Blackheart smiled at her. “You have always had a strong maternal instinct, it’s how you’ve taken such good care of me and the boys all these years.”
She laughed. “Not sure who got the better end of that deal. So, are you going to look into it?”
“We did, of course,” he said, ignoring the last question. But Sally wasn’t going to let it go that easily.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“About what?”
She laughed. “Really? About Patrice.”
“What would you expect me to do?”
“Nope. I’m not going to tell you what to do. You need to figure this one out on your own. But...”
He laughed. “I knew that ‘but’ was coming. Look, mon cherie, she’s an adult. If she’s my kid what difference does it make at this point?”
“If it were me, it would make a world of difference. This girl just found out she was cheated of her mother for twenty-three years. Don’t you think knowing she had a father would ease that a little? And if nothing else you have the resources and the contacts to look into her mother’s suicide. At least put her mind to rest on that one.”
He sighed, rolled his eyes, and took a long drink of his beer. He drained the bottle, set it on the bar, and stood up. When Sally looked up at him, he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve got work to do. I’ll have to think about all that later.”
She smiled again. “Sure,” she said, not believing him. They both knew the truth was that he’d like to pretend he didn’t know anything about Patrice or her mother. But now that he did, he would undoubtedly not be able to leave it alone. “Will I see you later?” she asked.
“Les alligators sauvages ne pouvaient pas m’éloigner.” Wild gators couldn’t keep me away. It had taken too many years and almost losing Sally twice for him to finally realize that she was all he ever wanted, or needed. She was still refusing to marry him, or even call herself his old lady...but he was sure he’d convince her someday, or go to his grave trying.
5
Gabe got back to the club in time to finish helping Ripper fix the bar. Ripper didn’t exactly apologize for what he’d said the night before, but the chin nod and “You want a beer, fuck-face?” when he went into the back was good enough for Gabe. They worked side by side for several hours until the already lopsided bar looked as good as, or better than, it had before they’d thrown each other into it the night before. Nothing in the Jokers clubhouse was fancy but it was all built with a lot of sweat and pride, something the bigger clubs weren’t usually able to brag about. Blackheart would deduct the alcohol bottles they’d broken from their pay and anything else he thought they owed the club. He and Gabe had a good relationship, but even with him, Blackheart didn’t play favorites.
When they finished, Ripper bellied up to the new bar and started drinking again and Gabe headed back to his trailer for a shower. He had just walked in when his phone rang. It was Chance, his brother and his best friend.
“Chance, what’s up?”
“I got him.” Chance was out of breath and whispering. Gabe was sure he didn’t have to ask who “him” was. Chance’s girlfriend had been assaulted by several of the “Mad Men,” a club out of Mississippi who the Jokers weren’t on the best terms with to begin with. They had four names, four that Chance’s girl could remember, and Chance and Gabe had already been arrested once for trying to take out guys #2 and #3 at a bar in the Quarter and both of them were out on bail and still had pending court hearings over that one. The Mad Men hadn’t struck back as a club yet, but no one would be surprised with they did...and still, none of that crossed Gabe’s mind before he said:
“Where are you?”
“Down in Manchac. You gotta come, man...you don’t even know how fucked up this is...”
“Oh, fuck no, man! What the hell are you doing down there?”
Chance chuckled. “Big-ass baby! You afraid a Rougarou gonna get ya?” His voice went serious again and he said, “Man, Sharon told me something today...” His phone was breaking up, and Gabe’s mind began to wander.
Gabriel grew up in the Atchafalaya Basin. He ran the swamps when he was a kid, in his Paw’s old rusty boat. He went noodling for catfish, he hunted for gators. He’d gone snake hunting and he’d chased wild pigs armed with nothing more than a six-inch blade. But there were still some things that even a kid who had swamp water running in his veins didn’t want to chance tangling with. As he got older, he spent a lot of time with his friends in New Orleans, and of course a bunch of boys can’t resist a spooky dare or two. Gabe had been the butt of a few of those dares, and he’d seen things out in that swamp at night that he couldn’t even bring himself to tell anyone about. He wasn’t scared of anything that he could look in the eye, but swamps were spooky places, even without all the history that came along with them; and growing up surrounded by Cajuns who strongly believed in all things supernatural, Gabe had heard all the stories. So, the damp, gloomy expanses of weed-choked wetlands and the shiny eyes of the gators and other things lurking and slithering in the brush or along the top of the green water rarely fazed him...it was the history that did.
The Atchafalaya had its own legends, but of all the swamps in the area, Manchac was one of the most “colorful.” That particular swamp outdid even itself when it came to creepy legends. It was known all over the US and most especially in New Orleans as one of the biggest epicenters in the country of the unexplained. As a teen, Gabe and his friends had gone down there at night when there was nothing but a sliver of a moon to light their way, trying to test those theories even though many of the elderly people in their community swore that there were countless cases over the years of people who had gone into that swamp and never came back. That was scary shit, but what scared Gabe more was what people said about the ones that did come back...that they were “changed” somehow and that if they missed the “curse” the first time they went in, it was sure to befall them the second. The last time Gabe had gone down there was when he was fourteen years old, and he’d lived for years after wondering if he’d “missed the curse” or if that was why everything bad that happened to him afterwards did. When his parents were killed in that car accident, the first thing the then sixteen-year-old thought of was his night in the Manchac Swamp.
That night Gabe had gone on a dare from some of the older boys in his school, and he’d gone alone. He always felt like he had something to prove, and at that time what he wanted to prove was that he wasn’t scared of anything...not even the stories of the Voodoo priestess who still haunted those waters. Chance had mentioned the Rougarou, the Cajun version of a ten-foot-tall, human-like wolf that roamed the bayou...but Gabe had never been frightened of monsters. It was people who worried him, especially people like Julie White.
When Chance stopped talking, although Gabe hadn’t been able to hear most of what he’d said, he told him, “Man, I think we should wait. Catch up to him another time,” already knowing what Chance would say and already headed back out to his bike.
“Fuck that. This might be our last chance to get this asshole alone. Besides, he’s got a girl down here and she doesn’t look all that happy to have him pawing all over her. He’s not doing this shit again. Another woman is not going to live through what Sharon is still fucking going through. They’re in a pirogue, he’s got it tied off along the side, looking to get laid whether she wants to or not. He’s gonna be in for a big, fucking surprise. I’ll call you when I’m done then...”