French Quarter

by Stella Cameron

  Then Wilson Lamar took out his insurance.

  He had raped her that night.

  Eight

  “This is an unexpected pleasure, Sonny.” Win Giavanelli waved his underboss, Sonny Clete, into the private room at La Murena, a small, expensive restaurant specializing in Italian fish dishes. The room was reserved for Win at all times. Win owned the restaurant.

  Sonny Clete sweated, not a good omen. “Come and sit with me,” Win said, spreading his hands. He’d just finished eating—he always ate around one in the morning. Helped him think more clearly.

  Still hovering just inside the door, Sonny looked as if his expensive silk suit would soon be sodden under the arms. So far he hadn’t said a word. Of average height, with thinning red hair and a plump face, Sonny had been little more than an ambitious, scrambling boy when he’d been inducted into the family. Now in his forties, he’d thickened around the belly and his beringed hands were soft.

  Maybe Sonny had grown too soft, too complacent.

  “Hey, what is this?” Win pulled the napkin from his neck and tossed it aside. He stood and reached his arms out to Sonny. “Is this the way family greet each other?”

  Sonny walked into the embrace and patted Win’s back. The piece Sonny wore in a shoulder holster pressed Win’s chest.

  “Good to see you, Win,” Sonny said. “Thanks for lettin’ me come on such short notice.”

  The formality was not lost on Win. “I always got time for you, you know that.” He motioned Sonny into one of the heavy mahogany armchairs lined with plush red velvet pillows that circled the table. Glancing around, Sonny sat at Win’s right elbow.

  Win was left-handed. No one sat at his left—it was understood.

  “I don’t like to interrupt your dinner,” Sonny said. “I’ve been worried. Otherwise anythin’ I needed to discuss with you could have waited.”

  “My table is your table,” Win told him. Those words gave a signal of which Sonny had no knowledge. A trigger man behind one of the intricately carved wall panels now had the sights of his submachine gun trained on Win’s guest.

  “I see you are deeply troubled, Sonny,” Win said. “This pains me greatly. Pour yourself some wine.”

  Sonny poured the Chianti automatically. The offer was an order, and there was no choice but to follow instructions. “You hungry, Sonny?”

  “No, Win, I’m not hungry.”

  “You comfortable in that chair, Sonny?”

  “Great, thanks. You’re a considerate host.”

  Win poured himself more wine but didn’t drink. “Am I like a father to you, Sonny?”

  “More than a father, Win.”

  “Isn’t a good father a man his son can turn to when he’s troubled, and turn to with confidence?”

  “That is true.”

  Win settled his considerable bulk more comfortably and said, “Then tell the father what is in your heart, son.”

  “Jack Charbonnet.”

  Win drank then, to give himself a moment to recover. He set down the glass and said, “Jack Charbonnet? What about him?”

  “His parents had their unfortunate accident shortly after I had the good fortune to become a member of the family.”

  Win pushed out his lips and blotted them with his napkin. He frowned and made a show of casting his mind back, then nodded. “That would have been about right. You have an exceptional memory, Sonny. But that’s history. Why does it worry you now?” And why, he wondered, had he ever hoped the issue was permanently buried along with the Charbonnets?

  Sonny hunched his shoulders, propped his elbows, and laced his fingers together. “Jack Charbonnet was a ten-year-old kid at the time. I think perhaps there was some decision to look after that kid because he was an orphan and deservin’ of pity. We all got a soft spot for an orphan kid, Win, and you’re the most merciful man I know.”

  “Merciful?” Win said, meeting Sonny’s eyes sharply. “Or soft? Would you be suggesting I’m soft, Sonny? I should be most hurt if I thought that was the case.”

  Sonny snickered and shook his head. “You, soft? Not you, Win. You’re one hard son of a bitch.” He snickered some more, but when Win didn’t crack a smile, Sonny slowly sobered and added, “With all due respect, of course.”

  The memories of that day began to come back—all of them too brightly colored, too sharp. “If that’s an apology, Ι accept. Now, back to what’s on your mind.”

  “Charbonnet senior and his tart were taken out early in your administration, Win.”

  “Mrs. Charbonnet wasn’t no tart. Remember that. Always give deserved respect to the dead. And it was my understandin’ that she wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal. Yeah, it was in my administration, but I never knew it was going down until it happened. Know what, Sonny, I don’t think it was anythin’ to do with the family—this one or any other one. We tried to find out, but came up empty every way we turned.”

  “Sure,” Sonny said. “If you say so, Win. I guess it’s all talk that Jack’s father was tryin’ to quit the family and that’s why he and his lady got blown away.”

  “You callin’ me a liar, Sonny?”

  Sonny’s eyes, the same reddish color as his hair, became as innocent as a babe’s. “If there’s one thing I wouldn’t do, Win, it’s call you—a man of integrity—a liar. I meant that if you think this was somethin’ outside, somethin’ Charbonnet had goin’ on the side, then you’re probably right.”

  “So,” Win said expansively, gripping the edge of the food and paper-strewn table and leaning back in his chair, “I hope that puts your mind at rest.”

  “That covers the parents. Why do you think Jack’s gettin’ the breaks?”

  “Breaks?” Win managed to sound abjectly confused. “Why, Sonny, what breaks are you talkin’ about? The guy’s a free agent. Never was no part of anythin’ we’re into.”

  “That’s not the way a lot of the boys see it. And maybe it’s not the way I see it.”

  This was a time Win had expected to come, even while he’d hoped it never would. “Wanna tell me the way you and other members of my family do see it?”

  Sonny sweated more profusely now. Rivulets ran down the sides of his face, and the top of his dark gray collar had a half-inch band around it that was even darker. “Charbonnet’s a friggin millionaire.”

  “Millionaires are a dime a dozen, Sonny. You’re a millionaire. I’m a millionaire. Why not Jack Charbonnet?”

  “He’s a millionaire on family money. Our family’s money. Money his old man was trying to take out with him when he thought he could say arrivederci to the best friends he ever had and keep what they were responsible for helping him get. Even if you wasn’t responsible for ordering his execution, you gotta admit you knew he wanted out.”

  Win considered lying, but there were too many of the older people still around who knew the truth. “He discussed something like that, yeah, but that was all. He discussed it. I had to point out to him that a made man can’t do what he had in mind. I assume he understood. Then he met with his sad end before there could be anything more than that. What was the family supposed to do? Walk into the courtroom when all that was being settled and say, ‘Hey, judge, the man’s money belongs to us because Mr. Charbonnet made it carrying out certain assignments for us.’ The judge might say, ‘What assignments would those be, gentlemen?’ ‘Oh, a hit here, a little extortion there, prostitution, bid-rigging, and then there’s—whatever…’ I don’t think so, Sonny. I think the best course was to let the kid inherit and forget it. What you got against Jack Charbonnet, anyway?”

  “His goddamn gambling interests.” Sonny’s doughy face turned an interesting combination of red and purple mottling. “Wanna help me understand why he’s the only owner—majority owner—in a riverboat casino who don’t show his respect to the family by sharing his good fortune with us, and why he ain’t even remotely scared about that?”

  So it was all starting to get real sticky. The direct approach might be best here. “I own a
part of that boat,” Win said. “Plain and simple. I gotta provide for my children and I wanted it to be clean—just in case something changes with the family—so I bought into Charbonnet’s venture.”

  “Nice for Charbonnet. Know what else I heard?”

  ‘I’m sittin’ on the edge of my seat.”

  “I heard you got a thing for Charbonnet. You got anythin’ you wanna say about that?”

  “A thing? Maybe I don’t understand your generation’s vocabulary so good. Sure as hell, I hope I don’t.”

  Sonny’s face became a solid, shiny red. “Like you feel responsible for him. You bein’ the boss when his folks got whacked, and all.”

  Win decided he would be doing some investigation of his own. Someone had talked out of school, and he didn’t like that. No, he didn’t like that one bit. “Jack Charbonnet’s not my kid. I got my own kids to feel responsible for. And if I didn’t make what went down with his parents, why would I feel I owed him something?” So far he’d managed to hide the reason Jack Charbonnet was important to him. Once he’d thought the truth would come out at any moment, but as the months and years passed, he’d become convinced his little secret was safe.

  With a one-sided smile Sonny shrugged and turned up his palms. “I’m just tellin’ you what I heard. You always said one of the reasons I was your underboss was because I got real good ears, Win.”

  Win brought his fists down on the table with enough force to make the used dishes jump. He enjoyed Sonny’s flinching, and the way he threw himself backward in his chair. “I been good to you, Sonny. Real good.”

  “Real good,” Sonny said, taking a dirty napkin from the table and wiping his eyes.

  “I made you what you are—a real successful man.”

  “Yeah, Win.”

  “That means your ears belong to me. Got that?”

  Sonny finished with the napkin, balled it up, and threw it down. “You got my respect, Win. Do I got your respect enough tο ask you ιο hear me out?”

  The change in the other man switched Win to full alert. “Sure,” he said slowly. “Say your piece.”

  “You told me about your part in Charbonnet’s action. I like that. Honesty. 1 like that. It makes me feel like things haven’t changed between us.”

  Win kept silent, but he was making a decision about Sonny Clete. There were men you never questioned because they never put a foot wrong, never forgot who was boss. Then there were men who couldn’t stop themselves from starting to think they knew more than you did. They began to believe they were bulletproof and had the right to tell you what decisions you should make. Α man like that usually became too expensive to keep around. Things had been hard lately. The last thing Win needed was an impatient heir apparent.

  “You got anythin you want to say, Win? Or do 1 go on.”

  “Go on.”

  “If it wasn’t out of some misplaced sense of responsibility for Charbonnet, why did you choose his operation for your investment? Did you think it wouldn’t be noticed that he was never touched? I ran a check. That’s all it took. And not one man could tell me it was his job to collect from Charbonnet’s outfit.”

  “You checked on me?” Win said, but made sure he sounded real quiet, real reasonable. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

  “I checked on Charbonnet because I was interested. I know a fat cat when I see one. Nothin’. He lives like Cinderella after the prince comes along. And you’re the man who calls ‘em, Win. If Jacko isn’t in, it’s because you never decided to have him invited.”

  Win knew when he was looking at a man who wanted his job. Things had been too quiet for too long. That should have made him suspicious. Sonny would have to become an example, but not there at La Murena, and not that night. Win had indigestion tonight. “I told you why the guy isn’t payin’. You don’t choose to accept my explanation, that’s your decision. Give my felicitations to your lovely wife. I hope you’re bein’ good to her—and those nice kids of yours. Family’s everythin’, Sonny, never forget that.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Sonny said, and Win saw his confidence waver—but not for long. Sonny lowered his face and breathed deep. “I don’t want to say this. To me you been more than the boss in this family. You been more of a father than the man who married my mother.”

  “Oh, don’t ever show disrespect to your father, Sonny.”

  “You hear what I said? 1 said, you became my father. Now I get the whisper that you’re a man who gets tired of this son. I get word that I’d better be watchin’ my back because you don’t got room for two sons at your right hand and you’re gettin’ old and guilt is now a thing with you. You got guilt because Charbonnet lost both his parents and he saw it. And you feel real bad about that—you always did—but now you’ve been goin’ to confession and thinkin’ about what comes next and you want to make amends to the man who was that kid. So you’re thinkin’ you’d like him to take your place when you’re gone. Only that means there’s no place for me.”

  Win reached into his pocket. He grimaced and shook his head when Sonny went for his piece. “Forget it, Sonny,” he said. “I ain’t goin’ for no gun. I don’t do my own killing, or had you forgotten?”

  Sonny relaxed a little.

  The pain in Win’s chest wasn’t from indigestion. He found what he was looking for in his pocket, eased the top off the bottle, and hooked out a little pill. He coughed to hide what he was doing and slid the medication under his tongue. Weakness was something you never showed, especially to a man who wanted your chair while it was still warm.

  “You finished?” he said, breathing a little deeper as the pain in his chest receded.

  “Almost,” Sonny said. “I got my own army, Win. Reserves, not regulars, so don’t panic.”

  Win showed his teeth. He leaned toward Sonny and flipped his hand-painted silk tie out of his jacket. “Nice,” he said. ‘`You was always a nice dresser. You wouldn’t be threatening me with some sort of mutiny, would you?” He patted Sonny’s face, then patted it again, this time hard enough to bring a hiss through the other’s teeth.

  “I’m tellin’ you that we got an understanding, you and me,” Sonny said. “I’ve served you well—with absolute loyalty—for a lot of years. I’m tellin’ you that if you’ve got a mind to do this thing and put Charbonnet in my place, there’ll be war. Mutiny, if that’s what you want to call it. There are others who don’t feel real comfortable with the idea that you’d turn your back on faithful soldiers and take in strangers instead.”

  Win needed to lie down, but he’d sit right where he was for as long as he had to. “I’m wounded,” he said, putting his brow on his fists. “After all I’ve done for you, you question the promises I’ve made to you.” He used the opportunity—while his face was hidden—to order his thoughts. Someone had found out that Jack Charbonnet operated a riverboat casino without interference and decided to use the intelligence to stir up the New Orleans family. That was the Giavanelli family—no one else got any action in the parish. The big question was, who? Why? Well, “why” was easy. Divided, they fall—and there was plenty worth grabbing in this town.

  “I’d like to go home now,” Sonny said, and his steady voice didn’t make Win more cheerful. “All I’m askin’ is that you think about what I’ve said. You want to respect me, I’m your man, and things stay as they are.”

  “Or else?” Win raised his face and wiped all expression from his eyes. “You threatening me, boy?”

  “I’ve told you what Ι want. I got a right to ask for that.” Win was grateful his next breath didn’t hurt. “But? There’s a ‘but,’ isn’t there?”

  “I’m not a man into threats. If I got somethin’ I think needs to be done, Ι do it. But this is different. You and me—we’re family. I owe you. So I’m gonna do what you taught me and take my time thinking and watching before I make any moves.”

  “You learned well.” But Win was badly shaken by this bald confrontation.

  “I had the best teacher. And I’m gonna
hope everythin’s fine. Meanwhile, I got a couple of trusted soldiers lookin’ after my security for me.”

  A single three-word signal and Sonny Clete wouldn’t need any security anymore.

  “They know they don’t make no moves as long as I’m healthy, but if they should get word that I was taken ill and it didn’t look like I’d recover, they’d follow orders. I never said they were smart soldiers, see, just loyal.”

  “You about done now, Sonny? I got a real bad feeling about the way things are with you and me. I think we gotta call the consigliere and ask him how to proceed. If my underboss is threatening me, I got no choice but to get advice from our lawyer, then call a meeting of the family.”

  “We ain’t gonna need no lawyer, nor no meeting. Just an agreement between you and me. You’re a man who puts family first. All kinds of family. Even the family of a stranger like Jack Charbonnet.”

  Win’s bad feeling grew worse. “Your point.”

  “Simple. You be good to me, look after my welfare, and nothing happens. But if I have an unpleasant accident, those loyal soldiers I mentioned, the ones lookin’ out for me, are gonna know what happened. And they’ll make sure what happens next gets traced right to your door.”

  “Your point, Sonny?” Win growled.

  “They’ll be in position. They’re in position right now. Keepin’ their fingers on the trigger and their eyes on the cross-hairs. Watchin’ Jack Charbonnet and that sweet little kid of his. Amelia, is it?”

  Nine

  Palms in the courtyard rustled in the wind. Lightning briefly soaked the darkness to the north, over Lake Pontchartrain, and bathed Celina Payne’s Royal Street sitting room. Jack waited for the thunder, then wished he were at the old house his grandfather had left him at the edge of the lake. He didn’t get to go there nearly often enough.