Batiste Read online

  “You invitin’ me to share the bed or share your body in that bed?”

  “You askin’ to share my body?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Okay then. Just the bed.”

  He’d grown still as a statue while he mulled that over, trying to imagine if he could lie in the same bed with Angelique without making the misery of wanting her even worse. He came to the conclusion that he’d get no sleep and no relief from being hard for her. That would lead to a fuzzy tomorrow and that would mean not being sharp enough to protect the woman who’d been his girl since she was missing teeth.

  Without winding through the logic of that reasoning or offering any explanation, he simply said, “No.” And no was all she heard.

  She turned away from Batiste, toward the windows, and pulled her knees up, deciding that she wasn’t the sort of woman who asked twice. That was the only offer he’d be getting.

  When Batiste played that, “No,” back in his head, he guessed it might have been taken any number of ways that were not what he meant. She was sensitive enough to take that wrong. He’d learned that when they were kids. So he thought about giving a more detailed explanation, but decided that it would easily qualify as the dumbest move of his life to stir something up with Angelique when he was supposed to be protecting her. Not to mention that getting the moneymaker off the ground required whatever was left of his focus.

  He had not only his club’s future to think about, but Brant Fornight’s money and respect as well. So he let that ‘no’ hang in the air. Eventually he heard her breathing even out and vowed that he’d fix things between them when the time was right.

  CHAPTER FIVE First Shipment

  The only way they’d gotten as far as they had in the scant four months since the conversation with Brant Fornight was the single-minded drive and focus Batiste had brought to the project.

  Dev knew a thing or two about moving contraband. The Renegades weren’t shy about acknowledging that they regularly imported black market items. That and the fact that he hadn’t been with the SSMC long enough to get the patch on his cut made him ideal for the job.

  The men were huddled around a table with maps. Angie could catch bits of conversation without even trying since, at that time of year, the entire building was open air. Something about weigh stations.

  She didn’t hear the most important things. Like that Batiste had bought three vans and outfitted them for importing spices from Colorado Culinary and Cutlery. He offered to supply distributors for less than what they were currently paying and, after all, that was the only thing they cared about. As to other suppliers, they’d slay that dragon when it reared its sleeping head. Which it would. Eventually. But the marijuana trade was a fraction of the business of suppliers who might take exception. Weed was almost, but not quite, of no consequence.

  They needed to get in and make their money before pot became legal, which it would. It was only a matter of time. Meanwhile, Batiste hoped to get sound financial footing for the club using the modern version of prohibition. After all, that was the way some of the richest families, like the Kennedys, made their bank.

  The next week went by quick for Batiste, slow for Angelique. Every night he came to her room at midnight, but she didn’t talk. She just turned over and tried to pretend he wasn’t there. She was getting close to being ready to make a run for it when she decided to call her father.

  “You need to figure something else out. I cannot stand it here for another minute.”

  “Why, cher? You’re safe with Just.”

  “I may be safe, but I am also going crazy. I need to get out of here.”

  “Not until we find Manatee.”

  “What’s the problem? How hard can it be for somebody like you?”

  Rou appreciated that his daughter still thought he was godlike, even though she was well into adulthood. Being president of a club that he’d co-founded thirty years earlier meant he’d made a success of it. It also meant he had connections and, but the fact was that he was human and the Stars and Bars were ghosts.

  “We got to find them first. The fact that they disappeared like this? Just makes it more important you stay put.”

  “I can’t do this forever.”

  “You be a big girl for me. Know you can. Know you will.”

  Angie hung up and stared out the window into the cypress trees. She missed her job. She missed her little apartment. She even missed ramen. On second thought maybe she didn’t miss ramen. But she did miss the psychic freedom of calling her life her own and being in a place where everything and everyone didn’t belong to Just Batiste.

  That night he came in like every night before only he didn’t immediately lie down on the sleeping bag. Her eyes flew wide open when she felt the bed dip behind her. She didn’t move. Almost didn’t breathe. She simply waited.

  “You still not speakin’ to me?”

  And there it was.

  She turned over so that she was facing him. “You didn’t leave much to be said.”

  “I’m not good at talkin’. Not like you.” He reached out and pulled a lock of her wavy black hair through his fingers. “Soft,” he said.

  “You’re doing okay right now.”

  He sighed. “Can’t start somethin’ with you, cher. We got big business goin’ down right now. That’s me. You? You’re feelin’ alone. Maybe vulnerable? Yes? That’s you. Maybe makes you think different ‘bout things. ‘Bout me.”

  “So you think I’m interested in you like that. And you think I’m interested in you like that because I don’t have anything else to do.”

  “That true?”

  “You’re saying if you were interested in me it would be because you were bored? With no clown around?”

  “Clowns?”

  “Yes. Clowns! Like that woman. Cachet. With that orange hair and big red lips and clothes so loud they hurt your eyes.” She turned away from him and gave him her back.

  He laughed. “You jealous of the vampire, cher?” When his laughter died down, he said, “Why? She’s history.”

  “You’re an asshole. I don’t know why I ever…”

  “Why you ever what?” Angelique didn’t answer. “You’re jealous ‘cause she’s been with me? ‘Cause I promised we were gonna be together when we grew up?”

  He was finally getting it, but she didn’t like that he was getting it because when he said it like that, it made her sound like… “You make me sound like an idiot.”

  “No. No. No, cher. Makes you sound like a romantique. Makes me sound like an imbecile.”

  She turned back toward him. “You forgot. Didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

  He nodded in the darkness, but she saw the motion. “I did. I forgot till you walked back in here and the minute I saw you, I remembered everything like it was this hour. I am an asshole for forgettin’ that.”

  “You are.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay.”

  “Is that why…?”

  “Yeah.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Merde. I’m the grandmere and grandpere of all assholes.” He trailed a finger down her bare arm from shoulder to wrist leaving a trail of goosebumps the entire way. “Still can’t start up with you till this is over. Wouldn’t be right.”

  “’Cause I’m your prisoner?”

  “You’re not my prisoner, cher. While you’re in danger, you’re my reason for breathin’. Not just me. Them others, too. And these dogs. Right now we all live to keep you safe.”

  “You’re afraid that I don’t know my own mind, or that I’m looking for a way to pass the time, or that I have Stockholm Syndrome?”

  “I’m afraid that if I take you in my arms like I want, kiss you like I want, press your body up tight against mine like I want, I woan be able to think ‘bout anything else. Not for a long time. I’ll be so consumed in you I can’t do nothin’ else. You’ll turn me into a fool who’d do anything you say, be anything you say. Just like you
used to.”

  “That’s not how I remember it.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He sighed. “And when this is over?”

  “When this is over, business is done, you’re safe, one of these days I’m comin’ to call.”

  “One of these days!” She sat up and spat the words like they were poison. “If that’s all you got…”

  He leaned over and covered her mouth with his as accurately as if he could see perfectly in the dark. His smell that close was so intoxicating it made her feel faint, but she wasn’t about to lose consciousness and miss out. His lips were as soft and full as they had been the first time he kissed her, only there was no tongue the first time. It seemed he’d picked up some serious skills. She was thinking he could have written the book on kissing.

  When she turned into him, took hold of his tank top with both fists and pulled, he jerked away with a growl and stood up. “See? Still a fool for you. And I can’t be foolish right now. Too many people are countin’ on me.”

  “For what?”

  “To give us all a better life.”

  She hadn’t been expecting an answer so ripe with nobility. She was beginning to appreciate that there was a lot about Batiste to admire and respect. He’d grown up to be someone worthy.

  “If you want me to be patient, tell me when. Don’t say one of these days. That sounds like a scrape off.”

  She had a point. It did sound like snow-covered cow paddies. “For true, Angel. Soon as we find Manatee and know you’re safe. But you need to know, I’m no boy. I’m a man. And I’ll be insistin’ on havin’ my way ‘bout some things.”

  She smiled sweetly, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “Not everything.”

  “No. Not everything.”

  Batiste had the packaging ready for the dogs to test.

  “Yeah. Bring it on over,” Brant Fornight said. “Rescue’s got two dogs that could sniff out a single blade of grass from a 1973 Dead concert. The man is a genius. A dog whisperer. You need to kick him some of your profits for his trouble.”

  “All respect. It’s you who should be givin’ him some sweets. Part of your contribution.”

  Brant sighed. “You been spendin’ too much time with Brash.”

  “Got more to learn from that boy.”

  “Hmmm. No doubt.”

  “I’ll be there ‘round lunch?”

  “Lookin’ for a free meal, too? I’m startin’ to think I’m bein’ fleeced.”

  “I doan eat much.”

  “I bet,” Brant said in a tone dripping with sarcasm, but much of what Brant said dripped with sarcasm so it was more the rule than the exception. “Noon it is.”

  “I’m bringin’ packagin’ and some of the spices. Not all.” The cryptic message was intended to convey that Batiste would not be personally transporting marijuana across the state line. Not even a tiny amount. Why take the risk unnecessarily?

  He’d managed to live almost three decades with no record of any sort. It was a small miracle for a motorcycle club officer and it was also a valuable asset that he would never jeopardize without a very persuasive reason.

  “We got a full kitchen,” Brant said.

  When Batiste arrived, Brant walked him back to the kennels.

  Rescue didn’t say hello to Batiste, which surprised no one because he was clueless when it came to social customs. What he did say was, “You bring pictures?”

  “Pictures?” Batiste said.

  “I think he means of your dogs,” Brant translated.

  “Oh, ah, no.”

  Rescue scowled at Batiste. “Next time bring pictures.”

  “Yeah. Next time,” Batiste said.

  While they were still in the club house, Batiste had buried wrapped sleeves of marijuana inside two quart size ‘magic’ containers and surrounded them with oregano. He carried a box with twelve containers and set it on the floor.

  Rescue brought the dogs in one at a time and gave them a command to sniff out cannabis. Neither of the dogs reacted in any way other than wagging tails and looking expectant for treats.

  Batiste then buried sleeves in all the containers of oregano. Still the dogs gave no indication of anything newsworthy.

  The third time, Batiste put a sleeve with oregano inside an ordinary store-bought quart container. Both dogs immediately pawed at the guilty container.

  Batiste looked up at Brant, eyes shining with delight, grinning like a madman.

  Brant showed no emotion. “Love it when a plan comes together,” he said.

  “This is you lovin’ somethin’?” Batiste said.

  Brant ignored that and simply said, “Looks like I owe you lunch. And looks like we’re in business making little old ladies with arthritis be able to knit again. Right?”

  Batiste smiled broadly. “Makes the blind see. Makes the lame walk. Makes the dead rise up and walk.”

  “You’re soundin’ more and more like Brash. Those first two things are good. But I don’t like zombies.”

  Batiste shook his head with a notable sincerity. “No zombies.”

  “Good. Looks like it’s the gold mine you promised. Let’s celebrate. Whiskey for me. Root beer for you.”

  “I like whiskey.”

  “Know you do. I also know you’re drivin’ back to Lafayette after lunch.”

  They talked about the launch plans in Brant’s office over Torchy’s soft tacos that’d been picked up and delivered by Arnold. That was not his real name, but a nickname given because he resembled a young and trim Arnold Schwarzenegger.

  Then conversation turned toward Batiste’s special project.

  “So you’ve got her at the club in Lafayette?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Christ. I’m glad I don’t have daughters.”

  “Men who prey on women to get what they want are fresh squeeze shit.”

  Brant made a mental note to remember that expression. “Yes. They are. I feel a little responsible since the Devils were only involved to keep one of our women out of the hands of that bounty hunter.”

  Batiste shrugged. “Was our choice.”

  “Yeah. But it wasn’t Mandeville’s choice. Somethin’ else is at play here.”

  “Rou Bellefeuille and Manatee been enemies. Long time.”

  “Yep. There it is.” Brant nodded. “So Manatee is usin’ the incident with us as an excuse to do what he wanted to do anyhow.”

  “Rou says so.”

  “Hmmm. I can take this to meeting. Ask the members if they want to help look for Manatee. I won’t lie to you. We wouldn’t mind a really good reason to end the rat infestation in South Texas once and for all.”

  Batiste cocked his head. “I think they call that escalation.”

  Brant chuckled. “Indeed they do. We’re not gonna get involved unless you ask us. It’d be a favor, but one we’d enjoy doin’.”

  “Rou’s call.”

  “But if she was my girl, I’d want those fuck-ups found sooner not later.”

  “Same,” Batiste said.

  Ever vigilantly observant, whether he intended to be or not, Brant noticed how Batiste looked away and seemed to disengage. “I guess you probably know her. She close to your own age?”

  Batiste’s eyes came back to Brant’s and therein Brant read everything that was unspoken. “Same age. We, ah, came up together. You know, family things. Kids’ play.”

  Nodding, Brant said, “I do know. She married?”

  “No.” Batiste sat back in his chair, but his knee jumped up and down rapidly under the hand that lay on top of his thigh. “Somethin’ you want to ask?”

  “You got a truly personal stake in this?”

  “She belongs to Devils.”

  “Not what I mean.”

  “Yeah. Well, you can be nosy ‘bout business.”

  “Okay. Don’t forget I said we’ll help if you need it. We have our own ax to grind with S and B and I don’t think the Sons would mind gettin’ involved.”

  “Since you appea
r to be insistin’, we could maybe use some help with the rundown.”

  “The rundown? You mean findin’ ‘em?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “How hard can that be?”

  “The whole club has vanished.”

  That seemed to spark Brant’s interest. “What’s that mean?”

  “Nobody home. Place is closed up. Deserted. Nobody there. Nothin’ there.”

  “That’s a new one. Never heard of a club gettin’ spooked by a failed coup and just shuttin’ down without a seriously forceful incentive.”

  “We know somethin’s comin’. Just doan know what or when. Got us feelin’ itchy.”

  Nodding and looking thoughtful, Brant ran a hand over a day’s growth of beard. “Christ. I gotta shave. My lady likes my face smooth as a baby’s butt.” Brant glanced toward the window. “You tell Rou we’ll put his girl up till this is over. Meanin’ no disrespect, but your club could be compromised. I know I’m not tellin’ you anything you don’t already know. This place is built like a fortress for good reason. My dad’s bunch didn’t walk the line as straight as we do. It can withstand a straight-up assault, but if all fails, there’s also a Plan B.”

  “Yeah? Your Plan B. That’s not suicide. Right?”

  Brant grinned. “Not even the Butch and Sundance kind of suicide. Worse comes to worse, we know how to live to fight another day.”

  Batiste’s admiration for Brant, though already bordering on hero worship, swelled to a new level and he made a mental note to give that some thought. Plan B.

  “Not only that,” Brant continued, “but one of our businesses is specializing in that very kind of security. Brand’s wife? They met when she was a target and we were hired by her daddy to make sure she stayed alive.”

  Brant could see that Batiste was torn. He wanted to say yes, but he wasn’t sure if he was willing to trust somebody else with the outcome where this woman was concerned.

  “Your offer is much appreciated. And generous. I can’t say yes or no ‘cause it’s not up to me. But I’m gonna ask Rou ‘bout his disposition.”

  “Like I said, if they’re sayin’ the fight is over bounty, then I think the risk rightfully belongs to us. Now here’s the heart of the question though. Would you be willin’ to pay the bounty they think they lost to have this settled and let the girl…”