Slow Heat in Heaven (19 page)

Ken had a pleasant buzz going when he left the Gator Lounge. He wasn't staggering, but he was drunk enough to fumble and drop his keys as he approached his car. They landed in the gravel. He bent to pick them up, but before he touched them, a shiny black shoe came out of nowhere and stamped on them. His hand was nearly crushed. It froze.

"Hey, Kenny."

Ken straightened slowly. Glancing swiftly over his shoulder, he confirmed what he already suspected. The first man, the one with the expensive shoe, wasn't alone. These types always traveled in pairs, like nuns; except this duo was unholy.

"Hi." Ken gave a nervous little laugh. He shrugged innocently and raised his hands in surrender. "Now before you get pissed, I'll tell you right off that I don't have the cash toni—"

A rock-hard fist landed a solid blow to Ken's guts. He bent over double, clutching his middle. The thug who'd been standing in the background grabbed a handful of Ken's hair and pulled him upright. He yelped with pain. There was no one to hear him. The parking lot, bathed in the ruby light of the neon sign, was deserted. But even if someone had heard his cry for help, he wouldn't have interfered. These guys were deadly.

The first man, obviously the spokesperson, moved forward to stand nose to nose with Howell. "I'm already pissed off. You're three days late paying me what you owe me, Kenny." His voice was silky, but contemptuous. "It does something to me when you lie." The hand he used to cover his heart glittered with diamond rings. "In here, deep inside, it hurts me when you lie to me."

"I can't help it," Ken gasped. "Money's tight. I've had to pay the old man's hospital bills. Doctors."

"Kenny, Kenny, you're breaking my heart." The sullen face turned ugly. "Know what you are? Besides being a liar, you're a loser. You lost bad on that pit bull fight last week. And that nag you bet on in the daily double at Lafayette belongs in the glue factory." He spat in Ken's face. "You're a goddamn loser. I hate losers. They make me want to puke."

Ken was sweating bullets. "Look, man. Give me more time. I—"

He rammed his knee into Ken's groin. Ken screamed in agony. "I don't want any more of your lame excuses. I can't cover my expenses with excuses. I want cash. When do I get my money?"

"S . . .
soon," Ken stuttered. "Something big is about to break."

"Something big? Like what? You gonna win at bingo?" The man holding Ken's hair chuckled.

"No," Ken gasped, still in excruciating pain. "Something really big."

"This sounds like more of your bullshit."

"No, swear to God, but I can't give you the details. I haven't worked them all out yet. The logging company—"

"Is reopening. Yeah, yeah, I know. Old news. Boudreaux is back doing his thing." He flashed an oily smile. "Is he bangin' that sexy sister-in-law of yours?"

"No!" Ken angrily put up a struggle against the man who restrained him. The thug only knotted his fingers tighter in Ken's hair and pulled his head back further. "If that's what you've heard, it's a goddamn lie."

His tormentor laughed nastily. "She kicked you outta her bed and outta your position in the family business. Now ain't that a shame?"

"That's not true. None of it. I'm still in control of the books. I'm still vice-president of the company."

"But she's running the show. With Boudreaux coaching her in soft whispers while he's screwing her. Ain't that the way it is?"

Ken tried to shake his head in denial, but the motion only pulled his hair tight enough to bring tears to his eyes. "No. I'm in charge."

"You?" The thug barked a laugh, which he silenced as abruptly as he flicked open the switchblade and slid it between Ken's thighs, directly beneath his manhood.

Ken squealed and rose up on tiptoes. The man behind him, who had been threatening to tear his hair out, now relaxed his grip at a time when Ken wanted to be held up. "I'll get your money," Ken whimpered in panic. "But you gotta give me more time."

"Time's run out on you, Kenny." He pressed the knife's blade against Ken's zipper.

"No, no, please, for the love of God, no. I'll get you your money."

"All of it?"

"Every blessed cent."

"When?"

"A. . .
a month." The man behind him opened his fist and let go of his hair. Ken barely kept himself from falling onto the blade. "Two weeks," he amended breathlessly.

Gradually, with a motion that sickeningly resembled a slow, slicing movement, the loan shark withdrew the knife. "Okay, I'm easy. Two weeks." He grinned broadly, then drew his face into a scowl. "Don't bother calling us. We're gonna be on top of you like flies on a pile of dogshit, Kenny." He flashed Ken a hungry crocodile smile. Even his teeth looked like they'd been filed to points. Then he and his comrade stepped out of the pool of neon light and disappeared into the darkness.

With no more spine than a blob of ectoplasm, Ken dropped to his knees. He vomited in the gravel. When the spasms subsided to dry heaves, he crawled around on hands and knees until he located his keys.

*
  
 
*
  
 
*

The headlights roused Schyler. Sitting on the porch swing, occasionally giving it a desultory push with her bare toes, she'd almost been lulled to sleep. She hadn't known what fatigue was until she had started working at the landing every day. She rarely left until well after dusk and was always die first one to arrive in the morning.

She smiled at Ken as he trudged up the steps. "Hi. You look as ragged out as I feel."

"I, uh, my stomach's upset."

"Nothing serious, I hope." When he shook his head, she asked, "Is that why you weren't here for supper?"

"No. I just got sidetracked." Crossing the veranda, he reached for the handle of the screen door.

"If you've got a minute, there's something I want to ask you about."

Ken's hand fell to his side and he turned to face her. "There's something I want to ask you about, too," he said heavily.

"Shoot."

"Are you sleeping with Cash Boudreaux?"

Schyler's smile collapsed. She was affronted, not only by his assumption that her bed partners were his business, but also by the insult his question implied. "Certainly not."

His tread was slow and deliberate and angry as he moved toward the swing. "Well you might as well be. That's the gossip going around town."

Darkness concealed the sudden flush of heat in her cheeks. With admirable skill she kept him from seeing how much his comment upset her. She made a dismissive gesture. "You know as well as anybody how people around here love to talk."

"There's usually some basis for gossip."

"Not this time."

"You spend all day with him."

"But not all night!" The instant her temper erupted, she squelched it. She was too tired for an argument tonight, especially since she had nothing to defend. "I work with Cash. I'm required to spend time with him. I've worked
with a lot of men, but that doesn't mean I sleep with them."

"Mark Houghton is one exception that springs to mind."

Schyler got out of the swing so fast that it rocked crazily behind her. "I'm not about to discuss my private life with you, Ken. As I've said before, it's none of your damned business. Good night."

He caught her arm as she stalked past him. "Schyler, Schyler," he pleaded, "don't go. Stay and talk to me."

"Talk? Okay. Refute allegations that I'm sleeping with Boudreaux or with anybody, no."

"Hell, what do you expect people to think?"

"I expect people to think exactly what they please. But I expect better from you."

"I can't stand having your name connected to his."

"What would you have me do about that? We're working together."

"Fire him."

"I can't," Schyler cried incredulously. "I don't want to. I need him too much."

"You didn't think so at first."

"I know better now. He's an excellent forester. He does even more than he gets paid for."

"Then
you
quit. Let me take over."

Schyler was surprised by how intensely she loathed that idea. As exhausting as her work at the landing was, she wouldn't think of giving it up. Her efforts to obtain large contracts from former markets had so far met with little success. But the thought of quitting now was untenable. Nor did she trust anyone else, not even Ken, to fight as diligently as she was fighting to keep Belle Terre.

It would be churlish to come right out and say that, so she tried to decline his offer diplomatically. "You can't be two places at one time."

"I'll move my work to the landing office."

"You can't handle both jobs, Ken."

"I can," he argued insistently. "Give me a chance."

"It's unnecessary to wear yourself out. Especially when I'm willing to—"

He squeezed her arm hard. "I'm not willing. I'm not willing to let you turn into a ball-breaking, career broad."

"I'm not like that."

"Fast becoming." He pulled her close. "I remember how sweet and feminine you were when—"

"Ken, please."

"Let me finish, Schyler. I still lo—"

"I thought I heard your voice out here. It's about time you dragged yourself home." Ken jumped away from Schyler and guiltily spun around and faced his wife. "Well, well, well," Tricia laughed lightly, pushing through the screen door. "What are you two up to?"

For a sustained moment, no one said anything. Then Schyler replied smoothly, "I was asking Ken about some files that are missing from the batch he brought to the landing for me."

Only a brief few weeks ago, Schyler would have welcomed hearing a profession of love from Ken's lips. It would have been icing on the cake for him to profess it within Tricia's hearing.

Now, that kind of reward seemed as cheap and insignificant as a plastic trophy. Having him say he still loved her was no longer worth the tumult it would cause. She no longer wanted to hear it. His love just wasn't valuable to her anymore.

"I'll look for those missing files to be on my desk sometime tomorrow then, all right?" she asked him.

"Uh, sure, okay."

"Good." She bent down and picked up the sandals she'd left beneath the swing. "I'm exhausted. Six o'clock comes early, so I'm off to bed. 'Night." She went inside and padded upstairs.

Tricia, leaning against one of the columns, gave her husband an accusatory and uncharitable look. "It's been a long day for me, too," he said quickly. "I'm going—"

"You, stay where you are, Mr. Howell." Tricia's tone had a ring of authority to which Ken automatically responded. For the second time in only a few minutes, his hand fell away from the handle of the screen door. "You smell like a tavern."

He plopped down heavily in the swing and massaged his eyesockets with his middle finger and thumb. "Makes sense. That's where I've been."

"Drowning your sorrows in an ocean of bourbon?"

"Yeah," he said scornfully, "the chief sorrow being my bitch of a wife."

"Forget me. I'm the least of your problems."

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to let her waltz in here and take over, aren't you?"

"What? Who?"

"Schyler, you idiot. Can't you see what she's doing? Don't you care?"

"I care, but she doesn't listen to me, Tricia."

"Then you're not talking loud enough." She turned her back on him and crossed her arms as though holding in her temper. After a moment she glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Have you even mentioned to her what we discussed?"

He laughed scoffingly, shaking his head in disbelief. "About selling Belle Terre?"

"Belle Terre, Crandall Logging, and everything else."

"Schyler would never hear of it."

"How do you know? You haven't asked her."

"Neither have you." He made it a challenge.

"She has never listened to me. If anybody holds sway over her, it's you." Her eyes narrowed. "Or are you losing ground to Cash Boudreaux? My, my, are the tongues in town flapping about
that.
Imagine what strange bedfellows the two of them make. Schyler Crandall, former belle of Laurent Parish, and Monique Boudreaux's bastard boy. Who'd ever believe it?"

"Nobody who's got any sense."

"You sound so sure."

"I am. I just asked her. There's no truth to the rumor."

"You think she'd tell you?"

"Yes," he said with more surety than he felt. "I think she would."

"Doesn't matter," Tricia said airily. "If folks think they're sleeping together, it's as good as fact." Her smile changed direction and turned downward. "And it would be just like her to lie down with white trash. She never had any discrimination." She gnawed the corner of her lip. "She'll drag our reputation right down into the swill with hers. I wouldn't be surprised if that's why she took up with Cash. To come back here and ruin us for
doing . . .
for what happened when we got married."