Gaston Larreau, when he stood, towered a maximum of five-feet-seven-inches, a portion of this supplied by his one-hundred-and-fifty dollar elevator shoes, but what he lacked in height he made up in width, both in belly and shoulders, for he moved the scale-hand beyond the two-hundred-seventy pound mark. He possessed a glistening, naked pate and was deeply indebted appearancewise to his tailors who made him appear meticulous of dress. His nubbin head was round and set close between his shoulders, leaving him neckless, while his round-face gave him a pumpkinish look; his small grey, nearly colorless eyes were spaced too-wide apart, just as his too-small ears clung tight to his head. The aged scar left from an early razor wound ran the length of his right cheek, ending at the corner of his mouth, making the flesh there puffed and malformed until he smiled, and then one noticed little else but the line of strong golden upper teeth.
At the moment, he was not smiling as he sat imperiously behind the massive desk in his "ballroom" sized study, facing his daughter who had walked in to inflict a bit of mental torture on this man whom she despised with a passion.
"The hell you say!" he blurted in his native tongue. "The Godamned hell you say girl. I won't stand for it, you hear? Not one Godamned minute will I stand for it…!"
The idea had come to Annette not minutes before as she walked into the house. It was so insane and bound to torment him that she couldn't imagine why she hadn't thought of it before. Right at the moment, she could hardly control her elation as she watched the little ogre before her fume and rant, and even Launcelot at her side momentarily bared his teeth and growled at the fat man's sudden fury.
"I can't imagine what you're going to do about it, pere," she said in English, knowing this, too, irked him. "I've made up my mind… I'm going to marry Armand Nicolet."
"Jesus Christ! You must be out of your rattled head!" the czar bellowed. "You know what he is…? Do you? That Godamned little queen! He's one of those, for Christ's sake… He's a… a… a…"
"A homosexual, pere," Annette put in calmly. "Is that what you were trying to say?"
Larreau gaped at her, his cheeks bloated, his eyes bugged. "What the hell… all right, yeah, that's part of it, and that ought to be enough for you. He's a Godamned queer! On top of that, he's a… a… a…"
"He's hooked, pere, eh?" she interrupted again. "Addicted… and to heroin, right?" She lay her hand on Launcelot's massive head to keep the animal from growling. "But then, that should make you happy, mon pere, I mean, if it weren't for people like Armand, how could you get along? Really, I think you're very short-sighted…"
"Godamn you, girl! Don't stand there and talk to me like that, you hear? I won't put up with it!" Larreau raged, the scar on his cheek a livid purple. Angrily, he struggled to his feet and once more, Launcelot unleashed a fierce growl. The little fat man stared at the great animal and swallowed tightly. "Damn it… get that thing out of here. You know I don't like him, and he doesn't like me any better. I warn you, if he ever tries to bite me I'll put a bullet right through his skull…"
Annette's own eyes narrowed viciously before he had hardly gotten the words out of his mouth. "And I'll put one through yours, damn you, if you ever try to lay a hand on him!" she spat through her teeth.
Once more, the ugly little man gaped at his only child, but this time in shocked disbelief. For a long moment, he didn't speak, then finally, he said: "Ma chere… what the devil is it that's wrong between us? Mon Dieu! You're my daughter… my baby… all I have in this world…" He started to come around his desk but stopped at Launcelot's guttural warning. Again, he swallowed the lump from his throat. "Look, cherie… all I want is your happiness, eh? Whatever I have will someday be yours… all yours… everything you see around you. My God… why do you treat me like this…? I mean, if you want to marry, then go find yourself a husband… a man… not some Godamned fairy…"
"A man, pere…? Like Antoine, perhaps, one you might be able to use as a scapegoat and send to prison in your place?"
"Damnit, that's a lie and you know it…!"
"It's the truth, and I know it… just as I know you had Ginny Novak murdered by your hoodlums and drove Madeleine away in fear because you were trying to get her to share your bed… but she was too good for the filthy likes of you, just as my mother was too good…"
"Shut up! You hear, you little bitch! Shut up before I lose my temper entirely!"
Annette laughed. "Like you did those nights when I was only ten and eleven and you sneaked into my bedroom, and I cried when you put your rotten hands between my legs? You used to lose your temper with me then, too, pere, remember?"
"You… you ungrateful slut, you!" Larreau half-screamed, his face pale, his colorless eyes near insane with rage. "I ought to beat you within an inch of your life…"
"And you would, if you dared, but you don't, do you, pere?" Annette taunted him. "Because if you lay a hand on me you know that my Launcelot would tear you to pieces." Again, she laughed tormentingly as she gazed with a mocking sneer at the fat little man who was her father. And then, she watched the tears puddle in the almost fat-hidden sockets of his eyes, feeling nothing herself.
"Pl-Please, my baby… there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do for you," he pleaded softly. "Please… try to forgive me… I'm your father…"
Annette stared at him in utter disgust. At last, she turned away and started for the door.
"Annette… cherie… wait…" he called after her. "Please… tell me you didn't mean these terrible things you said…"
She paused and faced him again. "But I did, mon pere… every word."
"Mon Dieu!" he gulped. "You couldn't… it's impossible! How… how could you marry that… that…?"
"Cocksucker, pere," she finished, the faint trace of a smile playing around her mouth. "And why not? Live and let live, I say…"
"You don't know what you're saying!" he blurted. "You're only trying to hurt me! Don't you suppose I know what you're doing?"
"And does it hurt, pere?"
"You little fool! He's a dope fiend… a drug addict! You have any idea what that means? Damn it, girl, do you?"
"If I haven't, I'll learn," she spat at him.
"How? By prostituting yourself to pay for his fixes…?"
A last time, Annette laughed at him before leaving the room. She said: "To pay for our fixes, pere… and keep you in the luxurious style to which you're accustomed."
"Annette! Come back here! You hear me? Come back here…!"
But she didn't, and Sir Launcelot's throaty growls filled the room as they left.
The willowy girl in the tight dark slacks and sweater with the straight, shoulder-length raven hair enframing her face caught his attention immediately. She was slight of build, her breasts small but firm and pointed, boyish hips, even though her buttocks filled the seat of the slacks with round, protruding ovalled spheres and her thighs were full and exciting looking. She was extremely tiny waisted which gave the illusion of feminine curvaceousness she didn't possess. Her mouth was small and thin-lipped, yet not unattractive, and her cheeks a hollow ivory hue with almond shaped hazel eyes that scanned, fixed and penetrated. The ugly, fat woman behind the bar told him her name for a ten-dollar bill. Annette Larreau… and Shannon lowered himself to a table in the shadows of a corner, wetting his lips in surprise. The picture he had seen of her had depicted a shapeless, unattractive, sickly looking female. She was not that. As a matter of fact, she suggested sex… but the Godamned brute of a dog stretched out on the floor protectingly beside her was enough to discourage any such wild thoughts. He liked dogs; he hoped to hell he wouldn't have to kill this one.