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“The bible does not say, thou shalt not go to a bar and talk to single men, Jude. Live a little. Or we’ll be admitting you to your own private room here, someday.” Stack of papers in hand, the secretary saunters off toward the copier machine over at the opposite wall.
“She’s right, you know.” Quirking a brow, I push off the counter. “A little bad can be good for the soul.”
Jude rolls her eyes and nods her head toward the room behind me. “How’s she doing today? Haven’t been in to see her yet.”
“Same as always. No better, no worse.”
“She appreciates this, Thierry. Don’t ever doubt that.” She’s the only person to whom I’ve given my real name. To everyone else in the place, including the nurse I occasionally fuck, I’m Mr. B, which stands for a completely different last name on the intake papers. “May not seem like it, but your presence makes a difference.”
“I’d like to think so.”
“Well, I know you’re a very busy man, so I won’t keep you.” The other thing I like about Jude: she doesn’t expect lengthy conversation out of me. Probably from working in a place where half the patients don’t talk much, or ramble on incoherently when they do. “Don’t you worry about your sister. She’s in good hands. Besides, taking care of her means we get to see that pretty face of yours, so I can assure you, she will not go neglected.”
“Thanks. You take care. And stay out of trouble.”
“Never,” she says.
* * *
“What’s the deal with Marcelle?” Kicked back in the office chair, I stare across my desk to Brie, the girl I hired to manage the day-to-day of Saints and Sinners.
Having just turned twenty-one, she’s a little on the young side for this kind of venue, but that’s what makes her perfect for the job. She doesn’t ask a lot of questions, and she gets shit done, which allows me to focus on bringing in new money, more money.
Unlike most times, when she answers like a robot, the girl shifts in her chair, clearly troubled by the question. “I don’t know, Mr. Bergeron.”
“Three times in two weeks, she’s called in sick. Do I need to replace her?”
“No. Please. We need the money. I’ll talk to her, okay?”
I don’t particularly like meddling in the affairs of siblings, but Marcelle is one of our best dancers, and her absences certainly haven’t gone unnoticed, particularly by her regulars. High paying regulars.
A bit older than Brie, she doesn’t quite have her shit together as much, with a son she raises by herself, and a drug problem that gets her in trouble with me from time to time. But she’s a damn good entertainer, with a specialty in acrobatics, and as I understand, she had aspirations for Vegas, at one time. I believe she could’ve made it, too, if not for some stupid decisions along the way. We attended the same high school as kids, albeit different crowds, so I can certainly attest to her change throughout the years. Back then, she was the quiet book nerd. I was captain of the football team. That life is so far from where I am now, though, I don’t much remember the details of it anymore. Nor do I care.
“Seems to be happening more frequently in recent months.”
“I know. Her son’s daddy just got released from prison. She’s been edgy. I mean, she’s been that way for almost ten years, since Mamere passed, but more so in the last couple months, like you said.”
I remember hearing about her grandmother’s death. Was all over the papers for a while, part of a murder case that swept through the parish. The Magnolia Lane Murder, they called it. She apparently worked in some capacity for a well-to-do shrink. Maybe a housekeeper, or secretary. I can’t remember the exact job. From what little I recall, some cult broke into the old Charpentier House, where the shrink lived, and supposedly brutalized him. Authorities found blood spattered everywhere, along with what remained of his body, after a few of his organs had been removed. When Brie’s grandmother showed up for work the next morning, the members were still there and attacked her, as well. Footage of a young girl was seen on security cameras, too, but search parties never found any trace of her.
The motive remained a complete mystery, seeing as the place didn’t appear to be vandalized. The nature and brutality of the crime suggested possible revenge for something and, given the religious artifacts left behind, had a dark ritual element, but as far as I know, that was never confirmed.
“I expect you’ll keep me apprised of the situation. I want to know by tomorrow if she’s coming back, or if you’ll have to start looking for new talent.”
Head bowed, she nods. “Yes, Mr. Bergeron.” For as bold and brazen as she can be with the other staff members, not taking anyone’s shit, the girl always seems to have a hard time looking me in the eye.
“And one more thing. I find any of these dancers out back again, it’ll be your ass on the line.”
Closing her eyes, she huffs and shakes her head. “I tell them … but they--”
“Tell them they’ll answer to me next time.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Bergeron. I won’t let it happen again on my watch.”
“I’ll expect not.” The way she hangs her head reminds me of a puppy dog, sad for having disappointed its master. It’s not that I want my staff to fear my disappointment. I simply want them to respect my rules. For their own protection, really, because if things go to hell, I’m not the only one the devil will come to collect. “How is school?” In addition to managing the club, Brie also takes part time classes toward some dream of hers. A fact I only know because she included it on her application when she applied to become a manager here. Considering half this town aspires to something they never bother to pursue, I give her credit for trying.
This question seems to brighten the somber look on her face. “It’s good. Real good.”
“Très bien.” Very good. Sometimes, I throw the occasional Valir around her, mostly because she expects it, knowing my family. It’s when I travel outside of Louisiana that I force myself to tamp that part of me away, for the sake of anonymity when tasked with blowing someone’s brains out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my work.”
