The other fire trucks arrived and began immediately to set to work. One of the men asked Raoul where there was a water source so they could connect their hoses, and he showed them both the well and the bayou stream.
On the way back, he noticed something odd. Dirk had pulled Charmaine aside and was yelling at her, nose to nose. “Where the hell did you go?” Fleur was over talking to one of the firemen, who appeared impressed with her questions… or perhaps it was her attire. A red negligee through which her black bra and thong panties were visible.
“What business is it of yours where I go, you overblown pipsqueak?” Charmaine yelled back at Dirk.
“I thought you were just playing a prank on that husband of yours. With a pistol, for chrissake! I had no idea you two were leaving the ranch. I never would have let you go, otherwise. What a pair of dimwits!”
“I beg your pardon!” Charmaine said, frowning with confusion.
Had the body builder been ingesting too many steroids or something? Because he sure was acting strange. How dare he take that tone with his wife. How dare he? “No, I beg your pardon,” Raoul said, shoving Charmaine to the side and belting the pipsqueak in the face, knocking him to the ground.
Immediately the jerk’s nose started to bleed. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he pressed it to his nose and stared up at him, shaking his head. “You are going to regret that in a minute, buddy.”
“I don’t think so. No one talks to my wife like that.”
“Do you really think this is the time for fighting?” Charmaine asked. “And by the way, Raoul, I can fight my own battles.”
He and Dirk both ignored her.
Dirk got to his feet, warily keeping his distance from him. “Come over to the side of the house with me. I have something to show you.”
“What? Is this some kind of bodybuilder trick?”
But Dirk the Jerk had already walked away from him and stood waiting over by St. Jude. They were about the same size. He dabbed at his still bleeding nose, then tugged a wallet out of the back pocket of his running shorts—that’s all he wore, presumably having been called from bed in the middle of the night.
He shoved the open wallet in Raoul’s face before he had a chance to sock him again.
“FBI?” Raoul exclaimed with shock. “You’re with the FBI?”
“Shhh. I’m working undercover. We’ve about nailed a certain sector of the Dixie Mafia, and Charmaine’s case might just be the nail in the coffin, so to speak.”
“Whose coffin?” he wanted to know, beginning to suspect that Charmaine was in as much risk of physical danger as she’d originally thought. And the FBI was using her.
“I was sent here to watch over your wife till things come together.”
“Does her mother know about this?”
“Yep. Fleur’s been really cooperative. She’s concerned about her daughter’s safety. Wanted to do whatever she could to help.”
“Cooperative, huh? Isn’t it a little bit unethical for an FBI agent to get involved sexually while on a case?”
“Huh?”
“Fleur. Remember her. Your girlfriend. Oh, don’t deny it. You two make so much noise shaking that tin bus that the cows are getting horny.”
“Get real! Fleur is old enough to be my mother. We were doing calisthenics.”
Raoul’s jaw dropped open with surprise. “So, she really isn’t doing a nude pictorial?”
“Oh, she’s doing it, all right. And she really is worried about cellulite.”
Despite the grimness of the situation surrounding them, they smiled at each other.
“Hey, sorry for punching you,” Raoul said, extending a hand for a shake.
“No problem. I would have done the same for my wife,” Dirk said, “except that she holds a black belt in karate, is a captain in the Army, and could defend herself.”
So could Charmaine, and she doesn’t know karate from Tae-bo. “I assume you don’t want anyone to know your real identity,” Raoul said as they walked back toward Charmaine, who was talking to Jimmy, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He saw Tante Lulu and Fleur heading into the house. He would bet his boots that a barrel of coffee, turkey sandwiches, and leftover pie would soon be made available to the firemen.