Often when the weather is nice, I will take the DART to Downtown Dallas to walk around the Art’s distict, grab a bit to eat at a café, and shop for groceries.
Creole Gaudet
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Vieux Carré is the continuous story of John Montenet, the last descendant of an extremely wealthy and influential New Orleans Creole family whose origins trace back to West Africa by way of Haiti, is a middle-aged former Detective of the New Orleans Police Department.
Rotting with guilt and haunted by a broken promise he’d made to his dying wife, John, with an unrelenting fervor and determination, has set out to avenge the brutal and vicious murder of his teen daughter by a mysterious serial killer.
PROLOGUE
APRIL 8, 2006
SHULMAN’S COMMUNITY FOOD MARKET – 4:16 p.m.
She moved instinctively and efficiently as she dragged the items one by one from the humming conveyor, slowing only for the audible confirmation of the laser scanner before sliding them onto the holding shelf for bagging.
In her slim-fit blue denims and black running shoes, she stood nearly five feet five.
Her curvy hips and bulging breasts beneath her smock gave only a slight intimation as to her shapely figure.
Her cherry red lips, puffed and pillowed, were a Palicourea elata in bloom. Below her thick, naturally arched eyebrows were a pair of penetrating but soft and inviting green eyes that contrasted beautifully with her light brown skin.
Reflecting brightly off the rows of neon tubes filling the ceiling was the glossy white acrylic name tag pinned to her left lapel. Etched in black below the company’s pale green scripted logo was the name Darlene.
Shuleman’s Community Food Market was established in the early twentieth century by Ansel Shulman and his wife, Claudia, who were the children of German immigrants who had come to New Orleans.
It was built as a box-type construction at the corner of St. Claude and Elysian Fields Avenues, just on the edge between the city’s seventh and eighth wards.
Started as a mom and pop grocery store, it’d grown into a small supermarket, unfailingly stocked with fresh meats, rows of can goods, rice, beans, fresh fruits, vegetables, and baked breads of all sorts.
In the late sixties, the addition of air conditioning was a pleasant change, as were the sliding glass doors to the front and rear entrances, along with the paved parking lot out back.
They’d even installed a deli with seating. Over the years, this had become a lunch-time custom of the laborers who worked in the area.
With the coming of the civil rights movement and the integration of public schools on the horizon, the Shulmans, like so many other families of means, had moved into a two-story brick home in an all-white suburb west of the city called Metairie.
In an effort to save face, they’d hired and maintained black managers, but only of Creole descent. Because of their complexion, some were often mistaken for white; they were a perfect homogeneity for the mixed race community.
Non-Creole blacks were just as educated, ambitious, and well-spoken, but could not make as easy a transition into the mainstream.
The store was now run by fifth generation, Randy Shulman Jr. His father had retired in 2005, just after the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. He was too far in age to try and rebuild the family business, so he’d left it up to his son to continue.
However, Randy was different. He didn’t have the same work ethic of the Shulmans before him or an interest in the day-to-day commitment required of a business owner. He’d hired Ronald Stevens, Mr. Ron as he was called by the employees, as the manager.
Mr. Ron was a very short, pear-shaped man who’d developed strabismus at the age of three. He also suffered from chronic halitosis and seborrhoeic dermatitis of the scalp that blanketed his shoulders with large flaky deposits from his graying, wavy hair.
He maintained a body odor that was reined in only by the heavy scent of deodorant on the verge of breach. His teeth were a cheesy yellow with a dense calculus accumulation and inflamed gingiva. His face was peppered with blackheads; the majority embedded in the tip of his nose and along the rim of his lips.
Being found guilty of professional malpractice along with ethics violations, Ronald Stevens had lost his CPA license.
It was a perfect partnership for him and Randy. With Ronald cooking the books, Randy was able to shave profits from his parents and avoid paying actual taxes due.
In exchange, Mr. Ron was given total control of the store, which he took full advantage of.
Darlene was born Darlene Oubre and had grown up in the neighborhood. She’d been employed at Shulman’s for three years since graduating from high school.
She was extra jubilant. It was her twenty-first birthday and she was anxious to see what her husband Warren had for her at home.
The year before, Warren had unexpectedly surprised her with a bouquet of flowers. She was at the register when he’d arrived with them, causing quite a stir.
Warren Goins stood six feet two with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He was medium brown, handsome and sported a neat Ivy League.
The ladies had circled around the couple, congratulating Darlene and giving Warren flirtatious looks.
There was plenty of witty commentary and slight sexual overtures along with light fingertip touches to Warren’s forearms and biceps.
Darlene was terribly embarrassed but loved the attention.
This did not sit well with Mr. Ron. It was his first time seeing Warren, and it had stopped him in his tracks.
He’d watched the scene, leering with a resentful discontent. He turned away, made a half step, stopped, looked again, then stormed off into his office, slamming the door behind him.
Creole Gaudet
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“Yeah.” Dillon opens one of the large side-by-side entry doors.”
“It’s empty.” Camilla peers deep into the dark space. “There’s nothing in here.”
“It was a print shop. It used to make posters, placards, billboards, books, books for schools…”
“Where do you sleep?”
Dillon points alongside the wall to the right. “My place is up those stairs.”
“You don’t mind if I make a call right quick, do you?”
“A safety call?”
She lightly places a hand to his arm. “No, I just want to give Laura an update.”
Camilla talks into the microphone. “Hey, I… I found something, but not with David’s plug. He never showed.” She looks to Dillon. “I met a really cool guy, though.” Camilla holds up her camera and snaps.
“Safety call.”
“I’m just showing Laura how cute you are… She said you’re hot and that she can’t wait to meet you.”
Dillon leans, elevating his voice. “I’m looking forward to meeting you, too.”
“Okay, Laura, we’re about to go up. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
Camilla’s eyes are quickly drawn to the framed poster on the wall of the entryway. “Wait, that’s Spider Venom. I’ve heard them on WTUL. They sing that song I like, ‘Come For Our Love’.”
“That’s my band.”
“Right? Have you seen them play?”
“I’ve seen every show.”
“Wow, aren’t you a big fan?”
“I’m their biggest fan because it’s my band.”
“Wait… What?”
“It’s the band I play in.”
“Fuck out of here. Are you serious?” Camilla steps closer. “Is that you, Dillon? It is you!” She presses her finger to Dillon’s image. “That’s you right there! You’re on the mic! You sing…”
“And play guitar.”
“Is that you on the song?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow! I’m with a rock star? I can’t wait to tell Laura. She’s going to want to suck your cock!”
“Wow…”
“And that drummer… She’s so intense.”
“That’s Gwen.”
“She’s beautiful. I love her big hair.”
“Don’t touch Gwen’s fro.”
“I bet.” She turns to Dillon. “Are you fucking her?”
“Gwen? No, she likes what the guys like. If she sees you…”
“I’m not into the chicks, Dillon.” Camilla mutters, singing ‘Come For Our Love’ as she tours the flat. “All this music stuff everywhere. This is so cool.”
“It’s my sanctuary. It’s where it all begins. I wrote every song right here in this room.”
“May I?” Camilla is approaching the sofa near the window.
“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry.” Dillon hurried towards the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink? Juice, water, Vodka…?”
“Water is fine. I’m so thirsty.”
“Coming up.”
Dillon returned with two napkin-wrapped bottles of Kentwood and placed them on the coffee table. “Ice cold water.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So, tell me about your guitars. They’re so pretty. I like how you have them all displayed on those… What are those?”
“Stands… Guitar stands. I use them for our shows. This is my actual stage arrangement. I rehearse here, and I like to keep it familiar.”
“You use more than one guitar for a concert?”
“Different songs have different moods and require guitars with different tones.”
“That sounds so complicated.”
“It makes sense once you hear the differences.”
“What’s that first one? I’ve seen that kind a lot.”
“It’s a Strat…”
“A Strat? Like the violin?”
“That’s a Stradivarius. This is a Stratocaster.”
“It’s so elegant. I like how it’s dark on the outer edges and gets lighter, like orange and yellow towards the middle.”
“It’s called sunburst.”
“Ahh. I can see that.”
Dillon points to the neck plate. “It’s a fiftieth anniversary… American-made.”
“Is that better?”
“Oh yeah. There are cheaper versions made in Mexico, and they are good. You can gig professionally with them, but they’re not as good as the American-made ones.”
“You got the best one.”
“Yeah…”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Dillon. I don’t need to check the time to know that I only met you less than three hours ago. But in that little time, I can already read you. What’s wrong?”
He forces a grin. “It’s nothing… Really.”
“Can you share that nothing?” She takes his hand. “If you don’t want to, I’ll understand.”
He raises his eyes. He’s met with warmth. “It was a gift from my father… It was my nineteenth birthday. He and my mom had surprised me, and I was so excited, you know? They wanted to take me to dinner, but I wanted to stay and play it… If I’d only gone with them…everything would have been different.”
“Oh, no, Dillon.”
“A drunk driver… They never had a chance, Camilla. They were at a red light. A witness said that mom had reached over and was giving dad a kiss on his cheek.”
Creole Gaudet
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“Dillon. Seriously though. I’d like to offer you this cash. Won’t you take it?”
“Again, thank you and no.”
“Please, don’t get offended. I’m just asking because…you might need it. I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off that way. I’m just used to earning everything I have. It’s just the way I am. It’s the way I was raised.”
“Much respect. I admire that. I’m used to having everything. I was the only child, so…”
“You were spoiled?”
“Rotten…if I had let my dad have his way… I won’t say that I wasn’t accepting and that I didn’t have lots of expensive things. I still do, but it doesn’t define me. I’ve worked, Dillon. McDonald’s…”
“As like a manager?”
“Nope. On the grill, the drive-through, cleaning the bathrooms, and putting out the trash. I even worked overnight… You don’t look surprised.”
“Should I be?”
“I guess not.”
“Was that it? McDonald’s?”
“No. I was a car salesman for like six months. I worked as a cashier at Winn-Dixie, a server at a restaurant on St. Charles… Get this, my cousins and my ex all came in one night, and guess who got their table?”
“Nah… No way!”
“It was David, his wife Laura, my cousin Mark, Chris, who’s my ex, and his sister Kelly.”
“Did they know you worked there?”
“No! They don’t even know I’ve ever worked or had a job.”
“What’s the problem? What do they do? Don’t they have careers?”
“That’s beneath them. They’re too entitled. They’ve never had to do anything their entire lives.”
“So, did you serve them?”
“Uh, no. There was no way I was going out there. I asked my manager if I could go on break, but of course, we were way too busy.”
“You were worried because of what they might say?”
“More that I wouldn’t want to have to go through all the trouble of explaining myself. I don’t tell them everything I do or why I do it. They wouldn’t understand it anyway.
“And to be honest, Dillon, the reality of it is that I could never truly understand. I quit that night. I exited through the employee entrance, headed down the ramp to the street, got on the bus, and went straight home.
“Knowing that I didn’t have to work those jobs to support myself and that I could just walk off when and if it got too uncomfortable, could never fully give me the appreciation of what it’s like to be a person who didn’t have that option.
“It’s as if… I wanted to know how it was to be a normal person, Dillon.
“So much so that I’d even considered giving up all my wealth so that I could have a real life with real struggles alongside real people.
“But, as an heir to my family’s estate and the bearer of their name, I have responsibilities. I have a legacy. There are foundations and charities that I’ll one day be in charge of. There are people who are going to depend on me.”
“That sounds heavy. You must really be rich, Camilla.”
“I’m not rich, Dillon. I’m wealthy. Very wealthy. There’s a difference.”
“I’m not either, so I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Your wealth?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess I don’t feel one way or the other. There’s nothing wrong with being wealthy or having lots of money. If you’re born into a comfortable life, it is what it is. You shouldn’t be shunned or punished for it.
“You’re still a human being. You have emotions and feelings just like everyone else, rich or poor. If you were a snob or had an entitled mindset like your cousins… I guess that would be different. But, from what I know of you, so far, you’re a warm, kind, and wonderful person, Camilla.
“I like you. I like you a lot. I really do.”
“I like you, too, Dillon. You being so natural and down to earth may be just what I need in my life.”
“And your ex still hangs out with your cousins? What’s that all about?”
“It’s a long and complicated story. He’s not even worth mentioning right now.”
“Not right now…? So, he’s going to come up at some point. That’s what it sounds like to me.”
“It’s only because they’re all friends.”
“There’s some history there.”
“You’re not just a pretty boy. You’re smart too.
“Okay… I went to four proms and all our high school functions with Chris. We were that couple, you know?
“Chris, David, and Mark have been friends since kindergarten. Kelly and I were also. Laura met David in freshman year when we all started at Tulane.”
“It’s like you’re one happy family…”
“Family, yes. Happy, not all the time. I’ll hang with them everyday and then I’m gone for weeks. I have to get my distance sometimes.”
“On one of your jobs with the regular people.”
“That hurt, Dillon.”
“I’m not meaning like that. I’m seeing your struggle. It’s like you have a want to be more rounded; have your feet on a solid foundation. Move to the beat of your own drum.”
“That’s a way of putting it.”
“Do your folks know about your working?”
“Yes, they always encourage me in whatever I do. Especially my mother. She would even be with me when I’d go and feed the homeless…”
“Go? In person?”
“If you could see the light in their eyes when they’d see us pull up…”
“That’s incredible, Camilla. You really are a giver. And you’re not doing it for recognition. It’s from the heart.”
“It is, Dillon. It is.” Camilla grinned. “Are you sure you don’t want this cash?”
“I’m sure.”
“Five thousand… Going once… Going twice…”
“Gone!”
Creole Gaudet
If you enjoyed this content and would like access to all my books, stories, and series episodes, please visit my Patreon page.
No part of this episode may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system – except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper – without permission in writing from the publisher, Creole Gaudet.
