by Jessie Cooke
Blackheart drained his glass and started pouring himself another. “Nope.”
Le Singe let out a breath, like he’d been holding it, took a long drink of his beer, and then said, “They’re gonna dump him at the state line.”
“Okay.” Blackheart didn’t care where they left him. Dead or alive, the Mad Men wouldn’t go to the police when they found him. They might come back after the Jokers if their balls were big enough but Blackheart didn’t give a fuck. As a matter of fact, he was in a “bring it on” kind of mood.
“He’s pretty fucked up, but he ain’t dead. I just didn’t think Chance could handle it, you know?”
Blackheart drained his glass again and said, “Yep.”
A silence, or as silent as it could be in a strip club, hung between them before Le Singe finally spoke again. “Boss...if you want to talk, you know I ain’t a bad listener.”
Blackheart pushed the bottle and glass away and stood up, finally looking at his VP. “Ain’t nothing to talk about. But Le Singe, I guarantee you when we find the fucker that’s been trying to take this club down, there won’t be any talking then either, or stopping me from making sure he never takes another breath.”
“I’m down with that,” Le Singe said. Blackheart felt bad for a second. Le Singe was under the same kind of pressure he was, but Blackheart hadn’t been able to think about anyone but himself lately...himself, the son of a bitch trying to destroy his club, Sally...and that motherfucker, Lucien Williams.
Blackheart nodded at him, and then left the club and walked out to his bike. They’d go hunting for the other three men who hurt Chance’s girl in the morning, and hopefully someone would step up and tell them who the fuck it was that was trying to destroy his club. But just then he had something else he needed to do, alone.
11
Sally was nervous. She and Lucien had been dating for two weeks already, and talking on the phone almost daily. She kept waiting for something to be wrong with him, but so far she hadn’t found anything. He was just...normal...and to a woman who grew up in the Swamp with an eccentric grandfather and spent the past thirty years as a sort of “den mother” to a bunch of bikers, normal was about as refreshing as a man could be. But that Saturday afternoon she was nervous because Lucien would be there in a matter of hours for dinner at her place, and a movie. They’d kissed once or twice, and that had been nice...but Sally knew he’d probably expect to have sex that night and she wasn’t absolutely sure she was ready. Lucien was a beautiful man, and she was incredibly attracted to him, but she hadn’t been with anyone other than Evan for so long...
She stepped out of the shower and wiped the steam off the mirror. Her brown eyes stared back at her, filled with doubt, fear, and something like guilt that was inexplicable. She had nothing to feel guilty about. Evan had passed on his chance to have her all to himself years before. She knew in his mind it was her because she was the one who had said no to his proposal...but in truth what she’d said no to was the lifestyle that she knew he’d never give up. And she doubted he ever felt guilty when he was having sex with one of the “sweet butts” that hung around his club, or one of the strippers, or anyone else. Evan “Blackheart” Babineaux did what he wanted to do, without regret, and it was time Sally learned how to live her own life the way he lived his, at least in part.
She finished drying off and went into her bedroom, surveying what was in her closet for an eternity. She wanted to look nice, but she didn’t want to look like she was trying to seduce him. She pulled out a long-sleeved blouse and held it up to her body in front of the full-length mirror. It had a scalloped neckline that came almost up to her chin. She tossed it aside. She didn’t want to look overly seductive, but she also didn’t want to look like a church lady. It took her almost an hour to decide on a peach-colored blouse made out of a sheer, draping fabric. It had a V-neck top, but it wasn’t cut too low and the bell sleeves were outlined in lace and ruffles. It was sort of a peasant style and it looked good with the new jeans she’d bought over a month before and had never worn. She paired it all with a pair of comfortable sandals that she knew she’d end up kicking off the moment they settled in to watch a movie...and once that decision was finally made, she sat down at her vanity to put on her makeup and blow dry her hair. She’d leaned down to take the blow dryer out of the cabinet underneath, and when she sat up, she caught a glimpse in the vanity mirror of something blue that seemed to be moving past her bedroom. With chills racing down her spine, she spun around, but there was nothing there. The white lace curtains moved slightly in the breeze coming through the partially cracked window and she told herself that’s what she had seen...but rationally she knew that whatever it was wasn’t white. Sally sometimes had an overactive imagination, but she’d lived alone for a long time, and even after what she went through with Christoff two decades before, she’d never lived scared.
She put down the blow dryer and moved over to the window that faced out into her back yard. Feeling silly as she stood to one side and lifted the sheer curtain, she peered out. The memories of Christoff watching her flooded back all at once and she felt sick to her stomach. It took a few seconds to convince herself that Christoff was gone, and that time in her life was over. He couldn’t hurt her or anyone else ever again. Suddenly she regretted being so cold to Evan about that. He had done the world a great service; she’d just been too emotional about everything in her life to really appreciate it at the time.
She scanned the yard, letting her eyes land on the big cypress standing sentry in the center of it. As always, the leaves moved ever so slightly in the warm, late afternoon breeze. The boughs that she could see were empty, save for the small nest that the mockingbirds had recently vacated after months of singing her to sleep. She tried convincing herself that it had only been her imagination, but still she had an uncomfortable feeling. Even now, Sally felt like someone, or something, was watching her. She loved the outdoors. She worshiped the sun and nature in almost every way. She never closed her curtains anymore. She’d gotten into the habit of it after the incident with Christoff, but as the years went by she’d begun to refuse to live in a prison. But just now she just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out there. She pushed the window down and locked it, and then reached up and took hold of the string for the blinds that she hadn’t pulled down in...so long that she couldn’t remember...and she pulled it and let them fall. A shudder ripped through her even as she told herself that she was letting her imagination work overtime...but just in case, she did a walkthrough of the rest of the house, closing and locking the windows as she did. She was turning the lock on the front door when she heard what sounded like someone walking through the dry leaves in the front yard. A glance through the peephole in the door revealed nothing more than what she’d seen through the window...but still, she found herself looking forward even more to Lucien’s arrival. At the very least he’d keep her overactive mind busy...
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” His breath came in short gasps by the time he made it down the street and around the corner to where he’d parked his car. Sally had almost caught him...or maybe she had caught him. He didn’t know for sure. He knew she had seen something because he’d been hiding behind the thick cypress tree, trying to catch his breath, and when he finally peeked around at the window, she’d pulled the blinds all the way down and he was suddenly shut out, and terrified that he’d blown everything by being too brazen. He sat behind the wheel of his car now, looking at the time and sweating. He’d find out soon enough if she’d seen him, but in the meantime he had to pull it together. If he showed up at her place acting or looking as nervous as he felt, she’d know something was wrong if she didn’t already...and the plan he’d worked on for the past two years would be shot, completely.
Blackheart stood in the middle of the bedroom, looking around. He’d taken off his boots and had on a pair of gloves, just in case. He’d already searched the kitchen and living room...and found nothing. That feeling of frustration he’d had f
or weeks now was growing stronger. He knew that what he felt about Sally’s being with this guy was probably nothing more than pure jealousy, but the simple fact that they could find nothing at all wrong with the guy bugged the shit out of him. This man was almost fifty years old and had apparently lived almost half a century without so much as a fucking parking ticket. He supposed it was possible, but doubted it was completely accurate. Of course knowing Sally, anything he did dig up on the man she was suddenly so enthralled with would probably only piss her off. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from looking.
The bedroom, like the rest of the house, was modest, which in and of itself was strange. Blackheart had gotten a copy of this guy’s tax returns from the year before and found out he was pulling in a six-figure salary. Yet he lived in a simple one-bedroom home that was sparsely furnished, and he rented it. He didn’t own any property either, not even the professional office he used in New Orleans. Blackheart had looked through the mail on his counter in the kitchen and found nothing other than the usual bills and a bank statement that showed he had about sixty grand in savings. Nice nest egg, but nothing extraordinary. Neither the coat closet nor the one in his bedroom appeared to contain a safe or any secret hiding places, and none of the drawers he’d gone through in the kitchen had held anything other than basic utensils.
He walked over to the dresser and pulled open one of the drawers. It was full of gray socks. They were all gray. Who the fuck only wears gray socks? He opened the one underneath it and that one revealed that his taste in underwear was just as boring as his socks...gray boxer/briefs. It was almost like the guy was trying to appear as boring as he could possibly be, but Blackheart wasn’t buying it. He felt more strongly than ever that the guy was hiding something.
The next drawer in the dresser was filled with perfectly pressed and folded white t-shirts and the last one was filled with neatly folded jeans. The fact that he found nothing personal, anywhere, was the strangest part. Who didn’t have pictures, or certificates and some kind of evidence that he used to be a highly decorated Marine? There was also no evidence of the sister who had two kids and only lived one hundred miles away in Mississippi, or the parents whom he’d read about in an archived newspaper, the ones who had died tragically in a house fire. It was the money from that insurance payout that Lucien had used to buy his business and being the suspicious type, Blackheart had to wonder if Lucien had anything to do with it. You would think at the very least, a man who mourned his parents would have a photo of them somewhere. Blackheart had pictures of his Ma and his Paw both in his wallet and displayed on the desk in his office.
Lucien’s refrigerator held no mementos on the outside, and nothing but bland, organic food lined the shelves. The house was like a movie set, sparkling clean, obsessively organized...and quite simply, in Blackheart’s opinion, fake.
He walked into the bathroom as a last resort and flipped on the light switch. The clean, white tile that surrounded him was almost blinding. He pulled open the medicine cabinet and found the glass shelves completely empty, void of everything including fingerprints or dust. There was something most definitely wrong with this guy, and he was going to find out what it was. In the meantime, the fucker better pray he didn’t do anything to hurt Sally because the gators at Blackheart’s favorite spot in the swamp hadn’t had a solid meal in a while.
Sally had shaken off the spooked feeling and started the homemade red sauce for the pasta they were having for dinner by the time she heard Lucien drive up outside. He shut off the smooth engine of the little blue sports car and she took a deep breath just before she heard his soft knock on her door. With a genuine smile from the joy it brought her to see him, she went over and pulled open the door. Lucien’s blue eyes took her in and with sincerity in them, and his voice he said, “Wow, you get more beautiful every time I see you.” Sally felt her face go hot as she blushed like a schoolgirl. She loved the way he made her feel, but it was taking some time to get used to. Evan used to tell her she was beautiful, but along the way that had changed to things like “hot,” and “sexy,” which were nice too, sometimes...but went a long way in making her feel like all she was to him was a sexual object. Of course she knew Evan loved her in his own way, she could feel it when they were together. But Evan’s “way” was always self-serving, and most of the time hard to take.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping back to let Lucien in and taking him in with her own eyes. He looked good, as always, in a light blue button-down shirt and a pair of jeans that looked comfortably worn. “You look great too,” she said. “I love the color of...” Suddenly her heart seized up. She was about to say that she loved the color of his shirt when it dawned on her that she’d seen that exact color only an hour before...or at least she thought she had. She didn’t realize how long she’d been silent until Lucien looked at her strangely and said:
“Sally? Is everything okay?” His posture suddenly looked tense, and there was something that looked like fear to her in his blue eyes. Has Lucien been watching me through my window? Just asking herself that question made her feel silly. Here he was in her home, flowers and a video in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. What reason would he have to lurk outside her home when she gladly let him in?
“Yes, I’m sorry, Lucien. I’m just...I’m just a little nervous about tonight, to be honest.”
First, a look of relief crossed his face, and then a gentle smile replaced the tension that had been there only moments earlier. “Hey, tonight’s just another chance for us to get to know each other. You have nothing to be nervous about, I promise. I’m not going to try to rush, or push you into anything, Sally. These past two weeks I’ve been happier than I have been in years, and I’m not about to do anything to screw that up.”
His words filled her with warmth, and relief, and she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, softly. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve you, Lucien, but thank you.”
“I’m the lucky one here,” he said. “Oh, and these are for you.” Sally finally really looked at the flowers in his hand. They were magnolias, her favorite. She’d just thrown out a bouquet of them she had on her kitchen table for weeks, some that one of her co-workers had bought her for a favor she’d done for them. Another slight chill ran down her spine. She didn’t remember ever telling Lucien magnolias were her favorite.
“They’re beautiful, Lucien, thank you.”
“I’m glad you like them. I know roses or carnations or something like that would be more traditional, but my mother has always loved magnolias, so I’m partial to them.”
Again, Sally mentally chastised herself for being so paranoid. She took the flowers and brought them to her nose and then said, “I love them, and they smell wonderful.”
“Not as good as whatever is cooking does,” he said, suddenly reminding her they were still standing in the foyer as she tried to find a reason not to like him as much as she did. No wonder she was forty-nine years old and still single.
12
It was after 10 p.m. and the blue sports car still sat in Sally’s driveway. Blackheart struggled with the almost overwhelming urge to knock on the door...and interrupt whatever was going on in there. He’d been watching the house for over an hour, and the thing that bothered him the worst...of course besides the fact that he worried Lucien was touching her...was the fact that all of her windows were shut tight and her blinds pulled closed. After Christoff attacked Sally years before, and held her hostage for two days, she’d become much more careful about locking her doors and windows...but slowly, over time, the nightmare had faded, and she’d gone back to living her life freely again. The last time he remembered Sally’s windows being closed was during their last hurricane when he and some of the guys had helped her board them up. So what was up with them being closed now?
Blackheart was pondering all the possible answers to that question, along with continuing to fight the urge to barge in and piss Sally off, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. With a curse, he pulled
it out and looked at the face. It was Le Singe.
“What’s up?”
“Hey, boss, you coming to the party?”
Shit. He’d forgotten about the birthday party. It was for the daughter of one of his crew, an old-timer named Lester Thomas whose road name was “Lowlife.” Lester was a good man; the “Lowlife” came from the fact that besides not being very tall, he was an ace mechanic and a lot of the work he did was for the kids in the area who wanted their rides slammed as low as they could get them without attracting too much attention from law enforcement. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he said, knowing he had to at least make an appearance. He was there when the girl was born, and when Lester finally married his old lady ten years later because his daughter insisted. It was her sweet sixteen and the guys in the club had pooled their money and bought her a gift; they were probably waiting for him to show up to give it to her.
“Okay, boss...should I tell them when you’ll be here? Lowlife’s kinda chomping at the bit to do the unveiling.”
He looked at Sally’s quiet little house again before turning and heading down the street where he’d left his bike. “I’ll be there in thirty,” he said, before ending the call. He had to keep reminding himself that maintaining the status quo while the club was going through hard times was important, and maybe the timing of the party would keep him from killing a man that night...and damaging his relationship with Sally beyond repair.