Cajun Justice Page 9

  “Assist you?” Cain asked. “That’s exactly what I did. My actions most likely prevented this from spiraling out of control. Had I not paid that woman”—Cain paused—“on behalf of the Secret Service, the police would have gotten involved and this would have likely resulted in arrests.”

  “This is not personal,” the SAC continued. “It’s just business—a business that requires the highest levels of integrity, patriotism, and the trust of the American people and the officials we took an oath to protect with our very bodies, if necessary. There are already members of Congress trying to strip away our mission to protect the president and give it to the damn FBI!” The all-American SAC was starting to lose his patience.

  “They always threaten that, sir.” Cain looked to LeRoy, who sat there without saying a word. Why don’t you say something instead of just sitting there? “Congress threatened it after Kennedy was killed, after Reagan was shot, and even after that couple crashed the White House dinner.”

  The SAC stood and pounded his desk. “I offered you an opportunity to resign and keep your security clearance—and your honor! I swear—”

  Cain interjected, “There’s no honor in resigning this way.”

  “Your other choice is getting fired. There’s certainly no honor in that. You’d lose your top secret clearance, and you’d never be accepted in a law enforcement position again!” The vein on the side of the SAC’s temple was now pulsating. He snatched a piece of paper off his desk and tossed it to Cain. “Read it, you arrogant asshole!”

  Cain looked at the letter. It has been an honor serving alongside my friends with the United States Secret Service, but after long and careful consideration, I feel my resignation will allow me the stability to pursue my personal aspirations, it read. Cain couldn’t believe they already had a resignation letter typed and prepared for his signature.

  “Personal aspirations,” he said aloud. He then looked from the SAC to LeRoy. “What does that even mean? You and everyone else in this building know I have no personal aspirations.”

  LeRoy continued to remain quiet. The SAC’s hand was shaking from the confrontation, but he used it to provide Cain with a pen. It was one of those expensive, heavy pens that a CEO would use to sign business deals.

  “You can shove that pen up your ass, sir!”

  “Get the hell out of my office,” the SAC demanded. He motioned to LeRoy. “Get this ungrateful man out of my office.”

  “Gladly,” Cain replied.

  Once they were in the hallway, Cain turned to the King. “You could have warned me, LeRoy!”

  “Since when do you call me LeRoy?”

  “Since you’re no longer my boss, you cowardly son of a bitch. That’s when!” LeRoy looked shocked at Cain’s response. “I walked right into a firestorm and you just sat there like a frog on a stump.”

  “Agent Lemaire, my office, now!” LeRoy shouted as Cain turned to walk away. Something in his tone made Cain look back.

  Chapter 25

  LeRoy nodded toward his office door. Cain went in and LeRoy quietly closed the door behind him. He motioned for Cain to have a seat, but he shook his head in defiance. “I’ll stand,” he said.

  “Please, take a seat,” LeRoy said as he moved behind his desk and plopped down into his nice executive chair. He clasped his hands and laid them down on his immaculate desk. He calmly looked at Cain, who had no idea what to expect.

  He’s probably about to give me some type of half-assed apology, Cain thought. I’m not interested in listening to anything like that.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “Don’t you ever call me a cowardly son of a bitch again,” LeRoy said.

  Cain felt his eyes bulge as he searched for his response.

  “You don’t have a clue how far I stuck my neck out for you,” LeRoy continued. “The White House is so embarrassed by what happened that the SAC was promising the chief of staff that he’d fire your ass personally. But I convinced him to go through the steps—hoping you’d get enough ammunition to save your job. Your meeting with the SAC went down pretty much like I had imagined, except for the part where you told him to shove that pen up his ass.” Cain thought he perceived a slight smile on the King’s lips. “I respect your decision, but I’m not sure I would have done the same thing.”

  “‘To thine own self be true,’” Cain said. “‘Thou canst not then be false to any man.’ At the end of the day, I gotta stay true to myself.”

  “Man, you can quote Shakespeare all day, but I told you heads were gonna roll, and mine was damn sure not going to be one of ’em. I’ve worked too long and too damned hard to get where I’m at. And I’m not going to trade my career for yours, that piece of shit Jackson, or for the others. There aren’t many agencies looking for an old black cop these days. This is all I got.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

  Cain’s demeanor softened. He didn’t agree with what happened at all, but he understood LeRoy’s position a little better. “I’m sorry about the cowardly son of a bitch remark.”

  LeRoy dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “You’re a damn good agent, and it’s a shame we’re losing you. I just wanted you to know that.”

  Cain shook LeRoy’s hand.

  LeRoy smiled. “Now take your sorry ass back to Alabama.”

  “Louisiana,” Cain replied.

  “Same difference.” LeRoy smiled even bigger. “Good luck to you, Cain. You’ll be just fine.”

  “Long live the King,” Cain muttered under his breath as he left LeRoy’s office and headed toward his own to box up his belongings.

  Chapter 26

  Cain’s office was a large open bay with about fifteen desks separated by five-foot dividers. Never in my wildest dreams could I have envisioned how this day would end up. I knew I’d retire someday and have to box up my things, but I thought it would be after a long and distinguished career. There would be cake and punch and everyone gathered around. They’d tell exaggerated stories and roast me. I’d be the butt of jokes, at least a few. This day was different. There was no fanfare. No cake. No punch.

  He headed straight to the supply room. While he gathered a few cardboard boxes, Jill quietly walked into the cramped room.

  “How did it go?” she asked. She was now wearing a gray suit and carrying her pistol on her hip.

  “I kind of resigned.”

  “Kind of?” she said. “Is that even a thing? Sounds like kind of being pregnant. You either did or you didn’t.”

  “Well, that hypocrite gave me his pen to sign my resignation letter that he had already typed up.”

  Jill looked on wide-eyed.

  “I told him to shove that pen where the sun don’t shine.”

  “Oh, God.” She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Yeah.” She nodded. “Yup. I’d say you resigned, all right.”

  He looked straight into her blue eyes. “They don’t deserve you, either. You were right to decide to leave.”

  She hugged him. “These assholes don’t deserve you. It’s shit like that—that’s why it’s getting easier and easier for me to leave the Service.”

  “Let’s talk later,” Cain suggested. “When it’s more private. Rumors fly around this place.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  Cain headed to his desk. Colleagues circled around him as he opened the drawers and started going through his things. More than one apologized. “It’s a witch hunt, brother. I’m sorry.” Cain flipped through a few loose papers with notes on them. “Don’t need these anymore.” He tossed them into a trash can. He riffled through some business cards, discarding most of them but keeping a few he thought might be helpful later. He grabbed the challenge coins he had received from VIPs he had protected. He put those and a few other personal items he had collected from his travels into a box. He found the drawings and thank-you cards some children had given him when he and Tom had been tasked with participating in a local school’s career day. He placed the keepsakes in the box.
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  His desk phone rang. He instinctively reached out and grabbed the handset but paused.

  “Maybe it’s POTUS calling—granting you a stay,” one agent remarked.

  Jill leaned in, and Cain strained to hear her over the noise of everyone jeering and telling him what he should do. “Don’t answer it, Cain. You’re a free man now,” she whispered in his ear.

  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.

  “The usual.” He smiled, feeling the strain on his windblown face.

  “Sure,” the server replied without even writing it down. Anyone who asked for “the usual” was a local.

  Two minutes later, she returned with chicory coffee and a plate of freshly fried beignets coated with powdered sugar. Cain sipped his coffee and ate his beignets. His body was still stiff from the long road trip from Arlington, but the bold coffee felt like medicine as it lubricated his joints. From his table, he watched pigeons walking around, pecking at crumbs. Farther in the distance, across the square, he saw the three spires of St. Louis Cathedral. Claire had been far more religious than he was, and it had meant a great deal to her to get married at the oldest cathedral in the United States. Their wedding was not the huge spectacle it could have been, but, stepping out into the square when the ceremony was over, Cain thought the whole world was open to them. He had never been happier.

  It’s been years since I’ve stepped foot in that church, he thought. He placed a ten-dollar bill on the table and secured it with his now empty mug. He stood and meandered along the sidewalk, through a gathering of artists and street vendors now setting up for the day, and arrived at the front steps of the cathedral.

  He looked skyward. The cathedral towered into the heavens. He walked up the stairs and pushed the heavy, solid-wood doors open. The church was lit by the early-morning sun shining through the stained-glass windows. A row of flags adorned the second-story balcony. Although it was an American church, it looked as though it had been transplanted straight from a village in France.

  Cain spotted the confessional in the corner. He pushed the curtain aside and entered. He kneeled and made the sign of the cross. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been eight years since my last confession.”

  A creaking sound echoed in the chamber as the old priest shifted his position. “May the God of all mercies help you make a good confession. Proceed, my son.”

  Cain took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I killed my wife and son.”

  Chapter 29

  Cain pushed through the church doors. The outside light blinded him. The sun was shining over the Mississippi River, its rays reflecting off the downtown buildings like a prism. It was a typical Louisiana day: hot and muggy. He was pissed when he realized he had left his Ray-Ban sunglasses in the confessional, but he wasn’t going back for them. He lifted his hand to shiel
d the blaze.

  He had done it. Finally. He had confessed. Yet he didn’t feel any better. No weight had been lifted off his shoulders. That void deep in his heart still ached. The confession had managed only to bring up the past and stoke the fires of that trauma.

  Cain hurried through the crowd of tourists that had grown. He was soaked in sweat. He climbed onto his Harley and navigated the busy, tight streets until he accelerated onto the on-ramp for I-10 westbound toward Baton Rouge. When he crossed the grated bridge and looked left toward LSU’s football stadium, he knew he’d be home in no time. He kept pushing westward until he arrived in Lafayette—a thriving city that still felt like a small town.

  Cruising old asphalt roads past South Louisiana’s rice fields brought back memories. Riding the bike allowed Cain to be part of the countryside, not just an observer. The thick air whipped past his helmet, and he smelled the familiar odors of mud and wetlands. Home was drawing near. Everywhere he looked, he saw flashes of his past—where he’d hunted ducks with his dad, where he’d ridden dirt bikes with Seth, and where he, Bonnie, and their friends would gather around the bonfire on Friday nights after school. He’d had the best of both worlds: he had grown up in the country, but the city life of Lafayette was close by.

  At the end of the paved road, he turned right onto a dirt road and headed toward the lone house in the distance. The white paint was fading and chipping in certain parts of the early-1900s Acadian-style farmhouse. He found himself rolling on the throttle, eager to finally arrive home. His motorcycle kicked up a trail of dust that followed him like a shadow. When he came to a halt, it engulfed him.

  The southern breeze carried the dust away, and Cain patted the remaining dirt off his clothes. His dad and younger brother were draining the oil on a bright-yellow crop duster in the barn, which served as a makeshift hangar. They stopped long enough to look up to see who had arrived.

  Cain removed his helmet and hung it on the handlebar. Sunny, the golden retriever that the local American Legion had given Seth to help with his PTSD episodes, trotted toward Cain with his tail wagging.