12 Bullets Page 8

  “Something smells good.” Stefi steps into the kitchen and drops her oversized backpack and a suitcase.

  Jessie covers her eyes.

  Stefi brought her kitten and as soon as Stella sees Scamp, Stella rushes back through the kitchen for the rear hall. The kitten jumps to the floor and the chase in on.

  Beau takes another bite of green lasagna boulognese from Cella’s Ristorante, Magazine Street. Stefi goes to the cabinet and takes out a plate.

  “Lady Macbeth is at it again,” goes Stefi as she lifts the foil off the lasagna, cuts a slice. “Doesn’t like what I wear. She never liked what Jessie wore or Alaina. Your mother’s such a prude.”

  She brings her plate of lasagna to the table, sits and Beau pours iced tea into the glass she brought. Stefi takes a bite, Beau takes another and Jessie lets out a long breath, takes a bite of the delicious lasagna, spinach layered with pork and beef and three cheeses – mozzarella, parmigiana, reggiano. Cella’s lasagna features marinara gravy.

  Stefi goes on, “She freaked out when I called her a prude. She threw a steel ladle at me, missed and hit the microwave. They went to Cosco for a new one so I packed up, caught the streetcar. So how was your day?”

  Jessie takes a bite of lasagna.

  Stefi looks at Beau. “What about your day?”

  “I watched an armed robber bleed to death in front of an Italian restaurant.”

  Stefi’s fork full of lasagna stops midway to her mouth, looks at the fork, asks, “It wasn’t the restaurant where this came from, I hope.”

  Beau chews his lasagna, shakes his head.

  “Bontonomo’s on Carrollton.”

  Stefi bounces in her seat. “We ate there.”

  Jessie, who was having a nice meal with her lover, puts her fork down and meets Beau’s eyes. She goes, “My father says Bontonomo’s the only authentic Sicilian restaurant in the city.”

  Stefi bounces again, “Tell us what happened.”

  Beau keeps the story as short as possible, ending with, “… and the robber has a 3-page rap sheet and he was on probation for simple robbery.”

  “What’s simple robbery?” goes Stefi.

  “No weapon. He stepped up to the big league with a gun today and got himself shot to death.”

  He cautions Stefi not to talk about it at school.

  “Hell, I’m telling everybody.”

  Jessie finishes chewing. “Don’t you know when you tell her not to do something, that’s the first thing she’ll do.”

  Beau takes another bite, he sees Jessie looking hard at him.

  “What?”

  “We’ll talk later.”

  Stefi huffs. “It’ll have to be in bed when you’re supposed to be making out because I’m watching TV with y’all and in case you didn’t notice my suitcase, I’m gonna be here a while.”

  “That what you think? We make out in bed every night?” – from Jessie.

  “You better. I would. Not with Johnny because he’s my brother as he keeps reminding me when I’m a brat, which I am most the time. But a hunk like Johnny.”

  Jessie picks up her empty plate and Beau’s and he scoops their tea glasses, forks and knives and they head to the sink and dishwasher. Stella runs through the kitchen for the dining room, Scamp right behind. Beau snatches up the kitten which hisses at him and he taps its nose and the little white and gray kitty goes limp, pants and looks down waiting for Beau to let him go.

  Jessie bumps him with her hip.

  “Let me tell you how my day went. Started with a call from LA Bank. Our time traveler came in to withdraw more money, asked for silver certificates instead of federal reserve notes. The manager tried to explain about silver certificates not being issued since 1964 and banks do not distribute them. Lord Palmer opened his wallet and pulled out a $100 silver certificate. James Monroe on the face. He came by my building later and I put him off until tomorrow.”

  “Wait,” goes Beau. “If he hadn’t eaten for two days when you first met him, he didn’t have money. How’d he get a $100 silver certificate?”

  “Good question. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

  “Did you say he’s a lord,” from Stefi.

  “Emerson Lake, Lord Palmer, 5th Earl of Fulking.” Jessie spells Fulking again.

  “Betcha he got a lotta fulk you growing up. You said ‘Lord’. He’s – English?”

  Jessie closes the dishwasher. “That’s what he claims.”

  Scamp nibbles Beau’s hand now so he puts him down and the kitty runs into the dining room.

  “He also claims he’s from 1920. Came forward in time to warn us about World War II.”

  Stefi eats more lasagna as she thinks about it, says, “So, he’s crazy.”

  “Yes. But he’s cute. Got blue eyes that talk to your eyes when he’s not talking.”

  “Like Lucy Incanto. Her eyes were humping mine today.”

  Jessie gives him a hard look.

  Stefi brings her plate. “This is better than TV.”

  Beau starts up the coffee pot and Jessie’s not done with her day.

  “This afternoon we got three large deposits in two banks we own. We automatically alerted the IRS who sent their typical response via encrypted email to explain the money was clean. They were aware of the depositors. Came from legitimate sources, not laundered money.

  “Over $15 million from two companies – Vespa, LLC and Puntura, LLC. Took the rest of the afternoon using my private eye savvy with some help from cousin Dino LaStanza and retired NOPD Intelligence Officer Felicity Jones to trace them.

  “Both LLCs are owned by Alveare, LLC, a holding company. Sole proprietors Anna Maria and Donna Louisa Cavalcare of Miami, Florida. They’re daughters of Joseph ‘Ox’ Cavalcare, Boss of Miami’s La Cosa Nostra family.”

  “Damn. Why are the Cavalcares depositing money in Louisiana banks?”

  Jessie shrugs.

  “Hey,” goes Stefi, “Isn’t Vespa a car?”

  “Italian motor scooter,” Jessie says. “Vespa means wasp in Italian. Puntura means sting and Alvare means beehive.”

  Jessie folds her arms and the look in her eyes makes him go, “What?”

  “The third deposit came from a Mississippi Bank. Personal account of L.G. Incanto.”

  Beau narrows his left eye. “Lucy Gabriella Incanto?”

  “A $2 million deposit. Did a little checking and Gatto, LLC has $34 million in our three Louisiana banks. According to Dino and Fel Jones, Gatto, LLC is the Cataldo Family. Gatto means ‘cat’ in Italian and when Nick was a capo, he was Nick ‘The Cat’.

  Beau smiles. “So, you guys are mob banks.”

  “They have to put their legitimate money somewhere, receipts from restaurants, hotels, rentals of property. La Cosa Nostra is slowly going legitimate, reporting it all to IRS.

  “Why don’t they put their money in off-shore banks? Grand Cayman. Switzerland.”

  “That’s where the illegal funds go and that’s where the IRS focuses their efforts. So, what’s this Lucy Incanto’s eyes humping you?”

  “She’s a hussy.”

  Stefi cuts in with, “More than Jessie?”

  Jessie pulls Stefi’s hair and the girl sticks out her tongue and Beau wonders what the hell that family was like when they were all little.

  He tells Jessie, “Lucy told me she was a hussy, a wanton woman, a wench. Said she sleeps around.”

  “Maybe she was in town to hump Nick Cataldo,” Jessie says.

  Beau shakes his head. “That was a sit-down interrupted by an armed robber with the IQ of an earthworm.”

  LATER, AFTER STEFI goes upstairs to watch something better on the TV in her room, Stella jumps up on the back of the sofa where Jessie and Beau recline watching a Paul Newman movie about a sculptor, THE SILVER CHALICE, watching it because Jessie saw an interview with Newman where he described this movie as the worst he was in.

  Stella rubs her nose against Beau’s neck so he pulls her around to his lap where she can smooch with him, rubbing noses,
purring, getting reassurance he still loves her until she’s had enough and jumps down only to resettle on the back of the sofa.

  Beau likes the movie. Newman was a bit of a stiff in it but Jack Palance was good and creepy and Virginia Mayo a hot vamp. It isn’t until Beau gets a good close-up view of the pretty brunette and he goes, “Damn.”

  “Damn, what?”

  “She looks just like Lucy Incanto. I mean Lucy looks just like this girl. I mean identical.”

  “That’s Pier Angeli. Italian actress.”

  “Only Lucy’s got bigger boobs.”

  “You noticed that.”

  “Not really. Men never notice breast size.”

  She pokes him, says, “Pier Angeli was engaged to Kirk Douglas. She was engaged to James Dean but he wasn’t Catholic. She married Vic Damone, an Italian crooner like Dean Martin.”

  “You know all about her?”

  “Italian girls grow up knowing about her and Sofia Loren and Ana Magnani and Gina Lollobrigida and Claudia Cardinale and Virna Lisi, a blue-eyed blond from Northern Italy.”

  A thud sounds from upstairs and Beau waits for it. His iPhone tings – text message from Stefi. He reads the message, shows it to Jessie.

  JOHNNY! COME QUICK. BIG SPIDER ON WALL!

  They go back to the movie.

  Maybe 20 seconds goes by before – J. COME QUICK!

  “Just mute her.”

  Third message – J. HELPPPPPPP!!!!!

  Beau texts back – JOHNNY’S DEAD. YOU’RE NEXT. LOVE, THE BIGGER SPIDER DOWNSTAIRS!”

  A scream upstairs is followed by stomping down the stairs, followed by running feet and Stefi racing into the living room in T-shirt and panties. She carries her kitten and jumps on the sofa and pulls her legs up.

  “It’s huge. Tarantula or bigger.”

  Jessie, who had paused the movie, turns it back on.

  “I’m not kidding. It’s humongous.” Stefi bounces on the sofa, scoops up Stella who goes, “Roowllll. Roowllll. Roowllll.”

  Jessie to Beau – “Better go check.” She pauses the movie again.

  “Take your gun,” Stefi calls out.

  Beau goes out and Stefi asks Jessie, “Were y’all making out?”

  Jessie shakes her head, follows Beau up the stairs.

  The 6-inch spider stands on the left wall, about seven feet up.

  “Gonna need one of those big clear bowls.” Beau steps out. “Too big to squish. You’ll have to repaint the wall.”

  He hurries down to the kitchen.

  Stefi and Stella are at the bottom of the stairs. “Tarantula?”

  “Biggest one I’ve ever seen,” goes Beau.

  Stefi takes Stella upstairs, bounces when Beau returns. He steps in the room, stops.

  “Where did it go?”

  Stefi drops Stella.

  “Y’all weren’t watching?”

  Beau looks around, Jessie steps in to help. They look under the dresser, peek into the open closet. Under the bed comes a loud hiss.

  “Is that it?” Stefi bounces.

  The big spider scrambles out from under the bed, heading straight for Stefi who screeches. Stella comes out in a gray flash and slaps the spider, slaps it again and the spider rolls up and Stella slaps it with a left, a right, a left again, keeps swatting it as Beau steps up. She backs up and Beau flattens the big spider with his right foot.

  Stella hisses at Beau, sniffs the dead spider and stomps out of the bedroom.

  “Are there any more?” goes Stefi.

  “Doubt it,” says Beau. “It was probably lost. Tarantulas don’t live in houses. They are burrowers. Live in the ground.”

  Jessie goes downstairs for carpet cleaner.

  “Stella attacked it.”

  Beau nods. “Stella will hunt and kill any living creature in the house smaller than her. Except a kitten.”

  “Where is Scamp?”

  They find the kitten asleep on Beau and Jessie’s bed.

  Later – Stefi captures Stella again and closes the cat in her bedroom so she can sleep.

  BEAU WAKES SHORTLY after 3 a.m. again with the sound of leaves rustling outside, looks out the window at a bright night. Must be a full moon. He takes his magnum and iPhone, cracks open the door of Stefi’s room to let Stella out. He goes into the backyard, sits on the edge of the rear deck and sees the yard bathed in moonlight, looks up at the full moon. A freshening breeze rolls through the trees.

  “Good morning, Blue Swan,” he whispers.

  He thinks back to Paris, the man he killed with his obsidian knife because he could not bring a handgun into France. It was a close-quarter kill, through the man’s neck. He’d used the dead man’s gun to kill the man’s accomplice and Beau’s arms locked up again and he experienced his last episode of muscle lock. Even passed out. Had to go to a hospital. The doctors said it was psychosomatic, which Beau did not believe and with the months gone and not one frozen muscle, maybe the bloodletting was the cure.

  A scraping sound turns him to see a raccoon face peeking out from under the raised house.

  “Melbourne. You hungry?”

  He goes in and fills a bowl with a mix of Cocoa Puffs and dried cat food, brings it out and puts it in the grass next to the house. The coon rushes out and begins digging out the food and gobbling, grunting as it eats.

  The wind dies, the only sound is Melbourne crunching. The coon finishes and goes back under the house. Stillness was rare along the swamp of Beau’s childhood. When he was small and sat on the top of the outside stairs of his attic bedroom of the Cajun daubed house his great-grandfather built of cypress boards, its walls filled with swamp mud and moss to keep the house almost cool in summer and warm in winter – Beau would listen to the swamp, the buzzing of insects, the chirp of night birds, hooting owls, alligators bellowing, the high screech of a bobcat.

  The stillness of the backyard seems ominous and Beau’s senses sharpen, eyes peering into the night, ears searching for any sound, nose trying to smell any scent. Nothing. He stands and stretches, magnum in hand and looks around the backyard again, especially the darkest area behind the camellia bushes near the walled fence on the right. The hair rises on his arms and he waits but the quiet remains.

  He turns to go back in the house and sees Stella watching him inside the French doors. He goes in and she says, “Rowl? Rowl?”

  She rubs against his leg and follows him back up to the bedroom and the wide bed. She settles on the foot of the bed as Beau looks over at the Nude in Red painting at the fine lines of Jessie’s body, the long hair, the full lips. His eyes move to the wampum belt and the shells have picked up the moonlight and seem to shine.

  He stretches out next to Jessie who moves her smooth legs against his and lets out a sigh.

  It is a good night be alive.

  Even if there is an ominous feeling in Beau’s heart.

  JUANITA BRINGS HER afternoon coffee into the conference room, tells Beau, “No new 56S, no emails to the archdiocese or any churches.” She has her hair pinned up on the right side with a gold barrette, lipstick as bright red as ever and wears a pale-yellow blouse untucked over a dark green skirt.

  Jordan raises his coffee to her. “Can’t wait to see you climb in and outta the SUV in that tight skirt.”

  Beau, sitting at the head of the table ignores their latest sparring. He sees Juanita pretending she’s offended as she sits across the table from Jordan.

  “It’s impolite to peek up women’s skirts,” she tells Jordan.

  “Who said that?”

  “I say that.”

  “I’m not a priest. You have nice legs and I like seeing your panties.”

  “Like Jessie’s and I saw you peeking at Stefi’s too and she’s a juvenile.”

  Beau closes his eyes but this won’t go away.

  “Well, shoot me,” Jordan says. “Women are beautiful. Got a problem with that, take it to the big man upstairs. He gave us penises and gave you boobs and asses and legs and … I won’t say anything about th
e other thing because I’ll sound like a pussy-hound.”

  Beau opens his eyes to see Juanita’s pen bounce off Jordan’s shoulder.

  “Pussy-hound?”

  “Oh. I said that out loud. Sorry.”

  They both look at Beau.

  “You wanna chime in on this?” – Juanita.

  “You sound like fifth-graders with crushes on one another.”

  He shakes his head, remembers and says, “First time I spotted Jessie she was crossing Magazine Street in a flyaway minidress and the wind blew it up showing her cute white panties and what made my heart race was the fact she didn’t brush down her skirt. She just kept walking like a sexy cat and I’ve been hooked ever since.”

  He turns to Juanita. “It’s visual with men.”

  He turns to Jordan. “She knows it. Women are too wily not to know everything we’re thinking when it comes to them.”

  Juanita goes, “Wish that were true.”

  “You underestimate yourself.”

  To Jordan now, “You said something about a German girl. Gonna look up what she calls herself. Flit-something.”

  Jordan puts a finger over his lips, nods toward Juanita.

  “Shush.”

  She looks at Beau and looks back at Jordan who puts a hand next to his mouth to tell Beau, “Flittchen. It means hussy. She’s a hussy.” He looks at Juanita. “I will have nothing more to do with her.”

  Juanita takes a hit of coffee, dark eyes lasered at Jordan.

  “Like a schoolyard crush,” Beau says.

  He takes a hit of coffee and Maneater starts up on his iPhone. Jessie calling.

  “Hey, Babe. I’m being followed.”

  Beau looks at the wall clock – 4:25 p.m.

  “Two big men with dark hair in a black Escalade.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Saint Charles and Melpomene. Thought I’d take them through the Quarter.”

  “Put your phone on speaker. We’re on our way.”

  “It’s on speaker.”