by Gerald Lopez
She still concentrated on her shuffling, not looking up as she spoke. “And you ain’t gonna hear any Creole or see any Creoles round these parts. They’re too smart for that. They know this ain’t no place for Creole or any other kind of Louisiana folks. Shelby is a place unto itself, where the old, old, religion is king. No room for anything else here. Not where the old rites are still practiced.”
“Voodoo?” I said.
“Voodoo! Sheeeit!” She laughed. “You talk like a babe needing its momma. Go find you a momma, boy. Voodoo ain’t practiced in this here town. Voodoo is too young a religion in this place. The religion practiced here is ancient… been practiced a long time… since the dawn of man some say. When the bones of Abel were crying out for justice this religion was in the world.”
She laid down a second card. On it was the picture of a book. “These are old cards, boy, for an old religion is in play here. These ain’t no voodoo or tarot cards I got, they something older. The images were painted on ‘em with dyes made from plants going back to the ancient of days. These images on ‘em can only be seen if the card holder wants ‘em to be seen.”
“Kind of like ancient holograms,” I said. “You can see the images, if you’re looking at them the right way. Very clever.”
Miss Lucy continued, almost as if she hadn’t heard me speak.
“These were my momma’s cards and her momma’s before her and so on. These cards were sealed in the blood and fat of animals, maybe even humans too. Only God himself knows what else they used back then. There be real silver and real gold on them too, but they’ll never be sold. The cards will still be here long after I’m gone—in the hands of my daughter and then her daughter.”
“What’s that book symbol on the card mean?”
“Don’t you be rushing ahead. Use caution… don’t be rushing Miss Lucy.”
She paused for dramatic effect and probably to teach me a lesson.
“The book means wisdom and knowledge. It don’t represent you, that’s a for sure thing. In these parts you’ll be needing someone with knowledge; real knowledge. Be patient, they’re coming your way. And by the looks of you, they can’t be here soon enough. You don’t know what you got yourself into, boy. Wisdom? I don’t know if you got that or not. Maybes you do.”
She went back to the deck of cards and put two more down on the table. One had the image of a golden, soaring eagle. The other, a large, gold crown. Miss Lucy looked up at me; staring me in the eyes, her deep black eyes looking into mine as she spoke.
“The eagle means you got help from high up when you needing it. Means people above you and me, high ranking people are watching. The crown represents the golden boy who will show up to help. One with money, power, and position; some of which he’s yet to gain. The crown is being prepared for him, but does not yet sit on his head.”
“Is that me?” I said.
“Shit! You got pretty eyes, but you ain’t golden like that. This card is you.” She placed a card on the table that had the image of a dog on a leash.
“So, I’m a dog, eh. I know I’m not the best looking man, but c’mon.”
“You ain’t that bad, boy. You got the nice hard body of a man, no fat on you. And a fine ‘nuff face. Somebody‘ll warm up to you.” She laughed again before continuing. “The dog is a good card, got nuthin to do with looks. It represents loyalty. An unchained dog represents absolute, unflinching, unquestioning, blind loyalty. He ain’t got no desire or thoughts of his own to worry about. He don’t need to be held in check. That ain’t always a good thing. People with that kind of loyalty join cults and end up drinking the Kool-Aid like them crazy Jones followers some years ago. The chained dog is loyalty in reserve. You’re loyal in the right way, not in the blind way. You question and you hold a part of your loyalty back till it’s earned.”
She leaned back and we sat quietly for a moment, both studying one another. Miss Lucy smiled, then got serious. “You made the right choice. A man’s choice. Those people back west didn’t deserve your loyalty.”
I stood up, wide awake and shocked. “How did you know about that?”
“Sit down!” Miss Lucy said in a commanding voice.
Her voice had so much authority in it that I automatically did as I was told. It was like back in my military days.
“You’re not asking the right question, detective. You need to learn the right questions to ask and fast ‘fore you get your butt handed to you. Right now you’re acting like a man in need of a wet nurse. I knew the minute you were picked for this case here. It’s my job to know about you. I been watching things in this town a long time. It’s my job to acclimate to a place, take on its characteristics even its ways of talkin’ and walkin’. If I was in New York you’d think I was a native, if I was in Palm Beach I’d play at being the educated, well-spoken rich man’s wife. I blend in like a chameleon, in a place like Shelby that’s full of eccentrics I become eccentric. In that way I find all the secrets a place has to tell and sometimes I even let your employers know a thing or two. For damn sure, I didn’t need these cards to tell me nuthin!” She picked up the cards and tossed them across the table. “Card readings can mean something sometimes or nuthin at all. There are real readers, and then there are charlatans who only use the cards for their own needs or wants.”
She stood, and began picking up the cards from the table. “Like I said, I didn’t need these cards to tell me shit about you, detective. But they weren’t wrong.”
I stood up as she put the cards in the deep pocket of her skirt and walked over to me. Stopping, she gently put her hands on either side of my face like a mother would and looked at me. She then spoke softly. “Religion is everything in this place. Everything. It would do you good to remember that.”
She raised her hand up for what I thought would be some kind of blessing and I responded by lowering my head and closing my eyes. Instead, I was greeted by a hard, stinging slap on the right side of my face. I looked up with eyes wide open.
“Don’t you be so trusting, boy. Not here. Not till you’re sure who you can trust. You just met me. You don’t know me.”
“Yeah, I do. I know the people I can trust. Serving in the military I learned that. Taking a bullet in the shoulder I learned that. My instinct is good when I listen to it. Back home I didn’t listen to it and paid the price. That isn’t going to happen again.”
“Good. I believe you, boy. I trust you and it’s good to see you trust yourself. Sometimes instinct’s alls we got. That still, small voice which shows us the way. Hell, some people believe that’s God himself talking to us. And some of the people saying that are actually sane.” She laughed and shook her skirt out, then held her arms open for a hug. “I ain’t gonna slap you this time, I promise.”
I gave her a hug and she held me close and gave me a light kiss on the cheek that she’d slapped. I smiled.
“That was better than a slap. Can I give you a ride somewhere, Miss Lucy?” I had to know about that car.
“You ain’t my man to be giving me rides anywheres.”
“You’re too much woman for me anyway, Miss Lucy.”
“Damn straight.” She laughed and picked her skirts up above the ground revealing sparkling, sequined, Indian-looking flats. “What makes you think I need a ride, detective? Try some detecting. Do my shoes look like I walk in ‘em a lot?”
She hoisted first one foot up then the other so I could see the clean, unworn soles of her shoes. “You’re cute, but none too bright right now.”
“I get better, you’ll see.”
“Sorry, boy, but I won’t. Not first hand, anyways. Today’s my last day in these parts.”
She walked over to the purple Cadillac and put her key in the door. I jumped forward and opened the door for her and she slid into her seat and started the ignition. I closed her door and stood leaning against it.
“Nice to see you midwest boys got manners. Good luck, detective.”
“You’re leaving town, as in right now?” I said.
“When the rampant lion shows his head it’s time for me to move out and let the infantry do its job. That’s you. I gave your people any intel I felt was useful. They might share it with you… might not.” Then she put the car into gear.
“No more help, huh?” I said.
“Boy, you need a momma and I just ain’t it. Now move yo ass before I run it down.”
I gave her a mock salute and jumped out of the way in an exaggerated motion, trying to be funny as she backed up.
“You are one crazy fucka!” she said. Her loud, contagious, joy-filled laughter filled the air.
Before leaving, she looked back, waved, and blew me a kiss. Then she was gone in a cloud of dust. What a character I thought, as I climbed into the truck. I got back on the main road and took a right toward the small downtown, wondering if I’d see any signs that a rampant lion had gone through before me.
Chapter 2
Catch of the Day
Small was the perfect word to describe downtown Shelby, which consisted of two long blocks of various stores, including a dress shop, men’s clothing store, dry cleaner, shoe store, bakery, and florist. If the rampant lion had done any damage I didn’t see it. Downtown was clean and pleasant, shaded by rows of the ever-present spanish moss-laden live oak trees. In each row there were two central stores with second stories featuring balconies. It looked like the second stories were being used as living spaces. At the end of the street was a stylish one story Victorian home with a wraparound porch, that had the columns I often associated with southern-style buildings. Out front there was a sign that advertised sandwiches and high tea. In a matter of minutes, I was past downtown and in a residential neighborhood consisting of small, wood, shotgun-style homes. They were painted in pastel colors of blue, green, and pink with most of them having cozy looking porches. Several of the homes were in states of abandoned disrepair. I took a long drink of water as I passed empty lots and swamp before catching sight of my motel. It was imaginatively named The Shelby Motel.
The old motel had seen better days, but it was well situated. The location was close to, yet removed from downtown. From what I could tell, the road in front was the main way to and from the small downtown. The motel itself was raised, looking almost like it was two stories, because of flooding I guessed. It was a white building with an ornate iron railing in front of the rooms. The railing was also white like the building, but the paint was peeling and missing in some sections. I could’ve driven the truck right up to the room door, if it had been level with the gravel. Unpacking cars would be a pain for some folks because of having to go upstairs to get to the rooms, of which there seemed to be twelve. The only other enclosed space on the bottom floor besides the lobby in front was what looked like a laundry facility. I parked and walked into the lobby, which was all the way to the left and at ground level. There was an entry door in the front and one on the side. The front wall was dominated by a huge glass window, which allowed the staff on duty to see who was coming their way. I bent down and scratched at an old mosquito bite on my left foot, cursing myself afterward for doing so. Mom had always told me never to scratch at a bite or it could become infected, but I couldn’t resist. After walking inside, I noticed an overly made up, middle-aged, busty blonde at the desk. She wore a low cut, spaghetti-strap dress with her bra straps clearly visible.
“Ya’ here for a room?” she said.
Geez! What the hell else would I be here for, lady, I thought, somewhat aggravated, but was more polite with my answer. “Yes, I have a reservation. The name’s Layton Shayne.”
She chomped loudly on her gum, like a cow chewing its cud, as she brought my name up in the computer. It was unappealing to say the least. I took the opportunity to look around the small lobby. Wallpaper was peeling in spots and it looked like it’d been around since the seventies. The blue, short-shag carpeting had bare areas and stains. The woman, whose name tag read Charlene, stretched her hand out to give me a key.
“You’re in room six, right in the center of the motel. We got coffee down here in the mornin’ if that’s your poison.”
“I don’t drink the stuff,” I said.
“Suit yourself. But hey, if there’s anything else you’ll be wantin’—”
She ran her fingernail, with bright red polish on it, along her lips and into her mouth. Then she began fluttering her eyelids, which were accented with layers of metallic blue and green eyeshadow and glitter. Her last move was to push her bust out. A sad and pathetic attempt at seduction that was completely wasted on me. The poor woman looked and acted almost like a caricature. I took the key from her.
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind and get back with you should… should the need arise.”
I smiled to myself over the last comment, even though I shouldn’t have said it. But hey, even I’m allowed a little fun now and then. Maybe I was too subtle and she didn’t even get the “arise” bit, but then again she was the sort that wouldn’t have missed it. Getting back in the truck, I moved it to the parking space under my room. Two large duffle bags and a garment bag in the bed of the truck contained all my earthly belongings. Well, all the ones I wanted to keep. I patted the white, windowed truck topper, remembering what a good time my dad and I’d had picking it out at the dealer’s back home. The truck had been Daddy’s, and I had fond memories of him teaching me to drive in it. We’d always kept it up together and then my ex had helped me with it. The memories kept sneaking into my head, the sweet and happy mixed in with the bad and painful. The trip here was kind of forcing my decision to let even the truck go at some quickly approaching date. Did I always have to give up everything that mattered to me? My nephew’s laughter from when I’d let him drive the truck when he was a kid came to mind—that kid no longer existed, he’d grown into a selfish man with no respect for others. Despite myself, on some level I still loved him and what he’d done had left a deep wound which still hurt. He was family, and no matter what you should always love family. Of course you didn’t need to stay around family.
“Shit!” I kicked the pavement. Stop thinking about all that, I thought. It’s all behind you now.
The motel room was large, as I found most older motel rooms to be, clean, and smelled surprisingly good. Something they’d sprayed in the room had given it a sweet, but not too sweet aroma. Best of all it was not a flowery scent. There were two chairs and a small table inside by the door and in the center of the room was a king-size bed. The television was on the right wall facing the bed, resting on top of a wide dresser to the side of the large mirror. Most importantly, to the far left of the bed was something I desperately needed; a bathroom with a shower. Kicking off my flip-flops and leaving a trail of clothes behind me, I headed toward the shower. The cold water stung my hot skin when if first came out but felt refreshing and gradually turned lukewarm and soothing. After the shower, which had surprisingly good water pressure, I turned on the small window unit air conditioner. I then jumped naked onto the bed and spread out. The chilled air was drying parts of me that were still damp. I ran my hands along my chest hair down to my taut six pack. Military training was good for staying in shape, if one kept it up, and I did. Something said between Miss Lucy and myself popped into my mind. I told her I trusted my instincts and my gut. Folding my arms on my chest, I thought about that for a moment. As unusual as this case seemed, especially after meeting my new friend, Lucy the card reader, my gut told me I was doing right. No matter what it felt like or how crazy it seemed, I was exactly where I needed to be in my life. That was comforting, despite how uncomfortable it was to meet someone who knew all about me. Undoubtedly, Miss Lucy did know all about me. How? Why? Who was she? Maybe a watchman of sorts or like she said, a spy sent ahead of the infantry. Just then my cell phone rang. I jumped up and hurried to where my shorts lay on the floor. I reached into the pocket, grabbed my phone, and flipped it open.
“Layton Shayne here.”
“Mr. Shayne, I’m so happy to hear you made it safely. It’s
Leticia Carter. We spoke on the phone about the Kennedy case.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I recognize your voice. What can I do for you?”
“You can meet me for dinner. Say six o’ clock at Cicero’s. The motel desk clerk can tell you how to find it.”
“I’ll see you at six, Mrs. Carter.”
I closed the phone. Miss Lucy must’ve told Mrs. Carter I’d arrived. It was only four now, leaving me time to iron a clean shirt, find my Levi’s, and rest a bit.
* * * *
The desk clerk did her best to flirt with me again before giving me perfect directions to my destination.
Cicero’s was a small, local restaurant situated on the edge of the bayou. It was a somewhat rustic-looking, wooden building on the outside. The parking lot was almost filled, which was a good sign. Clearly the locals liked the food for it to be such a busy place. I hoped I was dressed to suit the client. Boots, Levis, and a white Polo brand pullover shirt were my first choice of clothing, however at the last minute I changed into khakis, a white dress shirt and black dress shoes, adding my one good jacket, which was navy in color. As I walked to the entrance, my shoes were noisily crunching on the gravel. The brightly lit yellow sign out front caught my eye. I didn’t expect an Italian restaurant in this area even with the name Cicero’s. But under the name, the sign said Italian nouvelle cuisine. Fancy terminology for a small, backwoods town. Once inside, it was time to survey my surroundings.
Though it was fairly large, the place had an intimate and moody atmosphere. Even the very air seemed rich and thick as I slowly breathed it in and back out again. Dark wood, expensive looking paneling, and ornate wrought iron chandeliers provided ambiance. There was a mixture of booths with burgundy leather seats on one wall and tables and chairs with neat, white tablecloths in the center. A bar, with at least ten seats, separated the front room from a second one in the back. Approaching me was a broadly smiling, brown-haired woman who looked to be in her twenties. She was neatly dressed with a burgundy colored jacket and discreet knee-length skirt. Her medium-brown color hair was pulled back at the sides, but worn loose. She had large, almost black eyes, and a pale complexion, looks which seemed odd, almost like they didn’t fit the region, but they did fit the restaurant. Then it hit me—her whole manner seemed more befitting a more luxurious locale. She should’ve been in a glamorous club on the French Riviera or at least South Beach, I was impressed by the woman.