Mo & Curio and the Cunt with the Funny Hat

And for naught, he feared. The men he met with over the last week were old hats at skimming cash on construction contracts. Comptrollers, county commissioners, zoning committee hacks, construction contractor honchos...

But to the last man, none of them was much interested in trying to play around with rigging bids or skewing numbers. Each was afraid of the new deputy U.S. Attorney Randall Jowanski and the new golden boy Mississippi Attorney General, Stu Whitman. The way they figured it, between the two of them, the two were dying to catch an old school mobster skimming of a bid.

There were always a few cuts to make here and there with resources and labor, but the riverboats were stuck on the water and that cut out a lot of real estate speculation cash. The casinos themselves were run by tightwad entertainment consortiums who expected clean books and a pristine balance sheet. The Vegas mob put such a bad taste in the mouths of the Feds back in their heyday, it was expected for someone down south to try, and fail miserably, to pocket an ill-gotten share. Most figured Jowanski already had a RICO indictment written up, merely leaving the defendant's name line blank until he had a name to pencil in.

Jowanski was a particular thorn in Fontenot's side. He was eager to cut his teeth on someone like Fontenot. His tendrils spread deep, far, and wide across his judicial domain and more than a few connected people were doing time across the land because of his tenacity. He only needed to knock off a big fish and he was politically on his way somewhere into the stratosphere. Jowanski was bulletproof. Straight-laced, not prone to mistakes, kept his nose clean. A tough one to get to unless he got killed. And that was too much heat for Bertrand Fontenot to wish to deal with. Heat meant going underground, maybe getting busted when the FBI juggernaut got down to business. Those men played for keeps when one of their own went down.

The Mississippi guy though...

Grizzly closed his eyes and recapped what he was told by a source in the Capitol's carpool. Whitman was vulnerable. The women provided a crack in his armor. He was single. Getting laid for a single good-looking politician in the south was no vice that could not be overlooked. Sure, the Baptists blue hairs voted in great numbers and would eschew him, but they were GOP devotees anyway. Folks on the jackass side of the aisle just put an Arkansas shit-kicker and clit-licker in the Oval Office just because he played a sax and was down with brown. One look at his scowling wife and people gave him a sympathy pass if he liked to step out ever now and again.

Smiling to himself as he flipped off the light and gave his nub leg a scratch, Bertrand Fontenot thought about one of Louisiana's shit-kicker and clit-licker governors, Edwin Edwards.

AKA "Fast Eddie" to his ever-loyal constituents and concubines.

He was a chatty bastard, that Eddie Edwards, thought Fontenot.

What was that he said that time?

"Oh yeah! Funny sumbitch..."

Something about the only way he couldn't get re-elected was if he found in bed with a dead woman or a live boy...

The thought put him to sleep smiling a few hours later. He knew just the trick.

Curio nuzzled up against Moses' neck, sucking slowly on his ear.

"I think I'm a little drunk now." She giggled, her breath soft on his ear.

"It's a pleasantry ain't it?" He sighed and patted his belly. They sat in a corner booth at Christiano's in Houma. White tablecloths, low-wattage bulbs and copious plates of Italian pleasantries spread across tables laden with coonasses tired of cooking at home. Moses curled up to her, deferring to her sultry ambitions though mindful of eyes on them. He would never deny his relationship with Curio to anyone, but the unique job description the pair of them shared was always a secret to be maintained. Best maintained if scrutiny was averted.

For Moses, thirty sets of eyes watching an older man and his horny younger girlfriend was an exercise in maintaining a steadfast nonchalance despite an apprehension that gnawed at his throat. People would see them and scowl. Some would not but they would wonder. The server, Siouxrita, asked a few innocuous questions about what they were doing out later after dinner. Curio, half-tipsy on merlot, told her they were holing up at the house and not coming out until spring. The air was chilly as November crept down into south Louisiana. Moses was satisfied with her response. Curio had a tendency to be chatty with folks. Chatting meant offering details of one's background, upbringing, biases, affiliations, intentions, insights, and potential. He wanted none of those things to register with anyone he met.

"A ghost should never linger," Moses often said to her before she began to accompany him on his business trips. "I try very hard to be a ghost when I'm on the clock and a fart in the howling wind when I'm not."

One day when he said it, she recanted, "I can be ghost, too, Tex."

"You, my dear, are always going to be remembered, especially when people see you next to me. It can't be helped. So when I try to dissuade you from going out with me places, it's because I love you and I'm doing what's best for us. You, you can go out alone anywhere and anytime you wish. You're young and you blend in with young people. But put you next to me and it's a curiosity."

"And curiosity..." She rolled her eyes.

"Shot the pussy cat!" He shrugged.

Now, she was nuzzling his taunt neck in a restaurant close to where he lived and in front of a crowd of eyes that occasionally lingered. He tried to eat quickly, savoring the dish of lasagna sliced at least five inches high. Delectable. She did a great deal of drinking and wolfed down a plate of scallops sautéed in a garlic butter sauce served over angel-hair.

He tried to breathe it away, the paranoia. It was just a dinner between a couple in love.

Not the first older man- younger woman couple in the world, right? Not so taboo nowadays. Hell, they can watch us get in that old Bronco and know she ain't nailin the sugar daddy.

For all they knew, she was an escort. She was wearing a sleek lavender cocktail dress and matching open-toe pumps. Her hair was longer than it had been in months and she piled it high on her head with a few long tresses dangling astride her dark eyes. Cursing and tugging fabric on him, she had forced him into a dapper navy blue suit and shaved his salt-sprinkled hair into a tidier buzz cut than normal.

"You look civilized now, baby." She had stood in front of him, brushing away a loose hair or lint as she inspected him. "I can be seen with you now."

"I'm so thrilled I pass muster." He turned and played with his cuffs in the mirror. Feeling hung-over a bit, too. The last draw of the Rebel Yell was a long time prior.

Now they were fat and happy and dressed to kill in public for the first time in many months. He forced himself to shrug away his tension.

"You need to finish up that wine. If you keep tasting my ear we gonna' put on a show for these folks." His hand clasped her thigh just above her knee. And rubbed it.

"Kinky! I love it!" She half-giggled, half-slurred in his ear and gave it a bite. "Who knew the ghost wanting to slime on me on a white tablecloth?"

"Well, I was kinda hopin' to save that for a more private moment." Without flinching, he realized she was serious. Her hand was reciprocating his rubbing and not at all daintily. "Perhaps we should get dessert to go." His eyes closed softly, a little smile goading her further.

"Mmm, perhaps we get desserts right now..." she bit his neck and felt him shudder. "What? Is Moses afraid of a little PDA?"

"Moses would ass-fuck you at the hostess stand if he and his girlfriend weren't so damned guilty of a lot of felony charges." He let his hand wander up her skirt just a few inches.

"Live wild, baby. I need some release after all dat shootin today. Touch me..."

"You guys ready for dessert?" Siouxrita's voice snapped him back to his alert phase. Curio did not relent. "...inside deep, just like you know I like it.

"Yes ma'am, two slices of strawberry cheesecake to go." He grinned mischievously at the slightly annoyed waitress as she tried not to gawk at them. Curio kissed him softly on his throat as the woman turned on her heels to place the order.

"And Miss!" Curio asked suddenly. Siouxrita paused mid-stride and looked back attentively. "Tell them extra whipped cream! I think I'm fresh out at my house."

"Attention to detail is kinda gettin to be her thing" Moses acknowledged the coy smile Siouxrita flashed at them before zipping away to get dessert boxed up.

"I think she didn't like the show." Moses lit a Winston as Curio relented and flipped open a compact to primp.

"She's just jealous, Moses." Curio patted his crotch and rubbed it vigorously like it was a faithful collie's head. "And she doesn't even know how jealous she fuckin oughta be."

"You're too sweet."

"Not tonight, baby."

She inadvertently felt a subtle vibration in his pocket under her wrist and glared at his face.

The pager. The one she suggested he leave at home just that one night.

He sighed and shrugged. "I'll have to call, baby." He leaned over and whispered soft n his west Texas drawl, "But not until after the whipped cream is cleaned off."

It soothed the anger, but it did not quite heal the burning

"Bertie wants you two to meet him up in Jackson, Mon Cheri." Curio listened to the guttural and very Acadian lilt of Pete Fontenot, smirking and sucking her teeth with the phone on her ear as Moses toweled his back dry at the foot of his bed. Steam rolled from the bathroom and reached toward him. She thought it fitting as he stood naked before her, scarred and sinewy, fit for her feast and "to the task," as he liked to say.

"Any bleeders?" He paused and looked over his shoulder. Inspecting his back from afar, she shook her head. Occasional old shrapnel from his exposure to an exploded rocket would find its way from within him and exit from his skin. They bled when a decent piece was dislodged after a vigorous scrubbing with a loofah, as he had just gotten from her. What was left of the whipped cream on him was now gone.

"And what's in Jackson? I was kinda hoping to avoid work after that last gig." Curio rubbed her belly, reclining shower-dampened on a beach towel spread across the ruined bed sheets.

"Some hunch-a his. Not yo normal piece of action dis time. He wants a horse's head moment."

She winced and cocked her head as Moses flopped belly-down across the bed with a film canister. "Horse's head? What the fuck you mean by that?"

"The Godfather, baby." Moses looked at her, motioning as if she should know that by heart. "Horse head in the guy's bed?"

"Yeah, he got it." Pete acknowledged the reference. "Only tell 'im it's more like dat senator in part two." She relayed it.

"Fuck. Really?" He sucked softly on her kneecap for a second, then reached down on the floor and picked up the white-dusted mirror from beside the bed.

"Tell him maybe not as bad as dat. But we have to see." Pete answered.

"I will. What time? Can it wait or do I need to put my clothes on right now?"

Pete paused. Curio could almost see him shudder and shake his head at the thought of her naked. She teased the brothers Fontenot mercilessly when around them, at least since they had grown accustomed to her being a part of Moses' life. Flirts, the occasional flash of an ass cheek in a short dress. Maybe a lil oops-didn't-know-y'all-was-here moment coming out from a shower. During a Mardi Gras she about gave Pete a heart attack by strip-teasing for ten thousand revelers outside on their chartered balcony and never putting back on more than long black stockings and garter belt for the remainder of the night in the hotel suite.

The Fontenots, to their credit, leered, which was acceptable and expected, but they had never hinted for more in the few times she was in a room with either of them in private. She bet more than one of the concubines they kept around for nocturnal emissions was imagined to be a short, dark-featured little Cajun package that could, at any time, come at them with a knife and do them dirty until they died.

It did not bother Curio in the least. Boys will be boys. She was enamored of Moses and it worked out well for all involved. Everyone accepted status quo.

"Saturday morning. He wants y'all deah fo breakfast about nine."

"He buying?" Curio grinned as Moses tapped some powder from the film can on the mirror.

"Yeah, he springing for toast and water fo you, cheri. Sweet feed and horse pee for yo beau." Pete laughed. "He's stayin at the Fairview Bed and Breakfast off State Street. By Millsaps College. It's swanky. You'll dig it. No hooka clothes though. Shoes and shirts required, if'n it ain't too much trouble fo ya."

"You comin dis time, baby? For me?" She whispered softly into the phone.

"You asking Moses dat? He got dat Texas tic-tac 'tween his fangas in der?"

"Fuck him. His skinny ass. I been wantin' some big love, lately. His bony ass don't do it for me, Pete. You and me, mmm." She groped a breast as Moses giggled silently and scraped the powder pile into rails. "We need some private time, baby." Moses faux-frowned and smacked her lightly across her thighs.

"Yeah. I'll get right on dat. Y'all take care. No, I won't be der. I gots some things to do down my way. Be thinkin boutcha doh. Adieu!" He hung up.

"He hangs up quick when I flirt with him, don't he?" Curio smiled that gorgeous smile at Moses, that infectious coy beaming that still raced his heart far more than the blow ever could. Moses delicately laid the mirror in front of her and tossed her a straw.

"Pete's just grateful he might actually see his dick poke out from under his belly tonight because of you."

"These cheer, deez mah best good friends, Charlie Truitt and Mary Delaughter, Miss Renee," Grizzly Fontenot pointed out Moses and Curio to the proprietor of the Fairview Inn, Renee Dickinson, as she passed by their lunch table. She nodded at them. Moses tipped his ostentatious Stetson at her and took it off, laying it in the empty fourth chair.

"Good to meet y'all." She looked at Mister Fontenot. "Are these the friends who will be staying with us?"

"You be a-guessin raht. Dey come up from down Houston way. Me and ole Tex Charlie here now, we go way back to when we couldn't even piss a hole in da ground. Ennathing he tell you 'bout me is a lie, now. But dat's only cuz he a-gonna try to woo you way from ole Fontenot." Moses smiled at her. The maven was an easy sixty-five. Plump around the hips and beholden of the face of an old school marm straight from central casting. She had reached an age and weight where even speculation of whether she was a looker in her prime was impossible. She chuckled.

"Now Mr. Fontenot. You know I'm only on this earth to be beholden to God and you." She tapped his forearm lightly in faux affection. There was a subtle fear Moses could read in her reply. Not overt deference to whom and what Bertrand was, but a respect for what she thought he was. The hand tapped on him with a nearly faked genuine affection but spoke scum in the slightest whispering fingertips to Moses. He wondered if the other two caught it.

"What brings y'all to our fair city?" She smiled at Curio. Curio took her gaze from Moses' handsome face to the questioner. Moses saw Curio go blank as he taught her but also caught the whiff of condescension from the older woman. Curio was simply too pretty to be with either man.

"We all got some business to handle up cheer for about a week if you got some room for dat long?"

"Not a problem. Three rooms?" Her eyes cut to Curio, catching her tiniest of smiles as Curio pondered her own room away from Moses, officially. It told her what she wanted to know. The spinster seethed inside at the age difference but never wavered from her role. Curio caught it, woman-to-woman intuition and smiled that much wider, beaming not so subtly at Moses to let the old biddy know she was not one of Grizzly's whores come to earn her keep. Grizzly paused for a split second.

"Yes, ma'am. Three will do nicely."

"Outstanding! I'll set them up." She smiled her best hostess smile. "It's great to meet you all. You need anything you ring me directly."

"Thank you. We will." Curio said.

"Will you all be having supper here?"

"What you got in mind?" Moses asked.

"I've just gotten a load of quail in. Braised quail with an orange-teriyaki glaze, some dirty rice to make Mr. Fontenot at home, grilled asparagus and squash drizzled in a garlic butter and herb sauce. And some cheesecake topped with whatever you like."

"Den we be cheer. Sounds tasty. Ole Tex don't know much bout dem quails. He just eats dey eggs in the jar. Now Moses," Grizzly leaned in to his friend condescendingly, "dem quail, dey like leetle ole tee-niney biddy chickens done been took from dey mama too quick. Finding dem wishbones in dem quail like finding God in da reason for a flea. Dey in der, but hard to figure out where and why."

"Never heard it put that way. But they are marinating now. See you about six?" The owner chuckled.

"Six is tis."

"Great! Enjoy your stay." She marched from the room and they were alone.

"I don't think she likes you much, boss." Curio took a drink from the water glass.

"She likes my wallet and she repays favors. And dat's all I require from the like-a her. So..." he was about to state the nature of the visit when the owner's son came from the door his mother left through, carrying a large tray of prepared seafood. Grizzly had ordered ahead. Moses watched as the huge silver platter arrived at the table.

"Jesus, Griz. Don't you ever just eat a goddamned waffle for breakfast?"

The tall, gaunt son placed the tray delicately in the middle of the white tablecloth, chatting and getting them set up. All could see the man was ill from something very serious. He was in his mid-thirties, but looked fifty. A Band-aid covered a place on his temple in a vain attempt to cover a K-S lesion.

"Lamar. Meet Charlie and Mary. Dey friends of mine." Lamar nodded and spoke only waiter talk, not venturing beyond cursory replies to Curio's tidings and acceding to the table's stated needs. Curio could see his tanned face was false. A make-up job to enhance a look of virility but only made him look like an orangey cadaver when he smiled.

She bet under the pancaked make-up, he was pale as the ghost he was certain to give up in good time.

When they had received wine and beers and well into devouring the seafood platter, he nodded and walked with obvious discomfort from the room. They were then the only patrons in the large banquet room.

"Doesn't hide his impending doom very well. He gots dat bug." Curio shook her head sadly. A native of New Orleans, the telltale look of AIDS was a familiar one.

"Yeah, he in a right bad way." Griz worked the platter effortlessly. "But I don't cry fo him. He was a pervert. Got hissef caught with a seventeen-year-old boy parked out der behind dat little water park up der by dat lake about ten or twelve years ago." Grizzly inhaled raw oysters doused with lemon juice and Tabasco. "I don't take kindly to that."

"So why you come here?" Curio broke and sucked at crawfish and wiped the occasional red potato boiled in the spicy crawfish brine across a stick of butter. Moses rolled a number of fried crab bites onto some French bread and made mini-Po-boys.

"Cuz she owes me for making sure he not dead in prison fo it. I got the charges taken care of. Of course, she paid fo it, but she didn't have enough to keep dat boy's mama and daddy quiet so I threw in some change. So she owes me big and even doh she wouldn't wipe her own shit on me for sunscreen, she tolerates me. I don't get much up here."