Southern Souls

by Stuart Jaffe

  Chapter 16

  MAX FLOORED THE GAS, flying down the empty rural roads, as he headed toward Winston-Salem. Isaac Brown’s vicious face floated in his mind. Over and over, Max saw cloaked figures smashing into his home, confusion and screams, and the roar of PB as they stole him away.

  Max had to stay focused. Getting in a car accident would not help. But his blood pumped through his body faster than the gas rushing through his car. He could not clear his mind.

  Even knowing that Drummond had flown ahead gave Max no solace. No matter what horror his partner might find, being dead limited Drummond’s ability to do anything in this situation.

  When Max finally reached the edge of the city, he slowed the car. He could not afford to waste time being pulled over for a speeding ticket. And if by some obscene chance the officer turned out to be Glader, Max would lose all control — probably get arrested on assault charges.

  Focus. Drive and focus. Throughout the trip, he tried to call Sandra on his phone but to no avail. He tried once again — still no answer.

  When Drummond finally appeared in the passenger seat, relief and terror flooded Max’s system. If the two emotions could have used him in a tug-of-war, they would have shredded him in half. “Well?” he said.

  Drummond brought his hat down — not a good sign. “Sandra and J are tied up in the bathroom. They’re shaking, but they’re fine.”

  “And PB?”

  “No sign of him.”

  Max clenched the steering wheel. “Go back to the house and watch over Sandra and J until I get there.”

  “On it.” Drummond vanished.

  As Max hovered around the speed limit down Route 52, his mind replaced terror-filled images of Sandra and the boys being tortured with terror-filled images of PB’s pain and hopelessness. The poor boy had been through more than most people in his short life, and now he had to deal with being kidnapped.

  Max considered contacting the police. If they put out an Amber alert, maybe they could capture Brown and his group before any harm came to PB. Not that he expected PB’s father to be physically dangerous to the boy, but the mental damage would last for years. Perhaps the rest of the boy’s life.

  As he pulled into the driveway, Max saw the side screen door hanging off its hinges. He hurried inside. Wood from the splintered door jamb spread across the floor, and parts of the deadbolt sat in one of several cooking pots also on the floor. No sign of the rest of the door knob, but a six-inch chef’s knife stuck half-buried in the wall. Max swallowed back the urge to throw up as he barreled straight for the bathroom.

  Sandra and J looked up with fearful eyes. J had been tied to the sink pipes and a sock had been used to gag him. Sandra had been forced onto her stomach so she could be tied around the toilet plumbing. Mascara ran black over her cloth gag.

  Holding back his tears, Max dove forward and worked at J’s bindings. After releasing them both, the three sat on the bathroom floor and hugged each other. Sandra cried more, and J buried his tears into Max’s shoulder. Drummond waited, floating in the doorway, and respectfully let them cling to each other.

  At least five minutes went by before they could muster the strength to stand. Max escorted Sandra to the living room couch and J held tight to her pant leg. Max poured a stiff drink. Nobody spoke as they let the alcohol do its job.

  “Can you talk yet?” he asked. “I hate to push you, but every minute takes PB further away from us.”

  Rubbing the chafed skin on her wrists, Sandra said, “It’s not like that. The danger’s already gone.”

  “What does that mean? How? PB is —”

  Drummond said, “Just let her talk.”

  Max whirled toward the ghost. “My wife and one of my boys were attacked, and the other one has been kidnapped. Why should I be calm and take my time?”

  “Because all your prancing about and screaming is getting you nowhere.” Drummond slipped low into the floor so that his head was level with Sandra. “Tell us what happened.”

  She looked at J’s astonished face as he stared at Drummond. She said, “I was in bed. I assumed the boys were asleep. I heard a banging at the side door.”

  “That woke us up,” J said.

  “I went into the kitchen to turn on the outside light, and that’s when they came in. They ripped the screen door back and kicked open our kitchen door.” She lowered her head into her hands. “I don’t know exactly what all happened after that. I threw anything I could at them. I ran to get the boys —”

  J said, “We came out and saw them. Two big guys.”

  Max put an arm around J. “Did they hurt you?”

  He shook his head. “PB stopped it all.”

  “PB?”

  “He walked right up to them and told them to stop. He said that there wasn’t no reason to hurt me and Sandra. Said he’d go with them and cause no fuss.”

  Drummond floated backward. “He knew they had come for him.”

  “Yes, sir,” J said. “The minute they started banging on the house, PB and I woke up. He looked right at me and said the people who killed his daddy had come to pick him up.”

  Max leaned forward. “PB’s father is not dead.” To the shocked expressions, he explained what he had observed in the woods near the Lawson house.

  As Max crossed the room, as he pulled his thoughts together, he had the uneasy sensation of being watched. A lot of good that did him now. He should have been paying attention to that kind of sensation for weeks now. Maybe then PB would be sitting here instead of held prisoner.

  He dug the palm of his hand into his forehead to stave off these unhelpful thoughts. “We need a plan. We need to figure out how we’re going to get PB back. Doesn’t matter that he went with them willingly. He did so to protect you two. Now, it’s our job to protect him.”

  “Of course,” Sandra said.

  Thinking as he spoke out loud, Max said, “If we all do our part, if we work together, I know we can get him.” Nobody challenged his words, but he suspected they all knew he spoke for his own benefit. To Drummond, he added, “We could use all the ghost help we can get. Do you think your network of contacts might be willing to scour the state searching for him?”

  “I can certainly ask. I’m sure some of them will be happy to help.”

  Before Drummond left, J waved his arms. “Don’t go yet.”

  Checking with Sandra and Max before he answered, Drummond looked down at the boy. “You’re a brave kid. I don’t scare you?”

  “You don’t scare them. Y’all talk to each other — why should I be scared of you?”

  “Kid, every time you speak, I like you a little more. I need to go looking for your brother. So what is it you want?”

  “Stay here a minute.” J darted out of the room. They could hear him rummaging in his bedroom. Max gave Drummond’s inquiring look a shrug as they waited.

  A moment later, J returned holding a photograph Sandra had taken of the Sandwich Boys arm in arm after a fun day at Wet ‘n’ Wild in Greensboro — closest they had gotten to the beach. Offering the photo, J said, “You need something to prove that you’re not a stranger. Otherwise, PB will never believe you — nothing you say will matter.”

  “It’s good you’re thinking, but PB won’t be able to see or hear me. If I find him, I’ll have to come back and tell Max or Sandra — or, I guess, I can tell you.”

  Pushing the photo further in the air, J said, “Please. Take it.”

  Max had rarely seen the honest grief Drummond held in his face. “Sorry, kid. I touch that, and I’m going to be in a world of hurt.”

  “I’ll explain it to J,” Max said and put the photo in his pocket. “You get going. See what you can find.”

  Drummond gave J a wink before vanishing.

  Max turned to speak, but Sandra had already left the room. She returned with a bag on her shoulder and her car keys. “J and I are going to the office. I’ll see if I can locate PB with a spell.”

  “Spell?” J said.

  “Yo
u’re smart enough to understand that ghosts exist. Did you really think it all ended with that?”

  J looked from Sandra to Max to see if they were joking. “So, we got magic spells, too?”

  “Come with me, sweetie. I’m going to teach you about the world of witches.”

  Max waited until the two had driven off. He marveled at the strength both Sandra and J had displayed. They had been assaulted and bound to a bathroom, yet they mustered the courage to get working in order to save PB. Max needed some of that same courage.

  A fly buzzed a haphazard path above him. It smacked into the windows, changed course, and weaved across the air. Max stood in the middle of the living room listening to that incessant droning and became aware of how empty the house now felt. After all these years with only Sandra by his side, years when an empty house felt comforting like a favorite blanket, now he feared losing one of its new members. Now having less people surround him made the house echo — even with just the sound of a buzzing fly.

  No. He refused to let anybody take apart this family they were trying to build.

  Two ideas sprang to mind. Neither one struck him as particularly appealing, but he knew he had to follow these routes. After all, Cecily Hull and Madame Yan were the two women that put Max and his family on this path. And he had no doubt that both women would be wide-awake at two in the morning.

  Chapter 17

  BY THE TIME MAX REACHED MERSCHEL PLAZA, the clock on his dash read 2:27am. He found a parking spot three blocks away and paused to rub his puffing eyes. Like happiness, anger could only be sustained for so long. It drained the body and poisoned the mind. He needed to be sharp and steady. Instead, his adrenaline rushes had crashed and left behind a hollow deep enough to be filled by all his fears.

  The one shining light that charged him like the sun reawakening his soul — PB. Knowing that boy sat somewhere tied up, praying for Max to save him, filled Max with all the energy of the world.

  Max holstered his weapon — he remembered it this time — and marched down the sidewalk. The weight of the weapon on his belt warned him of the dangers he faced. Especially because he had yet to actually load any bullets.

  He did not bother going to the lobby entrance, and instead, headed straight for the side alley that led to the brick-painted door. A different lackey had sentry duty that night — a black woman with a muscular frame and the stance that promised she knew how to take care of trouble. Max wished Drummond had come along with him — the ghost could freeze the guard’s head and make entering easy.

  With no time to waste, he pulled out his handgun and pointed it straight at the woman. He hoped no police were patrolling the area. “Open the door. I’m going to see Cecily Hull. I’m not here to shoot her or cause her any harm. I just need some information from her.”

  The woman showed no fear, no surprise, not even a hint of concern. Max might as well have been pointing his gun at a tree trunk. She stepped forward, closing the distance, and rolled her shoulders back.

  “You’re that Porter guy. I was told about you.”

  “You knew I was coming?”

  “Just that I might someday see your face around here.”

  Thrusting the weapon forward to emphasize his words, Max said, “I don’t care if she knew I might come or what you were expecting. Open that damn door.”

  She smirked. “You’d be far more threatening if the safety was off.”

  If she wanted him to look and then take advantage of his distraction, he would disappoint her. No reason to look at the safety when he knew the weapon had no ammunition. However, a gun did not require bullets to still be a dangerous weapon.

  Max took one step forward and smashed the butt of the gun against the side of the guard’s head. He finally saw some shock on her face. She dropped to one knee. Max had intended for her to be knocked out, but the movies had let him down once again.

  Long ago, he had learned how difficult the one punch knockout could be. Getting knocked out with a single hit from a metal object — apparently also difficult.

  But she was dazed. Pushing back to her feet, she tried to grapple with him. She had strength and skill, but the blood dribbling down the side of her face and the wobble in her stance gave Max all the opportunities he needed.

  From his back pocket, he pulled out two zip-ties. Though she offered some resistance, he managed to get her arms behind her back and tie her wrists together. “I’m real sorry about this,” he said as he reached into her pants pockets. He found the keyring he needed and opened the side door.

  Once inside the stairwell, he zip-tied her to the railing. Using some strips of an old shirt he had in his car trunk, he gagged her before heading upstairs. The five flights went by quickly and he did not bother knocking on the door at the top.

  Max stormed down the corridor with tan fabric-covered walls. “Cecily Hull. I know you’re awake. Evil like you never sleeps.”

  He tried every door he came upon. They were all locked. When he reached the end of the hall where he expected to open the door to her office, he found another locked door. The rage firing within raced through his legs as he thrust kicked the door knob. It did not budge.

  “Mr. Porter,” Cecily Hull’s crackling voice came over a hidden speaker. “If you insist on damaging my property, I will be forced to call the authorities.”

  Like a trapped animal, Max tramped down the hall and back again. “You went too far. Involving my boys was a dumb mistake. Cut out the theatrics and meet with me.”

  “If something has happened to your boys, I can assure you I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Then why are you hiding from me?”

  “Because you are raving mad. If you wish to speak with me like a sensible adult, I suggest you gain some composure. Only then will any of these doors open. Except the one you came through — you are more than welcome to leave that way.”

  Max halted in front of the office door. He closed his eyes and attempted to calm his frayed emotions. He did not open his eyes. He kept his muscles still. Like a monk deep in a meditative trance, he slowed his racing heart. He refused to give her any reason to remain behind locked doors.

  When he heard the click, he summoned all the self-control he had left not to burst through that door, grab her by the neck, and throttle her for answers. Though his fingers shook as he clasped the knob, he managed to open the door with some semblance of grace.

  Cecily Hull set behind her stylish desk wearing a blue silk robe that glistened like water under the lights. Approaching faster than he had intended, he said, “You hired me to look into one murder, and I do not believe for a second that you didn’t know where it would lead me. Now that freak Brown has gone and stolen PB from my house. He assaulted my wife and my other son, J. This is on you.”

  As if entertaining a casual business meeting, Cecily gestured toward a chair for Max to sit. When he remained standing, she said in a restrained tone, “Sit down, Mr. Porter.”

  Had she yelled at him or had she used her normal, clipped and forceful tone, he would have blustered on with his demands for answers. But this — this voice caused his knees to waver. He did not sit so much as fall into the chair.

  “I’m not without sympathy toward your situation. Though I am not a parent, I have had people in my charge from time to time. And whenever we have somebody become our responsibility, there is an inevitable bond that forms. So, you are forgiven for your behavior up to this point.” She placed her hands calmly on the table, yet that simple gesture turned his stomach. “Now you are expected to behave with respect and caution. Do I need to explain myself further or are you in your right mind enough to comprehend the situation in which you have placed yourself?”

  Max found it difficult to swallow. He nodded and sat back to show he would remain calm — he would try, at least.

  “Good.” She tapped her fingernails on the glass desk. “It is stunts like this that make me look forward to the day when I no longer need your services. You are far too erratic for this
business.”

  “I’m damn good at my job. But you set me up and whether you intended it to happen or not, the result is that one of my boys has been kidnapped.”

  “And that is unfortunate, but again, I had nothing to do with it. In point of fact, I knew nothing about the extent to which these murderous groups have been operating. After all, that is why I hired you. I wanted to know how greatly I had to be concerned about these tragedy groups.” The disdain slithered off her lips.

  Max observed her face and her behavior for any sign of deceit. He found none. His legs regained their strength. He had the sudden urge to bolt from the office, sprint down the hall, and jump the five flight of stairs until he could break free from this building. He remained seated.

  Cecily went on, “I can see in your eyes that you’re starting to understand. Perhaps you are regretting having ever agreed to work for me. That’s okay. I am starting to regret ever hiring you. But since the hour is late and I do not wish to have you in my presence any longer than necessary, let me first say that this is not how we do things anymore. Kidnapping and other distasteful crimes are not tolerated by this organization. The norm for the Hull Corporation will no longer involve an old and outdated mobster mentality.”

  “What about Madame Ti? Are you saying the Hulls are no longer going to play with magic?”

  “Oh, I will keep a tight leash on that witch and the power she wields. But all the Machiavellian games my predecessors played are not my way. Neither is your blustering and bombastic method of handling things. I am not here to help you. I am not here to serve you. Your relationship with me and the Hull Corporation is no longer anything even close to an equal footing. Because this is not how we do things anymore.”

  She let the words hang in the air. Max half expected a cloud to form over his head and strike him with lightning. Finding the will to stand, he said, “Clearly, I’ve made a mistake. I’ve kept you up and I should be going.”

  He managed two steps before she spoke. “Mr. Porter, you’re forgetting something.”