On the Edge

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “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. I 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 I 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? I 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 tak
e 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?”

  Chapter 9

  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.

  The thunder, when it came, was distant and disappointing. Tonight was worthy of cannon fire, an explosion to open the skies and bring the cleansing rain in torrents.

  He’d left the lights off out of habit. Moving around in the darkness was comfortable. He smiled, but knew it was a bitter smile. A love of darkness probably came naturally, a legacy from his father—like the phobia about standing in front of windows.

  His reaction to Celina wasn’t welcome. It wasn’t unpleasant, far from it, but it was inappropriate for too many reasons. What did he feel about her, or toward her? She made him angry.

  Now there was a telling first reaction. Anger was a poor basis for a relationship, working or personal. Not that he intended to pursue anything personal. This time his smile felt vaguely embarrassed. If he thought the woman would welcome any advances from him, he was a masochist who enjoyed rejection. Her dislike of him had a whole lot more punch than the night’s first pathetic roll of thunder.

  Celina had gone to her bedroom—to change her shoes, she said. Jack had noted that a light showed on the phone in this room, meaning she was using the line and wanted privacy.

  He wondered whom she was speaking to and considered, for a short, mad moment, carefully lifting the receiver. A very short, quickly quelled moment.

  What the hell had all that been about at Wilson Lamar’s place? He’d swear she’d passed out from some sort of incredible stress. He’d all but carried her into the taxi that mercifully arrived within seconds. But then she had rallied enough to pull into the farthest possible corner of the seat and sit, huddled, peering at houses they passed, and then at the buildings in the Quarter. She’d attempted to leave him in the cab when they got to Royal Street, but he’d ignored her protests and followed her into the house.

  The illuminated button on the phone went out.

  A gust of heavy rain on the windowpanes surprised him. Nο relief from the electric humidity had been forecast.

  A muted snap sounded behind him and a floor lamp in one corner came on. “You’re standing in the dark,” Celina said.

  “So I am.”

  “What were you doing at the Lamar house?”

  It had been too much to hope for that she wouldn’t ask the question. He was not going to tell her that he was curious about her as a woman outside the only arena where their lives had touched—Errol’s arena. And he wasn’t going to tell her that he’d done something completely contrary to his nature and followed her on a whim without knowing what, if anything, he intended to do when he arrived at his destination.

  He took his time turning around to look at her. “The same thing you were doing there,” he told her. The lie came easily enough. “Only I was even later than you were.”

  She entered the frankly threadbare room with her arms tightly pressed to her sides. Her hands were clenched into fists. An oversized gray sweatshirt and jeans had replaced the black linen dress. “You were on your way to the fund-raiser?” Celina looked out of place among mismatched predominantly brown furnishings.

  He’d have to pray she never verified what
he said. “Yeah.”

  “How come you didn’t mention you were going too, when I left you? I told you where I was heading.”

  “I guess I was too tied up with thinkin’ about Errol.” He shrugged and forced himself to make eye contact with her. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  At that she flexed her fingers and the abject sadness in her eyes loaded him with guilt. “I appreciate your kindness,” she said. “For bringing me home. I’ll be fine now.”

  In other words, get lost, Jack. “Good.”

  She looked directly into his face, then quickly away again. But she didn’t look away quickly enough for him to miss either the naked misery, or the moist sheen in her eyes.

  “It’s raining,” she said. “Maybe you should call a cab from here instead of—”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ve lived in the Quarter a long time. I know my way around—even in the rain.” What he hoped was an engaging smile didn’t elicit a flicker of reaction. “Celina? Will you let me do something for you? Is there something you need?” Now he was getting soft.

  “I”—she pulled her sleeves over her hands—“I don’t need anything, but thank you for offering.”

  “You’re very pale.”

  “I don’t feel great.” At last a smile appeared, but it wasn’t convincing. “That doesn’t mean I’m ill or something, just that I’m a bit wobbly. Shocked. You must be too, in your own way.”

  How right she was, Jack thought. He nodded, and it was his turn to Look away. “I lost my best friend today.” That was the kind of thing he never said aloud to anyone. Ms. Celina Payne had an unusual effect on a man. “We weren’t very much alike, really. Not at all alike. But, y’know, I loved the guy. I always knew where I was with Errol. He told it like it was. Played it straight. Aw, hell, I sound like an athlete who’s given one too many interviews.”