Black Mustard: Justice
Page 4
He stared.
“Have y’all gone and apologized to them? Asked them to take the curse off?”
He blinked at the warden. This was insane. No one could think that.
“That’s not a bad idea. I’ll call Eloi. Maybe stop by the bar.”
“Justice!” That was insane.
“What? He got off. At least you’re not an incontinent drooler, now. Hell, I hear that both boys ended up with crotch rot, too. ‘Course that might not be hoodoo. That might be sticking things where they don’t belong.”
Sheila nodded, face serious, weirdly wise. “Some boys have that habit.”
“Those two especially. Maybe we’ll stop there tonight, have a chat.”
Loic’s hand slapped down on the table. He would not.
He was not going to go and let himself be embarrassed in front of Eloi La Bauve like some common...
His mouth snapped shut and he listened to himself, to the thoughts that he was damn glad he couldn’t say out loud.
Jesus. La Bauve had been innocent -- he’d known that even then, even at the beginning, and the money had kept him silent.
No.
No, the money had made it easy to lie.
He’d have let that man go to prison to keep his apartment, his car, his five hundred dollar suits. Eloi would have gone to prison and the women the man supported would have suffered and he would never have given it a second’s thought.
Jesus.
He opened his mouth to beg forgiveness from Justice, but nothing came out. Two sets of eyes stared at him, both shocked, although Justice looked a little knowing.
Not enough to piss him off, mind, but enough to make him bow his head.
“After we’re done with this, huh? Can’t hurt.” Justice’s hand was on his shoulder, heavy, solid.
Right.
He typed out, “Yeah. You talk too much, boss.”
“Always have, cher. Always will. It’s a thing.”
He rolled his eyes, but found a real smile for Sheila. She snorted, tossed her head like a fractious horse, and gave him a look.
“Come on, y’all. It’s Sunday and I promised my kids I’d be home in time to make collards.”
“Good thing you got yourself a man that knows how to cook to make the chicken.”
“Watch your mouth, boy, or I won’t invite you to come for Easter. We’re doing a whole hog.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Swear to God. I’ll grovel at your feet, if you want. I’ll do damn near anything for a big mouthful Jamail’s pork.” The words fell onto the middle of the floor and Loic swore he could damn near hear them hit. Plink. Plink. “I mean. Wait. I. Well, shit.”
Justice stopped, cheeks going red hot, and Sheila brayed and it was more than Loic could do not to laugh along at his chatty, often thoughtless lover.
“Hey. Hey, I said damn near anything...”
***
Justice headed into Phillipe’s, Loic in tow.
He knew Loic thought it was a stupid fucking idea, but he’d seen magic, more than once. Seen folks do things they normally wouldn’t, know things they couldn’t.
Besides that, apologizing to a wronged man couldn’t hurt.
Eloi was working the bar, bright white smile greeting him. “Lawd! Justice! Texas let you go?”
“Long time ago, my friend.” He grinned over, the expression honest. “Comment la vie?”
“Bien. Bien. Ça va all right, eh?”
He slid onto a barstool, Loic right beside him. “Two bourbons. Zenobia doing good in school?”
“Oui. Oui. She come home soon. Work.” Two glasses were pulled, wiped, filled. “Mr. de Hiver.”
Loic met Eloi’s eyes, nodded, offered the man a tentative smile.
“Loic’s been working with me, Eloi. For months now.”
Eloi’s nose twitched. “Been more than working, eh, or I’m tous pourri.”
“Stop that. You’ve been rotten from birth, you letch.” He sipped his drink. “And it ain’t none of yours if we are. I need him, Eloi -- I need to hear him talk to me. Need to let him talk for them that can’t.”
“Hey. Hey, I did nothing to him. Nothing.” Eloi stepped back, held his hands up, and Loic grabbed his iPad, starting typing furiously and turning the screen to Eloi. Eloi just shook his head and Justice took it from Loic’s hands.
“I’ll help, huh?” Loic looked at him, shocked, and he stared back. Not everybody knew how to read, after all. Loic forgot things. Forgot how lucky he truly was. Justice looked to the screen, started reading.
“Mr. La Bauve, I wanted to apologize for everything -- for wronging you. Not for thinking ill of you, but for not thinking of you at all. My heart was in the money and that’s all I knew. I know better now. I don’t believe in hoodoo, and I don’t believe this will cure me, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m sorry.”
The man was still viciously eloquent. Justice just needed to get those words back and into a damn courtroom on the right side.
Eloi’s head tilted, that grin getting bigger. “It don’ matter if’n you don’ believe. It believe in you, catin.”
Loic rolled his eyes at the little endearment, but nodded, held one hand out to Eloi. Eloi grinned and shook Loic’s hand hard, a scatter of little black seeds falling from the Loic’s watchband, tinkling on the bar.
Loic looked down at them, and Justice picked one up, stared at it. Little and dried out and wrinkled. ‘Used’ was the word that popped into his head.
Worn.
“Lookit that.” Eloi swept the seeds away, even taking the one from his fingers. “Them’s dangerous things there. You oughtn’t go playing with le moutard, oui?”
“What?”
“Bourbon’s on the house, y’all.” Eloi snorted, reached out and drew crosses on Loic’s forehead, lips, throat. “I done forgive you. Go and do good stuff now. Not here. I gots to clean.”
“Clean. Right.” Justice finished his drink, and Loic’s, since the man wasn’t making a move to take it. God, he hoped Eloi hadn’t just made the man feeble. Not that he’d believed apologizing to Eloi would work or anything, but a man could hope a little, right? Right. Absolutely right.
He put a twenty in the tip jar and took Loic’s arm, led the man outside into the heavy, wet nighttime air. “Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it? Damn, that was a pretty little apology. Don’t know where you got into any mustard seed at the prison, though. It was mustard seed, wasn’t it? Lord, you wouldn’t think that shit grew just anywhere where a man’s watch would get into it.”
“Justice.” Loic sighed, stopped, looked at him.
“What?” He stopped, looked back, eyes fascinated by that slowly growing smile before Loic opened his mouth again.
“Shut up, and take me home.”
End.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Justice
SPICE IT UP
An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers
PO Box 2545
Round Rock, TX 78680
Copyright 2011 by Dallas Coleman
Cover illustration by Alessia Brio
Published with permission
ISBN: 978-1-61040-221-7
www.torquerepress.com
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.
First Torquere Press Printing: May 2011
Printed in the USA
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Dallas Coleman, Black Mustard: Justice