Twenty-three
“You got anything you want to tell me, Jack?”
When Win Giavanelli was an unhappy man, he avoided eye contact. Win wasn’t looking at Jack today.
“You losin’ your hearin’ or somethin’?” he asked, shredding a napkin and piling the pieces into a small hill in the center of his sauce-smeared place. La Murena might boast a fantastic fish menu, but Win was a meatball man.
Jack pulled out a chair he hadn’t been invited to use and sat down. “My hearing’s very good, thank you, Win. You called with some warnings I didn’t like getting. You wanted to see me. I came.”
“And I asked you a question. How come you’re a stranger to La Murena these days? What the fuck ain’t you botherin’ to tell me about your life? Ain’t we good friends? The best of friends? Didn’t I make it my business to be sure you were okay, even when you were—especially when you were a snot-nosed kid?”
“Always, Win. And especially when I was a kid. I am grateful for that.” Grateful because Win’s unexpected conscience had kept Jack safe from the goons who would almost certainly have wanted to close his eyes for good. Jack knew Win had told his trigger boys that Jack had been too young to be a threat to them; he also knew they couldn’t be sure of that. These were men who only put their money on a sure thing.
“So how come things happen and you don’t come to Win? You don’t care about family connections no more? You think you don’t need me no more, maybe? Dangerous thoughts, Jack. This is a dangerous town for a man with dangerous thoughts. You gotta remember the rules. You know that. I always been good to you. Looked after you. For old time’s sake—and because I like you. I want to keep you safe. Didn’t I always keep you safe?”
“I’m a man, Win,” Jack said, capturing a fragment of napkin that floated away, and placing it carefully on Win’s pile. “A man has to do for himself.”
Win brought a beefy fist down on the table. “You think you can take care of yourself? Your papa thought he could take care of himself. Look what happened to him and your poor, dear little mama.” He crossed himself and shook his head. With his eyes closed he murmured a prayer. “I shall always blame myself for what happened. Even though I never had any part of it—never would have had any part of a thing like that. But I shoulda known there was some rival activity. We got too fat and happy. They moved while we were havin’ a siesta and… well, no point goin’ into that. You suffered enough. We all suffered enough. But don’t you forget who it was took you outta there in one piece. They’d have come back for you, Jacko. They thought you seen too much.”
“I’m grateful, Win. I’ll always be grateful.”
Win grunted, and drank from a tumbler of heavy red wine.
Jack sucked in his gut and forced his heart to slow down. Win had never given any indication that he thought Jack might actually have seen what happened to his parents—or, more important from the survival point of view—that he knew who made what happened, happen. When they’d come for his parents, Jack was supposed to be with his grandfather at the house by Lake Pontchartrain. Only later had the truth come out that Jack hadn’t gone to the lake that weekend. Win had found out from Granddaddy that Jack was at home. Then the young don had gone in search of the boy, and when he’d found him hiding, had believed the story that Jack had heard gunshots and had run for cover in the pool house. Afterward Win had persuaded the triggers who did the job that Jack hadn’t seen anything. Only things had been said, things that let Jack know there were some uneasy thugs who didn’t believe he hadn’t looked through the windows of the pool house and seen what they did to his mother in the turquoise water where she’d been swimming.
“I was sorry to hear about Errol Petrie,” Win said.
“You already told me that, but thanks.”
“You gonna be runnin’ things for the little dyin’ kids now.”
Jack was accustomed to Win’s less-than-subtle verbal skills, but still he winced. “I intend to make sure Errol’s work is carried on.”
Win nodded slowly, sagely. “A man oughta have a hobby. I gotta get me one sometime. Jack, I been hearin’ things about you, things that don’t make me happy.”
“Who’s been doing the talking, Win?”
“It don’t matter. We’ll just say it’s a source I gotta take notice of. You been puttin’ it around I’m lookin’ favorable on you, Jack?”
For once the older man’s meaning wasn’t clear. “It’s not something I’d have a reason to discuss, but I thought you did look on me favorably.”
Win, vast and pasty, his thin, still-black hair slicked in strings over his skull, sucked a cherry off its stalk, chewed, spat out the pit, and wiped his fingers on the tablecloth before bending to use it on his mouth.
“Drink,” he said, indicating a second tumbler of red wine. “I shoulda taken some time explainin’ the facts of life to you, but I wanted to keep you out of it—in your mama’s memory, and because a man’s gotta do what he thinks is right. When I say someone thinks I look favorable on you, I mean they was suggestin’ I might be considerin’ you to take my place one day.”
Jack came close to grinning with triumph. “What would give anyone an idea like that?” It was working.
“I’m askin’ you if you might have suggested somethin’ like that.”
“Who would I suggest it to? And why would I do somethin’ like that? I’m not a member of the family. I know Sonny Clete is your boy. Always has been. It’s understood. Sonny and I get along just fine. He drops by the boat from time to time and shoots the breeze. Why would I say somethin’ stupid like that?”
Win’s tiny black eyes glittered out from holes in his pudgy white face. He grunted. “You tell me.” Another cherry gave up its flesh, stem, and pit.
“Talk to Sonny,” Jack told him. “He’ll tell you how well we get along.”
“You get along so well, you told him you don’t pay no contributions to the family funds?”
“You mean
protection?
Win, what would Ι need to pay protection for? You and I are partners in the
Lucky Lady.
Fifty-fifty. You get half of the take—on everything. One partner doesn’t ask another partner for
protection.
”
Win chewed steadily on a mouthful of bread. He waved the rest of a thick slice into the air. “Maybe there’s been a misunderstandin’. I’ll look into it. Different subject. Listen up, Jack boy. You know Dwayne LeChat?”
“Yeah. Everyone who lives in the Quarter knows Dwayne.”
“Is he some sort of buddy to a guy called Antoine?”
Jack turned cold. “Not that I know. Oh, they know each other because Antoine worked for Errol, and Errol and Dwayne were friends for years. Why?”
“Nothin’, just explorin’ a notion. How about Celina Payne?”
Careful.
“What about Celina?”
“You know her at all?”
“I’m engaged to her.”
Win threw what was left of the slice of bread on the tablecloth. “Since when?” He shoved his dirty plate aside. “See that? Ι never eat in the middle of the day, but you got me eatin’ because I’m upset. I’m hurt, Jack. How come you don’t come to me with good news? Ain’t I like a father to you? Don’t a son make sure he honors his father by givin’ him that kind of news before anyone else?”
“I’ve been busy,” Jack said. His heart wasn’t slowing down. “Errol’s murder was a terrible thing, and it left me with a lot to clean up.”
Win ran his left hand down his face until it rested over his mouth. His face shone, and beads of sweat stood out on his scalp.
“Win,” Jack said, “you don’t look so good. You should get out more. Get more fresh air.”
“Did this Antoine talk to you? About something he thought he saw?”
Jack’s palms were moist. “What kind of thing?” He drank some of the wine and made sure he looked steadily into Win’s eyes.
“You tell me.”
Jack put down the glass. “You made a threat to me on the phone. You intimated a threat to someone I care about. That’s why I broke away from something important to get here.”
Win pointed a short forefinger at Jack. “You gotta work on the respect, Jack. I don’t gotta give a shit about what you’re doing. If I say come, you come.”
“I did.” He kept right on looking into the other man’s eyes.
“I been hearing stories, and you better be grateful I’m lookin’ after you, Jack. So walk this walk with me, okay?”
“Okay.” Jack nodded. He’d never considered Errol’s death might have been connected to organized crime in the parish.
“This Antoine. He never talked to you about seein’ somethin’?”
“No.”
“And this Dwayne—the queer—did he talk to you about Antoine seein’ somethin’?”
Win’s private dining room was too warm. The man himself rarely left the place anymore, and the air smelled used. Jack said, “I see Dwayne regularly. If Antoine had said anything of note to him, he’d have told me. He hasn’t.”
“How’s Amelia?” Win raised his sparse eyebrows and examined his fingernails.
Instant tightness closed on Jack’s chest. “She’s wonderful, thanks.”
“Happy she’s gonna have a new mama?”
“Delighted,” Jack lied.
“That’s nice. And Celina Payne’s a real looker, huh?”
Turquoise water and blood. And dead eyes open to the sky.
“Jack? I asked you a question.”
“Celina’s very attractive. But she’s a great woman. She’ll be good for Amelia and me.”
“That’s nice. Look, Jack. Sometimes things happen. Things I may not have anything to do with directly, but they are my concern. You understand?”
“Maybe.”
‘You’re a smart man. If someone close to me gets some action going I don’t know nothin’ about, I don’t like that. But if he says he’s sorry and he’s been a faithful soldier, then I’m gonna forgive—and I’m gonna help him out if he’s in a tight spot. I’m gonna support him. Are you still followin’ me, Jack?”
“Are we talking about Antoine? And something he could have seen? Something to do with one of your people?”
“It don’t matter. The details don’t matter. I’m lookin’ out for you. That’s all you gotta think about. For you and Amelia—and attractive Celina Payne, who’s gonna he Amelia’s new mama.”
Jack rarely felt sick, but he felt sick now. He was going to have to be very, very careful. “Thanks for looking out for us, Win.”
“Yeah. Now, you do what I tell you. You think about every word that comes from your mouth to Sonny Clete’s ears. Got that?”
“Sure.” Jack shrugged.
“This ain’t no joke.”
“No.”
“And you talk to your very attractive Celina, and ask her if Antoine managed to talk to her about anything before he took a vacation from work.”
Ice wouldn’t melt in Jack’s veins. He frowned, worked on looking puzzled. “Antoine hasn’t been to work for days. How do you know that? He didn’t tell Celina or me he intended to take time off.” Without showing too much interest, he needed to see just how much Win knew about Antoine. “Did you hear where Antoine went? And for how long? We’re short of help in Royal Street.”
“I regret your problems with your help, but I can’t help you further with that.” Win was fascinated by his fingernails this afternoon. “Talk to Celina. And watch your mouth. I love you like a son, but I gotta lot of people dependin’ on me. I gotta put their welfare first.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you?” Win’s little black eyes skewered Jack. “I hope you do. I’ll do my best for you because I always have. But if you should make a mistake and step outta line—make me have to look out for my own and forget I ever knew you—you do that, and you better never let Amelia and attractive Celina Payne outta your sight.”
Twenty-four
Celina heard a key turn in Jack’s front door and walked to the top of the stairs. The door started to open, and she was tempted to retreat. This could be Tilly and Amelia. Jack had told her that if they arrived before he got back, Celina should say he’d been called away and had asked her to wait. She wanted to get back to Cyrus, whom she’d talked to on the phone. He was going out to meet Sally Lamar and Celina wanted to talk to him before he left.
First up the stairs came Amelia, her balding frog beneath an arm. She climbed so fast, she stumbled halfway up.
Jack bounded behind his daughter and caught her up. He carried Amelia much the same as Amelia carried her frog, and both father and daughter laughed.
Last, after closing and locking the door, Tilly clomped upward.
“Look what I found outside,” Jack said to Celina, and swung Amelia onto his shoulders.
“You are going to hit that child’s head one of these days,” Tilly said crossly. “She’s growing fast, Mr. Charbonnet. Growing taller. If your attention was where it should be, I wouldn’t have to point such things out to you.”
“Taller?” Jack said, arriving beside Celina and reaching up to find the top of Amelia’s head. “Why, Ι do believe Tilly’s right. My little girl is taller than her daddy. Will you look at that, Celina?”
“Daddy, you are silly!”
Celina folded her arms and smiled, watching them. This man’s love for his child beamed from him. And his child’s happiness was his reward for loving her without reserve.
“You’ll make Amelia sick, Mr. Charbonnet. Throwing her around like that.”
Tilly dropped a canvas shopping bag on the floor at the top of the stairs. She avoided looking at Celina.
“I want to tell you and Amelia something important,” Jack said to Tilly. “You’ll want to unpack your bag first. Take your time. I’ll send Amelia up to get you later.”
The woman didn’t have to say a word to convey her disapproval. She swept up her bag and left for her rooms.
“Is it okay if we talk in your bedroom, Amelia?” Jack said. He gave Celina a slight smile that didn’t lessen her apprehension.
They went into the very pink room and Jack plopped Amelia on the bed. She still kept her armlock on the frog, but her grin wavered and faded.
“Jack, maybe this isn’t—”
“Of course it is,” he said, cutting Celina off. “Is that a new dress, squirt? Nice. That granny of yours spoils you.”
Celina cleared her throat and said, “Yellow suits you. I love yellow.”
“Granny bought it. I don’t like it, but Daddy says it’s not nice to make someone else sad, so I said I did.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Jack said. He pulled a chair toward the bed and indicated for Celina to sit. He perched beside Amelia. “What do you think I’m going to tell you?”
She pulled her shoulders up to her ears and let them drop. The corners of her mouth turned down.
Celina took a deep breath to calm her jiggling nerves.
Jack put a finger under his daughter’s pointed chin and raised her face. “If you don’t think you know what I am goin’ to say, then why the soggy face?”
Amelia squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not crying, so my face isn’t soggy. I don’t mind if you want a new mommy for me. Tilly told me you were probably going to get one soon.”
“Thank you,” Jack said. He kissed her nose and Amelia opened her green eyes to look into his. “You are so much like your mama,” he added.
Thickness closed Celina’s throat. In a rush she felt such longing to be part of this forever, and for them to want her just as much.
“We could have planned this better, sweetheart. Taken longer for you to get to know Celina. But we don’t want to wait, so we decided to go ahead now. You’re a grown-up little girl, but you’re still a little girl, and we don’t want you to worry about things you don’t have to think about. Celina and I are getting married. But that doesn’t mean you and I are going to do things differently. We’ll have our special time together, the same as we always have. But you’ll have a stepmama who will share a lot of things with us.”
Surely no other five-year-old could manage the magnificent frown Amelia produced. Her fine, dark brows came down in a straight line. She wrinkled her nose and regarded Celina with the kind of intensity few adults could achieve.
“Amelia?”
“Yes, Daddy. I might like a new mama, but how do I know she’s the right one?”
“That’s not an agreeable thing to say, young lady. Celina—”
“Hush,” Celina told him. “I’m a stranger to her.”
And still a stranger to you in too many important ways.
Father and daughter looked at Celina. Their likeness was startling, yet in his child Jack saw the wife he’d lost. He always would.
“I asked Celina to marry me and she’s said she will,” Jack said. His gentle finality overwhelmed her. “By the end of this week we’ll be a family and she will live here with us.”
Amelia lowered her eyes. She pressed her lips together and leaned against Jack. He stroked her soft black curls.
There seemed nothing to say. Celina held very still. She heard her own breathing, and theirs. Was that the way their life would be? Her, and them, at least when they were together.
He wanted to marry her, and she’d told him she wanted it, too.
Their hours alone no longer seemed real. For an instant Celina saw the kitchen, Jack’s intent face above hers, the ceiling behind his head. She closed the visions out. They embarrassed her, now in the company of the child. That woman, the one naked in the kitchen, seemed a stranger, her actions inappropriate.
Jack kissed the top of Amelia’s head and hugged her. He winked at Celina. “I thought you could move in here today. There’s a spare bedroom next to Amelia’s.”
Celina felt something near panic. “I’m just fine in Royal Street at present.”
“I would prefer you here.” His pleasant expression slipped away. “You and Amelia need time together as soon as possible. I’d attend to the formalities while you two discuss how you’ll keep me under your combined thumbs.”
Celina wasn’t amused. This was a new side of Jack, a manipulative angle that intended to get its own way.
“Have you heard anything from Antoine?”
She stared at him. “No. You’d know if I had. We—” Her mouth remained open and she clicked her jaw. “I haven’t heard from Antoine.”
“You’re sure? Not a quick phone call, nothing?”
Why would he ask her these questions when he’d been with her all weekend? “No, Jack. How about you?”
He held his breath. She saw him. And his grip on Amelia tightened. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, forgetting the child.
“Not a thing,” he told her, but the slight shake of his head was a warning to be careful what she said.
Celina sat quite still. She watched for some hint of what was really on his mind, but his expression had closed again.
“Ι need to go out,” he said. “Stay with Amelia and Tilly, okay?”
“Ι want to go and talk to Cyrus.”
“Have him come here. I’ll call him.”
She gripped the arms of the chair. Something was very, very wrong. And it related to the telephone call that summoned him away earlier. He’d looked grim afterward, grimly angry. When he’d come back he’d managed to cover his true feelings with the playful greeting of Amelia. Then he’d used his announcement about his marriage to Celina as a temporary diversion—for himself as well as for Celina and Amelia. Now he couldn’t hide his agitation any longer.
“Don’t call Cyrus,” she told him. Jack could not be master of all he saw. “I’ll speak to him myself.”
“Good enough. Tell Celina all about us, squirt. Tell her about your school and your grandmother. And what you do each day—your tap lessons.”
He kissed Amelia’s hair again and got up. At first Celina thought he would walk out without as much as saying a word to her, but at the door he turned back and held out a hand to her. When she got up, he met her in the middle of the room and touched his lips lightly to hers. She wondered if he knew that the sweetness of that touch was a powerful weapon. It stunned her.
“Talk about being a family,” he told her, and glanced down at her stomach. “Families are good things if you trust enough to be honest.”
She should tell him about Rose, and what she had shown her.
“Daddy,” Amelia said. “Can I come with you?”
“You and Celina have a lot of talking to do. See you later, squirt.”
Even when his footsteps had faded and he’d left the house, Celina continued to face the door. She wasn’t going to “obey” him. That he’d assumed she would astounded her. If they were to go ahead with the marriage, the time to establish rules was now. The first rule would be that neither party issued orders to the other, or expected their desires would come first.
“Amelia, will you forgive me if we don’t talk now, darlin’?” She turned around. “I have a brother, Cyrus. He’s a priest and he’s staying with me at the moment. I need to go and see him.”
Amelia had left the bed. She stood at the window.
Celina smiled and walked to join the child. “Watching your daddy?”
“He’s gone now.” Such a controlled voice for one so young.
“But that ghost was looking at my room again. It went away when it saw me.”
It might be a good idea for Jack to dream up some stories that didn’t stir visions of ghosts and goblins.