Bayou sunset, p.1
Bayou Sunset, page 1
BAYOU SUNSET
Copyright © 2024 by Sheila Kell
All rights reserved.
Published by Cunningham Publishing
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Formatting by Lea Schizas
E-ISBN: 978-1-957587-12-7
ISBN: 978-1-957587-13-4
Printed in the United States of America
Books by Sheila Kell
HIS Series
His Desire
His Choice
His Return
His Chance
His Destiny
His Family
His Heart
His Fantasy
A Hamilton Christmas
Agents of HIS Series
Evening Shadows
Midnight Escape
Afternoon Delight
Bayou Sunset
Coastal Investigation Series
Deadly Betrayal
Read Between the Lines
Fractured Trust
Author’s Note
This narrative unfolds predominantly in a quaint, secluded backwoods town populated by colorful local characters. This setting serves as the canvas on which I have woven the unique linguistic charm of Cajun-French and Cajun-English into the dialogue. While I don’t claim to be an authority on these dialects, I have thoughtfully integrated and adapted them to enrich the storytelling experience. For your reference, I’ve compiled a list of these terms should their meanings be unclear within the narrative context—some are loosely translated.
Au revoir—Bye, Goodbye, See you later
Bateau—boat
Beaucoup—a lot, a bunch
Bien—good
Bien amusant—good/fun time
Bière—beer
Bon—good
Bonjour—Hello
Bonsoir—Good evening
Ça va—okay, fine, good
Chèr—friend (male)
Chère—friend (female)
Couyon—Crazy or stupid person
Da—the
Demain soir—tomorrow night
Deux—Two
Dix—Ten
Encore—again
Et—and
Frère—brother
Huit—eight
If you please—Please
Mais—but
Mais non—but no
Mais oui—but yes
Maman—Mom
Mamau—Mom (slang-endearment)
Merci—Thank you, Thanks
Merde—a vulgar expression or exclamation of frustration
Mère—Mother
Moi—me
Mon ami—my friend
Mon amour—my love
Mon Dieu! —My God!
Mon frères—my brothers
Mon Gason—my son
Non—no
Oui—Yes, Okay
Paroles du village—Talk of the town (loosely)
Père—Father
Petite fille—young girl/lady
Que—What
Resser—Calm down
Sisit—sis (informal)
Soir—night
Souer—sister
Trois—Three
Un—One
Une bouille d’écrevisses—The crawfish festival
Une heure—an hour
Ya—You (and variants)
Chapter One
“MAYBE WE SHOULD waterboard him.”
Steve “Romeo” Smith considered his teammate Brad Hamilton’s advice. As Chief Interrogator at Hamilton Investigation and Security, or HIS for short, Romeo knew the family’s rules on interrogations, as did Brad, who had created said rules.
Waterboarding was forbidden. However, in this instance, the tango—a suspected terrorist—didn’t know they wouldn’t torture him physically. A little mind fuck, though, was not out of the question.
Romeo had mastered skills beyond a traditional field agent as a former, deeply entrenched FBI interrogator. While waterboarding hadn’t been one of them, he had put into practice many questionable techniques to retrieve the information necessary to save lives. Techniques even the Hamilton brothers wouldn’t allow him to conduct due to the severity of the actions utilized. So, he had to retrieve info the old-fashioned way—with questioning, deceit, and intimidation.
While not his and Brad’s first rodeo together, he would play along with the Hamilton brother. Romeo narrowed his eyes at the suspect, then slowly nodded in agreement to Brad’s suggestion.
Brad laughed maniacally and slipped from the room, leaving Romeo alone with the tango.
Bernie Jackson, the tango, had attempted to bomb one of the radio stations owned by Kate Hamilton, Romeo’s big boss’s wife. Sure, they should have turned him over to the police after they caught him in the act. And they eventually would. Right now, though, they needed to know who sent Bernie. In their brief investigation, it became apparent that Bernie wasn’t talented enough to create a bomb. Plus, there were no bomb-making items at Bernie’s residence but a deposit of $10,000 into his checking account.
Romeo noted Bernie’s sweat—a sure sign of his nervousness. “What be wrong, Bernie? Are ya afraid of a little water?” He smiled. What he had been told gave the recipient a grim outlook.
“You can’t do this. I’ve done nothing wrong. Please, you have to let me go,” Bernie insisted as he struggled in the chair he had been zip-tied to. All he managed to do was move the chair around, which didn’t bother Romeo because he knew it had to hurt where the ties touched skin every time Bernie struggled.
Standing, Romeo stretched like nothing phased him. After a fake yawn, he said, “Sure, we can. Remember, no police, no rules. We can do as we wish.” It was a lie, but he’d learned to lie easily after years of this work. Sometimes, he hated that he had mastered that skill, but he kept the deceit in the interrogation room.
“Help! Help me! They’re trying to kill me.”
Romeo closed his eyes and slowly shook his head as if to tsk the man. “I’ve already told ya this room is sound-proofed. All ya doing is giving me a headache. Ya don’t want to see me angry, do ya, Bernie?”
With a whimper, Bernie shook his head. “I can’t tell you. He said he’d kill me. Please, you have to let me go.”
Well, well. At least Bernie told them he had been hired. It was funny what fake threats would do to a man, especially one delivering trouble. Romeo hovered over the shaking man. “Who will kill ya? Besides me, if ya don’t tell me who hired ya?”
“I— You— I—” Bernie stumbled out and fell silent. He stopped struggling and dropped his head in defeat.
Romeo narrowed his eyes at the man. “Tell us who hired ya, and we’ll protect ya against him.” So far, all they knew was that it was a male.
Bernie looked up, wouldn’t look Romeo in the eye, and shook his head. “No, I can’t,” he cried.
With a stone-cold heart that he wore during interrogations, Romeo stood there watching the tears slide down Bernie’s face. He didn’t care that the man was scared. The man was guilty as shit and could have killed others. It had been pure luck that the security guard caught him placing the bomb before Bernie could arm it.
Hearing heavy footsteps coming toward the room, Romeo thinned his lips. “Last chance. Brad be on his way back to take ya to be waterboarded.” To make things worse, he leaned down to Bernie’s ear and whispered, “It be a specialty of ours.”
As expected, Bernie peed his pants. Romeo stood and stepped back as the puddle pooled at the man’s feet. He hated to scare someone to that extreme, but it was sometimes necessary.
Romeo headed toward the door to open it for Brad. As he took the steps, he mentally counted: one, two, three, four.
“Okay, okay,” Bernie said with a defeated tone. “Okay.”
Romeo smiled, then forced a nonchalant look before turning back to Bernie. “Oui?”
“First, you have to promise you’ll protect me,” Bernie demanded.
With a quizzical raise of an eyebrow, Romeo nodded shortly. “If ya tell us the truth.” He angled his head toward the door. “Ya have until Brad returns to spill ya guts.”
Eyes wide, Bernie cried, “Wait!”
They had this man, and it hadn’t been that difficult. Once they had the information, they would protect him, but HIS would also turn him over to the police after they caught the mastermind.
Brad walked into the room with a grim look on his face.
Romeo cocked his head in question.
“You need to come with me,” Brad said to Romeo.
Staring at Brad, Romeo couldn’t believe Brad had deviated from their well-developed tactic. He was supposed to enter and state the tub was ready.
“Now,” Brad demanded.
Disbelief and curiosity wormed their way into Romeo. What in the world was going on? Brad had to know he hadn’t completely broken Bernie, as there hadn’t been enough time for the information to flow.
Realizing Brad
“I’ll finish that up. You have a phone call.”
Romeo stopped in his tracks. They had interrupted an interrogation for a phone call. “Ya got to be shitting me.”
“Nope.”
“Merde. It had best be the president of the fucking United States for ya to interrupt me right now.”
Brad shook his head. “No. It’s your mom.”
Unfuckingbelievable. Why hadn’t Brad just taken a message? They were seriously busy now. Yanking the portable phone Brad held out, Romeo turned away. Trying to keep his anger at Brad from showing in his voice, he took a deep breath before he answered the phone. His mom would understand. She knew he had an important job and couldn’t always talk when she called. Because of that, he made sure to call her back.
“Hi, Mamou. Can I call ya back? I be a bit busy right now.” His mind turned back to Bernie and the information he needed. The longer they let Bernie stew, the better the chance he would realize his dilemma and clam up again.
His mother wept as she spoke. “Steve, ya Papa had a heart attack. I need ya to come home.”
Fear clawed at him. All thoughts of Bernie and his position at HIS disappeared from his mind. “How—” He cleared his throat. “How he be?” His father had been the epitome of health when he had last been home. Then he closed his eyes. That had been too long ago—way too long. He spoke with his mother regularly but hadn’t seen her in years.
“He be fine. I just need ya to come home.”
Merde. Although it was the answer he hoped to hear, he knew his mother, whose wording meant his papa was anything but fine. “I’ll be there tonight.” He clicked off the call, handed it back to Brad, and walked away without a backward glance. His mind spun on getting an airline ticket, getting packed, and getting the hell back to Louisiana and his family. And the woman he couldn’t have but dreamed about all…the…fucking…time.
Chapter Two
DAISY MAE ROBICHOUX sprayed down the deck of Seas the Day, her charter boat, cursing the passengers she'd taken out earlier in the day. Why did people who got seasick allow others to push them into boating? Oh, that's right. They didn't have to clean up the vomit. She did. Or her deckhands would if they hadn't bailed.
At least the three men had a great time bringing in a nice catch, which they donated to the neighboring homeless shelter. She always recommended that option when passengers didn’t want to take their catch, making them feel good about their efforts. It wasn't like they were deep-sea fishing, catching sharks. It was out in the bayou but deep enough to catch larger fish.
She shook her head at the group this morning. They hadn't had a drop to drink, but they'd been as cheerful as those who had tied one on, and she'd loved that. Until the one got sick….
“Bonjour, Deyzee Mè,” Jean-Paul said, startling her as he walked down the dock.
“Look like a bien amusant,” Pierre, his twin, said, laughing.
Her brothers never understood her deep attachment to the family's collection of charter boats. After their parents passed away, she and her brothers each inherited one of the three boats. JP and Pierre had sold theirs and purchased a bar. At least they had kept their father's love of John Wayne in their memories by calling the bar Dukes.
On the other hand, she didn't care if she was the only female captain at the pier. She loved the boat, the water, and even the sick people. The joy and happiness that came over someone's face when they caught a fish, especially for the first time, made this part of the job worth it. Besides, she would have to spray off the deck anyway.
Her obnoxious but loving brothers didn't ask for permission to board. They jumped on the boat, causing it to rock.
“Hey, Sisit,” Pierre said. “We needs a favor.”
Of course, they did. “Bonjour, JP. Bonjour, Pierre. Mais non, I appreciate the help ya offered in cleaning da bateau,” she wisecracked.
Pierre shook his head. “Ya be the one that chose to keep this stinky mess.”
JP, not to be left out, added, “Oui, ya could've joined us at Duke's. Mais, where be ya deckhands?”
The young girl she hired fell ill due to the smell of vomit. The other deckhand had called out sick. She questioned whether it was due to a hangover rather than actual suffering. He was young, and it had been a weekend trip. It wasn't the first time, but it might be the last. She would wait to see how elaborately he concocted his story.
“Whatcha want?” she asked without stopping her work. She had a deck to clean before darkness settled, making it difficult to see. She prided herself on a pristine boat—at least, as good as a charter boat could be with the wear and tear of nature's elements.
JP crossed his arms over his chest, his legs spread to withstand the rocking their boarding had caused. “We needs a favor.”
She stopped spraying the deck and wiped the sweat off her forehead with a rag from her back pocket. Good grief, it had been a scorcher for May. This summer's weather didn't bode well for the South: heat, heat, and more heat. At least it wasn’t a hurricane. She didn't want to deal with that turmoil all over again.
Turning, she looked at each brother. They were handsome enough with their sandy blond hair, a bit too long but not sufficient to be shaggy. Yeah, it looked good on them. They had taken after their papa. God rest his soul.
Curiosity got the better of her. “What be dis favor?”
“Ya must agree first,” Pierre said.
She closed her eyes in exasperation as she shook her head. Why did they have to be so obtuse? Opening her eyes, she looked at each of them, stopping on Pierre, the oldest by six minutes. “Ya know me better than dat. Now, spill it. I no have time for dicking around.”
“Language, Sisit,” JP said, laughing. “Ya talk like a drunken sailor.”
“Fuck you,” she said, not caring what they said about her. They were about the only ones who drew out this type of language. “Now, spill it,” she repeated, “I got no time for stupidity.”
“Oui,” Pierre said, “We”—he gestured between him and JP—”need ya to take us on a short trip. Local like.”
She had previously made trips for men looking to escape it all but for her lazy-assed brothers. They hated going on the water for longer than the boat ride home since the water taxi was faster than driving. It also prevented them from getting another DUI on the roads.
She had her doubts about this trip. “What be we doing? Fishing or sightseeing?” She offered both, although the sights were few and far between. There was little in Bayou Junction, Louisiana: alligators, small islands, and abundant fish.
Returning to her brothers, maybe they were trying to butter someone up to buy into the bar or perhaps some new scheme. She knew they didn't have financial problems and wouldn't want another partner, but who knew with her brothers? Get-rich schemes, though, were the name of their game.
“Um,” Pierre said, then began to fidget back and forth on his feet, looking down as he did.
What the hell? She'd never seen her brother at a loss for words. Now, her curiosity was at full tilt.
“Sightseeing,” JP blurted out. “Of a sort,” he mumbled at the end, but she caught it.
This sounded fishier than the smell of her passengers' last catch. “I got no time for dis,” she said and turned. “Ya know my rates for a trip.” She turned the hose back on, spraying another portion of her deck, waiting for their subsequent plea.
Out of her peripheral vision, she caught Pierre walking closer. She purposefully turned, with the sprayer still flowing, barely splashing him.
He jumped back and held up his hands. “Ça va, ça va.”
Sighing, she turned off the sprayer and gave her brothers her full attention. “What da hell be going on? I never see ya two nervous ’cept when Papa caught ya and Steve drinking his Jack.”
Ah, hell. Just the mention of Steve Smith had her insides in turmoil. She had always had a crush on him, but she was his best friend's little sister. She was…. What had he called her that final night? Oh yeah, “Off limits.”
She disagreed but never said anything to the contrary after he shut her down. But Steve had made his choice and got the hell out of Bayou Junction, just like he'd always said he would. Lucky bastard.
