well-to-do shrink. Maybe a housekeeper, or secretary. I can’t remember the exact job. From what little I recall, some cult broke into the old Charpentier House, where the shrink lived, and supposedly brutalized him. Authorities found blood spattered everywhere, along with what remained of his body, after a few of his organs had been removed. When Brie’s grandmother showed up for work the next morning, the members were still there and attacked her, as well. Footage of a young girl was seen on security cameras, too, but search parties never found any trace of her.
The motive remained a complete mystery, seeing as the place didn’t appear to be vandalized. The nature and brutality of the crime suggested possible revenge for something and, given the religious artifacts left behind, had a dark ritual element, but as far as I know, that was never confirmed.
“I expect you’ll keep me apprised of the situation. I want to know by tomorrow if she’s coming back, or if you’ll have to start looking for new talent.”
Head bowed, she nods. “Yes, Mr. Bergeron.” For as bold and brazen as she can be with the other staff members, not taking anyone’s shit, the girl always seems to have a hard time looking me in the eye.
“And one more thing. I find any of these dancers out back again, it’ll be your ass on the line.”
Closing her eyes, she huffs and shakes her head. “I tell them … but they--”
“Tell them they’ll answer to me next time.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Bergeron. I won’t let it happen again on my watch.”
“I’ll expect not.” The way she hangs her head reminds me of a puppy dog, sad for having disappointed its master. It’s not that I want my staff to fear my disappointment. I simply want them to respect my rules. For their own protection, really, because if things go to hell, I’m not the only one the devil will come to collect. “How is school?” In addition to managing the club, Brie also takes part time classes toward some dream of hers. A fact I only know because she included it on her application when she applied to become a manager here. Considering half this town aspires to something they never bother to pursue, I give her credit for trying.
This question seems to brighten the somber look on her face. “It’s good. Real good.”
“Très bien.” Very good. Sometimes, I throw the occasional Valir around her, mostly because she expects it, knowing my family. It’s when I travel outside of Louisiana that I force myself to tamp that part of me away, for the sake of anonymity when tasked with blowing someone’s brains out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my work.”
“Of course, Mr. Bergeron. And thank you. For giving her another chance.”
“This isn’t another chance, Ms. Dajerae. It’s a warning.”
She slips out of my office, closing the door behind her, and I drag a hand down my face, throat suddenly burning for a drink.
Amber fluid dances around the glass as I fill it to the brim, before setting the decanter back on my desk. This job is exhausting. Not so much the paperwork and the few moments of solitude, but dealing with people and their problems is not something I was born to do in life. It’s amazing to me, sometimes, how something I never wanted could fall into my lap, and I’d turn out to actually be good at the shit. Who knew money laundering was my great calling?
Then again, maybe it’s not so much a mystery, after all. My father was known to dabble in shady dealings, which is essentially how I arrived in this hell, so I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I kick back a sip of my drink and open the drawer beside me, pulling out a picture of my mother and Frannie. Even through my mother’s smile, and the beams of sunlight reflecting off her golden hair as she sits hugging my sister on the front lawn of our old home, there’s a sliver of sadness in her eyes. One I always thought was there, from the moment my father up and left us. I’m just glad she died before she had to see me turn out like the bastard. She’d have thought me a sinner, just like him. A lying, cheating criminal, bound for hell.
The severity of my mother’s Catholic upbringing is undoubtedly what led to her kicking my father out of the house when