The fact that his calls to Rufus Bideau had gone unanswered for several days worried Brody Brady. He had expected to hear more about the forthcoming construction of the Verde Bioenergy plant—but nothing, not even a wink or a nod.
Brady was finally able to track down Chris Bideau at the Parrot’s Caw property management office. Chris greeted him with a handshake and a bear hug. “I will never forget that stripper you sent my way, Brady. At least I can laugh about it now.”
“I am gratified to hear that,” Brady responded. “But that’s not why I am here. Have you heard anything more about the switchgrass plant?”
“Not a word,” the youngest Bideau answered truthfully. “Have you talked to my daddy?”
“I have tried calling and emailing him, even stopped by his office. No luck. He seems to have vanished like a puff of smoke.”
Chris began to feel uncomfortable. Whenever his daddy disappeared, someone or something usually got hurt. “Have you spoken to Lucas?”
“He was at your father’s office, but all he did was grunt that he had no idea where your father was or how to get in touch with him. He practically threw me out of the place.”
“Lucas can be a bit physical. Best to keep your distance,” Chris advised. “I usually put this on when I meet with him…” With a hint of humor, Chris tapped his old Goodness of God football helmet, a memento he kept on his desk.
Chris recalled when he and Lucas were children. Lucas had taken a particular pleasure in pummeling him. Once, Lucas even attempted to put him in the oven. Luckily, their mother stopped him just in time. The pummeling continued until shortly after Chris reached seventeen. He had learned from his confrontation with daddy that the only way to stop abuse was to hit back. The next time Lucas punched him, Chris responded with a right to the jaw that knocked Lucas off his feet. Lucas got up and kicked Chris in the groin. Chris doubled over, and Lucas hit him on the back. Despite the pain, Chris straightened up, seized Lucas around the waist, lifted him off his feet and hurled him down a nearby flight of stairs. Lucas didn’t move for several seconds. Finally, he looked up, blood dripping from his nose. “So I guess little brother’s all grown up now. One day I’ll bust your ass for good. Daddy told me so, and he likes me better than you.”
That probably was true. Lucas looked and acted like their daddy. Chris favored their mother in looks and temperament. The divorce gave his mother custody of Chris and visitation rights with Lucas, who lived with his daddy. Rufus Bideau tolerated Chris more than loved him, though he always had words of praise for Chris’s academic achievements. “Lucas doesn’t have your brains. I’ll need those brains. Can’t think of everything myself,” he once told his son.
After Chris graduated from college, his father put him to work as the property manager for Parrot’s Caw. Lucas served a different role as a kind of man Friday, bodyguard and enforcer. Lucas would visit his mother only on rare occasions. He found her too soft, too kind, too weak. Their time together was always strained. He couldn’t understand why daddy kept sending her money. One day he asked.
“Good lawyer,” Rufus Bideau had responded briskly.
Lucas didn’t buy it, but he knew not to press the point. If the old man had any soft spot, it was for his ex-wife.