CHAPTER 6
Don't Say It
Alexa impishly grinned when Mox loudly groaned in pleasure.
"Ohmygod…ohmyGod…" Mox slowly opened his eyes. "…the best…" He closed his eyes again. "Those were the best Sloppy Joes I've ever had."
Alexa burst out laughing as she eyed Mox's empty plate. There were barely crumbs left of the three sandwiches he'd nearly inhaled. He'd admitted to being ravenous since he'd only had some fruit the night before and part of a sandwich Nikki had forced on him earlier in the day for lunch.
"And where did you find that cole slaw?" Mox demanded, opening his eyes to stare at the woman seated next to him.
"It's homemade," Alexa admitted with a blush.
"Woman, you can feed me that every night," Mox half-teased.
"Oh, I think we can vary the menu." Alexa reached out to take his hand. "I'm glad you liked it so much."
Mox leaned closer and gave her a deep kiss. "And I'm very much in love with the cook," he murmured.
Alexa kissed the tip of his nose, then stood. "Won't take but a minute to clear the table. Then we can talk."
While Alexa was putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, Mox went into the living room to get the envelope of brochures for their trip to Japan and brought it back to the kitchen table.
"After this week, my schedule is clear for the next three weeks," Alexa said as she started the dishwasher.
Mox nodded. "Nikki and the guys can handle the on-going projects at the shop. Anything that comes up, they can put off until we get back. Since it's a long-assed plane ride to and from Japan…"
"We don't have to go there," Alexa said as she moved her chair closer to his.
Mox mock glared at her. "Japan you want, Japan you'll get. I just mentioned the long-assed plane ride as we'll need a day to recover going to Japan and getting back." He hesitated, then added, "And you'll need a day to recover from the wedding night."
"As will you," Alexa calmly replied. She refrained from smiling when Mox hesitated in opening the envelope.
"I'll hold you to that," he muttered as he pulled out several brochures. "How does this hotel look to you?"
"Hotel Sunroute Plaza Shinjuku. Looks pricey," Alexa admitted.
Mox shrugged. "Not really. And since this is our honeymoon, we've got the money to spend on it. So, let's make it special." He spread out the brochures. "There's plenty to do in and around Tokyo. Mt. Fuji. The Imperial palace. Gardens. Museums. Day cruises. But we can also take a train to Kyoto for the day. Or even spend the night there."
Alexa threw her arms around Mox and kissed him.
"Not that I'll ever complain about that, but what was that for?" Mox asked in bemused confusion.
"For all this." Alexa waved a hand at the brochures spread across the table. "For wanting to do this for me."
Mox leaned his forehead against hers. "Honey, I'll do whatever I can every day of my life to make you happy," he quietly promised.
"And I'll do the same for you," Alexa whispered. She gave him another kiss, then stood. "I'll get my laptop so we can start making reservations."
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It hadn't taken Becky long to decide she absolutely hated New Orleans. She hated the dirt that lay just beneath the surface even in the tourist part of the city. She hated the laissez-faire attitude of the people, much preferring to be around those who were focused on getting ahead. She hated the muggy climate that left her nearly gasping for a good deep breath. And the Mississippi River was vastly overrated.
Most of all, she hated this nonsense about voodoo that permeated the culture. She knew there were suckers born every minute, but why had they all converged on New Orleans while she was stuck in this city?
Sitting at the bar in The Tarot Club, she finished her whiskey and eyed the crowded room. Tarot cards were being dealt at the tables to people who didn't have a clue what the cards meant…not that they cards meant anything anyway. And all the while, Scarlett DuBois sat on a comfortable couch on a raised dais like a queen watching her peasants.
As Becky motioned for the bartender to bring her a fresh drink, she noticed Scarlett standing. A red-haired bearded young man standing at the foot of the dais, held out his hand to assist her in walking down the steps. He bent his head to listen as she spoke, then respectfully nodded before making his way around the room to a specific table.
Becky nodded her thanks to the bartender for her new drink and watched as the man stopped at a table. Apparently, someone at the table was upset at the tarot reading. She watched in silent approval as the young man spoke and quickly diffused a potential argument.
"He's very good at calming people down."
Startled, Becky nearly spilled her whiskey. She turned her head and saw Scarlett standing next to her. "Sorry?"
"I saw you watching him."
'Damn Irish red-haired parents!' Becky chuckled. "Yeah, the red hair makes me stand out." She promised herself a haircut and color job as soon as she was able to leave New Orleans.
Scarlett smiled. "I think you'd stand out in any case."
"Well, thank you very much." Becky raised the glass in a salute. She watched a group of people leaving one of the tables and walking towards them on their way to the front door. "Looks like you've got a successful place."
Scarlett barely shrugged. "The owner doesn't complain about the profit margin."
"I imagine not especially if…"
Scarlett suddenly turned her head as the group of people began to walk past them. Her eyes focused on one man then to her associate on the other side of the room. That man caught her stare and started towards them.
"Mon temps est venu. Pitie, Docteur Jean," Scarlett solemnly spoke.
"What?" Becky asked in confusion.
In the next instant, the last man in the group pulled out a switchblade and thrust it between Scarlett's fourth and fifth ribs. He quickly pulled it out and walked away. As Scarlett fell against Becky, someone screamed, "She killed Scarlett!" Someone yelled, "Murder!"
Becky staggered against Scarlett's weight as the woman slid to the floor, blood pooling next to her. She saw Scarlett's associate pushing his way through the crowd, then allowed herself to be carried along by the panicked crowd until she was outside the club.
Becky attached herself to a large group of people running down the street, silently congratulating herself on parking several blocks away. She gradually separated from the group and briskly walked towards her car.
Inside the club, the red-haired man knelt next to Scarlett as employees surrounded them. Tears in his eyes, he slowly closed Scarlett's eyes. Then he looked at the bartender. "Secure the security footage. Damage the recorder." He stood and looked at the other employees. "As far as you know, the recorder malfunctioned. Miss Scarlett was taking care of that problem. You know nothing more." When everyone nodded, "Kneel and pray for her."
As the others fell to their knees and began murmuring, he stepped away from them and pulled out his cell phone. He had to call Priest…and that wasn't going to be pleasant. He'd failed to protect Scarlett.
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Once Becky was in her car, she headed for Interstate 10 all the while keeping an eye out for the cops. Thankful that she'd synced her cell phone to the car, she activated the call function. "Call Toni."
"Calling Toni."
"I'm sorry, but the number you've called is not in service. If you feel…"
"DAMMIT!" Becky disconnected the call. "BLOODY BITCH!"
She took a few deep breaths the reactivated the call function. "Call Hunter."
"Calling Hunter."
Hundreds of miles away, Hunter apologetically glanced at Stephanie for interrupting their late night conversation. "Sorry," he mouthed as he answered the phone. "What is it, Lynch?"
"That bloody bitch set me up!"
Stephanie's irritated expression changed when she saw Hunter stiffen.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"She told me to go to The Tarot Club and keep an eye on Scarlett DuBois," Becky explained. "She's apparently high up in the Bloodline here in this beknighted cesspool. Close to the head, Damian Priest. So, I go and do that. This Scarlett actually approaches me and starts talking with me. Some people are leaving the club and one of them pulls out a switchblade and knifes her…right in the bloody heart! Woman was dead before she hit the floor."
Hunter rubbed his forehead. "You got out okay?"
"Yeah, in the panic," Becky acknowledged. "If I hadn't, somebody would've pointed the finger at me. As it is, I'm pretty sure it won't be long before an anonymous tip to the police has them on my trail." She glanced down at herself. "She fell against me and got some of her blood on me. I can't go back to the hotel."
"Where are you now?"
"Heading for Interstate 10," Becky answered. "I'll need to ditch the car soon. Oh, and I tried to call Storm. Number she gave me isn't working."
Hunter gritted his teeth. "How much gas is in the car?"
"Full tank."
"Good. Change cars when it's safe," Hunter ordered. "Head for Houston. You remember Andrade El Idolo?"
Becky frowned then nodded. "Yeah, I remember him."
"I'll have him make arrangements to get you to Seattle," Hunter decided. "He'll be in touch as soon as he's made the arrangements. Keep me informed."
"Got it. Thanks."
Stephanie didn't bother to say 'I told you so'. She'd never liked nor trusted Toni Storm. Instead, she stood and fixed Hunter a glass of Scotch.
"Andrade, Hunter here."
"Hunter, is there a problem?" Andrade's voice was smooth and untroubled.
Hunter quickly outlined the problem and gave him Becky's number. "Use one of our private planes. I don't want her name on any commercial airline passenger list."
"And you wish her to go all the way to Seattle?"
Hunter was reminded again of the iron fist Andrade used to keep control over his part of Houston and made a mental note to keep a closer eye on the man. "All the way. Safe and sound."
"I will make the arrangements now and report back to you."
"Thank you, Andrade." Hunter hung up with a deep sigh. He took the glass Stephanie was holding out to him and drained it. "Don't say it," he growled.
"I don't think I need to," Stephanie coolly replied.
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It was close 2:30 in the morning when Becky slowly drove through a large apartment complex. She found a parking spot and turned off the engine. She sat quickly for several minutes. Finally assured no one was watching, she got out of the car, pulling her purse out with her.
As she removed her blouse and folded it, she eyed an older car on the other side of the parking lot. Stuffing her bloodied blouse into her purse, she double-checked to make sure no blood was on the t-shirt she'd worn under the blouse.
'If you're going to heist a car, make it an older one. They're easier to hotwire and don't have automatic alarms.' Becky recalled her grandfather's advice as she picked the lock on the driver's side door. Quickly getting inside, she hotwired the car and slowly drove away. Hopefully, nobody in the Baton Rouge apartment complex would be looking it for several hours.
Next, she found an open Taco Bell and drove through the drive-thru. Ordering a burrito and soft drink, she got her order and parked. If anyone was watching, they would assume she was quickly eating her food. Instead, she removed the burrito from the bag, then put her bloodied blouse into it. She placed the burrito on top and rolled down the top of the bag as much as she could.
She backed up and pulled up at the end of the drive thru lane where a large trash can had been placed. She grimaced as she took a sip of the drink then tossed it into the can, followed by the rolled-up bag.
Then she started driving back towards Interstate 10.
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"What do you mean there isn't any security footage?"
More than one person winced at the Homicide Detective's screech.
Priest patiently repeated the explanation. "Miss Scarlett reported to me earlier today that the recorder was malfunctioning. She said she would take care of getting it repaired or replaced."
Detective Al Snow glared at Priest then he glared down at the man kneeling beside the dead Scarlett DuBois. "What can you tell me, Doc?"
The Coroner, Dr. Jimmy Hart, looked up. "Just what the witnesses said. Knife to the heart. Looks like a small blade. Switchblade, most likely. I'll know more after the autopsy."
"There will be no autopsy."
"Excuse me? Damn right there'll be an autopsy!" Snow snorted.
"No, there will not," Priest repeated. "I hold her Legal Power of Attorney. Her religion forbids any sacrilege of the body. Which includes an autopsy."
"The hell you say!" Snow argued.
"He's right, Detective." Hart rose to his feet. "If he has the proper legal paperwork, no autopsy can be performed because of religious considerations." He shrugged. "That's the law."
"Where is this so-called Power of Attorney?" Snow demanded.
"In my safety deposit box with all my other legal papers," Priest calmly replied. "Hancock Whitney on Canal Street. I believe they open at 9am. I can retrieve the paperwork then."
"I'll meet you there," Snow gruffly promised. "Doc, you be there as well."
"Fine." Hart waved a hand at the departing detective, then glanced at Priest. "You're taking care of her?"
"I am."
"See you tomorrow morning." Hart followed the detective out of the club.
Priest walked to the group of employees standing at the end of the bar. "Close everything down. I'll notify everyone when the club will reopen. You will all receive your full salaries during this time." He glanced back at Scarlett's body. "And you will be notified of the time and place for her final service." 'Or at least one of them,' Priest silently added as he motioned for two people to remain.
When they were alone, Priest looked at the bartender. "Did she say anything?"
The bartender nodded. "Well, not to me. She was talking to this red-headed woman at the bar. It looked like she came down from the dais to talk with her. They were just chit-chatting when Miss Scarlett looked at the group of people who were leaving one of the tables."
Priest nodded. He'd already spoken with the dealer at that table.
"Then Miss Scarlett said 'Mon temps est venu. Pitie, Docteur Jean'. That's it," the bartender concluded.
"Thank you," Priest politely spoke. "Make sure the back is locked up. I'll lock up the front." He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd of police standing on the sidewalk. "I'm sure they'll put up their police tape." His voice was lightly mocking.
When the bartender had left, Scarlett's associate stood in front of Priest. His hands were folded in front of him as though in prayer. He lowered his head and quietly spoke, "I submit myself for punishment. I failed to protect her. I ask for no mercy but only the chance to avenge her."
Priest slowly replied, "You were her protector. You would use violence, only if necessary, in order to protect. Vengeance is not yours to seek." He paused then continued. "Did you understand what her last words were?"
The other man nodded once in a jerky fashion. "Then you know there was nothing you could've done. It was her time to leave this existence for the next one. You could not have prevented this even if you'd been standing next to her." He put a stern tone into his voice. "Do you understand that?"
"Yes, sir. And…and I accept it, Makandal."
Priest put a hand on the other man's arm. "The upcoming days are going to be difficult…for all of us. I'll need your support and strength."
"You have both. I swear to you."
"And I thank you for both." Priest nodded towards the door. "When the car comes for her, let me know."
When the other man had silently left, Priest knelt next to Scarlett's body. "Merci pour votre service," he whispered. "Tu es aime et tu vas nous manquer. Vous serez venge. Va en paix, mon ami."
The protector, Buddy Matthews, was not allowed to take vengeance for Scarlett. But Damian Priest was.