by BJ Bourg
She laughed and we headed toward the front door. Achilles nearly knocked me over as he bolted between us and crashed into the back of my left knee on his way up the porch and into the house. He skidded to a stop near the table and looked back at me, his tail wagging in furious fashion, as though he felt good about giving away Chloe’s surprise.
She had fried some split-back jumbo shrimp and made white beans and jasmine rice to go with it. My stomach growled and it was only then that I realized how hungry I’d been. With the hearing and work and shopping for the perfect toy car, I’d forgotten to eat lunch.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked. Normally, I was the one who cooked our food on the back porch grill.
“I wanted to talk to you about something, and I wanted to set the mood with your favorite dish.”
All of a sudden, I wasn’t quite as hungry, as I wondered what she wanted to talk about. Did she want to break up? Had she seen me hide the vodka bottles? I dismissed the thought immediately. She might’ve seen me reaching toward the back seat, but there was no way she could’ve seen what was in the bag. Besides, who cooks someone a meal to announce a breakup?
I held her chair so she could sit and then took my seat across from her. “I thought you had to work late today?”
“My source proved unreliable and the whole story fell through.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You know how it goes.”
I nodded, shifting my feet under the table. “So, what’s on your mind?”
She chewed at the corner of her lower lip and stared deep into my eyes. She hesitated and sat quiet for a long moment, studying me. Just when I thought she would lose her nerve—and I was starting to feel relieved—she lowered her eyes and took a deep breath. “We’ve been dating for over a year now...”
I nodded, feeling a tinge of panic as I began wondering where she was going with this. What if she wanted to get married? I loved her company and the way she made me feel, but I didn’t think I was ready for that type of commitment. I definitely had feelings for her, but I wasn’t over Michele yet—and doubted I ever would get over her. It had been more than three years, but I still felt as strongly for Michele today as I did back then. So strongly, that I often felt guilty after Chloe would leave, and I’d later be lying alone in bed staring up at the ceiling. Chloe was making it easier to move on, but I often wondered what Michele would think if she knew about us. What if she did know? I shuddered at the thought.
I fidgeted with my fork, not knowing what to say. I kept quiet and the silence grew loud. Finally, Chloe continued.
“So, we’ve been together for a while now and I really have strong feelings for you, Clint.” Her eyes were glassy when she looked at me again. “I was thinking maybe it was time to take it to the next level.”
And what level is that? I wanted to ask. Instead, I just sat there looking at her, trying to offer no hint of what I was thinking. I didn’t want her to know I was panicking inside, because that would crush her spirits and probably send her fleeing. I wasn’t ready for a real relationship, but I didn’t want to be alone either. She gave me purpose.
“I was thinking we should…um, what if we moved in together?”
I gasped out loud, a little relieved, and quickly winced. I gave myself an inward kick in the ass for my insensitive reaction.
Her eyes clouded over. “What is it? Why’d you react that way?”
“No reason.” I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. “It’s not what I expected you to say, is all.”
“What did you expect?”
I stammered, finally said, “I’m not really sure what I expected—it just wasn’t that.”
“Clint, there’s something more you need to know.”
I felt like vomiting. I just knew she was going to say she was pregnant. I was lightheaded, needed some air. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for marriage, but I knew for a fact I wasn’t ready to be a father again. Losing Abigail just about knocked the life out of me. I’d spent the next two years in a fog until being offered the job as police chief for Mechant Loup. Hiding out in a sleepy swamp town waiting to die seemed like the right move at the time, but that wasn’t exactly how things had worked out. A lot had happened and a lot had changed, especially when Achilles and Chloe came into my life.
While I no longer wanted to kill myself—thanks to a preacher who told me I’d never see my daughter again if I did that—I didn’t jump at the sound of gunfire and didn’t fear death. I thought it’d be easy to find a way to “check out” accidentally enough to fool God into thinking I didn’t have anything to do with it, but it happened to be harder than I’d first imagined. Turns out I’d developed a survival instinct from all my years of refusing to lose—refusing to die—during my work as a homicide detective in the city. It wasn’t a conscious desire to live, just a dogged refusal to die. But eventually, under the right circumstances, I would give up the ghost and fade silently into that good night.
I turned my attention back to Chloe. I’d never admitted to her that I was secretly marking time until I could join Abigail and Michele in the afterlife. If Chloe was pregnant, that would really throw a wrench into my plans. I’d have to start giving a shit—had to make a conscious effort to survive, because what kid deserved to grow up without a dad? What woman deserved to be left alone to raise their child?
I could tell Chloe was speaking, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. Her lips seemed to move in slow motion and her words were dragging. After she finished talking, she sat there for a moment and then her lower lip started to quiver.
I shook my head to clear it, asked, “Wait…what is it? What’s going on?”
“What’s wrong with you today?” Tears welled in her eyes and she wiped them with the palms of her hands. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“I’m not feeling well,” I said. “What’d you say?”
She shook her head, frowned. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
I started to object, but her phone rang and she glanced down, said it was work. “I have to go,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“But what did you say?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” Chloe gathered her things and hurried out of my house, leaving her food on the table half eaten.
CHAPTER 6
Friday, October 9
East Coconut Lane, Mechant Loup, LA
Betty Ledet wasn’t wearing a bra under her dirty white T-shirt, and it didn’t take Peter long to realize it. It was a little after midnight and he’d just dragged his lazy ass out of bed. While the rest of southeastern Louisiana was winding down for the night, he was only now getting ready to party. He wiped his pale face and padded across the kitchen floor in his socks and sagging boxers. Betty recognized that look in his eyes and turned away, hoping he would lose interest. She didn’t want to be molested while she was on the phone.
Knowing Peter’s routine well, Betty had dialed J-Rock on her cell phone as soon as she heard him stirring from the bedroom. She knew the sooner he got his drugs the happier he would be, but she began to worry when the phone continued to ring with no answer. She yelped and almost dropped the phone when Peter stole up behind her and reached under the front of her shirt to place his rough hands on her breasts. She started to protest, but J-Rock finally answered and she turned her attention to the call.
“I need some crumbs,” Betty said, pushing the phone closer to her ear so she could hear J-Rock above Peter’s heavy breathing. It was difficult to ignore the squeezing and pulling of her nipples, but she somehow managed to block it out.
“How much?”
“I’ve only got forty. Can you spot me sixty?”
J-Rock’s raspy voice broke out in laughter. “Bitch, you still owe me twenty from last week.”
“Come on, J.R., I need enough to last the night. You know I’m good for it.”
Peter leaned close to Betty’s ear and whispered, “Tell him you’ll give him a blowjob for it.”
Betty gagged at the idea, an
d the stench of stale beer and rotten cigarette smoke on Peter’s breath. She shrugged him off and moved away. “Please…just this one time. I’ll pay you when I get my check.”
“This is the last time, Betty Jo. You don’t pay me by next month, I’m gonna have to hurt you. I like you, girl, but business is business. If I don’t handle up on them that don’t pay, I’m gonna look weak. You know how it is.”
J-Rock hung up the phone and Betty turned to look at Peter. He was thirty-nine, but looked fifty. She knew the last few years had been rough on her, too, but even though she was a year older, she was sure she could do so much better than him now. His beard was more gray than black and his hair was falling out in weird patches. The wrinkles on his pale face looked like elephant skin. She frowned. He hadn’t looked like that in high school. There’d been no hint of what was to come. Back in those days, he was the backup quarterback and the hottest thing on the field. His dark hair flowed like a horse’s mane down his white neck and his brown eyes were mysterious and piercing. She had been surprised when he took an interest in her, considering she wasn’t a cheerleader, and even more surprised when he asked her to marry him right out of high school.
“What you looking at?” Peter wanted to know.
Betty made an effort not to focus on the sores on his forehead. They’d been there for months now and wouldn’t heal. He was self-conscious about it. “Nothing. I’m looking at nothing.”
“Is he bringing a hundred?”
Betty nodded, turned her head to hide the tears that threatened to flow from her eyes. She wanted to tell Peter how cheap he made her feel when he tried to make her exchange sexual favors for his drugs, but she was afraid he would hit her again. The last time she complained about something he did it got bad—really bad. She ended up in the hospital with a broken jaw, fractured orbital socket, and cuts and bruises all over her face and head. While that was scary, it was nothing compared to what she thought he might make her do when the money ran out. At the moment, her waitressing job paid their bills and provided enough money to feed the crack habit. But tips were slow a week ago and they fell behind. If she couldn’t get caught up, they’d have to choose between paying the rent and paying J-Rock back. Somehow, she figured being evicted would be easy compared to whatever J-Rock had in mind.
Betty spent the next thirty minutes cleaning up the trailer. She had just finished shoving some dirty plates into the dishwasher when a car pulled into the front yard. She pushed back the towel that hung over the small window in the kitchen and recognized J-Rock’s car.
“He’s here,” Betty called over her shoulder.
“Make it quick.” Peter scrambled from the sofa and darted toward the back of the trailer like he always did when J-Rock came over. Betty had once asked him what would happen if J-Rock got out of hand with her, and he’d only smiled and said she was being paranoid.
Betty walked to the door and opened it. She peered out into the darkness. The wind was blowing, but it was warm. The weatherman had mentioned a cold front coming through the area later in the evening, but it either hadn’t arrived yet or that was as cool as it was going to get.
“Hey, girl,” J-Rock called from somewhere in front of her, his voice startling her.
His dark features were hard to discern in the limited light, so she reached for the switch just inside the door and flipped it up. The porch light came on and cloaked the area in a pale yellow hue.
J-Rock was smiling, but not in a nice way. He was looking at her like a hungry vulture. She forced a smile, but shifted her eyes to the ground. He made her feel uncomfortable—terrified, even. She reached out and handed him two twenty dollar bills. “It’s all I’ve got at the moment,” she said. “I promise to get the rest by the end of next week. It’s hunting season, so we’ll get more customers in the restaurant and I’ll earn more tips.”
“I don’t care how you get my money—just get it.” J-Rock snatched the bills from her hand and held them up to the light. “These better not be fake.”
Betty tried to quiet the pounding in her ears and mask the quiver in her voice. “Come on, J-Rock, you know me better than that.”
He grunted and pulled a small baggie from the front pocket of his jeans. He dangled it in front of her like candy. The top of the baggie was twisted into a knot and she could see the crack rocks through the clear plastic. They looked small. She took it and held it closer so she could inspect them. Peter would be pissed if she got shortchanged again. She turned to look inside the trailer. Why didn’t he handle his own business like a man?
“Bitch, what you looking at?” J-Rock asked, suspicion evident in his voice.
As Betty turned back toward him, there was a whisper of wind and something struck her in the chest. It was sudden and shocking. At first she thought she’d been punched, but it was much worse than any punch she’d ever felt. She gasped at the severity of the pain. It was deep and penetrating, like nothing she’d ever experienced. She stood frozen, unable to speak, unable to move. Everything around her seemed to slow to a crawl. J-Rock said something, but his voice sounded muffled. He looked over his shoulder toward his car, then snatched the baggie from Betty’s hand and ran off.
Betty tried to cry out, but only managed a moan. She was dizzy. Weak. She reached for her chest and felt a hard object protruding from a spot between her breasts. Her head fell forward as she tried to see what it was. Too dark.
The engine roared as J-Rock backed out of the yard and tires screeched as he sped off down the road. Although everything was happening right in front of her, it sounded like it was across town.
Peter would be mad that she didn’t get the drugs. She turned to go inside and explain, to get help, but her knees buckled. She fought hard to stay on her feet. It was a gallant effort. But in the end, she couldn’t do it. She dropped straight downward, her kneecaps making a sickening sound as they connected with the top step. She then lurched forward onto her face and stomach, crashing into the concrete surface and sliding roughly down the remainder of the steps. When she reached the bottom, she crumbled in a heap on the ground. The object in her chest had been pushed deeper into her body and felt as though it had punched a hole in her back. Unable to scream, she cried in silence. She knew it was the end. She was dying—could feel the life leaking out of her with every drop of blood that poured from the hole in her chest. She’d felt it once before when she’d hemorrhaged after giving birth to Landon, but she’d been in a hospital surrounded by doctors. Here, she was on the dirty ground surrounded by mosquitoes and gnats…and no one knew she was hurt. Well, except for J-Rock. J-Rock knew she was hurt, but he had done this to her. He was probably halfway to Mexico by now.
Landon...
Betty smiled through the pain. She would finally get to see Landon again.
CHAPTER 7
Getting up early the next morning, I headed straight to the courthouse and had to wait fifteen minutes for the bailiff to open the front doors.
“Back so soon?” asked the old timer.
I nodded and hurried to the courtroom we’d been in yesterday, hoping to catch Isabel or Reginald before they walked inside the closed-door hearing. I was too late. The grand jury filed in later and I tried to make eye contact with some of them, hoping to get a sense of where they stood, but it was no use. They all turned their heads when they noticed me sitting in the metal chair across from the courtroom. The judge’s secretary let them in through the side door and they all disappeared inside.
Grunting, I settled in for a long morning. To my surprise, the door to the courtroom opened a few minutes later and Bill Hedd himself walked out. He didn’t turn his head. Instead, he looked directly at me as he walked by and didn’t take his eyes off of me until it would’ve been awkward to keep looking at me. He disappeared down the stairwell. When he returned, I nearly choked on my tongue. Walking beside him was William Tucker, one of my officers who worked the night shift.
I jumped to my feet. “What the hell are you doing here?”
William’s tanned complexion turned to ash when he saw me. He put both hands up and shook his head, mouthing the words, “I have no idea!”
“Chief Wolf, this is a closed hearing and you’re out of line,” DA Hedd said, his voice thunderous. “You shouldn’t even be out in this hallway. If you don’t vacate the premises, I’ll have the sheriff send his men here to remove you.”
A look of worry on his face, William turned and walked into the courtroom. Hedd stood in the doorway and glared at me. “I mean it, Clint. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you removed in handcuffs.”
I wanted to tell him where to go, but Susan’s freedom was worth more than my pride. “I’m sorry, sir. You’re right. I was out of line. Just surprised, was all.” I nodded and headed for the exit. “I’ll see myself out.”
Anger turned my knuckles white as I gripped the steering wheel on my drive back to the police department. Why in the hell is William testifying for Hedd? He hadn’t even been at the shooting, so he could offer nothing substantive. I was still mulling it over when my radio screeched to life and Lindsey asked me to call her at the office.
“What is it?” I asked when she answered.
“A postal carrier was delivering mail on East Coconut Lane earlier and discovered what looks like a body lying near the steps to a trailer,” she explained. “She was too scared to get close, so she drove up the street and called 9-1-1. It’s probably nothing, though. Remember that time we got the call about the dead body hanging on the porch, but it was a Halloween decoration?”
I remembered. “Can Melvin check it out? I’m just leaving the courthouse and it’ll be a little while before I can get there.”
“Melvin took the boat out to look for an overdue fisherman,” Lindsey explained.
“What about Susan?”
“She’s in the booking room wrapping up a DWI arrest.”
I glanced at the clock on my dashboard.
“I could call out William,” Lindsey offered.