He contended the shrimp fishermen were pretty much going to whip their asses.
Needless to say, they were at a stalemate. Time to pull out his trump card.
“Gentlemen… and ladies,” he said, nodding to Dixie and Claudia, “unless we come to some settlement within the next half hour, I’m going to have to call a press conference.”
“Why? To give a running account of your love-potion activities?” VanZandt sneered. “There are some men who need a boost in that department and some who don’t.”
All the Cypress people smirked at his not-so-veiled innuendo that Luc needed a boost in sexual energy.
He gritted his teeth and snapped, “Get a life, VanZandt.” To the others, he continued. “I think the press would be interested in knowing that there’s new research on the effect of oil pollutants, like the ones being discharged into the freshwater supply by Cypress Oil.”
“Oh, please, you’re going to start that cancer scare again,” Dixie said in her ultra-refined voice that implied she was better than the rest of mankind… or at least a nobody Cajun lawyer. “People just don’t buy it, Mr. LeDeux, or they are willing to take the risks. Oil feeds the local economy here. So, give up that argument.”
“Well, actually, I think cancer is serious business, but that’s not what I’m alluding to. No, actually, I’m talking about the fact that oil pollutants cause sperm counts to go down in fish.” He tapped his pen on the stable for dramatic effect, then added, “I wonder if that means oil pollutants affect human male virility as well.”
He saw awareness bloom in Dixie’s intelligent eyes. She would know immediately what the public would do with this kind of threat. Close down Cypress Oil, that’s what.
VanZandt jumped to his feet. “You have no proof of that.”
“Don’t I?”
The other four Cypress lawyers chimed in as well:
“Do you have chemical data to back up that claim?”
“If the public isn’t scared by all the cancer propaganda, what makes you think this sperm-count business will matter one iota?”
“Who’s your research company?”
“You’re not using Sylvie Fontaine for your researcher, are you? Is that the connection between you two?”
“Wait a minute,” Dixie Breaux said. The authority in her voice caused everyone, including Luc, to defer to her. “No one is bringing my granddaughter into this discussion. Mr. LeDeux, if you have research material you’d like to show us, I think it would behoove Cypress Oil to listen.”
Thus chastened, the Cypress lackeys all sat down.
“Oh, and did I mention one other thing?” Luc tapped his head with a forefinger as if he were forgetful. “There is the issue of this Cypress Oil document.” With that, he passed a dozen copies of the papers Tee-John had pilfered around the table.
There were several subtle gasps as the lawyers began to read.
Just then, the phone in the outer office rang. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” Luc said.
It was perfect timing, really, Luc thought as he closed the conference room door, and picked up the telephone.
“Luc, is your meeting over yet?” Remy asked in a decidedly worried voice.
“Just about.”
“And?”
“Nothing settled, but looking good.”
“Uh, we have a wee bit of a problem.”
“Involving?”
“Sylvie and Tante Lulu.”
He inhaled too fast and went into a choking fit. When he regained his composure, he inquired, “Together?”
“Yep.”
“What do you want rne to do?”
“Can you meet me at Mildred’s Gun Shop, ASAP?”
“Mildred’s Gun Shop!” he shouted into the phone. “Remy, what’s going on?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Let’s just say this. Do the words voodoo, live chickens, a love potion, and two dingbat females riding a Harley mean anything to you?”
Luc pulled his jeep in front of Sylvie’s house and turned off the ignition. The motor, of course, continued to rumble till it came to a sputtering halt.
He hadn’t spoken since he’d hauled her and Tante Lulu out of a voodoo ritual ceremony in the swamp behind Mildred’s Gun Shop. Remy, who couldn’t stop laughing, had driven their aunt home, and René had been only too glad to take possession of the motorcycle.