Fleur explained the situation about her Miguel encounter to Luc and Brother Brian as they sat out on the back verandah with her and Aaron. Tante Lulu had gone off to water the roses around the St. Jude birdbath . . . and to scrub off some of the rude “prayer offerings” dropped by the birds.
Luc was a good-looking man. All the LeDeux men were. Even in his late forties with silver threading the edges of his dark hair, even in a conservative business suit and tie (He’d told them he had to be in court later this morning.), Luc carried himself with that typical Cajun swagger and joie de vivre. Of course, he wasn’t as attractive as Aaron, in her opinion, who always seemed to be holding back his wild side. A woman (she, in particular) always felt like she had to be on her guard.
As for Brother Brian (or Snake, as Aaron persisted in calling him in the most irreverent way) . . . he was a priest. Enough said! An unorthodox priest (Can anyone say Hawaiian floral shirt?), but then many of the St. Jude’s Street Apostles were considered rogues. Brother Brian had blondish red hair, and freckles, and a prizefighter’s build. In other words, not traditionally handsome. But his teasing Irish personality made up for any physical deficiencies. Not that a pleasing appearance mattered much to the clergy, unless they were TV personalities oozing charisma and gold.
“Here’s the problem in a nutshell, as I see it,” Luc said. “The mission for the Street Apostles and the Magdas has never been to take down any crime syndicate, but rather to rescue the victims. Something you’ve been successful at because you operate below the radar. You leave the bigger issue to the bigger guys, or agencies, to handle, right?”
Fleur and Brother Brian and Aaron nodded.
“So, it makes no sense to contact the FBI ahead of time, or the Departments of Justice, Labor, Transportation, or Homeland Security, all of whom deal with some aspect of this sex trafficking, although they would be mighty interested, guaranteed.”
Fleur winced at the mention of all those government entities.
“They would try to use you, Fleur,” Luc went on. “There’s no question in my mind that they would want you for a tool to entrap not just Miguel but some of the higher-ups in the Mexican cartel.”
“But first they would want to try diplomacy. Even with these scumbags. Always the politically correct route,” Aaron opined with more cynicism than she’d heard from him so far. “What they don’t realize is that sometimes the best diplomacy is being able to tell the cretins to go to hell so they’ll look forward to it.”
“Are you sure you’re not Irish?” Brother Brian asked with a laugh. “But, even if we were willing to put this lassie at risk, which we aren’t, the ensuing publicity would surely end our missions in rescuing the girls. Besides which, each of these arms of the government will be pissed off at our infringing on their territories.”
“How about local police?” Luc asked. “Maybe we could set up our own sting to catch Miguel. Yeah, it would be only one guy, but an important one in the sex trafficking trade. And we could turn him over to the feds, but sort of sneaky-like.”
“Sneaky-like? Is that a lawyer term?” Aaron asked Luc.
“Bite me,” Luc replied with a grin.
“Again, we risk publicity,” Brother Brian pointed out.
“Not if we’re subtle,” Luc argued. “My brother Tee-John is a police officer, and my sister Simone is an ex-cop who runs a Cheaters type detective agency. Both of them would know how to set up a sting.”
“No, no, no!” Aaron protested. “We are not using Fleur as bait for some scumbag.”
Fleur turned inch by inch to look at him. “I beg your pardon,” she said.
“Begging pardon is the same as saying you’re sorry,” Aaron said, making a slash in the air, which caused her to shake her head at his foolishness.
She elbowed him and said, “Behave!”
“Don’t you mean click?”
“Is this a private joke?” Brother Brian asked.
“I think they’re under the spell of Tante Lulu’s Thunderbolt of Love,” Luc explained to the priest. “Although you would think a nun or almost-nun would be immune, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, we always said that Aaron could talk the panties off a nun, back when we were flying jets. Seems he’s still trying.” If the twinkle in his eye was any indication, Brother Brian had as much fun teasing Aaron as Luc.
Fleur was also enjoying the blush that colored Aaron’s face.
“Did Tante Lulu give you a hope chest yet, Aaron?” Luc asked.
“She’s tried.”
“A hope chest for a guy?” Brother Brian asked, looking first at Luc, then Aaron. “Isn’t that one of those things girls get to hold sheets and towels and stuff for when they get married?”
“Yeah, but Tante Lulu makes them for the men in her family,” Luc explained, as if that was a perfectly logical explanation. “She has her eye on Aaron and Fleur at the moment.”
“Hello, everyone,” Fleur said, waving a hand in the air. “I’m sitting right here. I can speak for myself.” To Aaron, she said, “I will be part of any operation to get Miguel. I won’t be happy until he’s serving a life sentence in Angola. Do I make myself clear?”
“Loud and clear.”
Now she turned to Luc and, in a much calmer voice, said, “I’m willing to talk to John and Simone, if Brother Brian will sit in on the meeting. His input from the perspective of the Street Apostles and Magdas is essential.”
Aaron asked Luc, “Do you think Fleur is safe here? Maybe Remy’s houseboat would be a better hiding place.”
Luc pondered a moment before replying, “No, it’s anchored too close to Remy’s home and family. Wouldn’t want to risk that.”
“You’re right.” Aaron mused a moment, then brightened. “I know, I could take her to your fishing camp. It’s remote enough that I would have trouble finding it, let alone some Mexican yahoo with killer intent.”
“Me? Alone at some fishing camp?” Fleur shivered, knowing full well what some of those shacks on stilts deep in the swamps were like. Snakes, gators, and every kind of biting insect imaginable.
“I wouldn’t let you go alone,” Aaron said, taking her hand and linking their fingers. “I would willingly make the sacrifice to stay there with you. That’s the kind of guy I am.”
“Fool!” she said, realizing that he’d been teasing, and tried to tug her hand away, but Aaron held on tight. In fact, he rested their double fist on his thigh.
Both Brother Brian and Luc raised their brows at Aaron’s gesture, but then Luc said, “I don’t think a move will be necessary. Yet. Let’s talk to Tee-John and Simone first.”
Aaron nodded. “In the meantime, Snake, you’re welcome to stay here at Bayou Rose. And Luc, could you set up a meeting with John and Simone? As soon as possible.”
“On second thought, don’t schedule that meeting . . . yet,” Brother Brian said. “It may not be necessary.” He took a long swallow of iced tea, then held the glass out to stare at the beverage with distaste, as if he would much prefer it be a cold beer or a strong whiskey. Setting the glass down with a loud exhale, he disclosed, “I hate to add further woe to you good folks, but there’s a reason why Miguel Vascone is in New Orleans at this time.”
His announcement went kerplunk into a waiting silence. Everyone stared at him.
“A reason that may prevent us from going after Miguel before certain other things take place.”
The silence remained.
Fleur felt a chill of foreboding run up her spine.
“A big exchange of ‘goods’ is about to take place between the Dixie Mafia and the Vascone family enterprise in Mexico.”
She and Aaron looked at each other. Why had Brother Brian waited until now to mention this? Why had he let them ramble on about her encounter with Miguel when there was apparently something more important going on? Didn’t he trust them? Or was he wanting to hear about her issues to see how they would tie in with his?
“The Vascones have an order for twelve virgin girls under the age of thirteen, or ten girls and two prepubescent boys, to be delivered to some third world oil tycoon. If the southern mob can deliver them, the Vascones will give them two dozen underage, though experienced, prostitutes from their various brothels.”
Aaron, Luc, and Fleur all sat up straighter.
“You know how the Vascones like to rotate their stables, making it appear as if they always have fresh ‘goods’ on hand,” Brother Brian said to Fleur.
She glanced immediately to Luc, not having realized that he’d been told about her history as a prostitute. Her face flooded with heat, but she couldn’t really complain. Luc wouldn’t have been able to advise them without knowing why Miguel was after Fleur. To her relief, Luc didn’t even look her way. He was too engrossed in what Brother Brian was saying.
“You’re planning a rescue mission, then,” Aaron guessed.
Brother Brian nodded. “Yes, and the more I think about it, it makes sense that Fleur saw the bastard in New Orleans.” The priest didn’t even apologize for his bad language, but Fleur knew from past acquaintance with the man that he often used colorful curses, especially in stressful situations. All the Street Apostles walked a different line than normal priests. A few years back, when Pope Francis chastised the Church’s priests for hiding in their safe sacristies instead of mingling among the “bruised, hurting and dirty,” he probably didn’t have in mind what the Street Apostles did. Then again, maybe he did.
“What’s your strategy?” Luc asked.
“There are still a lot of details to be worked out, but usually, the Vascones move their human cargo from Mexico in a tractor-trailer. They’ll cross from Matamoros to the Brownsville border crossing and from there travel up the coast to a 24-hour truck depot outside Baton Rouge, in Lafayette. That’s where the exchange will take place.”
“Mon Dieu!” Luc exclaimed. “Tee-John should definitely know about this. He’s on the police force in Lafayette.”
“Careful . . . we have to be extra careful,” Brother Brian cautioned.
“Do you plan on involving the feds in any way?” Aaron asked.
“We might have to. One possibility is that we tell them about the new kidnapees only, and at the last minute. Let them handle the operation from the New Orleans end, while we hijack the eighteen-wheeler en route or when it gets to Lafayette. Of course, we wouldn’t mention that it’s an exchange, or even that the truck of human cargo would be coming from Mexico. Otherwise, they would insist on taking over the whole enterprise, and risk losing some, or all, of these girls.”
“Three dozen females!” Fleur exclaimed. “We’ve never dealt with so many rescues at one time. This will be big. Where will you take them? Is the convent equipped for that number?”
Brother Brian put his hands in the air. “All details still to be worked out. One of the Street Apostles is a former Navy SEAL with a talent for battle strategy. Brother Jake has a mind like a computer, spitting out times, routes, contingencies, all that crap. We just feed him the data and let him do the planning. Keep in mind, this all came to our attention just a few days ago. Our informants are still feeding us information.”
Oh, Lord! Fleur had met Jake before, and they were in for it! He’d been her contact, usually via email, for years. An organizational genius, for sure. An overbearing dictator, as well.
“You must have some informant! If you have this intel, why doesn’t the government?” Luc wanted to know.
“Maybe they do, but I doubt it,” Brother Brian answered. “Some of what we learn is passed on through the confessional. Oh, I don’t mean that priests reveal what has been confessed. That’s privileged information, same as rules for lawyers and their clients. But often the sinners then feel the need to repent by revealing the details outside the confessional with the priests steering them in our direction. You have to realize that the Mexican people are largely Catholic, and the church grapevine is amazing.”
“Sacré bleu! Just like the bayou grapevine!” Luc observed.
“I suppose,” Brother Brian agreed.
“You can’t be a part of this exchange mission, not with Miguel recognizing you,” Aaron said to Fleur, back to his protector role.
Did the man ever listen to her? He was not her Prince Charming to the Rescue, not even her Cowboy Prince to the Rescue, she thought, glancing down at his boots, worn even with his pilot uniform.
Seeing the beginning glower on her face, he continued, “It would be even more dangerous than your being the lure in a sting, as we were discussing earlier.” He was still holding on to her hand, even tighter now.
“I will be involved. Get that through your fool head,” she told him and dug her fingernails into his skin. Unfortunately, her nails were short and filed smooth. To Brother Brian, she added, “As long as I can be of use, and as long as the Street Apostles and the Magdas approve.”
The priest nodded, hesitantly, as he watched the interplay between her and Aaron.
“Would any of those women be friends—uh, acquaintances of yours?” Luc asked.
Fleur could tell he felt awkward asking her if they might be fellow prostitutes from her past. She shook her head. “Doubtful. I’ve been gone for ten years.”
“I can see that this is going to take way more planning and expertise than I originally envisioned,” Luc said. “Beyond my scope, for sure.”
“I’ve been thinking. Let’s still plan a meeting for tomorrow with your brother,” Brother Brian decided, “and by then I may have more information from Jake back in Dallas.”
A half hour later, after discussing minor details related to the two situations, Fleur’s and the sex trafficking exchange, Aaron released her hand and stood. He was about to walk Luc to his vehicle out front while Fleur was going to introduce Brother Brian to Samantha in her bedroom. But first, Luc turned to Fleur and said, “There’s a young officer on the Houma police force, Mickey Gaudet. Is he a relative of yours?”
Fleur felt her face heat. “Probably. My younger brother. Ten years younger, in fact.”
“A nice kid,” Luc remarked. “Do you want me to contact him for you?”
“No!” she exclaimed, way louder and with more vehemence than she’d intended. More softly, she said, “That won’t be necessary. I’ve lost touch with all my family.”
She hoped that was the end of the discussion.
But it wasn’t. “Well, then, Sara Sue, a waitress over at Dilly’s Diner, must be your sister. She and Mick are real close, both of them raised in foster care, I hear. I know Mick helped her and her two kids a lot when she divorced Alphonse Fontenot after one too many beatings. Alphie is in Angola presently for assault and battery, thank God.”
Brother Brian bowed his head at the mention of God.
But Fleur was thinking, Oh, no! Poor Sarie! She was a year younger than Mickey. And always so clingy, cowering in corners when Daddy went on one of his shouting rampages, but then she’d only been three when I left. Wait. Did Luc mention foster care? Finally, CPS must have intervened. I wonder when. There were still five kids younger than me at home when I left. Did CPS take all of them?
Panic filled her at the mere mention of her family.
And there was guilt, too. Should she have come back to help those siblings still under that horrid roof when she was able? Not when she’d been first rescued, of course. She’d been in no shape to help anyone, let alone herself at first. But later?
She tried to recall who would have been still at home back then, ten years ago. Frankie, the youngest, would have been only seven, Sara Sue, nine, Mickey, ten, and Mary Elizabeth, or Lizzie, who had Down Syndrome, thirteen. Joe Lee, Eustace, Gloria, and Jimmy had already left home by then, the latter to juvie hall, at fifteen.
But, no, even if she’d been capable, her parents had rejected any overtures from the Sisters of Magdalene on her behalf at the time of her rescue. “We doan take back soiled goods,” her father had declared. And her mother had been no better. “Are ya sayin’ she’s been a harlot fer six years? Oh, Lord! How kin I look at her and not picture . . . oh, Lord!”
Her older brothers, Eustace and Joe Lee, had been no better, even though they’d been twenty-three and twenty-four at the time of her rescue and working on the oil rigs. Joe Lee had laughed at Mother Jacinta when she’d told him of Fleur’s kidnapping and rescue and said something like, “Un-be-fucking-lievable! Maybe I’ve run into my own sister in one of the cathouses down in Nawleans.” And Eustace had been horrified, “I’m married now with two kids. What if some of the men she’s been with came cattin’ around our place?” Gloria, who had to have been twenty-two by then, was nowhere to be found, having run away from home at fifteen, even before Fleur’s kidnapping. Jimmy, at twenty-one, was doing hard time by then, in prison.
The memories still cut deep in Fleur. She was jarred from her painful reverie by Aaron’s voice.
He must have noticed Fleur’s discomfort at the mention of two of her siblings because he was saying to Luc, “Never mind Fleur’s family. Don’t forget yours. Do you want to say good-bye to Tante Lulu before you leave?”
“I better, or she’ll skin my hide,” Luc said.
Fleur shot Aaron a look of thanks.
He just stared at her, then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek before she could draw back.
It wasn’t an intimate kiss, more like a butterfly brush of the skin, but Fleur felt it deep down in her hardened core. If Aaron had grinned at her then, or made some teasing remark, she would have been safe. But he just turned and walked away.
Fleur was shaken.
But that was nothing compared to what happened later that night when she was in her bed in the attic room.
For the first time ever, Fleur had an erotic dream. No raunchy, slam-bam sex like that depicted in porno films, and, yes, she’d been forced to watch more than a few of those. Teaching tools, the pimps and madams told new recruits before turning their first tricks. No, this was a gentle loving. Coaxing. And, oh, my God, she was aroused, like she’d never been before. Oh, maybe she’d been a little excited when she’d been fourteen and running wild, before her kidnapping, but that had been different, tame, naïve, nothing like this.
Playing a starring role, of course, was Aaron.
They were naked, lying on a bed, she on her back, he on his side leaning over her. Not her small single bed here in the plantation house or in Tante Lulu’s cottage, and certainly not her cot back at the convent. No, it was a double bed covered with silk-soft, pale blue sheets.
The lapping of water could be heard through the open windows where sheer curtains ruffled in the nighttime breeze. The metallic scent of bayou water teased the senses, along with the lemony floral essence of magnolia that grew so abundantly in the humid south.
Maybe it was that fishing camp of Luc’s that Aaron had mentioned earlier. Maybe it was some new place. Maybe it wasn’t a building at all, but a boat. Aaron had mentioned that, too. A houseboat. Hah! More like a love boat. She had to smile at that. But not for long.
“At last,” he whispers, leaning over me as I lie flat on my back. “Finally, you are mine.”
I should be affronted at his possessiveness. I’m not.
“I never thought . . .” I arch my neck, giving him further access to that vulnerable spot at the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
He wets my neck with his tongue, blows on it, then nips the spot with his teeth.
I moan and arch higher, causing my breasts to rise, as if begging for attention. “More,” I urge.
At this point, most men would take my reaction as a cue to plow right in, getting to the “good stuff.” Slam, slam, slam, and they’d be satisfied in a minute. Services rendered.
But not Aaron.
He stares at my body for a long moment, then sighs. “Ah, Fleur. My flower. My love.” Then he proceeds to adore my body with skimming fingertips and breathy kisses. He lifts my arms and rests them above my head on the pillow. His palm brushes over my flat midriff, waist, and stomach. The light furring on his forearm catches briefly on my hair down below as he reaches for one of my limbs. He raises the knee and tugs it up and to the side so I am exposed to him.
I gasp. Not in shock, but wonder at the almost-pleasure that ripples low in my belly.
There is no hurtful squeezing as he explores my bareness. No bites. No deep, gagging throat kisses. No demand for graphically outlined delights, which are not so delightful for me. At least they hadn’t been before. But now? I don’t know.
I’m not yet ready to touch his body, but I certainly look. And I admire what I see. Broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips, muscles, but not too bulky. He is more lean than muscle-bound.
His dark hair, which is overlong, matches the dark hairs on his arms, and legs, and chest. I don’t need to look below to know how excited he is. Perspiration dots his brow as he restrains his impulses. His brown Cajun eyes are half-lidded, and his full lips part as he breathes heavily.
Oddly, I like that I have such an effect on him. For some reason, I want to please him.
This is all new to me, but, instead of being alarmed, I purr with a sheer joy of discovery. I am almost thirty years old, but I feel like a virgin.
When he moves back up to my breasts, I think, Here it comes. Men think women like to be kneaded like dough, or plucked like cow udders. Personally, it just seems silly to me to make such a fuss over . . .
My thoughts trail off as Aaron licks one nipple, then the other. That’s all. One lick each.
Okay, that isn’t so bad.
Then he kisses them. So featherlight and quick, I’m not sure if I imagine the kisses there, or not. Before I have a chance to register what he is about, he places his mouth on one of the nipples.
Instantly, a swelling develops between my legs and begins to pulse, like a heartbeat. I am alarmed, but he says, “Shhh,” and lays a calming hand on my belly. “Let me love you. Let your body speak for you.”
And it did.
As he lightly suckles me, my body explodes. From the throbbing beat in my nest of curls, a spark ignites and streams of erotic fire ricochet out to all my extremities, causing me to moan and thrash and beg him to never stop.
I lose consciousness, and when I awaken, slumberous and sated, I see that he is above me now, his hardness pressing against the vee of my widespread legs. I smile at him and say, “Thank you for loving me.”
He smiles back at me and says, “Now the real loving begins.”
But then his head shoots up and he seems to be listening to something. Voices. From down below. Loud voices.
Footsteps pounding on stairs.
A knocking on the door.
Fleur emerged from her deep sleep to the sound of knocking on her door and Aaron calling out, “Fleur? Are you awake?”
She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, then half sat up, propped on her elbows. It was dark outside, and she saw by her watch that it was three a.m. She wasn’t naked like in her dream, but covered by the blue silk nightshirt she’d bought in that secondhand shop. Still, she was dazed by her dream. It had seemed so real.
“Can I come in?” Aaron asked. “Are you decent?”
That was debatable, Fleur thought, but said, “Yes.”
Aaron opened the door and walked in. His hair was mussed as if he’d just gotten out of bed. He wore low-riding jeans that exposed the beginning of a vee of hair below his belly button, and flip-flops. That was all. Her dream had been accurate, she thought irrelevantly. He was lean and muscular and more sexy than any man had a right to be. No wonder he was so successful with women. No wonder he had been so successful with her . . . in her dream.
For just a moment, he leaned against the doorjamb and studied her. “Was it as good for you as it was for me, Fleur?”
“What?”
He repeated her words back at her by saying, “Thank you for loving me.”
She stared at him in horror. They’d had the same dream! “Do you think Tante Lulu put a spell on me . . . us?”
He shrugged. “Before Daniel and Samantha got married, they claimed that Tante Lulu cursed them with mutual sexual fantasies. Daniel’s not nearly as imaginative as I am, though, or experienced. My fantasies are way more . . . you know?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
No, she did not know. “What are you doing here, at this time of night?”
The humor disappeared from his face. “I just got a phone call from Luc, who got a call from one of Tante Lulu’s neighbors. It appears some men broke in and trashed her place.”
“Oh, no! Miguel?”
“Probably. I’m going over now. Luc will meet me there, along with Tee-John.”
She sat up straighter and prepared to get up and out of bed. “I’ll go with you.”
“No. There’s always the possibility the cottage is being watched,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, forcing her to stay put. “I just wanted you to know where I was if I’m not here when you get up this morning. Even Snake can’t go with me, for fear of being recognized. We don’t want any connection between Tante Lulu and you or the Magdas or the Street Apostles. And of course Daniel will stay here.”
“How about you? Isn’t there a danger of your being associated with all this?”
“I don’t think so. I’m technically Tante Lulu’s nephew. I’ve been there lots of times in the past.”
“Tante Lulu will be livid. She’ll want to go right over there, guns blazing.”
He smiled, flashing that adorable dimple. It was a sign of her distress, or her deteriorating defenses, that she would notice such a thing at a time like this.
“Don’t tell her anything. And make sure she stays here and out of sight until we know more.”
She nodded. “I’m trying to remember if we left anything behind that would hint at my having been there, but I don’t think so. Oh, Aaron, this is all my fault. Tante Lulu doesn’t deserve this. Nor do all of you here at the plantation.”
“Hush! It’s our choice.” He grinned then. “Aren’t you going to say you’re sorry . . . for all the trouble you’re causing?”
She knew he was teasing to calm her fears. “No, I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Notice that there were no kisses in our dream. Not mouth kisses anyhow. I must be saving up your markers for those, big-time. Bet they’re going to be super good for having been postponed. Hope there is tongue involved. Hope they’re wet ones.”
“Click, click,” she said, surprised that she was engaging in his silly game. Must be some kind of post erotic dream, middle of the night madness.
“Go back to sleep, Fleur. I’ll call when I know more. And don’t worry. I have your back, sweetheart.”
In truth, she didn’t know what she would do without him. She was coming to rely on him way too much. A scary thought!
Sleep was impossible, of course. So, she did what she should have been doing more of these past weeks. She knelt on the floor beside the bed and prayed. In the end, she decided to just trust in God, but she tossed in a prayer to St. Jude, too, just to be sure.
A voice in her head said, About time!
She was probably channeling Tante Lulu. Now that was the scariest thought of all.
The posse arrived, but the bad guys were gone . . .
Aaron arrived at Tante Lulu’s place a half hour later, and John pulled in right behind him. Luc’s Mercedes sedan and a police car were already there, and the lights were on inside. He could tell that John, a cop, was wearing a shoulder holster under his denim shirt, which was unbuttoned over a tank top and cargo shorts. Aaron was carrying, as well, but his pistol was tucked into the back waistband of his jeans under a T-shirt.
They nodded at each other, but said nothing as they emerged from their vehicles, their expressions grim. This had to be the first time, ever, that anyone had dared to attack the revered old lady of the bayou. They scanned the perimeter, but the sky was black as coal, no stars out tonight. The only light came from the windows.
They had to laugh, though, at what they saw when they walked together around the side of the cottage. It was the neighbor who’d notified Luc of the break-in. Jackson Dufrene, probably as old as Tante Lulu, sat in one of the rocking chairs. He had a lion’s mane of unruly white hair which matched the white curls that adorned his bare arms and chest and back in a pair of bib overalls, minus a shirt, with rubber shrimp boots on his big feet. A long-ashed cigarette dangled from one hand, a rifle powerful enough to take down an elephant in the other, and the pet alligator, Useless, was splatted out at his feet munching on a pile of Cheez Doodles.
“Took ya long enough,” Jackson remarked, taking a drag on his cigarette and then blowing smoke rings in the air. “Did ya stop fer donuts on the way? Or mebbe ya gave yer wives a good-bye boink before ya hit the road?”
“I don’t have a wife,” Aaron pointed out.
“My wife’s about twelve months pregnant and boinking is the last thing on her mind these days,” John said.
Neither of them were offended by the old man, whom they knew well. Especially when he flashed his false teeth at them in a big smile.
“What happened?” Aaron asked.
“Heard a ruckus ’bout two a.m. Know it was two a.m. ’cause I got up ta piss. Us old men gotta piss a lot. It’s the prostate, or sumpin’. A damn nuisance is what it is. Betcha it’s a curse God put on Adam fer eatin’ that damn apple, or stickin’ his pisser where he hadn’t oughta. In fact, I tol’—”
“About the ruckus,” John interrupted. “Did you come over here? Did you see anything?”
“I dint come over right away, but I saw plenty. Two fellas rode up in a van. They parked out on the road, not the driveway. Had flashlights. Saw ’em over by the garage, then around the house, lookin’ in the windows. When they figgered out no one was home and the doors was locked, they broke a window and climbed in. Heard a lot of noise coming from inside, bangin’ doors, glass breakin’, cursin’. I tol’ mahself, time ta call the po-lice, and Luc, too. Yer brother gave me his number a long time ago in case there was ever a problem, but he was prob’ly thinkin’ more along the lines of Tante Lulu fallin’ and not being able ta get up. Lak that TV commercial. Lordy! I laugh every time I see that thing.”
“What happened next?” Aaron prodded.
“I saw they was comin’ outside and I dint want them ta make a getaway before the law got here. So, I went out and fired a couple shots up in the air. Scared the shit outta them, I’ll tell ya that. Tee-hee-hee! And by then, Useless sauntered onta the scene. Tore a hunk outta the one guy’s leg.”
“I assume they left before the police arrived,” John said.
“Yep. They went one way, the cops came the other.”
“Did you get a license number?” John was examining the broken window, probably planning how to cover it until the glass could be replaced.
Jackson shook his head. “Couldn’t find mah glasses. Left ’em on mah bedside table.”
Aaron gave him a quick look. He must have gone back for both the glasses and his dentures. “Would you recognize either of them?”
He shook his head again. “Too dark.”
“Well, thanks for calling Luc and the police,” John said.
“Thass what neighbors are for,” Jackson said, dropping his cigarette to the porch floor and grinding it out with his boot. Tante Lulu would pitch a hissy fit if she saw that. “I wonder what them fellas were lookin’ for. I allus thought Tante Lulu was poorer than Job’s turkey, but mebbe she has hidden treasures.” He looked to him and John for a clue. When neither of them answered, he got up and said, “Well, I’m off ta bed again. Good luck.”
Aaron and John were about to go inside when Aaron put a hand on his arm. “Uh, John. Don’t mention Fleur to the police.”
“What? Who?”
“Fleur Gaudet. Tante Lulu’s guest.”
John frowned. “The nun?”
“Almost-nun.”
“Huh?”
“She hasn’t taken vows yet. Probably won’t.”
John shook his head, as if to clear it of cobwebs. “Why would it matter if the cops know about an ‘almost-nun’ livin’ here? Tante Lulu is always takin’ in strays. And why the hell are they stayin’ at your place? Not that it didn’t turn out to be a good thing they weren’t here.”
“Later. We’ll explain it all later.”
“We? Does Luc know what’s goin’ on?” When Aaron’s silence gave him a resounding answer, John said, “Shiiit!”
Two cops came out then, and when neither he nor John were able to add to what Luc had already told them, one of them said, “It was probably teenagers. You know how that is, John. Kids with the brains of a flea, too much time on their hands. Looking for booze or prescription meds. Hell, everyone knows Tante Lulu lives here. Old lady like that is bound to have a medicine cabinet full of pills.”
The older cop shifted the belt of his uniform over a big belly and said, “What they needed was a good paddlin’ on their be-hinds when they were youngins. But that would be considered child abuse t’day. Pfff! What we got instead is eleven-year-olds smokin’ pot and fifteen-year-old girls on welfare with two kids.”
The cops left soon after that, promising to be back in the morning when they could better assess the damages, in daylight, and see if anything was missing. In other words, this would end up an insurance claim, with not much done to catch the culprits.
It was a shock, nonetheless, when Aaron and John entered the cottage. The place had been trashed. Drawers pulled out and contents scattered on the floor. Furniture turned over. Worst of all was Tante Lulu’s traiteur pantry. The perps must have thought the hanging herbs were weed because they’d been yanked off the ceiling and crushed on the floor. Jars and containers were broken, their contents spilled and mixed all over the place. A god-awful mess.
Thank God, Fleur had gathered up all the old receipt books containing the folk remedies. Those would be irreplaceable. Maybe most of this stuff would be, too.
They found Luc in Tante Lulu’s bedroom, sitting on her tiny bed, more the size of a cot, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. A quilt had been ripped apart and tossed on the floor. The sheets and mattress had been slashed with a knife.
“Merde! Tante Lulu is going to be devastated,” Luc said, raising his head. There were tears in his eyes. “That quilt there . . . when I was ten years old, I ran away from home. Home being that rusted out trailer over where Cypress Oil has its headquarters now. Wasn’t the first time I ran away, of course, but the beating Daddy gave me that night was especially bad. He’d been on a bender for days and was all boozed up. I remember Tante Lulu washing me up and wrapping me in that quilt and tucking me in this very bed. ‘Have faith, sweetie. Things will get better,’ she always said.”
John sank down to the bed and put his arm around Luc’s shoulders. “Hell, she was there for all of us when Dad went on a rampage. This cottage, though, it stayed the same through all those years. A refuge. And look at it now.”
“Stop with the pity party,” Aaron told them from where he stood in the open doorway. The door was hanging lopsided on its broken hinges. “No one was hurt, and we can clean up this mess in no time at all. We’ll make it good as new. No, we’ll make it good as old. You know your . . . our family. They’ll make a party out of the cleanup.”
The three of them contemplated that idea and nodded.
“I’m gonna kill the bastard who did this, though,” Luc said.
“No! Miguel is mine.” Aaron had no doubt that the creep was the one responsible for this destruction. One more sin to add to the tally for the man who’d hurt Fleur so badly.
“You two wanna tell me what the hell’s going on here?” John demanded then.
Aaron decided that they had no choice but to fill him in. Still he warned, “You can’t tell anyone.”
“And you can’t go off half-cocked when you know what’s coming down,” Luc added.
John narrowed his eyes at Luc. “What kind of shit did you involve Tante in?”
“Me? I didn’t start this thing,” Luc said, glancing toward Aaron.
Aaron flinched. “No one’s to blame. I’m the one who got sucked in when I got called to the Silver Stud strip club last year where I first met Fleur.”
John’s eyes widened.
Luc was a little surprised at that detail, too. But then Luc said, “And I got sucked in when Aaron asked me to help him with the FAA, which is investigating him for illegal flights in and out of Mexico. But then, he took one of the FAA agents out to lunch, got her snockered, and ran into Tante Lulu and Fleur who were in the Big Easy buyin’ other people’s old clothes. That’s when Fleur ran into that pimp Miguel.”
Which was no explanation at all if John’s tsk of disgust was any indication. “And Tante Lulu . . . how did she get sucked in?” John asked with not a little sarcasm.
“She sucked herself in,” Aaron said. “Like always.”
“It’s a long story, Tee-John,” Luc sighed. “Let’s just say, what do sex traffickers, prostitutes, street apostles, nuns, a huge upcoming caper in a Lafayette parking lot, and a pimp with a plan for revenge in motion have in common?” Luc glanced at Aaron and added, “And a Cajun with a hard-on for a nun?”
John looked at the two of them, shook his head, and said, “What else is new?”