Cold Bullets and Hot Babes. Arlette Lees
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of an engine. It sounded like a high-powered car and it was coming closer.
“Quick,” said Suzette. “This is your big test. Put on a pair of Pierre’s overalls and get rid of those citified shoes.”
A sheriff’s car swept into the yard amid a cyclone of dust. Jeet peeked around the bedroom curtain. A tall bull mastiff of a man unfolded his bulk and slammed the car door behind him. The redbones rubbed against his legs like he was the leader of the pack. Good-lookin’ guy, all teeth and smiles like a young Burt Lancaster. Jeet tried to calm his nerves. There was no way the word of his heist could have made its way to the Louisiana bayou. He found a pair of overalls and climbed into them.
“Étienne,” said Suzette. “What brings you off the beaten track?” She threw her arms around his neck and he swung her in a circle with casual intimacy. Jeeter’s blood boiled. Étienne set her back on the ground.
“I wish I had better news,” he said, “but, Rémy’s friends in New Orleans have no idea where he is. They fear the worst.”
“What now?” she asked.
“Just wait and pray, I guess.” He cupped her breasts in his big paws. “You still have those handcuffs I gave you? You still want to be my little Prisoner of Zenda?” She giggled.
Enough of this shit. Jeeter gathered his courage and stepped outside. The lovebirds drifted apart.
“Any word from Uncle Rémy?” he asked. He lacked Pierre’s tough calluses and the stones beneath his tender feet hurt like hell.
“Nothing to hang your hopes on,” said the sheriff. DuBois looked him up and down. Jeet’s mouth went dry. “You lose weight, Pierre?”
“I’ve had the flu or something. Lost my appetite.” If DuBois noticed the sudden loss of the two front teeth he didn’t say anything. Lack of teeth was almost a residency requirement back in the boonies.
After he drove away Jeet was light-headed with relief. Suzette laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “If you can fool Étienne, you can fool anyone.”
“You two an item or what?” He was jealous when it came to his women, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t set aside his moral compass if it got in the way of a hot one night stand.
“Not anymore,” she said.
“Since when?”
“Since last night, Monsieur.” She kissed him and probed between his lips with her tongue. He thought he’d explode before they made it to the bed.
Suzette had one evening dress, a red, strapless chiffon that fell just above the knee. After dark Jeeter dressed like a local yokel and they headed to a juke joint back in the woods so he could get a feel for Cajun culture.
The juke was a plain, square building that sat on pier blocks in a grove of willow and pecan trees. The wood floor was strewn with sawdust, cigarette butts and spilled beer. Everyone from toddlers to octogenarians stomped and hooted to Doug Kershaw’s rendition of Jambalaya. Jeeter sized up the crowd...clannish as gypsies...fiercely self-sufficient...incurably fun-loving. But, beneath the gaiety he could smell feral undertones. Scratch a dog you get a wolf. Scratch a Cajun and you’re in deep shit. Pierre was proof of that.
The energy in the room was dizzying until the bartender jerked the juke box cord out of the wall and the music stopped. A roar of protest went up from the crowd.
The bartender turned up the small TV that sat on the end of the bar. “I want to hear this,” he said. “Somebody in California won that big lotto.”
“Who gives a shit?” yelled a joker who could barely stand on his own two feet. Everybody laughed.
“Let’s watch,” said Suzette, dragging him over to the bar.
“Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we have a true Cinderella story,” said the announcer. A state lottery representative handed a pretty blonde lady one of those over-sized checks for 5.3 million dollars. Jeeter’s jaw hit the floor. “Mrs. Jeeter Tate of Bakersfield has been working three jobs to support her two darling little boys since being abandoned by her husband who robbed his former place of employment and vanished.” The announcer looked straight into Jeeter’s eyes through the TV. “How are things hanging with you Mr. Tate? Mrs. Tate just hired a big Hollywood divorce lawyer.”
Charleen was the golden girl of the moment. She was smiling and gracious and the camera loved her. Jeeter was devastated. He’d hoped his sudden departure would throw her into a state of catatonic despair and now she looked twice as good as she had before he dumped her.
He was shocked at the injustice of it all. She’d bought those lotto tickets with his five bucks. The winnings should be half his. By rights, it should be all his. What did she ever do to earn it except cook, clean, do laundry, take care of the kids, mow the lawn, wash the cars...? He’d completely forgotten about Suzette. He had to get back to California and make a case for himself. He turned on the bar stool in time to see her heading out the door in a huff. Trouble in paradise.
“Wait, sweet thing. I can explain.”
Her hands were frozen on the steering wheel as they drove back to the house. She looked straight ahead. When they pulled to a stop she ran through the front door. Jeeter grabbed her arm and she pulled free.
“Your beloved wife seems to have risen from her grave,” she said.
“Just listen to me for a second.”
“Cajun men do not abandon their families no matter how hard things get. I want you to take your things and go.”
“Listen baby, those winnings are half mine. All I have to do is get to California to stake my claim. When I come back with all that dough we’ll be rich. We’ll live like kings.”
“The way I live right now suits me fine.” Her voice was steady, her eyes as cold and hard as concrete. “I’m asking you to leave my house.”
“Okay,” he said. “Just give me the keys to the truck.”
“You don’t have a truck.” He felt that one coming.
“BECAUSE YOU SANK IT!” Blood rushed to his head and roared in his ears.
“If you hadn’t overreacted Pierre would still be alive and you wouldn’t be in this fix. I warned you. I told you to leave before he started acting crazy.”
Bon-Bon looked at Suzette with worried eyes. He whined softly.
Jeeter grabbed her purse and fished out the keys to the truck. He saw the handcuffs in the bottom of the bag. They struggled briefly until he heard her finger snap and she let go with a cry of pain. She took off a high heeled shoe and went for his face. The stiletto caught the corner of his eye. It teared up and clamped shut. He let out an angry bellow.
He grabbed her by the hair, dragged her into the bedroom and threw her unceremoniously on the bed. To think that just last night things were going so well. Bon-Bon started yapping and running in circles on the bedspread.
“All right,” she said. “Take the truck and go. Just go.”
His knee was planted in the center of her chest. He twisted her arm and cuffed it to the iron headboard.
“Étienne is going to kill you,” she said, her soft black hair falling over one eye.
“Thanks to you baby, he doesn’t know I exist.”
The redbones alerted to the row. They were growling deep in their throats. Their toenails clicked as they paced back and forth on the porch. And there was something else. A more subtle sound. He stopped and listened. It stopped. It had been a soft thumping, a tap, tap, tap, the kind of noise a boat makes when it knocks against the dock.
Suzette’s chest rose and fell beneath his weight. Her breasts strained against the delicate fabric of her dress. The frightened fawn look was back but now it angered him. He ripped the bodice of her dress down to the waist. Let her go juking