Fancy Dancer (9 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

Tags: #Romance, #General, #Contemporary, #Fiction

BOOK: Fancy Dancer
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A small smile stretched across the dragon’s face. “Five might work.”
Alex felt as though there were an army of ants crawling around inside his stomach as he waited for the clerk to return. When she did, he was relieved to see the smile on her face. “The judge said he can see you right now for
five
minutes. When he says
five minutes
, he means
five
minutes. Do you understand that, Mr. Rosario?”
“I do, ma’am, and thank you.” This was just too damn easy. It had to be the St. Cloud name.
Five minutes. Crap, it will take that long to get my tongue to work.
“I’m waiting, Mr. Rosario,” the clerk snapped. “Follow me, please. And let me warn you ahead of time, the judge does not appear to be in a good mood this morning.”
“Neither am I, ma’am,” Alex said boldly. “Neither am I.” He repeated the words more for himself than the court clerk.
Chapter 8
I
t was the first time Alex had ever been in a judge’s chambers. He looked around and admitted to himself that he was impressed: dark paneling on the walls polished to a high sheen; the one-of-a-kind coatrack where the judge’s robe hung on a padded hanger; pictures on the wall, of the judge and the governor, the judge and the vice president of the United States, the judge and the secretary of state, the judge and everyone and anyone. On the shelf behind his massive desk were pictures that appeared to be of family, all in the same kind of ornate frames. Two easy chairs sat nestled across the room, with a small table in front of them, legal magazines stacked neatly upon it. A lush green ficus tree looked so perfect as it reached toward the overhead fluorescent lighting that Alex wondered if it was real. He was tempted to pinch one of the leaves but then remembered why he was here.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Judge Spindler. I appreciate it.”
Spindler leaned across the antique-looking desk, and asked, “What can I do for you so early in the morning, Counselor?”
Alex eyed Spindler and wondered why he wasn’t feeling intimidated. He looked just like any other old, cranky judge who should have retired years ago. The court system needed new blood, younger blood. If he didn’t know it before, he knew it now for sure. It wasn’t just his opinion, either. He’d heard his colleagues moaning and groaning about the ancient old men who ran the courthouse.
The judge looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept. Then again, maybe it was the harsh overhead lighting. “I’m here about a client of mine, Jake St. Cloud. I want someone to tell me why his probation at the Dancer Foundation was terminated, and I also want to know where he is. As the attorney of record and his court-appointed probation officer, I should have been notified as to any changes and his current whereabouts.”
“Well, Counselor, it’s like this. Judge Broussard made a serious mistake. As much as I hate to have to admit this, he made a grievous error in Mr. St. Cloud’s sentencing. It was caught in time and has since been rectified. For the betterment of Mr. St. Cloud, I might say.”
“Would Mr. St. Cloud be Jonah St. Cloud, Your Honor, or Jake St. Cloud, Jonah’s son and my client?”
“What kind of question is that, Mr.... what was your name again?”
“Rosario, Judge. Alex Rosario. It’s the kind of question that requires an answer. A judge’s rescinding a previous sentence at three o’clock in the morning raises questions that I would like answered. In other words, Judge, I don’t believe what you’re telling me. If I don’t get a satisfactory response from you, I will feel duty-bound to go to the media to protect my client. In case you don’t know this, my client was satisfied with his sentence and was serving it to the best of his ability. I want you, Your Honor, to tell me why Jonah St. Cloud, my client’s father, was able to go to the Dancer residence and take my client away at around four o’clock this morning. Jonah St. Cloud is not an officer of this court. Nor was he my client’s probation officer. I was, and still am, unless something not in the documents presented to my client says otherwise.”
“Are you questioning my judgment, young man?”
“Well, Your Honor, I guess I am. I want answers, and I want them now. I have a client I’ve sworn to represent to the best of my ability because I am an officer of the court, as you are. That’s why I’m here.”
Spindler’s voice turned testy, and Alex noticed the tremor in the judge’s hands that hadn’t been apparent seven minutes ago. And there was something in his eyes... a spark of... was it anger, or was it fear? Whatever he thought he was seeing, Alex knew it didn’t bode well for him or his brand-new client.
“You’ve used up more than the five minutes I agreed on. I gave you my answer. This court moved to rectify a ruling that was not only unjust but unfair, rendered by a sick judge who had no right to be ruling on any matters in his condition. Now, what part of that don’t you understand, Counselor?”
Alex squared his shoulders. He felt a little like David going into the lion’s den with just a business card and a ballpoint pen when the man sitting in front of him had an AK-47 locked and loaded, or whatever the saying was. Maybe he was not kowtowing to the judge because he now had money in the bank; money that would take care of him, his mother, and any wife and children he had for the rest of their lives.
But that wasn’t totally it, he knew. He hated injustice, and he hated the good-old-boy network that ran that courthouse. His gut told him to keep pressing.
“The part about Jonah St. Cloud’s getting you to sign off on those papers at three o’clock in the morning, then whisking my client off to God knows where—that’s the part I don’t understand, Judge. To the best of my recollection, we don’t do things like that in Louisiana in the middle of the night. Those are Gestapo tactics, which I learned about in school.”
The old judge flinched at Alex’s words. He stood up. “We’re done here, Counselor. I have to take the bench.”
“I understand, Judge Spindler. Make sure you set aside some time today to talk to the media, because that’s where I’m going when I leave.”
“That sounds like a threat to me. Is it a threat, Mr. Rosary?”
“Rosario, Your Honor. My name is Rosario. Alex Rosario. No, it wasn’t a threat. It was a statement of fact. Thank you, Judge Spindler, for taking the time to bullshit me this morning.”
The judge stood and walked over to retrieve his judge’s robe. “How dare you! How dare you speak to a sitting judge in such a manner! I could have you arrested for contempt right now.”
Alex was pleased to see that the judge’s hands were shaking so badly, he couldn’t get his robe off the hanger. Alex removed it for him. The fortune that was now in his bank account gave him the courage to respond. “Then do it, Your Honor. If nothing else, it will speed things up.”
They were the same height, eyeball to eyeball, Alex noticed, but the judge’s shoulders were bowed.
“I used the word
could
, Counselor. I have no desire to ruin your career when you’re just starting out. I’m more than willing to overlook your disrespect of me. I have to ask myself why you would want to ruin my career at this stage of the game.”
“It’s not a
game
, Judge. Such an odd choice of words from a sitting judge. But to answer your question: because I think you’re beholden somehow, some way, to Jonah St. Cloud. It’s you who is ruining the end of your own career, a career that I might say up until now has been distinguished. Why are you protecting Jonah St. Cloud? What do you owe him? Or is he holding something over your head that you aren’t real proud of? I think you need to ask yourself if Jonah St. Cloud would do the same for you. I’m not a betting man, but I don’t think he would. I think that he would gladly let you swing in the wind as long as he gets what he wants.”
Porter Spindler raised his head and looked into Alex’s eyes. He saw only determination, and he knew right then that the young lawyer would keep his word and go to the media. And that would be the end of him. He’d be no better off than Nathan Broussard. Although, unlike Nathan, he still had his mind.
The judge walked back to his desk and sat down. He motioned for Alex to come forward. “Everything I told you about Judge Broussard was the truth. He and Jonah St. Cloud have a bad history, and I’m sure that influenced his ruling to a certain extent. Having said that, I wasn’t aware of that particular ruling until Jonah apprised me of it. It was over the top and needed to be rescinded. Anyone could fill Jacob’s shoes at the Dancer Foundation home. But no one could or can fill Jake St. Cloud’s shoes at the oil platform. There’s been an oil spill that Jonah has been trying to keep under wraps. He needed Jake. Jake knows how to use bacteria to eat up the spill or something like that. I just know it’s serious and Jonah didn’t want the people to panic and he sure as hell didn’t want another disaster like BP’s. That’s it in a nutshell.”
Alex digested what he was being told. At least it made sense. “Jake didn’t want to go.”
“I suppose not. It’s no secret that Jake and his father have a very acrimonious relationship that goes back years and years. In the end, I’m sure he went along with it not because of his father but because it was the right thing to do.”
Alex knew in his gut that the judge was right. “I want to talk to my client,” he said forcefully.
“Well, young man, I certainly can’t stop you from doing that, but I seriously doubt you’ll get anywhere near that platform.”
“Then I want you to call Jonah St. Cloud and tell him to make Jake available to me by phone. I know Jake doesn’t have a cell phone with him, because he left it behind at the Dancer house. Tell him if I don’t hear from Jake in the next few hours, I
will
go to the media. Call it a reprieve, Your Honor.”
The old judge’s shoulders sagged. “All right, I’ll try to reach him. Give me your cell-phone number, and I’ll be in touch.” Alex scribbled the number on the back of his business card before he handed it over to the judge.
The judge’s clerk knocked and opened the door. “They’re waiting, Your Honor,” she said briskly.
“Let them wait a little longer. I’ll be out when I’m ready.” The clerk withdrew.
Alex turned to leave.
“Mr. Rosario, I respect your tenacity.”
Alex turned around and later wondered where the words came from. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Judge. I’m just warming up.”
Alex was a whirlwind as he flew out the door, down the hall, and out of the courthouse, where, the moment he stepped onto the parking lot, he raised his fist and shouted, “Way to go, Alex!” He didn’t care who saw him or what they thought of his little performance.
Yessiree, a lot of money in the bank is one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs in the world. Yessiree!
And he owed it all to his half brother, Jake.
Chapter 9
J
ake St. Cloud stared off into the distance, his thoughts miles away. He was jerked back to the reality of his situation when Zeke Anders, foreman on the platform, clapped him on the back. Zeke was a grizzled old oilman who should have retired years before, but the oil business was in his blood and the only thing he knew. Plus he spent his money faster than he made it, and, if you were to believe him, he didn’t have a pot to piss in. Which, Jake thought, was probably true if he believed the tales he’d heard over the years. He liked Zeke, and Zeke was the one who had encouraged him during his teen years of forced labor on the rigs to go to college to make something of himself.
Otherwise
, he’d said ominously,
you’re going to end up like me
. Jake had been grateful to Zeke for the way he’d taken him under his wing and watched over him like a doting grandmother, and he had acquired two degrees in engineering; his biomedical engineering degree was why he was standing on that platform. It was why his expertise was sought after by just about every oil company in the world.
Zeke clapped Jake on the back again and said, “Where’s the old man?”
“Who cares?” Jake snapped.
“That bad, eh?”
Jake didn’t bother to answer.
“When we lock this down and put this puppy to bed, I’m outta here. I wanted you to be the first to know. Some of the others are going with me, too,” Zeke said through clenched teeth. “I’ve always been square with you, kid.”
“I know that, Zeke. Does
he
know? Where will you go? What will you do?” Jake was alarmed at Zeke’s statement but didn’t know why.
Zeke laughed. “Figured I’d find me some shack or lean-to and hang up my spurs. Not that I wear spurs, mind you, just a figure of speech. I’ll stare off into the sunset and tell myself I had a hell of a good run. I’ll have my pension and social security, which should take me through the first five days of the month, maybe seven if I’m frugal. And then I’ll just hope that someone takes pity on me and helps me out the other twenty-five days until the old pension rolls in again at the first of the next month.”
Alex stared down at the thick, oily water. “Kind of risky, Zeke, don’t you think?”
“Kid, life is all about risk one way or the other. Like I said, I had a hell of a run, and I’d do it all over again the exact same way if I had the chance. Been awhile, boy. What’s going on with you? These bacteria are gonna work, aren’t they, Jake?”
“Not much. Same old, same old,” Jake said shortly. “I think so. No reason to believe they won’t, since I’ve used them before in the Middle East. Can I use your cell phone, Zeke? I left in such a hurry, I forgot to bring mine with me.”
Zeke dug down into his greasy, oil-slicked coveralls and pulled out a state-of-the-art cell phone Jake knew did everything but cook breakfast. His eyebrows shot up as he looked down at the phone, his eyes full of questions. “Gotta stay in touch with my ladies. You know how it is.”
Jake shook off his greasy glove and sent off a text message to Alex Rosario. He thanked God he even remembered the number. No sooner had he sent it off than he looked up to see his father coming toward him. He had a cell phone in his hand, which he held out to Jake. “Your lawyer wants to talk to you.” He handed over the phone to Jake, then turned to Zeke. “You got nothing better to do than stand here and jaw with Jake, Zeke?”
Zeke rubbed one of his rough, callused hands over the whiskers on his face. All he succeeded in doing was to smear the black oil to the other side of his face. He glared at his boss but didn’t say anything before he sauntered off.
Jake turned his back to his father and brought the phone up to his ear. “Yeah, it’s me, Jake. Talk to me, buddy.” Jake listened, then said, “I just sent you a text. Get back to me on it. Same number, yeah.”
Jake handed the phone back to his father. “Wheeling and dealing the way you always do. How’s that working for you,
Dad
?”
“Let me worry about how it’s all working for me. Just do your job, and we’ll call it a day. You should be thanking me for getting you out of that shit-hole Broussard sent you to. If you’re telling the truth about the bacteria and they work, you’ll have paid your debt to society in the next ten days or so. And then you’ll be free as the breeze,
son.
”
Jake ignored his father’s words and looked up at the sky. Black clouds were scudding overhead so fast, he was getting dizzy just looking at them. He could already feel the heavy moisture in the air. Rain? Without a doubt. Storm? Absolutely. Not good. Not good at all. He moved away on the oil-slicked platform, anything to get away from the hateful man standing there glaring at his back.
 
 
Back in town, Alex tried to make sense of the text from Jake.
Do what you have to do.
Well, fine, he’d do that as soon as he figured out whatever the hell
that
was. Truth be told, he was surprised his sperm donor had even answered the phone, much less put Jake on. Obviously, Judge Spindler had gotten to Jonah, and the sperm donor was going to keep it all close to the vest. Did Jake mean
go to the media
? What would that do, other than cause a panic? Still, didn’t the people have a right to know what was going on in their waterways? He thought then about how much fish he ate and how much fish his mother served at the restaurant. His mind whirled with all the horror stories after the BP fiasco, with everyone blaming everyone else, nothing getting done, and the impact on the entire Gulf region.
Alex looked down at the rest of the text. Now,
that
he understood.
That
he could handle. First things first, though. Without stopping to think, he called the
Times-Picayune
and unloaded. Then he called the Coast Guard and asked questions and demanded answers. Not that he got any. His third call was to the Symon brothers; he spoke to Elroy, or maybe it was Estes. He outlined his plan, waited for approval, and almost cheered when he got it: “As Jake’s lawyers, if that’s what he wants, then that’s good enough for Estes and me.” Aha, it was Elroy. He was getting good at distinguishing which brother was which. Yeah, right.
Alex felt proud of himself at the storm he’d created, as one day led into the next, until five long weeks had gone by, with the nation watching Jake St. Cloud work what the media were calling a miracle of sorts.
It was the middle of October when Alex turned on the TV in his small, cramped office and heard the morning commentator announce that Jake St. Cloud would be leaving the platform and heading home. They showed an aerial shot of Jake, taken by a news group from a helicopter. He leaned forward for a better look. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more ragged, more filthy, in his life. His brother.
Well, hot damn!
His fist shot in the air in victory. He thought about letting out a war whoop, but his partners had clients down the hall. Instead, he packed up his stuff, sprinted to the small reception area, and told their part-time receptionist to cancel whatever he had going on and that he would be gone for the day. Yessiree, money in the bank allowed him to make rash decisions like the one he’d just made. Not that he’d spent a penny of it. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to touch his nest egg. As far as he knew, his mother hadn’t spent any of it, either. He wondered about the why of it.
Alex hustled then, faster than he’d ever hustled in his life. He took all the back streets to reach the Symon brothers’ office, where he picked up a thick white envelope, shook hands, and raced out of the building.
It took him forty extra minutes to reach the St. Cloud Oil offices, where he knew Jake would be coming in. It was beyond important that he be on-site when Jake set foot on dry land. There was no word that he could come up with to describe how important it was for Jake to know that he, Jake’s brother, had done every single thing asked of him.
Jesus Christ, I have a brother! How wonderful is that?
 
 
While Alex waited for Jake, Jake was staring off into the distance as he waited for the boat that would take him home. He couldn’t ever remember being so tired, so relieved. Another hour and he’d be back to his old life. He’d have to shower sixteen times to get the ripe, pungent smell off him. And then he’d have to go to the barber to get his head shaved before heading home to shower again and again. He knew it would take days, even weeks, before his pores expelled the stink of the oil. And it would take at least two weeks before he would be sporting hair on his head again. All he had to do was get the hell out of there, step into the boat, and not look back. Definitely not look back.
Jake saw the boat bearing down at the same moment he sensed a presence behind him. “You ready to say good-bye to this place, kid?”
“You know it, Zeke.”
“Well, I’m the second one off, right behind you.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Hell no! I like surprises. I can’t wait to march my ass into human resources and claim my due.” He laughed then, a rich cackle of merriment. Jake grinned when he saw four other oilmen line up behind Zeke.
“Looks like a full house. Ah, here
he
comes. I got your back, Zeke.”
The speedboat roared to a stop. Jake reached for the rope ladder and tied it down. He knew he had to do or say something... Bullshit! He offered up a sloppy salute of sorts and swung himself over the side. He was going home. He could hear the raised voices of Zeke and the others, the lion roar of his father, then the cusswords that floated away on the strong wind. Then Zeke was standing next to him, grinning from ear to ear.
“That felt so damn good, kid. I shoulda done it a long time ago. Shoulda done a lot of things a long time ago.”
“It’s never too late, Zeke. That’s what my mother used to tell me all the time. For a long time, I didn’t get it, but when I did, I became a believer,” Jake yelled, to be heard over the roar of the boat’s engine.
“He’s down five men now. He’s probably feeling a little prickly. Don’t you think?” Zeke guffawed. “He’s gonna fight me with my pension and call this a mutiny, you wanna bet, kid?”
“Well, if he does, I know a hell of a lawyer . . .”
Sixty minutes later, the speedboat pulled to shore, and Jake and the others hit dry land. He saw the media first; and then he saw Alex. He waved to indicate that first he had to go through the gauntlet before he could make contact. Alex nodded to show he understood.
Jake tried to be brief, telling the reporters to talk to the men behind him; they did all the hard work. But the media weren’t buying it. It took thirty minutes before he could shepherd Zeke and the others to the offices of St. Cloud Oil.
“Listen, Zeke, we all need a shower, clean clothes, and a few hours’ sleep. Can you meet me at the Sizzler tonight? Around seven. I know you probably have plans, but it won’t take long. It’s important; otherwise, I wouldn’t ask.”
“Sure, kid, seven it is. You need a ride home?”
“Nah, I’m good. See ya.” Jake walked away, toward where Alex was standing.
“Don’t get too close—this stuff has a way of transferring itself to anything within reach. I’d shake your hand or hug you, but it just isn’t wise.”
Alex grinned. “Man, you could scare the hell out of anyone. You need a ride home?”
“Nah, I’m going to run home.”
“Jake, it’s ten miles, maybe a little more. C’mon, I have a blanket in the trunk.”
“You’ll never get the oil smell out of the car. Hey, I’m okay. Gotta get my land legs back, and I need to do some thinking. I think clearly when I’m running. Thanks for all you did for me. I appreciate it. I told Zeke I’d meet him at the Sizzler at seven. Can you make it?”
“Absolutely, I can make it. Guess I should hang on to this until tonight then, huh? Ya know, Jake, I couldn’t find one damn
shack
anywhere on the beach.”
Jake turned and roared, “
What?
”
“Oh, for God’s sake, lighten up, Jake. While I couldn’t find a shack, I did manage to find a twenty-one-hundred-square-foot beach house for nine hundred grand. You said money was no object, and the Symon brothers said it was a steal. My mother helped me get it ready. That means clean, new sheets and food—enough to last a few months. Booze stocked in the cabinets, fluffy yellow—I repeat, fluffy yellow—towels, firewood for cold nights. Every damn amenity you can think of. Zeke is good to go.”

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