Southern Harm

by Travis Casey

  Oscar slung his arm over Johnny's shoulder. "No one's gonna bust your kneecaps, Johnny. Tell him I'm down here with the governor's representative right now, working out the details."

  Johnny nudged Oscar in the gut with his elbow. "Gotcha, Boss. A meeting, huh? All my meetings are with guys with hairy knuckles, and they usually ain't smilin' when I'm done with 'em."

  Oscar smiled. "These meetings are hard work. What can I say? Now go back and tell Louie everything is under control, but it might take a little time. I'll call him Monday with an update."

  Johnny readjusted his suit jacket, and Oscar caught a glimpse of a pistol holstered in a shoulder harness.

  "Holy shit, Johnny. Where'd you get that thing?"

  "Hey, the guy threatened to bust my kneecaps." He patted the gun under his jacket. "If he lays a finger on me, powie!"

  "Johnny, get rid of the gun. I don't want you carrying that thing around, and I don't want you rubbing out Louie Gomez. I'll handle it. Got it?"

  Johnny didn't offer any verbal confirmation.

  They walked back toward Stacey. Oscar was nervous knowing that one of his employees was carrying a gun in front of somebody who likes putting away bad guys.

  Stacey extended her hand toward Johnny. "I don't believe we've met. Stacey Davenport."

  Johnny looked her up and down. "Certainly not. If we'd met before, sweetheart, I'd remember. And so would you." He smiled and extended his hand. "Johnny Ragoosa."

  Stacey looked at his thumbless hand and gripped it, shaking hands quickly and withdrawing from his grasp just as fast. She discreetly wiped her hand on her jeans. Johnny was too busy ogling her to notice.

  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ragoosa."

  "Likewise, ma'am." Johnny broke his fixation on her and cast Oscar a glance. "See you back at the ranch, Boss. I'll pass on the message." He held up his hand to wave goodbye.

  Stacey stared, her jaw half-dropped.

  Johnny got in his Lincoln and sped away.

  Oscar turned to Stacey. "Now, where were we?"

  She put her hand in the middle of his chest and gave a light shove. "Sorry, but the moment's well and truly gone." She pointed at the trail of dust following Johnny's car. "Did he say Louie Gomez? As in Gangster Gomez?"

  "Huh? What? No, he said Huey Lomez. Why? Who's Louie Gonzalez?"

  "Gomez, but never mind. Just a name that's crossed my desk a few times. He's bad news. I'm glad to hear you're not involved with him." She grabbed the front of Oscar's shirt, holding it in a clench. "And if this Huey guy knows him, I'd stay well away from Huey and Louie if I were you."

  "Sounds like a nursery rhyme."

  "Trust me, honey. He's no tinker toy." She held him in a meaningful glare that looked very much like a warning.

  "Thanks for the tip. I'll remember that, if I ever run into this Louie guy, that is."

  She released her grip and patted down the front of his shirt. "You do that. And I can assure you, my tips are far more solid than the ones you give my father. Don't ever forget that. Now, let's go find a place to have our picnic."

  Chapter 14

  Oscar and Stacey drove past the vacant ranger hut and along the tree-lined entrance to Harris State Park. The greenness of the grass intensified with the midday May sunshine, and the scent of fresh pine lingered in the air, wafting through the open windows. Oscar reached up and yanked the pine-tree-shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror and tossed it in the back seat.

  "Who needs that when we got the real thing?"

  Stacey smiled.

  He parked in the far corner of the parking lot, avoiding the shade of the big oak tree for fear of falling debris from Mother Nature's wooden furniture. He didn't want it soiling his polished truck. They hopped out, and he retrieved the picnic supplies from the back. They walked past the picnic tables and headed into the semi-seclusion beyond the mown area, settling in the longer, more private grassy area. They sat down on the blanket Oscar had remembered to bring and broke out the goodies from Stacey's winning food basket.

  Oscar pulled out the bottle of wine from the wicker basket and read the label. "Wow. Did you know they put a Biltmore Cabernet Sauvignon in here?"

  "So?"

  "So? This won the gold medal at the San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition this year. I mean, a California newspaper chose a North Carolina wine over its own Napa Valley. Did you know North Carolina was the largest wine-producing state in America before prohibition?"

  "Really?" She took the bottle out of his hand. "We'll have to save it for a special occasion."

  "I thought this was our special occasion."

  She swirled her head and rotated her eyes. "Drunk driving? Again? I don't think so."

  "Oh, c'mon, Stacey, that was a trumped-up charge. I wasn't drunk."

  "That's what they all say. I told you we should have taken the limo."

  In one way, she had a point. If they started the bottle, he'd want to finish it. Perhaps it would be best saved for a time when he could really enjoy it and not be nagged at every sip. "Will you at least share it with me sometime when I don't have to drive?"

  "Oh, that's slick, I'll give you that. In other words, let's go back to your place and get plastered."

  "You said it, not me, but that's not a bad idea."

  She pulled out a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke from the picnic basket. "In the meantime, you'll have to settle for this."

  "Yum-yum," he said flatly. "Don't I even get the full-fat version?"

  "Look, Adonis, you might not have to, but some of us have to watch our weight."

  Stacey reached into the basket and pulled out a bag of mini-size pieces of toast and a can of salmon pâté. Oscar eyed it and knew it would have tasted much nicer with the Cabernet Sauvignon, but if he wanted to get along with Stacey, it was best to drink the Diet Coke and pretend it was a suitable accompaniment for the lunch.

  "What's the story with that Johnny Ragoosa guy? That kind of weirded me out. His hands, I mean." She shuddered.

  "Johnny No-Thumbs? He ran away from home when he was a kid."

  "How old was he?" She took a bite of her toast, holding it with her little finger fully extended.

  "Thirteen or fourteen. He was heading for Chicago but got picked up by the cops in Ohio, and they took him back home."

  "But what happened to his hands?"

  "Allegedly, his old man was some kind of mobster and he was pissed at Johnny for running away. When he got home—" Oscar placed his hand on the blanket with his thumb held out to the side. "—Daddy Ragoosa took Johnny into the kitchen, put his hand on the chopping block, and whamo!" He made a chopping motion with his other hand to the thumb. "Chopped his thumbs off. Both of 'em."

  Stacey's near-perfect features were momentarily distorted as a look of horror crossed her face. "What the hell did he do that for?"

  "So he couldn't hitchhike and run away from home again."

  She stared at him—stunned—her mouth open. She closed it and brushed her bangs to the side. "Oh, yeah, right. Like I'm going to buy that one."

  "Buy it or not, that's what happened."

  "That's disgusting."

  They switched their attention to the food in the basket and made ham and duck sandwiches as they talked.

  "I know you moved back to Kentucky, and I'm guessing it was to be by your dad, but how come you still live at home? On second thought, I can probably guess. I mean, the governor's mansion is pretty impressive. I bet you have a whole wing to yourself. You look like a west wing kind of girl."

  "Yes, totally west." She kicked off her boots and sat cross-legged. "Don't get me wrong, I love LA and will be heading back, soon I hope, but Daddy needs a woman's input. All men do."

  "So, did you move back here to be a consultant to the DA or a governmental advisor?"

  "Advisor to Dad was my main motivator. Unpaid, of course."

  "Really? That's kind of strange, isn't it? I mean, giving up being a prosecutor in LA to be an unpaid advisor. What? Is the mob after
you or something?"

  Stacey half-smirked. "Something like that."

  "Well, hiding out in the governor's mansion isn't keeping a very low profile."

  "Look, can we talk about global warming, or something more interesting than my living arrangements?"

  "God, what is it with you Democrats and global warming?"

  "Who said I was a Democrat?"

  "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, right?"

  "Maybe our apple tree was on a hill." Stacey focused her attention on spreading some foie gras onto a piece of toast.

  Oscar reached into the bag, pulled out a pork rind, and popped it in his mouth. "What about this Jett Johnson guy? Are you two a couple?"

  "Did you see me playing golf with him?"

  "No, but that decision was your dad's, not yours."

  She snubbed him by placing total focus on garnishing her toast with an olive.

  Oscar rolled his eyes. "Okay, then, to conclude our discussion, no need to worry about global warming, the ice age is here."

  Her eyes softened. "Oscar, I'm sorry. You're giving me a lovely day. I shouldn't go ruining it. I just have a lot on my mind."

  "Care to share?"

  Stacey played with a crumb lying on the blanket. "On top of everything else, I'll be thirty next month and expect a massive depression."

  "And why would the girl who has everything go into a depression just because of a number?"

  "I gave up a promising career in LA to come to a place where prosecutors are still busting hillbillies for making moonshine. My dates used to take me out in Ferraris, now I'm riding around in pick-up trucks. I liked having lobster thermidor at eight at night in dimly lit restaurants. Now I'm more likely to have a bucket of chicken before sunset with some dimly lit guy. So no, this is not the life I had mapped out for myself, and time is getting away."

  Oscar cleared his throat. "Can I get a pardon from that little rant? You know, about the truck and being dimly lit."

  "Sorry, of course, I didn't mean you." She patted his leg. "Hopefully I can get back to California before long."

  Oscar shifted on the blanket, settling into a more comfortable position. "What's keeping you?"

  "Helping my dad. Let's leave it at that." She took a bite of toast. "Now, I'm really concerned about the effect of greenhouse gases on the environment. I think the Chinese have a lot to answer for. Would you agree or disagree?"

  "Agree." Oscar picked at a blade of grass. "But that's your main ambition in life, to get back to LA?"

  "Yes. I'd like to go back and become the district attorney for Los Angeles. And it would be nice to achieve that before my boobs sag down to my belt line."

  He laughed. "Remember that Disney movie, The Shaggy DA?"

  "Don't tell me, that's your intellectual favorite."

  "No, I was going to say you could be Stacey, the Saggy DA."

  She pushed him, sending the Diet Coke flying and knocking him on his back. "Would that turn you on, Oscar?" she growled. "An old lady with big, saggy tits?"

  Oscar trained his eyes on her chest. "You don't look that big."

  "Arggh!" Stacey folded her arms across her upper body. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

  Oscar laughed. "Beats talking about climate change."

  "Yeah, right." Stacey took a breadstick from the basket and bit off a chunk, then sat chewing with a look of indifference. "So tell me, how do you make your money?"

  Oscar choked on the olive he was eating. "Is this the DA way of getting a confession? What are you looking for? Racketeering, drugs, prostitution?"

  "I wasn't trying to trick you into confessing your sins. I meant golf, horse racing, a polo ground—what's your mainstay? Or is it racketeering, drugs, and prostitution?"

  He leaned back on his palms and stretched his long legs across the tartan blanket. "Well, there is some prostitution involved, yes."

  Stacey's eyes widened inquisitively. "You running girls, or are you a gigolo?"

  "At two to three thousand dollars a dose, it's not the mainstay by any stretch of the imagination, but it's a nice little earner."

  Her nose crinkled. "A dose? Is that like a night?"

  Oscar cracked a big grin. "I'm talking about horse semen. A stud fee. We breed champions."

  Stacey laughed.

  His grin faded, replaced by seriousness. "Money's not the most important issue to me. The polo ground is my passion. You know, helping the kids. I'd like to expand the grounds to get the kid's program going."

  "That is so sweet."

  "Yeah, but you got me worried about the state-park thing now. How am I ever going to get around that?"

  "Can't you buy some land on the other side?"

  "No, I talked to the farmers on the adjoining land. No one wants to sell any. Besides, the south side of the property would be easier to develop logistically."

  "I don't know. Maybe you could talk to the Department of Parks."

  "What about the Department of Dad? Couldn't he help cut through the red tape?"

  She mulled over Oscar's words. "I don't know, maybe. Since we're Kentucky state golf champions, strike while the iron's hot. He must be happy with you. You should ask him while you're in his good books."

  "Right …" Oscar mumbled. "I'm sure I'm at the top of his Christmas card list."

  Chapter 15

  Conrad greeted Oscar and Stacey in the foyer when they returned. He informed them the governor was out for the evening, attending a charity banquet.

  They went to the family room in the residence part of the mansion and settled side-by-side on an oversized dark-brown suede couch. Oscar enjoyed the comfort as he sank into it.

  "Dang it," Stacey cursed. "It would have been a good time to ask him about the park. I could have helped you pitch the idea."

  "Really? You'd help me float it?"

  She nodded. "Believe it or not, I don't see my father that much through the course of a week. He is so busy. This would have been a good opportunity, especially since it's fresh in my mind. I still can't believe you would be so kind as to help the children like that. I'd even class it as noble. You're a good egg, Oscar Novak-Chambers."

  "A good egg? Seriously? Is that the best you can come up with?"

  Stacey mocked a Valley girl accent. "Okay, you're, like, totally the most awesome guy ever. Better?"

  "Somewhere in between would be nice."

  Stacey picked up the remote control off the coffee table, switched on the TV, and flipped around until resting on a Cubs baseball game.

  She angled her body toward Oscar, tucking her feet behind her and resting her arm over the back of the couch. "That food basket wasn't that good, was it?"

  Oscar rocked his hand. "So-so, but the Diet Coke was divine."

  "Oh, God. Okay, since you're dying to have a drink, how about I get us a chauffeur, and you take me to dinner at Roxy Rue's?"

  "Is that where I get you liquored up, and then we come back here, and I have my wicked way with you?"

  "You may be half-right."

  "Then I hope this is the part where you tell me you don't drink."

  "I can see where you got your reputation."

  "Reputation?"

  She nodded. "Kentucky playboy. The Louisville Hugger."

  "Oh, get away," he sighed, then clicked his fingers. "You've been reading that gossip columnist, Melanie Harper, haven't you? Okay, I confess. I dated her for a while, and we split up. What she prints about me is half lies."

  "So you're not in total denial then?"

  "All I'm saying is, don't believe everything you read. Get to know me and judge for yourself."

  "I'm a pretty good judge of character. I don't need any Melanie Harper telling me about you."

  A mutual silence let the topic die a natural death.

  "Do we need to book this Roxy Rue's?" Oscar asked.

  "No, my dad's eats there regularly. The Davenport name has carte blanche."

  "Good." Oscar folded his arms and engrossed himself
in the game on TV.

  ***

  After nine innings and forty winks on the couch, Stacey announced it was time to get ready for their date. She told Oscar his attire was inappropriate for Roxy Rue's, and, at her insistence, Oscar changed into one of her dad's suits. He felt there was something not right. It was almost an act of blasphemy wearing a governor's suit, but what the hell? He'd already screwed the man over twice financially. What more damage could be done by using his closet as a Salvation Army thrift store? He'd do whatever it took to get Stacey on his side.

  Dressed in a dark-blue Canali suit, he waited with a glass of ice water while Stacey got ready. She was quicker than most women he knew, waltzing in wearing a short black dress, accentuated with sequins and a hemline stopping around mid-thigh. Her hair was slicked back with gel, fully exposing her ears and the diamond studs shining on her lobes. The plunging neckline held him in a trance as his tongue moved across his lips. She held a matching black clutch not much bigger than an envelope. Oscar admired her balance on what must have been four-inch stilettos with nothing but thin straps bonding them to her feet.

  He gulped hard. "Wow, you look stunning—no—fantastic."

  She smiled. "Thank you."

  Oscar shaped his arm into a triangle, and she slid her hand through. A tingle rippled through his body at her touch. They walked down the long hallway in silence to the waiting limousine outside. After a ten-minute drive, the chauffeur stopped the car in front of Frankfort's most exclusive restaurant. A forty-something man wearing a blue blazer and white gloves opened the back door. He helped Stacey out, and Oscar slipped him five bucks as he exited.

  Putting his arm around Stacey's waist, Oscar guided her along the red carpet laid over the sidewalk and up the stairs into Roxy Rue's.

  Several softly lit wall lights hung in the short corridor leading the way to a dark wooden podium. A man with thinning black hair looked up from the pedestal as they approached. Oscar held Stacey back and walked up on his own.

  He straightened out the front of his suit. "Hello. A table for two, please."

  "Do you have a reservation?" the maître d' asked with a French accent.