Chapter 3: So Darling, Save the Last Dance for Me...

Shortly after earning her law degree, Marie Guidry moved back deep into the Cajun Bayous where she’d grown up. Rémy followed suit. Both of their weathered houses could be reached only by Jon boat and both were built on sturdy piers.

The bayous south of Sausalito seemed almost timeless, even as hurricanes and erosion steadily gnawed away at the remaining land. The bayou residents, many of them going back five, six, seven, generations, retained their Cajun roots. They lived off the land and water — hunting, fishing, and trapping.

They were economically poor, but culturally rich. The Cajun music, food, and fierce community loyalty were so deeply ingrained, it sometimes felt like a country cut off from the rest of America.

There was only one commercial establishment — which everyone called the Bayou Bar and Bank. It wasn’t licensed, didn’t even have a sign. It was run, incongruously, by a large, strong Irish woman somewhere in her 50s. She never spoke to how a lass from Castlebar in western Ireland ended up in the remote bayou region of Mississippi.

It just happened. One day, a 260-pound woman named Sinéad Donahue started renovating an abandoned shotgun shack on stilts. A week later, word started spreading about an almost-smooth moonshine, which Sinéad called poteen. And there was also canned Dixie on ice. A dollar a shot, a dollar a beer.

Early on, Sinéad made one pronouncement that went over the heads of the younger crowd. But old-timers were still talking about it.

In her thick brogue, she said, “To be Irish is to know, that in the end, the world will break your heart.”

That quote was still being repeated, with the addition, “Cajun too.”

Over time, the regulars had self-divided into a couple of camps — the elderly and the too-young-to-drink legally.

The contingent of seniors — mostly men, but with a sprinkling of women, sat at rickety tables and played Bourré and dominoes for pennies. The clicking sounds grew louder and louder as the night progressed.

The younger set — about as many girls as boys — experienced the Bayou Bar and Bank as a rite of passage. They went through a binge-drinking stage; then most of them settled for sipping icy cold beer, getting a little tipsy, and sneaking off to make out.

The parents weren’t concerned about underage drinking so much as they were unplanned pregnancies. As Olivia Theriot told both her sons, “You don’ knock up that Madeline, mais non.” She made a scissors-snipping motion with her fingers.

There was rarely any trouble in the rundown shack — the Bayou Bar and Bank was seen as a refuge, the one place in the swamps south of town where you could just fucking relax. If an argument got too loud, too insulting, Sinéad Donahue would simply grab the combatants by the ears and march them out to the deck. And, casually pick them up and throw them over the rickety railing into the bayou.

The Bayou Bar never closed, which was fitting, as it had never officially opened. When Sinéad wasn’t there, a serve-yourself policy was in place. Go behind the bar — which was a warped plank balanced on two whiskey barrels — and leave a dollar or two in the old LUZIANNE Coffee & Chicory tin.

In addition, although she never announced it, Sinéad would make small loans to anyone who asked. Never more than a hundred dollars; in fact, most people needed only ten or fifteen dollars to get through whatever sudden emergency they were facing.

As with the self-service drinks, someone could help himself to a little cash when the proprietress wasn’t around. There wasn’t an application to fill out, a credit check, a promissory note. It was just the code of the Cajun Bayous — honest and open and imminently practical.

The city attorney and the chief usually met at Contrary Mary’s for a drink after work. They’d compare notes, share how their day had gone. About once every two or three weeks, she invited him to spend the night; but Rémy knew that tonight would not be one of those times. She didn’t show it, but she was annoyed at Logan Kelly’s caution.

Marie had already provided him with shorthand bios for Rémy and herself. She looked across the booth at Logan and asked again, “So, who needs to disappear?”

“A minor politician turned consultant. Would you be willing to travel to DC to meet with him? And discuss the ... details?”

“Consultant? What does that mean, lobbyist?”

“He isn’t registered as one. And doesn’t work for a lobbying firm. In any case, he isn’t required to register as a lobbyist, and, in fact, hasn’t. He ... facilitates introductions between people who might benefit from knowing each other.”

“Facilitator. Influence peddler? Is that more palatable?”

Logan shrugged affably. “He’s not that big on labels, Ms. Guidry. He spent three years in the legislative branch. Realized quickly that partisanship and gridlock were even worse than he had anticipated. So he moved on. From elective politics anyway.”

Marie leaned forward and mused, “So, three years. He was either a two-time representative who quit in the middle of a term. Or a one-time senator who also quit.”

She considered the situation, “Probably a one-term senator, if he was quick to pick up on how broken Congress is, and then he still stayed in the game for three years.”

She thought some more, “Or perhaps a senator who was appointed and did go ahead and serve out his term. Hmm. There won’t be many of them.”

Logan was pleased with her nimbleness. The smarter Marie Guidry was, the better the odds that Dalton would get through this mess.

Rémy licked his lips, thinking about a fourth beer. Marie glanced around the room, and a fat biker with his paw on Eulalie’s butt quickly jerked his hand away. Marie sipped her third cup of lemon water and said, “I don’t like to travel. But a trip to DC could be a possibility. However, we haven’t discussed the financial arrangements.”

“Lacy Danube told me that you’ve provided gracious Southern hospitality to wayfaring strangers in the past.”

Marie pressed her lips tightly together before answering, “Talk is cheap.”

Logan considered himself a semiskilled negotiator and said, “For the sake of discussion — purely theoretical — what would be the general range of prices to arrange secure accommodations for one man?”

Marie shook her head, “Theoretically, there’s no way to answer that. How much trouble is this wayfaring stranger in? Who’s after him? How many? What are their resources? How long would this stranger be a guest in Sausalito?”

She smiled sweetly, “And how much money does he have?”

He nodded judiciously, “Valid questions, each and every one. Let’s approach it from a different angle. What is the most a guest has invested for one month of Sausalito privacy?”

Marie slowly turned her empty cup around and around in the saucer, “Theoretically, it would have been in six figures.”

Logan nodded once, then again, at the reasonableness of her tone, if not the amount of the investment.

When Ethan decided to retire from the Senate, he had a series of phone calls with his predecessor, Harper Wainwright. The two men agreed to follow the suggestion of Wainwright’s former chief of staff, Constance Grayson

She said, “If both of you endorse Emily Hawthorne, that should do it.”

Hawthorne had been a game warden for fourteen years, and was currently serving as the president of the Wyoming Game Wardens Association. She’d served on the Cheyenne School Board, led the PTA, and was an active fundraiser for several charities.

Like both senators, Hawthorne was a fifth-generation Wyoming resident. Popular across the board, a centrist, and intelligently pragmatic.

Ethan agreed with the assessment, “She’ll make a fine senator.”

Marie had considered it, but never felt the need to have The Talk with her younger sister. If she had, it would have been brief, and to the point.

Something like, “Eulalie, people are nice to you, defer to you, because of me. Not because of anything you’ve done to earn their respect.”

No, the girl was quick, observant; she’d already know that.

Perhaps The Talk would have been, “You’re my sister, so you have built-in advantages in Sausalito. But you’re foxy as hell, smart as hell, and you’ll make your way, win your own battles. Earn your place. But either way, don’t take advantage of your position, your standing in this little town. Be nice, don’t force people — kids or grownups — to do something just because you can.”

But that would carry caveats, would need amending from time to time. Sometimes, Marie did indeed force things on people. And, the day would probably come when Eulalie would too.

Oh well, Marie left it that she’d keep an eye on her sister. Try to make sure that the power, earned and unearned, didn’t go to her head. That things didn’t get out of hand.

As far as bachelor eccentricities go, Logan Kelly’s was fairly mild. Every morning he put on new boxer-briefs and new socks. He had a standing order with Amazon Prime — 50 sets of socks and underwear sent on the first of every month. When he was traveling, he placed an additional order to be sent to his hotel. The 50 sets allowed him flexibility when he changed clothes for a night out.

Madison Dalton found the practice to be one of the quirks she loved about the man. A couple of others came up in the bedroom. One of which involved his rather long and talented tongue.

Eulalie Guidry sighed with contentment as Gigi Fontenot massaged her neck, then worked her hands down to her back, hips, and legs.

Eulalie could hear Gigi’s two teenage sons in the next room playing a bootleg copy of Rape Day. She thought: Well, better a video game than the real thing.

It was the day before Logan Kelly was due in town.

Gigi bent down and whispered, “What next, honeybunch?’’

“I need you to shave my legs and then a full Brazilian.”

Gigi giggled, “Hot date tonight?”

“Tomorrow. Maybe. Hope so.”

“Let’s get you into the bath, chere.”

Gigi stripped off her own tee and a pair of white cotton panties, while Eulalie adjusted the temperature to get the water as hot as she could stand it. Gigi, at 38, after four children, had kept her figure except for a little tummy bulge. She poured a capful of Vanilla Sex into the water and smiled, “Your fave.”

Eulalie again sighed with pleasure and leaned back into the bubble bath. Gigi lifted the girl’s right foot and rested her ankle on her shoulder. She ran both hands up and down Eulalie’s leg from ankle to pussy.

“You have the smoothest skin, chere. Like silky satin.”

Gigi lathered the young girl’s leg, then slowly, lovingly, eased her husband’s straight razor, a Dovo Special barber’s razor, toward her own chest as she shaved Eulalie’s right leg, then the left.

Eulalie closed her eyes and asked, “Where’s Craig?” Gigi’s husband, a long-distance truck driver.

“Hmm ... let’s see. Over to Arkansas — soybeans, I think. He’ll make a run up to Nashville from there.”

“After I leave, call Rémy, see if he wants some pussy.”

Gigi flashed a brilliant smile, “Sure. What’s the matter, your sister cut him off?”

Eulalie shrugged, “You know, men.”

Gigi ran her hands up and down Eulalie’s leg again and whispered, “Silky satin.”

She helped the teenager out of the bath and into the shower where she used her bare hands to rinse off the last of the soap and lotion. She then placed a fresh white towel on the massage table and helped Eulalie up. Rape Day continued in the background.

Gigi ran a fingertip up and down the girl’s pussy and grinned, “The best for last.”

As the woman tended to her pubic region, Eulalie could hear the video game with its screams and moans and pings and explosions growing even louder. She idly wondered why Gigi never bothered to lock her bedroom door. And decided it didn’t really matter. Few things did to the young teenager.

When she was finished, Gigi dabbed and powdered and planted a light pussy kiss, “Kin I have a little taste, chere?”

Eulalie looked at the mother of two teenage boys and two tweener boys and considered. “Okay, Gigi, but just get me off once.”

Gigi giggled, “Gotta save it for Mr. Wonderful.” She bent down to use two fingers, her lips, and tongue. It didn’t take long — Eulalie moaned, thrust up, and then shuddered in pleasure. As Eulalie dressed, Gigi grinned and lay back on the massage table and started playing with herself. She winked, “You surely do turn me on, little girl. Sexy little girl.”

When Eulalie waved goodbye, she didn’t bother to close the bedroom door. She looked back from the family room — Gigi was still diddling herself and made a kiss-kiss with her grinning lips. Her nipples were fully engorged, her thighs were spread wide, her middle finger on her clit; she was completely oblivious to ‘Rape Day’ and everything but her own immediate pleasure.

Eulalie stopped to watch the two gamers for a moment. The younger one was really cute, he had Gigi’s big brown eyes. On impulse, Eulalie grabbed the hem of her tank top and lifted it to her shoulders, flashing her boobs at the wide-eyed teenagers. She whispered, “Sweet dreams, boys.” Word would spread like wildfire around Sausalito High tomorrow. Good.

As she closed the front door, she could hear Gigi moan, and Rape Day start up again. Eulalie smiled to herself.

At Contrary Mary’s, Logan moved the conversation away from money without having reacted to the opening six-figure pronouncement. He said, “Talk to me about security.”

Marie nodded at Rémy, who leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, “It’s solid. Professional.”

Marie, “Tell him about your Dobermans.”

“We have two veteran cops on the city payroll. Raymond ‘TooTall’ McPaul and John ‘YesBut’ Nelson.”

Logan smiled, “YesBut. An equivocator?”

Marie made a move-it-along gesture with her right hand, “You’ll find out. If and when.”

Rémy, “They’re good. And loyal to the town ... to me and Marie.”

Logan, “They’d be part of the protection team?”

Marie, “Backup. If needed.”

Rémy, “Which would be unlikely if your visitor does as he’s told. And stays where we put him.”

“Which is?”

“You mentioned seclusion earlier. Our safe house is beyond secluded. It’s deep in the bayous. Plain, but comfortable enough. Well-stocked, generators refilled every week.”

Marie, “And it’s not in my name. A trust fund in Jackson is on the title.”

“What about access to the house?”

“Jon boat only.”

“So, someone could reach it from the Gulf?”

Rémy snorted, “Hardly, Mr. Kelly. Not anyone who hasn’t spent his life in the Cajun Bayous. And even if someone stumbled around, we have...”

Marie interrupted, “Cooperative neighbors. Who’ve lived down there for generations, and ... they respect privacy.”

Rémy nodded, “An early warning system. No one, no stranger, could get to that house. Not before we got there to stop them.”

Logan nodded back, “Sounds good. So the vulnerability would come from the other direction, from the north.”

Marie smiled, the first genuine warmth Logan had seen, “We are rubes down here, Mr. Kelly, but we managed to think of that ourselves.”