It's something that's happened to Mom since her most recent round of lip injections. She doesn't seem to be able to close her mouth properly all the time, and is constantly dribbling drinks from the corner of her mouth. Mom wipes away the bourbon with a swipe of her free hand and glares at me some more. “They said they can't do anything else for my waistline. According to them, their ethical guidelines prevent it.”
“Maybe they have a point,” I say, turning back to my borrowed book. I can feel Mom glaring at me for a little while longer before slamming back the rest of her bourbon and leaving the tumbler on the table. I finish the chapter I'm working on and go looking for Pops. Maybe he's in his office.
Before I get there, though, I hear something crash on the wall. What the hell? I rush down the hall the last little bit and go in, ducking as a paperweight comes flying by my head. “What the fuck?”
“I want her dead!” Pops screams, his face an angry, nearly purplish red. “I want that bitch found and her throat slit!”
I see that Nathan's in the room too, his face grave, but he remains silent. “What's going on? Is this over the photos still?” I ask.
“No, you ignorant, spoiled little shit!” Pops hollers, picking up a tablet and throwing it at me. I'm glad I've got good hands, he just bought this one after breaking the last one with the discussion we had the day after Kat's little limo trick. Even still, I barely manage to catch it, cradling it in my arms while I give the sensors inside a chance to try and figure out which way is up. “That's what I'm talking about!”
The screen stops revolving, and I see that a gossip website is up with a story it lists as “Breaking News! New Orleans Social Magnate Has String of Mistresses Even While Being Named Family Man of The Year!”
I read quickly. Most of the affairs are older ones, ones that I've known about for years, stretching back to my high school days. This time there are pictures though, which I am surprised about. There's Pops in the casino, a couple of girls on his arm... Pops going into a hotel room with what looks like a very young girl, I'd be surprised if she was a month over eighteen at the time... damn. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, in my opinion. I'm also glad that Kat seems to have at least somewhat listened to my request, since this leaves the rest of the family totally out of it.
“You knew that accepting the award would bring greater public scrutiny, sir,” Nathan says, trying to calm Pops down. “That the press would run with old rumors and play up some photos is expected.”
“Bullshit! You know exactly who leaked this, Nathan. If you'd done your fucking job like I ordered you to do, there's no way the press would've gotten hold of those pictures. Hell, I'm friends with the owner of that casino! But now security camera footage of the night they gave me the award is out there. How the fuck does that even happen?”
“Maybe it's someone else,” I try to add, knowing it sounds lame as soon as it comes out of my mouth, but I have to try. Katrina, I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into. “There have to be a lot of people who might have an ax to grind with you, Pops.”
He ignores me, still staring at Nathan. “I don't care what it takes, I want that bitch found. Not next week, not tomorrow, not this evening. I want her found now. I don't give a shit if she's left New Orleans, left the States, or is hiding in the deepest shithole in the darkest back corner of the world. You find her, Nathan. You find her, and... take Jackson with you. He obviously thinks this is all some sort of fucking joke, so you take him with you. And when you find her, you force her on her knees, and you slit her fucking throat right in front of Jackson here. Show him what a real man does.”
A real man? So a real man is a guy who pitches a tantrum and throws things around his office, his potbelly hanging out and his face looking like he's about to have a goddamn coronary? A real man is someone who acts like a preschooler when his shit's exposed? Or is a real man the guy who's cheated on his wife so many times it's fucked with her head to the point she's a fucking basket case, and then when his shit's brought to the light of day, can't even handle it himself, but orders someone else to take care of it for him? All these thoughts flash through my mind, but I keep my mouth shut, even if I can't keep a look of disgust off my face.
Nathan looks disgusted as well, but nods. “I understand, Mr. DeLaCoeur.”
“Then both of you get the fuck out. Actually, no, Jackson... you stay here. I want to talk with you.”
Nathan gives me a glance, and in his green eyes I see a message. He'll wait for me to finish my conversation with Pops before anything else. I nod just a fraction of an inch, then turn my attention to Pops as Nathan closes the door behind him. “What do you want, Pops?”
He slams his hands down on the desk and screams, his breath stinking and spewing over the space between us. “What the fuck are you doing, disrespecting me like that in front of Nathan? How dare you contradict me in front of the staff!”