Stave I

Jay Stone, Ronnie Ray, and Phil Juniper are on their way to meet with Ronnie's cousin, JeanLuc. The three young men had, just nights before robbed the apartment on one of Mama Lebatt.

The headlights of Ronnie Ray’s jet black Buick enveloped the already brightly lit Night Owl Tavern.  They died with the ignition, leaving him and his two companions in darkness. Apart from the electric neon patches that reflected off of the slick pavement.  Everything had been perpetually drenched since the hurricane hit eight months prior.

 

Inhabitants were fleeing the city left and right. Yet Ronnie Ray, Jay Stone, and Phillip Juniper had all relocated to New Orleans because of Katrina. Took on jobs as relief construction workers.  Where they became fast companions. Finding common ground.

 

They had each moved there to leave behind the long arm of the law. This comradery had proven fruitful. Through Ronnie they were granted opportunities.  Opportunities to make far more money, for far less charitable deeds.

 

Ronnie opened the door to the bar room that, in his youth seemed so alive and extravagent.  Now a sad shadow of what it had once been. All three men were keen to avoid the other patrons.  A dozen or so, hard at work drowning their sorrows.

 

Jay and Phil had never seen the place in its forgotten grandeur.  JeanLuc's swanky office was the only remaining luxuriance. But swanky was a gross understatement.  It was like a room designed by a James Bond villain.

 

Regardless, they both wished they had a better base of operations.  Brief though it always was, the trip through the bar was always unpleasant.  It had an overpowering stink of stale beer from the unwashed floor. A reality check that reminded them exactly where they lived.

 

They held their collective breath, eyes to the floor.  Proceeding to the sanctuary of the back room. Where JeanLuc was sitting in a wheeled office chair filling out delivery orders.  He wore a wine-colored velvet suit with a bolo tie and white cowboy boots kicked up on the desk. The sheets on a clip board in his lap.  In front of him sticking out Ike a sore thumb was a pink rotary telephone.

 

Once the door closed there was an instant shift in ambiance.  All they could hear in the soundproofed room was the clinking of ice inside JeanLuc’s whiskey tumbler.  Along with Earl Bostic spinning softly on the record player next to his desk. Which held a giant and distinguished hour glass. Just about to empty its final grain of sand.

 

His eyes were watery and glazed.  Making it impossible to gage his sobriety or sincerity in any circumstance.  This was what garnered him such an uneasy respect. Jay and Phil learned this upon first meeting him.  And both instantly understood his ample wealth.

 

“Bonjour, boys! Have yourselves a seat. Can I get y’all a little something to drink?” Boomed the cunning and courteous Cajun.  He rose to greet them; the ice in his drink clashing violently against the ridged crystal glass.

 

“Thanks, cuz. But, if it’s all the same we’d rather talk turkey first.” Ronnie Ray said bluntly.  Attempting to mimic his older cousin's cool, unreadable demeanor.

 

Jean simply smiled, “sometimes I forget you’re kin, Ronnie boy.  Of course, no need for talk, here’s the turkey mon ami.” He opened a drawer in the middle of his desk, and threw out three hefty envelopes.  Before he closed it Jay and Phil uneasily noticed a Colt .45 with a pearl handle.

 

All but Ronnie snatched them up gratefully. He peeked inside and reluctantly pocketed his before nodding at the other two to sit.  Jay helped the limping Phillip to his seat. He handed him the whiskey. And the two attempted to relax as the cousins gabbed away. They drifted in and out of the conversation until their ears pricked up upon being mentioned.

 

“Jason, Phillip that was some nice work you boys did for me the other night. Especially Philly” he pointed at Phil and shook his fist in respect and solidarity. “You’re a real ace, kid. Y’all officially been bumped up to my A-Team.” He lifted his tinkling glass to them. And all three returned the gesture mechanically.

 

The next several moments passed in complete silence apart from the record player. Which had reached its final groove and spun on incessantly. Allowing the smothered sounds from the bar to softly penetrate the walls. The permeating sound was faint.  But enough to revert each mind to its personal troubles.

 

Ronnie Ray cheerfully broke the silence “it was all thanks to your info, good cousin. Those dirt worshippers would’ve been caught with their pants down if they had a pair.” He chuckled, viciously.

 

JeanLuc giggled too.  He was standing under his prized impressionist portrait of Lee Van Cleef.  Now at the bar in the corner by the record player. Openned the top cabinet and filled it again with whiskey and two handfuls of ice.  Then attended to the record player. He flipped up the Earl and switched to The Viscount’s Harlem Nocturne record.

 

With his new, louder drink in hand Jean sauntered back to his seat.  “Those voodoo b*****s are more dangerous than they look. But you sure as s**t made a statement."  He looked pensively into his glass and continued. "That’ll go a long way around here right now. With every Tom, Dick and Jane trying to be a Cajun Cowboy after we went under water.”

 

Ronnie Ray was about to spit out some self congratulating reassurances.  "We-"

 

But JeanLuc nipped this in the bud, “I wouldn’t put it past those old bags to try and come back to hurt on the four of us.  And bad, boys. Cause you most certainly left an impression.”

 

All three sat in contemplation at this. The fear, coupled with horror at the memory of that lifeless kid they’d left behind. Jay saw it most vivid of all.  Seeing as he was the one to pull the trigger. He couldn't bring himself to look at the obituary. Although a morbid part of him undoubtedly wanted to.

 

“No worries on our end, Jean. If they have a problem with how we robbed them they can join their limp dick muscle in a casket.  Always room for more bums at Odd Fellows.” Ronnie Ray responded, stretching out to reveal the gun on his hip.

 

Jean rolled his eyes.  He wished his cousin was smart enough to realize he'd been interrupted for a reason.  “That won’t be cuttin’ it by half, Ronnie. Not if even one of them stories I heard about them hags is true.”

 

Jason and Phillip couldn’t help but shudder.  It was like he was telling some plausible campfire story.  They looked to Ronnie Ray, who was readjusting his shirt. “I know Jean. My mom scared me with the same horse s**t to try and keep me away from The Quarter.  We ain’t taking nothing lightly, trust me. But we didn’t pull a hit and run. Like you said we shoved a statement down their stinking throats." He kicked his own feet up onto the desk adjacent to JeanLuc's boots.

 

Ronnie reclined in the seat and lit up a cigarette.  Probably to punctuate the rest of his tough guy speech.  "We left their boy lying in a pool full of s**t. And they didn’t try any gree gree hocus pocus.  They jumped in said pool and cried over it like he was old f****n’ yeller. While we calmly exited.  With all their liquid cash in hand.”

 

Jean non-chaulantly motioned with his hand for Ronnie to move his feet.   And he waited for his cousin to oblige him before he responded. “Steady, young buck.  Talk your way into a jail cell thinkin' like that, Ronnie. You and your friends. Just keep an eye over your shoulder. And grow one in the back of your head while you’re at it.  You two especially,” he held out his pinky and forefinger pointing at Phil and Jay “don’t let my kin here get you too riled up.”

 

They shifted their collected glance toward Ronnie who was staring daggers at them.  Cigatette filter crushed between his tense jaw, and smoke billowing from each side of his mouth. “They’re f****n’ fine Jean.  And they’re gonna stay that way because of f****n’ me.”

 

JeanLuc chuckled dryly “seems to me old Philly is a little worse for wear.” He said, staring at the cast on Phil’s leg.

 

“Like I just said, he’s fine.  Just an amateur not paying attention.” Ronnie's dangerous gaze was now directed solely at Phil's leg.  Seething with rage toward the gunshot wound. But not Phil himself.

 

Phil uneasily spoke up.  “He’s right, Jean. I wasn’t thinking enough to check the other room. Anyway, thing went through and through. Even got into work the next day, shoved some rebar in the tip. Now they’re gonna put me on workman’s comp on top of all this. Perks from the job and a couple percs from the Doctors. Trust me I’m coming out on top.” He said, genuinely excited patting the fat envelope.

 

“Good thinkin’, Philly that’s why I like you boys so much.  We cut from the same cloth. All of us. No matter how bad we get hurt.  We're always hungry enough to take. Smart enough to get away with it. And this is the time and place to thrive as ourselves, gentlemen.”

 

He held up his drink to them.  Then slid the hour glass on his desk closer.  And began to unscrew the top. Which as it turned out served as a covert tray.  The sand inside was cocaine. JeanLuc pinched a good chunk out in front of him and winked at them. “Time gets shorter and shorter with each passing day, friends. Better to suck it dry before it does the same to you.” He leaned over and took a hearty snort off of the tray.

 

“Good then, if that’s all for tonight; I think I might close up early.  These bums throw me enough money every night. Gotta finish these bullshit order forms.  I wanna finally unwrap my Sin City DVD.” He looked into the distance for a moment before regaining his senses.  And pushed the tray toward the three of them.

 

“I thought you’d never ask!” Ronnie rushed to the table.  He stubbed the butt in Jean's crystal ashtray. Then pulled out a hundred dollar bill from his envelope before coiling it up and digging in.

 

After he finished up Ronnie reared his head back, pupils dilated and jaw clenched.  Phil decided to take a turn. He didn't like to impose. But since there was a decent mound left on the tray. “Thanks for the party favors Jean!”  

 

He slid over on the chair, holding his leg gingerly. Then he too rolled up one of the hudreds from his envelope and inhaled.  And let out a little cough when the industrial smell and taste mixed in his sinuses. After a second he looked up. Eyes also dilated and jaw perhaps more clenched than Ronnie’s. “Have you checked out Sin City yet?”

 

“No, but its why I broke this out,” he pointed at the tray.  His pensive stare darted to Jay “you want some, shooter? Too much to enjoy alone. Have at it.  Like I said gotta celebrate these achievements. And just cause I ain't speakin' to it don't mean your capabilities have gone unnoticed, Jay.”

 

Jay didn't like like what Jean was saying one bit.  Especially the nickname he'd been given. He truly didn't want any.  But there really was a lot, and maybe if he indulged they could once more sit in silence.  Now all eyes dilated and jaws clenched. All four were lost in the ether of their intoxication.

 

“Hey, Jean we gotta split. We’ll be back Tuesday about that other thing.  And we'll call you if we notice any signs of curses. Thanks for the booger sugar, cuz.” Ronnie leaned over for a one armed hug.

 

“No problem, see you then."  He smiled at Jay and Phil "you two take care of this one. I don’t need my A-Team blowing their whole wad by next week.  Especially on booger sugar.” He said these last words with emphasis as he glared at Ronnie.

 

Jason and Phillip awkwardly waved at JeanLuc as Ronnie stormed out of the room. They slowly followed. Both of them didn't want to witness Ronnie's frustrated wrath.  But it would inevitably come when the car doors were shut once again.