Cajun Justice(29)

Cain took his hand off the handset. “I guess you’re right.”

He was walking toward the exit when Tom Jackson appeared.

“I’m sorry it all ended like this, Cain. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.”

Cain scoffed. “For you or for me?”

“Let’s go, Cain,” Jill said.

Tom looked at Jill. “Hey, the men are talking here.”

“You’re such a sexist pig,” she said with disgust in her voice.

“She’s right, Tom,” Cain said. “We have a saying back home. On récolte ce que l’on sème.”

“What’s that mean?” Tom asked.

“You reap what you sow, and your storm is a-coming.”

“Oh, yeah? We’ll see about that. I won’t hold my breath for your Cajun voodoo to curse me.”

Cain looked around the room, and at the items he had placed in the box. “You know what? I don’t need this shit.” He turned the box upside down and dumped the contents into the trash can. He tossed the box on the floor and kicked it. It went flying through the open-bay office. Jill trailed him as he headed toward the exit. “Call me later,” she said. “Please.”





Chapter 27



The town house was only fifteen hundred square feet, but the moving company was expensive.

“If you can just wait about a week, I can give you a 15 percent discount,” the sales representative had said.

“No. I’ve gotta get outta here. I’ll pay your premium price.”

When the movers had finished boxing everything up, Cain walked through the house one last time. He wanted to make sure he had left nothing behind.

“No reason for me to ever come back,” he said aloud.

“Never say never.” The reply startled him. Jill had shown up unannounced.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came over to cheer you up. But more importantly, where are you going, mister?”

“Home.”

“You just resigned yesterday.”

“It’s been a long time coming, I guess.”

Jill stood there. “Were you going to tell me?”

Cain looked at her. He paused long enough to exhale. “I don’t know. Perhaps if things had been different.”

“Things are different now. I’m leaving. You’re leaving. This is a fresh start for the both of us.”

“You deserve better than me.”

“Can’t I be the judge of that?” she asked.

Cain smiled, but for only a brief moment. “I’ve neglected my family long enough. And right now, they feel more important to me than ever. I’m gonna head to the bayou.”

“Can I convince you to stay?”

“You know me too well. Once my mind is set on something, there’s no changing it.”

“I guess,” she replied, nodding her head. “The least I can do is give you a ride to the airport.”

“I’m not flying, Jill. I’m taking that.” He pointed out the window to his Harley-Davidson.

“All the way to Louisiana?” she asked in disbelief. “How long will that take?”

“Long enough for me to clear my mind.”

She hugged Cain, collapsing into his arms. After holding the embrace for quite some time, he pulled her arms off him.

“You take care of yourself,” he said as he straddled his Harley.

“What do I have to lose?” she said, and rushed in for a kiss. It was their first. “And it’s not good-bye,” she said. “It’s ‘see you soon.’”

He fired up the Harley, eased out of the driveway, and rolled the throttle until he disappeared down the street.

It would never have worked, he told himself.





Chapter 28



Cain rode his Harley south on the I-85. To break up the long travel by motorcycle, he stopped overnight in Atlanta, and then rested at an old friend’s wildlife rehabilitation farm in Pass Christian, Mississippi. On the third day, before sunrise, he picked up the I-10 west and rolled into the New Orleans French Quarter. It had been years since Hurricane Katrina stormed through the Crescent City with a vengeance, but to Cain it still looked the same. New Orleans had been resilient, and he was impressed by how the city had kept its spirit and culture alive. If New Orleans can bounce back, so can I.

He parked the motorcycle near Toulouse Station and peeled himself from the handlebars and leather seat. His body ached all over and his muscles were stiff from holding the same position for days. He walked along Decatur Street and stopped at the Café du Monde he and Claire had visited on the day of their wedding. Just as then, cargo ships blasted their foghorns to alert others as they sailed with their goods. Docked in the Mississippi River was the Natchez, the legendary steamboat. In just a couple of hours, it would be transporting tourists back in time to an era more akin to the Civil War. Filling the Vieux Carré with its melodious tunes, the steam calliope would be playing something like “Paddlin’ Madelin’ Home.”

Cain could smell the yeast and the sugar being fried as he took a seat at one of the round tables under an outdoor ceiling fan.

“What can I getcha, sugar?” the kind-faced black waitress asked. She wore a white shirt, a white cap, and a white apron stained with powdered sugar.