Smith, Antony Neil - Bad For Business

24 Pages·2016·0.07 MB·English

by  Smith Anthony Neil

= Bad for Business
by Anthony Neil Smith

The rumor was the Times-Picayune critic would visit the restaurant that night
incognito, which was the last thing Gill needed with Jessie upstairs hiding from
the Feds. Gill's had opened two months ago on the fringe of the French Quarter
and quickly built a rep -- laid back post-cybercafe, Creole inspired menu, walls
covered with bright neo-outsider art. This was where the young and cool New
Orleans came for client lunches, romantic dinners, couple of after work drinks
on the red-brick garden patio. Gill needed to impress The Critic to stay afloat,
because buzz came and went quicker than seasons changed. Then Jessie showed
up desperate and three years late, wrecking Gill's concentration and making his
heart beat fast again.

It was a strong night, nearly full at eight, booked solid during peak hours. Good
atmosphere for The Critic, wherever she was. One of the waiters told Gill he'd
seen The Critic a couple of times, when she visited other places he had worked.
He was sure to recognize her again, disguise and all ("The glasses. She's nearly
blind," he said), and would alert the staff.

Gill stood at the front awhile with Veronica, his hostess and girlfriend. She was
Brazilian, skin a deep chocolate, wearing black slacks and a white silk blouse.
Gill wore a khaki suit, his best brown shoes. The hair was perfect, blond and
gelled. He walked around, talked to diners, schmoozed some celebs: teen actors
Gill didn't know named Sarah and Seth and Reese; the guitar player for Bruce
Springsteen, Nils Lofgren, there with Jimmie Vaughn; and a table of literary
types, known in the circles. But Gill wanted stars, not flashlights.

One of the waiters waved him over, huddled close and said, "We've got a couple
of guys over there, say they'd like to talk to you."

"Problem?"

The waiter shrugged. "They haven't even ordered. Just water and bread. Came
in, said something to Veronica I couldn't hear, so she bumped a reservation and
seated them."

"My luck, she probably bumped The Critic."

"She won't get by us. The net's up."

"These two, are they stars?"

"None I know."
Gill fell into step behind the waiter, who gave a point halfway to the table before
taking a sharp left out of the way. These two were probably late thirties, both
white, both in black suits, both in good shape. The one with curly hair sipped
water, while his mostly bald partner leaned back.

Gill smiled, his hands behind him. "I'm Gill Pinot, the owner? How's everything
tonight, gentlemen?"

"Just fine. Haven't ordered yet," the bald one said.

"I was told you wanted to speak with me."

"We have a few questions." The bald one pulled an ID wallet from his inside
pocket, laid it open on the table. "Special Agent Harker," a point across the table,
"Special Agent Yancey. Federal Bureau of Investigations. We were told you're
the ex-husband of Jessie Little."

"Sort of."
Yancey grinned. "And that was a 'yes or no' question."

Gill reached behind him for an empty chair, pulled it to the agents' table and sat
with the back in front of him, leaned his elbows on top. "We did the papers, set
the date, all that. I showed up at the church. She didn't. We had a few phone calls
after that, and she signed 'Mrs. Gill Pinot' on some things -- car loan, charged
some clothes. I sued in small claims. She didn't show for that either, but she
stopped signing, too. Last I saw her was the day before the wedding."

Harker said, "We've been looking for her a few days now. Now we're sure she's
in New Orleans. She made a call from the airplane to your home number earlier
today."

"Somebody answered?"

"Must have."

Gill thought a moment while the agents shared a Got Him Now look.

"Maybe the machine picked up. I've been here since eight this morning. Busy,
haven't called home for messages. Tonight's pretty important for us."
Yancey looked around. "It's a nice place. Not my usual type of hangout. Guess
I'm the falling-apart-blues-and-cheap-beer type. No frills."

"Shut up, Yancey," Harker said. "You sound like some TV cop."

The younger agent took another sip of water, but Gill could tell he was hurt.

"Won't take much of your time, Mr. Pinot. If she comes around, let us know.
We'll be watching, just in case. I take it there's no love lost, right? Nothing to
gain by helping her?"

"Nothing I can think of." Except keeping my business. And maybe some
intimate affection. Gill cleared his throat. "We hear there's a restaurant critic
supposed to stop by tonight. Have to be on our toes. What's Jessie done wrong,
anyway?"

Yancey answered. "Has to do with drugs. We've been watching her a long time,
think she's tied directly into a major pipeline operation. Heroin and cocaine."
Harker pulled out a card and handed it to Gill. "Like I said, just in case. Can we
get some menus?"

"Sure. And a couple of glasses of Merlot, on the house. Enjoy yourselves." Gill
replaced the chair, shook the agents' hands, and turned around in time to see the
top of Jessie's head peeking out from behind the kitchen doors -- short brown
hair and wire-rimmed glasses.

He started for the doors, past a table for two enjoying the Grilled Swordfish, past
another table for five relaxing with wine after their sauteed shrimp entree, before
pushing through and nearly breaking Jessie's nose. He pushed her back against a
wall, fingers spread on her chest. She watched him half a second with scared
eyes before squinting to mad.

"You won't touch me. You'll regret it, especially with all the knives handy,"
Jessie said. Her usual Amazon warrior crap.

Gill gave another push as she tried to squirm away. "Listen, for once in your
whole pathetic life, listen to me. I just talked to a couple of FBI guys who came
looking for you. You made a call. They traced the call. They traced it to my
place."

"Didn't want to surprise you."
"You didn't call the restaurant next."

She shrugged. "Surprised?"

Gill put fists on his hips. Jessie stopped trying to escape. Some of the kitchen
staff ceased their chopping and cooking to watch until Gill threw a glance over
his shoulder, started the work up again.

"Stay in the office. Don't do anything except play solitaire on the computer."

"This is a great-looking restaurant. Really magical, really popular. I heard about
the place while I was on the West Coast. It's what you always wanted."

It got him to grin, one he tried to fight. She grinned back, crossed her arms. "I
just wanted to see the crowd," she said.

"It's sink or swim night."
"I miss this town, and this energy, and that smell." Jessie lifted her nose, closed
her eyes. It was in the air, fresh vegetables, spice, crawfish and shrimp and fish,
sauces. Overwhelming, addictive. Which reminded Gill of something else.

"You gave it up to run drugs for somebody else."

"Don't pin that on me." She jabbed him in the chest with a rigid finger, the nail
nearly breaking skin. "It was all I knew. You were talking about giving it up."

"That was just talk. You know I'm still a big gun."

"But not forever, right? And then I'm supposed to give up the travel and sit at
home, wait for you every night. Screw that, Gill."

Gill dropped his face, smoothed his eyebrows with his fingertips. He said
quietly, "Upstairs. We'll talk later."

He watched Jessie walk through the kitchen, ass full and round in tight jeans,
and she was moving it just for him, regardless of the stares she got from cooks
with sharp knives and hot pots in their hands.

*

Gill walked around the dining room, stopping by tables at random, fake smile on
his face while he tried to clear his foggy head. Jessie bringing up the old days,
well, that stung. Gill's had begun as a money laundering front for the drug
trafficking. But instead of mixing it up with the standard players in the New
Orleans trade, he'd dealt with a friend in Brazil. Good price, good stuff, so all he
had to do was get it into the States.

He'd baited his beautiful fiancee Jessie into making the rounds, figuring she
could sweet talk guards and customs agents. Gill told her to be eager for help.
They'd never suspect.

He'd cleaned the money through some currency trades and NASDAQ daytrading
and put earnings back into the restaurant. Then he bought the place and called in
the renovators, the investors, the decorators. Even thought it might be time to
ease up on the drugs and go legit. But the trips were Jessie's first taste of the jet
set lifestyle, and she wasn't willing to give it up so easily. She left Gill standing
at the altar.