Sandra Hill - [Jinx 03] (24 page)

A
National Enquirer
reporter and a cameraman were waiting for her. They pounced as soon as she exited her car in the parking lot.

“Are you Celine Arseneaux? Can you comment on your relationship with the Sex Cop? Did you two conspire to create the story on the Playpen bust? Could there be a new trial based on your . . . um, relationship?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The reporter waved the photo of John kissing her, the one he used as a screensaver on his computer. Celine felt crushed. The only way that photo could have gotten in the hands of the tabloid was via the traitor . . . the traitor she had been starting to love.

Oh, John might not have given the photo to the newspaper. In fact, she doubted that he had. But he was responsible for taking the photo, and she sure as hell had been under the impression that he’d deleted it from the camera, that the only copy was in his hands.

She shoved past the reporter and cameraman, declining to comment, except when asked, “Are you having an affair with John LeDeux?”

“No!” she answered unequivocally.

Once in the building, she found her problems were only beginning.

No sooner had she sat down at her desk than Bruce motioned her toward his office. “Arseneaux! In here. Now!” he barked.

His face was so red with anger, she feared he might bust a blood vessel.

He shoved a copy of the infamous photograph into her face. “Did you know about this?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you chose not to tell me?”

“I thought it was a dead issue. I didn’t know there were copies around other than—”

“Other than the one LeDeux has?”

She could feel her face color. “Yes.”

“Are you having an affair with LeDeux?”

“No. Well, sort of. Okay, sit down before you have a stroke.”

He looked as if he’d like to leap over his desk and strangle her.

“I’ll explain. John and I have some history. In fact, I hope this won’t be repeated, but he’s the father of my son Etienne.”

Bruce let her relate the entire story before interrupting again. When she was finally silent, he said, “You wrote that hot cop story when you carried this kind of baggage?”

“You made me write it.”

“Please, Celine, give me some credit. I wouldn’t have done so if I’d known.”

“No, you’d have just pulled me off a good story.”

“Was LeDeux the source for your mob articles?”

“Not directly.”

Her non-answer did not please him. He stared at her in stony silence before an idea seemed to occur to him. “The pirate treasure hunt story that you’re about to give me . . . please, don’t tell me that LeDeux is involved in this, too.”

“He is, but that doesn’t make it any less than a great exclusive. I’ll show it to you now, if you want.” She was about to stand and go back to her office for the hard copy.

He waved her back down. “I want that story, and the
traiteur
one, too. Damn! Why didn’t I see the connection with that Rivard woman? But consider this a notice of dismissal. You have two weeks to find another job.”

She inhaled sharply. “You can’t do this.”

“You’ve given me grounds out the wazoo.”

“You’ve been looking for those grounds ever since I took this job.”

“Maybe, but you sure as hell gave them to me, all tied up in a big pink bow. Ethical standards, baby. Ethical standards.”

As she stormed out of his office, she told him in very graphic terms what he could do with his ethical standards.

Fired!
She reeled as the word shot through her stunned brain.

Fired!
All because of John LeDeux.

Fired!
She couldn’t afford to be without work. She would have to start a job search immediately.

And like hell she was going to give Bruce the treasure hunt or the
traiteur
stories. They would be going with her to her new employer, whoever that might be.

She stomped back to Bruce’s office and leaned in. “Forget about giving me a notice. I quit.”

Then, despite Bruce’s sputtering and threats that she wouldn’t be able to get unemployment compensation—
As if she had ever thought that far!
—she cleared out her desk, making two trips down to her car. On her final pass through, she ignored Bruce’s glare and her co-workers’ glances of sympathy. Finally, in her car, heading back home, just an hour after she’d arrived, Celine sighed deeply.

She’d lost more than a good job today. She’d lost what could have been the love of her life.

Chapter
23

John had tried repeatedly to contact Celine before she heard about the
National Enquirer
article from someone else. No response, even to his voice mails that it was urgent that she call him back.

He was assuming she’d found out and was pissed. With good reason. But it wasn’t his fault, and he needed to explain that to her.

So, he’d headed over to Houma, bringing with him a bike he’d bought for Etienne. It was the cutest thing. A two-wheeler with training wheels, painted black with red flames. He’d seen a bike in the backyard on previous visits, but it was smaller and a bit battered.

There was no sign of Celine or her car, but there was a reporter hanging around, hoping to trap either her or him into divulging something tantalizing, though facts weren’t all that important to the tabloids. If they didn’t get the info from the horse’s mouth, they got it from their own horse’s ass selves.

He threatened to beat the crap out of the reporter, a short twenty-something guy with a broken nose and an attitude. Not a great thing for a cop to do. Nothing like a lawsuit to cap off his day. No surprise on the broken nose, though. It had to be a job hazard, working for a tabloid.

After waiting like forever in his car, parked at the curb, he decided to show the bike to Etienne, who was as ecstatic as a five-year-old could be. John told James where they were going, then walked beside Etienne as he rode the bike to Lilypond Park. James hadn’t been as hostile as usual. Maybe he was warming up to him. But then he probably hadn’t heard about the tabloid yet.

Etienne’s mouth was going nonstop, as usual, even as he was riding his new bike.

“Do you boink?”

“Huh?”

“Boink. Dontcha know what boinkin’ is? It’s when a guy—”

“Whoa, tiger. I know what boinkin’ is. The question is, do you? No, don’t answer that. Why do you want to know if I . . . um, boink?”

“Pete sez when a boy likes a girl and she likes him back, they boink.”

“How old is this Pete?”

“Oh, he’s lots older than me. He knows
stuff.
”

“How old?”

“Seven.”

Good Lord! The kid is actually wondering if I’m boinking his mother.

Then, there was the animal issue.

“I want a dog.”

“I know you do.”

“Do dogs boink?”

“Yes.”

“And cats?”

“Yes.”

“And—”

“All animals boink, Etienne.”
I cannot believe I said that.

“Yeech!”

Then they moved on to more important issues.

“I like to spit.”

“That’s just great.”

“Do you like to spit?”

“I probably did when I was your age. Now, I just spit when I have a bad taste in my mouth.”
Like a hangover.

“Pete knows how to hawk a looey. That’s a big spit.”

I’m gonna have to meet this Pete.

Like lightning, or Tante Lulu, he changed subjects without warning.

“Pigs smell. Why do pigs smell?”

“Do you have a dad and a mom? I only gots a mom.”

“Why do girls have pussies? Is there a kitty in there?”

Thank God, Celine was pulling into the driveway when they got back. Etienne’s questions were giving him a rash.

Her eyes flashed fire at him, promising a fight. But then she noticed the bike. The fire in her eyes turned into a bonfire.

“Where did you get that bicycle?” she asked Etienne in an icy voice.

The kid didn’t notice her tone and enthused happily, “John bought it fer me. Ain’t it cool, Mom?”

She didn’t answer, but instead told him, “Go in the house and tell your grandfather to give you some cookies and milk.”

“But, Mom, I wanna stay here and—”

“Etienne. Go.”

With a pout, the kid steered the bike up the sidewalk and around the side of the house.

Before she had a chance to launch into him, John took her by the elbow and said, “We are not having this conversation outside. There’s a tabloid reporter hanging around.”

She was shocked at that prospect and let him propel her up the steps and into the living room. He could hear Etienne chattering away in the kitchen to James.

“Celine, I had nothin’ to do with this tabloid garbage.”

“I beg to differ.”

“The camera was stolen from the evidence vault. I didn’t know about it ’til this mornin’.”

“And why was the photo still in the camera?”

“What?”

“You heard me. You led me to believe that you had the only photo and that you were going to destroy it. And at no time did you tell me that there were so many different shots of the . . . kiss.”

She said
kiss
as if it were a distasteful word.

“I never promised any of that. I said I wouldn’t use the photo against you in any public way if you . . . well, I never intended to use it anyway.”

“You just wanted to barter for a weekend of wild monkey sex.”

He made the mistake of smiling.

She hissed.

“Celine, be honest. I never forced you to do anything. And you never made love with me because you felt threatened.”

“No, I did it because I was stupid. But not anymore.”

“C’mon, Celine, we have somethin’ good goin’ on between us. You can’t let this ruin things.”

“We
had
something good, John. No more.”

“You’re not being fair. I’m a cop. I can’t ethically destroy evidence. I did manage to keep it out of the eyes of the other officers. Give me credit for that.”

“Apparently you didn’t keep it out of everyone’s eyesight, because someone obviously sold it to an outside buyer.”

“You’re right about that.” He sighed deeply. “Where do we go from here?”

“Nowhere. You can see Etienne as much as you want, within reason. I choose not to be here when you arrive or bring him back.”

“I might love you. I think.”

“Might? Be still my heart.” She laughed then, and it was not a nice laugh. “Bull!”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I wouldn’t believe you if you had your tongue notarized.”

“You’re bein’ unreasonable.”

“Oh, yeah? I got fired today.”

“Oh, no!” He reached to her in sympathy, but she ducked away from him. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You’ve done enough.”

“You can’t lay the blame on me for this.”

“Can’t I? One more thing. You had no right to buy Etienne that bicycle without my permission.”

“His old one was too small for him, and I happened to see the new one in the window of a shop near Luc’s office.” He shrugged.

“I repeat. Don’t buy him stuff.”

“Hey, he’s my son, too.”

Their voices had gotten increasingly loud; so, it was only belatedly that they realized that Etienne was standing in the doorway, looking with puzzlement from his mother to John.

“Are you my daddy?”

Celine moaned.

This emotional abyss was not something either of them was equipped to handle today. But it couldn’t be avoided.

He walked over and hunkered down to Etienne’s level. “Yes, I am, Etienne. And I’m very proud to be your father.”

“Why weren’t ya here before?”

“I didn’t know about you ’til recently. How do you feel about havin’ me for a dad?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Can I give you a hug?”

The little boy pondered the request as if it was a weighty subject. “All right.”

John opened his arms and held his son tightly. Eyes closed, he savored the little boy smell of him . . . skin, milk, and chocolate from the cookies.

“Why is Mom cryin’?”

He turned and stood in one fluid motion, Etienne still in his arms. “Because she’s so happy,” he lied, tears in his eyes as well.

“Are you gonna live with us?”

His eyes held Celine’s, which were still filled with hurt from his presumed betrayal. “I don’t know.”

“Can I have a dog?”

He had to laugh then.

But Celine wasn’t laughing.

He soon left, with a promise to Etienne to return for a visit the next day. As for Celine, he saw nothing but a brick wall in their future.

Maybe they were never meant to be.

He was drowning his sorrows in oyster shooters at Swampy’s Tavern with his three brothers.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and not many customers in the place. René’s band, the Swamp Rats, often entertained here with rowdy Cajun and zydeco music.

“We should probably cut out the drinking and go over to the Veterans Club to help decorate for tomorrow’s pirate do,” Luc said.

Gator, the longtime bartender and part-owner, lined up four shot glasses, plopped a raw oyster in each, then doused them with one hundred proof bourbon and a dash of Tabasco. Only then did he raise his bushy eyebrows in question to them.

As one, they reached for the glasses and tossed them back and down their throats. Also, as one, they did full-body shivers and exclaimed, “Whoa!”

Gator shook his bald head at them, his lone loop earring flashing in the artificial light.

“Hey, Gator, it just occurred to me . . . ” John was staring at the bartender. “You would make a great pirate. Wanna come tomorrow?”

“Me, I get enough pirate wannabes here in the bar. I doan need ta make a fool of myself thataway.” Gator went off to wait on someone over by the jukebox, which was belting out country songs.

Looking at Gator’s earring as he passed, John decided, “I think I’ll get my ear pierced.”

“Do you remember when you were a kid,” Luc prodded him with a laugh, “you asked me how men went about piercin’ their cocks. Apparently you had seen somethin’ in the French Quarter.”

“Well, I might be blitzed, but I’m not that blitzed.”
My brothers know way too much about my past.

“You could have ‘Celine’ tattooed over your heart,” René suggested. “Or on your butt.”

“Or not!”

“You know what they say,” Luc offered. “A peacock who sits on his tail is just another turkey.”

“Are you tryin’ ta say I’m a turkey?”

“If the shoe . . . uh, feathers fit, and all that.”

“I’m thinkin’ about quittin’ my job,” he disclosed, after an unexpected belch escaped his lips.

That got his brothers serious in a nanosecond.

“Why?” Luc asked.

“I don’t know, this whole Mafia case and the newspaper coverage has turned me sour. Not on law enforcement, but workin’ for the Fontaine department, or anywhere within a hundred miles. And I won’t go back to DC and the FBI. I’m thinkin’ about openin’ my own private detective agency.”

They all pondered that possibility. Then René remarked, “You’ve got a head start, Tee-John. You’re already a dick.”

He jabbed René in the shoulder with a fist.

Remy picked up a stick pretzel and started to chomp. The oysters in the shooters were about all they’d had to eat today. “Remind me, why’re we gettin’ plastered?”

None of them were that far gone, although John wished he could escape to the numbness of a good ol’ bender. It had been a hell of a week.

“We’re drownin’ my sorrows,” he told Remy.

“What sorrows?”

“Unrequited love.”
Oh, crap! I didn’t mean to say that.

All three of his brothers turned to gawk at him for his flowery words. Then all three of them grinned.

“I consider your amusement a totally inappropriate reaction to my pain,” he complained. Celine was holding to her decision not to see or talk to him. After a week of trying, he’d stopped trying. Didn’t mean he was giving up, just reconnoitering. He’d heard that she got a new job with one of the newspaper syndicates, but that was no reason for avoiding him.

He’d never been so miserable in all his life. If this was love, it was highly overrated.

René patted him on the shoulder. “We’ve all been there, buddy.”

“Not to worry, though,” Luc chuckled. “By tomorrow night your problems should be over.”

Remy and René immediately said, “Shhh” to Luc.

Too late. The hairs on the back of John’s neck were not only standing erect, but they were doing the hula. “Why?”

With a sigh of resignation, figuring he’d already said too much, Luc disclosed, “I’m pretty sure Tante Lulu has a plan.”

John put his face in his hands and groaned. Then he lifted his head and ordered two more oyster shooters. Once he felt a bit more braced, he confronted his brothers. “Spill.”

“Charmaine ordered us not to tell you,” Luc said.

“So?” It’s not like they hadn’t disobeyed that order before.

“You’re gonna ruin the surprise, Luc,” René complained.

“Tell me, dammit.”

“Okay, here’s the deal, and we only know this through our women. Did you know there’s a pirate longship anchored out on the Gulf?’

“What? You’re kiddin’.”

“No kiddin’, little brother,” Luc replied. “Apparently Val has some connection with those people who run that Tall Ships event on the Hudson River. And apparently there are these smaller reproduction Viking/pirate longships . . . and ta da, they brought one here.”

“My wife has connections,” René bragged.

“Okay, so there’s a pirate ship out on the Gulf. What does that have to do with me?”

His brothers grinned.

He was beginning to hate his brothers’ grins.

“They brought a longship here for me? Wow!”
This is not gonna be good.

“You were aware that Celine would be there, right?” This from René.

He nodded. She had the exclusive story on the treasure hunt, as promised, and would be providing reports on the entire day’s events for her new employer.

“Cut to the chase, you guys. Longship, Celine . . . what else?”

“You’ll be dressed as a pirate, and I certainly hope you plan to put Johnny Depp to shame,” Luc said.

“He could do no less, our Tee-John,” Remy remarked.

“Aaarrgh!” he said.

“That should be ‘Arg,’” René corrected.

“Aaarrgh!” he said again.

“You’re gonna capture Celine in the middle of the ball and take her off to your pirate lair . . . i.e. pirate ship, and have your wicked way with her, married or unmarried, depends on you, but the minister aka ship’s captain will be there, along with Father Boucher from Our Lady of the Bayou Church, just in case,” Luc told him in one long sentence. “Oh, and I’m gonna be handy to be best man . . . just in case.”