Lucky’s Lady

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Serena Sheridan took a deep breath and tried again. “I need to hire a guide to take me into the swamp.”

Old Lawrence Gauthier laughed as if at the punch line of some grand joke. His voice rang out through the shop, drowning out the Cajun music coming from the radio on the cluttered shelf behind him as well as the noises of the all-star professional wrestling emanating from the black and white television that sat on the counter. Lawrence sat on a stool behind the counter, his slender legs crossed at the knees, slouching in a posture reminiscent of an egret on a perch-thin shoulders hunched, head low between them. His face was narrow with a prominent nose and eyes like jet beads. His skin was tanned dark and lined like old leather.

His laughter ended in a fit of coughing. He reached for his cigarette makings and shook his head. “What for you wanna do dat, chere? You goin’ after dem crawfish, you?” He laughed again, trying to shake his head and lick the edge of his cigarette paper at the same time.

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