Cold Bullets and Hot Babes. Arlette Lees
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your feet in the water,” said Suzette. “They come for dinner scraps.” She might have let him in on that bit of information a little sooner.
Pierre tossed a handful of chicken bones into the water. A few more prehistoric reptiles swam over, snapping and churning the surface. Jeeter wasn’t half so relaxed anymore, a bit nauseous and weak in the knees. He walked to the truck and returned with the bottle of whiskey.
The moment he saw Suzette’s face he knew he’d made a big mistake. She gave him a frightened look but Pierre was already headed into the house for glasses. Jeeter gave a helpless shrug. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed. She looked like she was going to cry.
“He’s crazier than a shithouse rat when he drinks,” she said. “Just one drink and he starts beating the crap out of me. Without Uncle Rémy here to protect me....” She let the thought hang. “You’d better hit the road before he starts in.”
When Pierre returned with the glasses the white dog began to tremble. “It’s all right, Bon-Bon,” she said, stroking his fur. Jeeter decided he’d seen enough of Bayou Sang, but how could he make a diplomatic exit without joining Pierre in at least one shot?
Before long Pierre had foregone the civility of glasses and drank straight from the bottle. First Jeet had run out half his gas getting here, now the Cajun was swilling down the last of his booze, stomping his feet, singing Jolie Blonde in French, the deck vibrating like a trampoline. The more he thundered on the boards the more alligators crashed the party.
Pierre reached down and grabbed a red hen that was picking at grains on rice. He started swinging her by the neck.
“Ain’t this the old biddy don’t lay eggs no more?” he said.
Suzette rose on shaky legs and set Bon-Bon on the deck.
“Give her to me, Pierre. She’s a pet. Stop acting crazy.”
“Crazy like this?” he said, tossing the hen in a high flapping arch over the water. The biggest gator almost stood on his tail as he broke the surface. He caught the bird with a snap of mighty jaws, threw his head back a few times and swallowed the bird whole. The color drained from Jeeter’s face.
“Well, it’s getting a little late for me,” he said, rising.
“What, I make you nervous, garçon?” said Pierre.
The Cajun reached out and grabbed Suzette by the arm.
“Stop playing around,” she said. Her voice trembled. She suddenly looked about ten years old and very small.
He dragged her toward the edge of the deck and she screamed. Bon-Bon growled. He sounded as ferocious as a squeaky-toy. He did however manage to sink his small sharp teeth into Pierre’s big toe. He cursed, released his sister and snatched the dog up by the collar. Jeeter could no longer distinguish the dog’s high-pitched yips from the girl’s shrieks. A flood of adrenaline coursed through his veins and his nerves snapped like fiddle strings. He drove a hard-soled shoe into Pierre’s groin and Pierre dropped the dog to the deck. Shit! Why had he done that? The Cajun would kill him if he was ever able to stand up straight again. From his hunkered down position Pierre looked sideways with a dangerous fire in his blue eyes. He reached out with a massive hand and grabbed the cuff of Jeeter’s jeans.
Jeeter freaked and jerked loose with such ferocity that the sudden release of tension sent the Cajun stumbling backward toward the edge of the deck. Jeeter instinctively reached out to pull him back to safety but it was too late. Pierre plummeted downward with a splash. His scream sounded like the roar of a chain saw, its echo reverberating through the swamp.
Bon-Bon flew into the house and Jeeter and Suzette looked down into the churning water. The king gator had his jaws clamped around Pierre’s torso. He death-rolled, thrashing and spinning until the water boiled with blood. The gator sank beneath the surface with Pierre in his deadly grip. For Jeeter it was surreal, like watching himself being eaten alive.
As suddenly as it had begun it was over. A snowy egret flapped into the branches of a cypress tree, the orange ball of sun sank low on the horizon, bream jumped among the lily pads and the gators were gone.
“I’m outta here,” said Jeeter. “That’s about all the excitement I can take for one day. Your brother got drunk and fell in. End of story.”
Suzette was shaking. She threw her arms around his waist. It was at least eighty degrees out but her body had turned cold with shock.
“Don’t go,” she said. “Not yet. I’ve never been alone out here at night. What if Pierre comes crawling out of the swamp?”
Jeeter’s eyes bugged. “Believe me, that ain’t going to happen.”
She rested her head on his chest and he felt her soft-as-smoke hair against his cheek. He should really run like hell, as far from Bayou Sang as he could get, but her body began to warm to his embrace and he could feel her breasts burning through the thin cotton of his Harley-Davidson t-shirt. She smelled of fear and sex and French perfume. He was a goner.
“You can leave in the morning,” she said. “but tonight I need someone to take care of me.” She looked as young and defenseless as an orphan fawn, so young in fact that he didn’t want to nail her down on specifics.
The crickets were in full chorus and a silver moon was rising above the cypress swamp. She took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom. “It’s all right,” she said. “I need for you to hold me.”
He did a lot more than hold her and their love-making proved an anesthetic against the terrors of the afternoon. She was by turns a kitten and a tiger, passive and submissive, gentle and fierce. She gave him everything he so desperately desired, indulged his every fantasy and even a few he hadn’t thunk up yet. Oh yes, this little cookie had been down the same road before, probably with the Sheriff who wanted the milk but wasn’t quite ready to buy the cow.
Then he told her his story...at least the story he thought she might like to hear, about how his beloved wife had died in an auto accident before they’d had a chance to create the family they’d so desperately dreamed of...well, that’s how he wished it had happened.
Deep into the night she whispered in his ear. “You can stay if you want to.” He’d told her how he was wandering the world alone and lost, almost giving up hope of ever being loved again. She’d swallowed it hook, line and sinker. “You can stay and become Pierre.”
“What do you mean?”
“You look like his identical twin. You could pull it off. You could play the part when people are around and when we’re alone it can be just like this,” and she kissed him with her warm, moist lips. “There would never be any questions about what happened this afternoon. We didn’t do anything wrong, but it could get complicated.”
He mulled that over for a moment. Having the run of the place was a hell-of-a-lot better than ripping it off for a few tomatoes out of the garden and some old fishing tackle. And since the silky, young Suzette was part of the deal...well, what hot-blooded, testosterone-fueled male wouldn’t go for that?
“Sounds good to me,” said Jeeter.
Jeeter slept late and woke alone in the big bed. When he got up to take a piss he noticed that Suzette must have driven his truck into town. He got dressed and didn’t think much about it until she came into the yard from the road on foot. He walked out onto the porch. The redbones sniffed at him but soon became bored and wandered off.
“Where’s my truck?” he said.
“Gone. I sank it in the bayou a few miles from here. You can’t afford to be connected with it.”
“WHAT?” He felt trapped like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Other than his truck, he didn’t have a pot to pee in.
“Don’t get so excited. You can drive Pierre’s truck. Besides, if you ever blow your cover things could get sticky very fast. It’s always the stranger passing through that takes the fall for anything that goes bad on