Jules?” He went to the New Orleans area fairly often.

“An apartment a little farther away from the old neighborhood. I rent out the ground floor for income. NOLA isn’t a cheap place to live unless you inherit the property. I renovated the place myself.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“One day when all the controversy is over.”

Once he won and tore down the Queen would that offer still stand? Remy put the fish and vegetable baskets on the grill, piled the steaks oozing red juices on a platter. Todd trotted out the door bearing the salad and set it down on the picnic table. “Cool house, Mr. Broussard.” He glanced at Julia. “But you know there is only one Bayou Queen.” She’d indoctrinated him well.

Marv arrived with the garlic bread perfectly browned and artfully arranged in a basket. Remy turned the fish and vegetables, almost done. “Bring your drinks, move over to the table, and snag a steak on the way. Todd, your special order will be ready in a minute.”

“Sorry to put you to extra trouble, Mr. Broussard. I try to watch my cholesterol.”

Right, that skinny reed of a guy needed to watch his cholesterol. Evidently, Sal felt the same. “Hard work and good Italian cooking will keep your arteries clean. A nice thick steak every once in a while don’t hurt.” He speared the largest of the rib-eyes and brought his dish to the table. Julia chose the smallest and did the same. Sam followed. They loaded up on salad and bread.

Remy plated the redfish and delivered it to Todd before taking the last steak and doling out the asparagus with a pair of tongs. He sat determined to see what else he could learn since he’d be denied Julia’s company later. “So, how is work on Alleman going? When do you think you’ll be done with the project?’

“Oh, we have couple more rooms to do on the ground floor, then the plaster will need two or three weeks to cure. We’ll fill in the cracks on the second floor, go back to NOLA and wait. Jules will want to return to supervise the paperhangers and painters. After that, we’ll be done. Goodbye, Chapelle.” Sal attacked his steak with gusto and a sharp, serrated knife.

“You’ll be gone in week or so.”

Julia appeared to read his mind. “Whether I’m here or not, you promised to meet with Jonathan Hartz.”

“It’s already set up. His personal assistant got in touch with me, and we’re on for a meeting at Pecan Grove in a few days. I swear I’ll listen to what he has to say.” And reject the offer, not only because Black Diamonds was his dream, but because the Broussards would accept nothing less. Still, he didn’t want to begin the demolition until Julia left the area. He already felt like a parent putting down a favorite pet grown too old to live.

When everyone was full as tick on the ear of a Catahoula hound, they stretched out to watch the sun set over the bayou and the silhouette of the Queen. Marv insisted on cleaning up and putting the meager leftovers away. The rest polished off the last of the wine and beer.

“Great feed, Remy,” Sammy acknowledged.

“Yes, you are a man of many talents,” Julia agreed.

“Not so much. Mostly I grill for company.”

“Now you wouldn’t think it, but Julia is a great cook. Learned at her Sicilian grandmother’s knee since her mother is Irish blood,” Sal boasted about his niece.

Todd fingered a soul patch so light as to be unnoticeable in the dent of his chin. “The Rossi clan is Sicilian?”

“You bet, from way back,” Sammy said.

“Are you connected?” Todd swallowed hard without taking a sip.

“Connected to what?”

“You know, the Brotherhood, the Mob, the Mafia. I heard they used to be pretty strong in New Orleans.” Todd’s light eyes widened. Obviously, he’s seen all the Godfather movies.

“Everyone in Little Palermo is connected in some way or other,” Sammy said, punctuating that statement with a belly laugh. “Better watch out for us, Remy.”

“I’m connected to the Broussards,” he answered, for better or worse. He thought he’d spied Slick’s dark SUV next door at NuNu’s trailer, but a lot of those vehicles looked the same.

“I don’t think they bat in the same league, son,” Sal replied.

“Cut it out! You’re scaring Todd. We have a full day of work tomorrow and need to get rest. I’m calling this very nice evening to an end. Thanks for having us, Remy. If you open the gate, we’ll find our way out.” Julia made shooing motions at the men in her life and got them moving through the office and out the front door.

Remy followed, pushing the button to open the gate along the way. His eyes tracked Julia’s truck, his mind regretting what might have been. He heard feet hit the ground as someone jumped his pole fence. Slick materialized out of the dusk dressed all in black like the thickening night. “You fraternizing with the enemy again, Remy? NuNu gave me a call about your party. You didn’t invite him.”

“Just trying to bring the Rossis around to our way of thinking,” he lied. “They plan to finish the plaster work and return to New Orleans until it cures within a week or so. Only Julia will be back to see to the final details. Once she’s gone, some of the pressure will be off tearing down the Queen since she’s the motivating force. We can wait until then.”

“Yeah, well, the old man ain’t happy. He saw in the paper you cut a deal to meet with Hartz to get your culverts finished. You caved to a bunch of old ladies tied to trees.”

“I won’t be tempted by whatever Hartz has to offer.”

“Better not be.”

Remy groped for some protection no matter how imaginary. “The Rossi family might be connected to the mob.”

“The mob won’t be your problem if Black Diamonds doesn’t get built. Get moving!”

“As soon as my demolition permit comes through.”

“That’s what your nonc wants to hear. Have a nice evening.” Like a Cajun ninja, Slick disappeared into the night and thudded to earth on the other side of the fence.

A nice evening was what he’d had until Slick showed up. Now, it promised a lack of sleep and maybe a few bad dreams about what happened to people who crossed the Broussards—or the Mafia.