Chapter 15: Where Have All the Flowers Gone...

Chase personally selected the ‘bodyguards’ for Ji Li Chi’ng. Rather than big, burly men, he went for the Secret Service look. Slender, fit, in their 30s. Earpieces and a shoulder mic. Black, single-breasted suits with white button-down shirts and muted ties.

Chase interviewed several applicants, and decided to contract with two cousins whose grandparents had been born in Nanping, in northwestern Fujian Province. Each spoke a Mandarin dialect known as Tuguanhua. Chase told them, “Use it only when Nelson and Drake are nearby. They speak only a spattering of Mandarin, so use short, cryptic phrases.”

The bodyguards, like the three women who would drop bits of gossip about Ji Li Chi’ng, were background players, simply adding incremental building blocks to the legend — the Pretender to the Throne, Jia Li Chi’ng.

It was seven in the morning, and Eulalie was pouring coffee for Chase. She looked at an incoming Message and muttered, “Oh fuck.”

“What is it?”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

“Talk to me.”

“Marie had two blocks of houses in the South Side painted. Real bright, cheerful colors.”

“Marie’s Mamas. I read about that when Lacy and I researched Sausalito.”

“They’re all rentals owned by some big company up in Jackson.” She looked at a video clip that had just come in, “Oh fuck. Fuck me.”

Chase said, “The Curtis Company,” but Eulalie was lost in the blizzard of incoming messages. He looked over her shoulder: a bulldozer had razed the first shotgun shack at the end of the block.

Eulalie was sputtering, “They’re going to tear everything down! Build ghetto apartments! And Marie’s up in fucking Kansas City at some fucking conference.”

Chase took her by the shoulders, “Listen very carefully, Eulalie. Do exactly as I tell you.”

The group gathered at Ethan’s ranch. Ethan, Logan, Lacy, Bull. And Paul Citron, who was just coming around. Lacy had said, “Strip him. It’s a cliché, but it usually works. They feel more vulnerable naked.”

A few moments later, Lacy appraised the naked man frankly, “He keeps in good shape, must work out on a regular basis.”

When Citron was fully awake, Lacy pulled on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. She reached down and grasped his balls firmly, “Whether you keep these depends on your full cooperation.”

He nodded hesitantly. Then, as she began squeezing, he bobbed his head up and down faster and faster. His eyes were swimming pools, but he wasn’t crying. It was more like he’d been punched in the nose.

Ethan, Logan, and Bull managed to keep a straight face.

Logan took Bull aside, “I didn’t take a shot at Apache. Probably couldn’t have hit him anyway.”

“Yeah, moving that fast on that Kawasaki. It would have been more luck than anything.”

Ethan said, “Plus Apache doesn’t know you were even there.”

Bull nodded, “And that’s a good thing.”

They returned to the living room. Citron moaned, Lacy squeezed harder, and grinned, “Payback.”

Eulalie’s first call was to the editor of the Sausalito Chronicle, Shannon Trudeau. Who hadn’t yet heard about the assault on the South Side homes.

Shannon, her radio-station newsreader for WZYD, and the freelance cameraman she contracted with to feed favorable footage to a Jackson TV station, raced to the scene.

Chase and Eulalie were heading for the City Docks, Eulalie frantically calling Rémy, “Meet me at Division Street. Send one of the Dobermans to the morgue. And send the other one to the Docks to give me a ride.”

Chase nodded in approval, and Eulalie dialed, “Hello Miss Rosie. Yes, I heard — I’m on the way. Is Buford still there? Good, don’t send him to school; I need him to help me stop these fuckers. Excuse my language, Miss Rosie.”

YesBut Nelson used his siren and flashing lights all the way to the South Side. Rémy’s police cruiser was already blocking the bulldozer in front. With another cop car parked directly behind it.

The house that had been razed looked like a war zone. Furniture, clothes, dishes, had been demolished along with the structure. The Washington family — grandmother, mother, two aunts, three children — were shellshocked, tears streaming silently down their faces.

Grandma Reba Mae was stoic. She’d seen a lot in her 76 years on earth.

WZYD was doing a live play-by-play in French and English as the Curtis Company supervisor, red-faced, was waving a demolition permit and shouting at Rémy, “We posted eviction notices in the Clarion Ledger!”

Dozens of residents — many still in robes and pajamas — stood in anxious groups watching white people argue.

Chase, dressed in a three-piece blue-striped seersucker suit with a paisley foulard, reached for the one-page permit. He shook his head dismissively, “It’s issued in Hinds County. Not valid in Sausalito County.”

The supervisor, a tall and ruddily handsome man named Christopher ‘call-me-Chris’ Johnson sputtered, “We always use Judge Hereford.” He blinked, “I represent the Curtis Company, the largest developer in southern Mississippi.”

Chase smiled at the videographer, and turned back to Johnson, “Good. You’ll be able to hire a raft of attorneys to fight the charges. Destruction of residential property without a lawful permit, destruction of residential property without notice and while occupied, racial intimidation, and formal charges of psychological terrorism against a minority population.”

Making it up as he went along, Chase looked and sounded like he was arguing before the Supreme Court. When he finished speaking, he muttered to himself, “And, scene.”

Eulalie somehow understood what he meant. His part in the neighborhood drama was finished.

She had her arm around an African-American boy who was eight or nine, but looked confident, even borderline cocky. He was carrying something made of heavy black plastic in his skinny arms.

Eulalie stood back and Buford Washington marched up to the supervisor from the capital city. With the video camera rolling, he dropped the bundle at Chris Johnson’s feet, “We got more body bags coming. How many of us Black people you planning to kill, sir?”

Out of the mouths of babes.

Rémy didn’t show it, but Eulalie could tell he was furious. He nodded at YesBut, “Have your guys move the bulldozer back onto the flatbed and park them in the impound yard.”

The heavy equipment operator, a tall, skinny gink with a huge Adam’s apple yelled, “Hey, you can’t do that!” He was wearing a Blue Lives Matter cap. His name was Deke Slade and he was a regular at Miss Kitty’s.

The supervisor, Chris Johnson joined in, “That’s Curtis Company property. Private property.”

Rémy, several inches shorter than Johnson, strode toward him, something unreadable in his face. Johnson involuntarily took a step back, then another. In a moment, his butt was pressed against the door of a squad car.

Rémy spoke softly to TooTall, “Book him. The dozer operator too.”

TooTall nodded at Corporal Erwin Johnson, a hefty Black man who looked soft, but wasn’t. Johnson touched Deke Slade on the elbow. Bulldozer Boy jerked away and snarled, “Hands, off, nigger.”

Apparently some blue lives mattered more than others.

In a flash, Slade was slammed face-first into the rear door of the police car. Eulalie winced; Chase watched impassively.

Then both men were in the back of the cruiser, flabbergasted, staring at the wire mesh separating them from the front seat. TooTall didn’t bother asking Rémy what the charges would be. They’d figure that out after the Curtis Company personnel were behind bars and had had time to think about their transgressions.

Rémy turned to Sergeant Mosby, “Take the Washingtons to the Cajun Arms. Use unmarked cars. Give Miss Reba Mae an envelope from the Widows and Orphans fund.”

Mosby nodded.

Rémy said, “A fat envelope. More than enough to tide them over until Marie gets back and sues the Curtis Company for ... damages and whatever else she can think of.”

Sausalito takes care of its own.

Chase smiled at Eulalie, “Take me to breakfast.”

“Contrary Mary’s?”

“Fine.”

As they rode in the back of YesBut’s cruiser, the teenager reached under her sleeveless tee and took off the lacy bra she’d donned for their South Side adventure. She tossed it into the front seat and the veteran cop just shook his head.

While they were walking up the front steps, Chase sensed what she wanted, and placed his left arm over her shoulders. She reached up and held his index finger — a cheerleader wearing the quarterback’s letter jacket and showing off their relationship to the school.

Eulalie led the way back to the last booth on the left, which seemed to be on permanent reserve for the Guidry sisters and Chief Thibodeaux. She slid in, facing the front door, and Chase sat beside her.

He clocked the joint in an instant snapshot. Three waitresses — all young Cajun girls — a half-full room, not bad for breakfast cheeseburgers, and a relaxed atmosphere. Yvette Landry on the juke; the waitresses more interested in bantering and flirting than efficiency.

Eulalie’s top was another one with enormous armholes; she made sure her left nipple was visible as she leaned forward. Like a she-wolf marking her territory, she was announcing that she was not only fucking the distinguished gentleman, she was proud of it.

Chase took a bite, “Delicious.”

“They get that cheese all the way from New Zealand.” Eulalie frowned, “They wrap in some kind of weird paper.”

“Beeswax. Cheese needs to breathe, just like wine.” He lifted the top bun and sniffed, “Beeswax and organic cotton and, probably, jojoba oil.”

Eulalie thought: The things I don’t know.

One of the waitresses, another young Cajun girl, came shyly up to their booth, “Miss Eulalie?”

Eulalie smiled, “Yes?”

“Kin I ask something?”

“Of course.”

She turned to Chase, “Are you somebody? Sir?”

Chase smiled too, “Yes, I am. And so are you. What is your name, dear?”

“Anna Marie? Anna Marie Robicheaux?”

“Lovely name for a lovely girl. Tell me, what is your biggest dream? If you could do anything in the world.”

Eulalie watched, fascinated, as Chase drew the girl out, charmed her effortlessly. Anna Marie grew more animated, gesticulated happily, talked on and on about herself. Chase encouraged her, guided her, with the simplest of gestures — a raised eyebrow, a slight tilt of the head, a hint of a smile.

It was like watching a border collie herding in the field.

Back in bed after the South Side checkmate, Chase studied Eulalie. She was resting comfortably, hand around his cock, a small smile on her face.

“You did good, kid.”

“Your idea.”

“Yes, but you executed under pressure. Did everything that needed to be done.”

“Well, Rémy helped. And Shannon.”

“Pay attention to that woman, Eulalie. She has her eye on you.”

“Me? But she and Marie...”

“Marie is moving on — giving you more and more responsibility. And believe me, that editor looked hungry.”

Eulalie grinned, “Hmm, Shannon Trudeau. I could do worse.”

Chase liked how the teenager was able to put the South Side triumph, temporary as it might turn out to be, aside. And turn her focus to the next project.

This little girl was going places.

When Marie returned to town, she should be able to delay the demolition indefinitely. And Chase would give her a couple of pointers on how to play the inevitable court appearance to her political benefit. Not that she needed more neighborhood votes; the South Side voters had gone for Marie Guidry by 92% to 8% the one time she had a political opponent.

Jolene went back to shower around 4, then headed to Gigi’s, as instructed. Gigi opened the door wearing only a towel. Raymond said, “Hi, Miss Jolene.”

She was one of his favorites. Always friendly, sometimes flirty. And, he’d gotten to see her boobs when she changed tops during the photo session.

“Hi Raymond, how’s it hanging?”

“Jess fine, thank you ma’am.”

Gigi said, “Well, come on back, babe.” She winked at her son, “I’m gonna teach Jolene here how to eat pussy. So she can start working Ladies Night.”

Gigi grinned, stripped off her towel, and tossed it to Raymond, “Laundry.”

He and Jolene stared as she butt-twitched her way back toward the bedroom. Jolene sighed, “She is one sexy mama.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Raymond’s face had turned red, his mouth agape.

Jolene thought: Here I been worried about T-Joe catching a glimpse of nipple and bam! — Gigi goes stark fucking naked. Maybe they’re nudists at home and this is just...

She looked at Raymond — he was still staring at his mother and rubbing his bulge without being aware of it. Nor of Jolene’s presence. She tapped him on the shoulder, “See you, honey. Got to go learn how to eat pussy.”

Jolene wasn’t even slightly embarrassed. Miss Kitty’s was the best job she’d ever had. And she’d do whatever it took — including licking pussy — to keep the boss happy. Going down on another girl? Well, not since middle school. And that had been more giggling than sex at Sally Mae’s slumber party on her 15th birthday.

Now, Jolene just felt fortunate her best friend was willing to instruct her.

Raymond continued to rub himself.

She joined Gigi and quickly undressed. Gigi smiled, “Does Tee-Joe know you’re gonna be working the pole on Ladies Night?”

Sigh. “No, but he’ll find out. Ain’t no secrets, Sausalito.”

And ‘working the pole’ was shorthand for sucking cocks in the BJ Room. Ain’t no secrets, Sausalito.

Lacy Danube looked at Paul Citron. Logan and Ethan had taped his wrists to a wooden chair, but that was just an extra precaution. He wouldn’t be going anywhere, not anytime soon. The naked man was slumped in defeat.

Citron suddenly blinked, recognizing Lacy as the old woman named Helen Ferguson. “You!”

“Yes, me. You caused me a lot of trouble; owe me a lot of money. But we’ll get to the details soon. Logan.”

Logan squatted down to be at eye level, “Where can I find Quintin Apache?”

Again, Citron looked surprised. How the fuck did they know about Apache?

“All I have is a cell phone number. Probably a burner, probably tossed by now.”

“Let’s start there.”

Bull Hempstead, the gear-head, was impressed with Ethan’s walking stick/weapon. He studied the coiled spring action, the new dart that replaced the used one, and nodded in satisfaction.

Ethan said, “I had a master craftsman add the function back when Citron began making noises. My grandfather had already had the flask installed — this was just a variation on a theme.”

Bull grinned, “Hiding in plain sight all along. You carry that stick everywhere you go; Citron probably didn’t think any more of it than he did the shoes you were wearing.”

Gigi told Jolene, “Them ladies like a little foreplay. So kiss them, neck with them first.”

Jolene nodded, “Okay.”

“Some of them just want you to use your hands.” She grinned, “You already know how to do that. Me and you, about a million times back in John Lee.”

Jolene grinned back, “Yes ma’am.”

“So we’ll skip all that ... no, wait, smooch with me for a while.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Jolene stood on tiptoes as the two nude women embraced each other.

Better to answer the question before it was asked. Far better.

Lacy Danube placed a call to Conrad Willoughby at Celebrity Hotels in Boston, “Frankfurt Re’s senior VP for risk management will be in New York on Tuesday. I think I can prevail upon him to stop in Boston on his way back if you can assemble the key players to meet with him.”

“I was beginning to wonder why I hadn’t heard directly from anyone from Frankfurt.”

“Herr König doesn’t usually meet with clients. He leaves that to staff. How is ten o’clock Wednesday morning?”

One unanticipated byproduct of Ladies Night was a sudden increase in weekend slumber parties. A lot of 9th-grade girls, but some Sausalito High sophomores and juniors as well, started sleeping over.

There was some concern among a few of the John Lee Hooker mothers; they knew the new craze hadn’t just popped up for no reason. Ladies Night had been the talk of the town for a couple of weeks.

Pamela Rosen, speaking only for the minority, looked at the other two moms and said, “Grown women ... that’s one thing. But my Pam-Pam is only 14.”

Annabelle Peters shrugged, “So keep her home.”

Carmen Rodriguez snorted, “Like that’ll stop her.”

Annabelle nodded, “Honey, our girls are ... they’re at the age where they’re gonna experiment. Better at one of our homes over the weekend than in some stranger’s basement after school.”

Carmen, “With high school boys cheering them on.”

Pamela folded her arms, “You think our girls will really ... you know?”

Carmen said, “I’d rather have them fooling around with each other than getting knocked up.”

Pamela shook her head, “When she asked me about swallowing, I almost fainted. Now this. She is so young.”

Annabelle gave her a sympathetic smile, “Well, 14 isn’t what it was ten years ago.”

Carmen said, “Hell, everyone swallows, you know that Pamela.”

Duh.

Annabelle added, “And once Kate started that Ladies Night ... well, monkey see, monkey do.”

Carmen said, “Just chill, Pamela. Our girls are gonna do what they’re gonna do. It’s probably just a phase they’ll grow out of.”

Among the few instructions that Marie gave to Eulalie was, “Keep your eye out for young stuff.”

“For the City Council?”

“For them and a few others. It seems like the demand grows stronger every year.”

“Boys and girls?”

“Now, what do you think?”

Gigi told Jolene, “Okay, break time, babe.”

Jolene moved her head up from between two shapely thighs and grinned, “Okay.”

“You didn’t need to be reminded, my clit. You got me off right smart.”

Another grin.

A few moments later, Jolene frowned, “Gigi?”