It didn’t matter what your scam was; Felipe had seen it all. For a weekly on-time payment, he’d protect you from any pissed-off customers, and his political connections would keep your business off law enforcement’s radar. Don’t pay, and he’d report you to the federal agents at ATF or to the local police, or he’d just burn your place down.
Everyone paid Felipe Cruz.
But Lucy hadn’t left Tupelo to end up under the thumb of another man who thought he could throw his weight around. Sooner or later, she’d find a way to handle Felipe Cruz.
CHAPTER THREE
Lucy, for the most part, kept to herself. When she’d first arrived in New Orleans, the few times she’d visited jazz clubs and bars in the area had resulted in quick, abrupt departures. Men felt buying her a drink came with benefits. She treated them all the same. Two or three sips of her favorite cocktail, and the rest went into the face of the man with the roaming hands.
She stood five feet, nine inches with flawless skin, beautiful blue eyes, and natural red hair. Lucy attracted men without trying, even though applying makeup wasn’t on her daily agenda. A colorful bandana over her hair was her signature look as well as floppy clothes covering her shapely body.
High-maintenance salon customers were envious of Lucy. They spent hours on their hair and makeup in hopes of catching a good-looking wealthy husband. The ladies made it clear during their gossip time under the hair dryers that the good-looking part was negotiable. Lucy’s natural beauty attracted men like bees to honey, and she had been a thorn in the side of the local pool of available women ever since she’d arrived in town.
Lucy kept the salon clean and orderly and listened and learned. She’d sweep the floor and study each woman as a beautician cut her hair. Many women spewed out their personal problems like an erupting volcano. Issues with their kids, problems with their family, and what they would like to do to their cheating husbands. Lucy swept up afterward, sometimes taking the person’s hair clippings and labeling the bag by name and making note of behavior that sometimes went into a rage.
Ava Weber was a regular every Thursday afternoon, rain or shine. She was dropped off at the Royal Street entrance by her driver. She was married to a prominent divorce attorney who handled cases from New Orleans to the north of Baton Rouge. He was expensive, but the word was whatever party got him was sure to walk out of the courtroom very happy.
Ava was one of those who’d spilled her guts about a cheating husband. She’d said it loud enough for everyone to hear that divorce wasn’t an option and ended with, now just keep that between us. Of course, the beautician had assured her it was between the two of them and the four walls.
Lucy saw to the customers’ needs by brewing coffee, fetching cigarettes, and making their overall experience at Bluff’s Salon a pleasurable visit. She’d walk around with glasses of cheap champagne, which Ava never turned down, saying, maybe one to get the edge off. That led to two or three and, a few times, a fourth glass, which typically resulted in Lucy escorting Ava to the hands of her driver.
Ava was a good tipper, so Lucy made it a point to meet her at the curb whenever her car pulled up. One Thursday, Lucy opened the rear car door and found Ava already had a head start on drinking. She asked Lucy to hold her champagne flute while she slipped out of the back seat. A champagne breakfast with friends at the Court of Two Sisters restaurant had given Ava an excuse to start drinking early. By the time she moved from the beautician’s chair to the hair dryer, she was well lit. The way things were going, this would be one of those days when Ava would need help getting into the car.
While Lucy was setting the hair dryer’s heat and timer, she heard Ava mumble.
“Did you say something, Ms. Ava?”
Ava took Lucy’s hand. “I saw that woman.”
“What woman?” Lucy asked, kneeling down in front of her.
“My husband’s mistress,” she whispered.
Lucy looked around. The ladies nearest her were engaged in their magazines and deafened by the noise of their hair dryers.
Fetching Ava another glass of champagne, Lucy egged Ava on for the latest gossip. She filled Lucy’s ear with how she’d stumbled across her husband’s mistress. Her description of the woman was detailed down to her fingernails, a mole on her left cheek, and her preferred drink, Johnnie Walker scotch. Lucy quickly realized Ava hadn’t stumbled across the woman; she’d been stalking her.
Ava finished her fourth glass of champagne just as the hair dryer’s timer light blinked. Lucy helped her out of the chair.
“I would lose everything in the divorce,” Ava said, stumbling through most of the words. “My lawyer husband made that very clear.”
“Let’s move you to the beautician chair and get you prettied up.” Lucy took the flute of champagne.
“I want this woman out of my life.” Ava tugged on Lucy’s arm. “Do you know someone who can make that happen? The bitch’s name is Gabrielle de Jean. They call her Gabby.”
A slight chill went up Lucy’s spine.
“My husband owns an apartment house on Conti Street. There is one apartment he keeps open for his Friday-night poker games. I collect the rent, and an older lady across the hall said there is no such poker game, but a woman fitting Ms. de Jean’s description shows up every Friday evening.”
Lucy knew how Ava felt. She’d watched her mother go through the same problem with Lucy’s womanizer father. The only difference was, he seldom came home with a paycheck, and her mother’s life was a struggle every day. Which had made it easy for Wanda to walk out on him in Tupelo.
Lucy was all too familiar with the
