Tortured Spirits

by Gregory Lamberson

  Jake nodded. “They’ve almost turned. Where there’s Magic, there’s zonbies.”

  She looked at him. “How does it happen?”

  “They OD on the shit. Literally, they die. When they revive, they’re walking dead, with no minds of their own, completely controlled by their vodou master, like puppets.”

  “And the sawdust inside them?”

  “Filler, like packing material. Each zonbie is essentially embalmed to preserve it as a working stiff for as long as possible and to cut down on the stench. Katrina had their toes, fingertips, and teeth removed to slow the identification process if any of her slaves were captured. I don’t think that will be the case here, which means the Pavot Island zonbies will move faster. If we encounter any, run for your life. Just remember, they won’t get tired.”

  Maria shook her head. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “Considering our location, it’s a good thing we are.”

  “There it is.” Maria pointed at a restaurant with a dozen tables and chairs set up on the patio, with a low black metal railing around them. On the overhead sign, Coucher du Soleil was written in red letters over a simple yellow background.

  Jake parked behind a red taxi, and they got out.

  They hadn’t even closed the doors when a scrawny little boy appeared from out of nowhere and ran over to Maria with his hands cupped together. “Money, please, missus?”

  Maria regarded the boy with suspicion, then reached inside her purse.

  Jake surveyed the street. Kids peered around trees, corners, and parked cars. “You do that and we’ll be swarmed.”

  Maria looked around as well. The boy lunged for her purse, which she snapped out of his reach. “Hey!”

  The boy ran away, laughing.

  “This is almost a third world country.” Jake opened the metal gate.

  When they reached the restaurant’s front door, a black woman wearing a red smock stepped outside. “Can I help you?”

  “Dinner for two,” Jake said.

  “Si, senor. Would you like to eat inside or outside?”

  Jake glanced at the patio. Several potted trees separated the tables, and a young couple sat nursing beers. “Is there air-conditioning inside?”

  “We have fans.”

  “Inside then but right next to the patio.”

  “Very good. Please follow me.”

  Inside the dark restaurant, middle-aged men with mustaches sat at a long wooden bar, and Latin music played from a boom box.

  A black man with graying hair and a red smock stood behind the bar and watched the woman seat Jake and Maria at a table with a view of the patio. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Water’s fine,” Maria said.

  “This is a lovely city,” Jake said.

  The woman smiled and left.

  No dice, he thought. “No margarita today?”

  “Like you said, we need to stay clearheaded.”

  “I guess I’m not getting any tonight.”

  “We’ll see what happens when we get home.”

  Jake studied the menu on the place mat. Home. It felt strange to hear a woman use that term with him in a collective sense. “You order for me.”

  The server returned with two mugs and a pitcher of ice water. “Two orders of riz, haricots, et poulet.”

  “Très bien.

  When the woman left, Maria said, “Rice, beans, and chicken.”

  A chunky man with a bulky camera approached the table. “May I take your photograph?”

  Jake looked at the man. “How much?”

  “Five dollars, US.”

  “We’ve been taking photos all day.”

  “Together?”

  “Yeah,” Maria said. “Let’s take one together.”

  Chuckling, Jake scooted closer to Maria and put his arm around her. They smiled for the camera.

  The man lined up the shot. “Uno … dos … tres.”

  The flash caused Jake to blink. A moment later, the camera whirred, and a Polaroid photo slid out of a slot. The man set the photo on the table.

  Jake took a five-dollar bill out of his wallet. “This is a lovely city.”

  The man pocketed the money. “It stinks like sewage.”

  Maria giggled as the man walked away. “Maybe you’re saying it wrong.”

  “I’m ready for a beer.”

  The photo developed, and Maria picked it up and showed it to him. “We make a nice couple.”

  Jake thought so, too. “Si. Tu eres una mujer bella.” You are beautiful.

  “Since when do you speak Spanish?”

  “I get around.”

  “Y tu eres muy machote.”

  “If you just said I’m beautiful with this face, you’ve lost all credibility with me.”

  She smiled. “I said you’re very macho.” She put the photo in her leather bag. “Me salvaste de la gran serpiente blanca. You saved me from the great white snake.”

  Before Jake could respond, a skinny Hispanic man wearing jeans and a button-down plaid shirt stopped at their table. He had short, wavy black hair and a mustache and a beard, and he held up a large sketching pad. “Excuse me. May I draw the beautiful lady’s portrait?”

  “How much?” Jake said.

  “Only ten American dollars.”

  “Let me see your work.”

  The man flipped a page in his pad. “Okay …”

  “This is a lovely city,” Maria said.

  “I prefer living in the country,” the man said.

  Maria looked at Jake, who gestured at an empty seat.

  “Ten dollars sounds like a bargain.”

  ELEVEN

  The artist set a tackle box on the table and sat. “I’m Humphrey.”

  “I’m Jake and this is Maria.”

  “Hola,” Maria said.

  Humphrey smiled. “I don’t get the chance to draw many Americans, especially not as beautiful as you.”

  “Gracias.”

  Humphrey opened the tackle box, removed a pencil, and with his gaze on Maria proceeded to sketch. “Will you use the tunnel?”

  “To get in, yes,” Jake said. “I don’t know if we can get out that way. There’s no telling what condition our friend is in.”

  “The tunnel’s only three and a half feet high. We’ve laid dolly tracks. As long as you get our revered symbol onto a dolly, you can get out.”

  “How long is the tunnel?”

  “A quarter of a mile—after you walk almost half a mile through another tunnel that’s seven feet high.”

  Jake raised his eyebrows.

  “We’ve been working on it a long time. The shorter tunnel leads to a shaft with an access panel in a cleaning supplies closet at the bottom of the cell block. Our dear friend now occupies a cell on the top level. We’ll provide you both with uniforms that approximate what the guards wear. From a distance, you’ll pass. Up close neither of you would pass anyway.”

  “How many men can accompany us?”

  “None.”

  Jake felt his forehead crease. “None?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Maria said, holding her smile.

  “That wasn’t the plan.”

  Humphrey kept his gaze on Maria. “Let me explain to you what Miriam didn’t. If you’re caught, you’ll be tortured to death. If anyone helping you is caught, their families will be tortured to death. Men, women, children. On Pavot Island, we work very hard for slave wages. We have nothing but our families.”

  “We can’t do this alone. We won’t even try.”

  “I didn’t say you had to do it alone. I just said you have to enter El Miedo alone. We’ll arm you, transport you, feed you. There are two towers manned by guards with big machine guns that can tear you to pieces. We can handle them. Most important, we’ll get you the hell away from there to rendezvous with your escape transport.”

  Jake glanced at Maria, whose eyes revealed disbelief. “How many guards will be inside?”

  Hum
phrey exchanged his pencil for a brown one. “At night with no visitors? No more than twelve, and three of them will be in the main office, watching the security monitors.”

  “That leaves nine.”

  “Two of them in the guard towers. Two more patrol the grounds with guard dogs.”

  “Five.”

  “Properly armed, with surprise on your side, they should not pose a problem. The real danger lies with the military barracks. From gate to gate, it’s only a fifteen-minute drive in the daytime. You’ll have at most twenty minutes from the time the first shot is fired. A diversion could throw the guards into disarray but will summon the soldiers that much sooner.”

  “What if he set all the other prisoners free to run wild? Will that be enough of a distraction?”

  Humphrey nodded, his expression suggesting he was impressed. “That would probably work. Unfortunately, there are no other prisoners.”

  Jake raised his eyebrows, and Maria did the same. “What?”

  “Andre Santiago is El Miedo’s sole resident. Our minor criminals pass through our jails. Those who commit greater offenses—like murder or demonstrating against Malvado—simply disappear, never to be seen again. Andre Santiago inhabits El Miedo as a symbol of Malvado’s power.”

  Jake and Maria traded looks. Then Jake said, “How do we know your people at the other end of the tunnel won’t turn tail at the first sign of trouble and leave us stranded?”

  “Don’t underestimate the significance of our objective. If you succeed—if we succeed—it will be a turning point for Pavot. The United Nations cannot ignore Andre if he sets foot on American soil. Malvado will have no choice but to step down or flee the island. We’re willing to die for Pavot’s freedom. We’re not willing for our families to be killed for an outside chance of freedom.”

  The server returned with two plates of food, which she set before Jake and Maria. Looking over Humphrey’s shoulder at the portrait he was sketching, she nodded and left.

  “How many men will be at that tunnel?” Jake said.

  “How many do you want?”

  “Twenty, fully armed.”

  “Then you’ll have twenty-five, including me.”

  “How well armed will they be?”

  “Guns are easy to come by. We’ll be fully equipped.”

  “If we accept—and I’m not saying we will—when do we go?”

  “We need two full days to prepare. The plan’s existed in a conceptual form for some time. The longer we wait, the greater the chance of human fallibility interfering.”

  “Meaning, the greater the chance that someone gets cold feet and rats us all out.”

  “Correct. The guards change shift at midnight. We want to strike at 11:00 p.m. when the guards on duty are likely to be tired, anxious to go home, and careless.”

  “Eleven o’clock the night after tomorrow. What’s the plan once we get out of there?”

  “A camouflage truck will take you across the island to a cove where a boat will be waiting for you in the dark.”

  “I want to see that boat before we agree to anything.”

  “Impossible. It’s hidden, and taking you to it will only endanger the possibility of escape.”

  “Then bring us detailed photos. I hear they cost five bucks, US.”

  “That I may be able to do.”

  “Make it happen or there’s no deal.”

  “I can’t make that call myself. I can only deliver your ultimatum to the people who make these decisions.”

  “Here’s another demand: deliver the photos by noon tomorrow if you expect us to meet your deadline. Otherwise, we’re leaving this island alone.”

  Humphrey smiled at Maria. “I urge you to be careful. A man this stubborn must always be this stubborn.”

  “I like him that way.”

  Humphrey made the sign of the cross, then turned his sketchbook around, showing them a perfect portrait of Maria. He kissed two of his fingers.

  Maria’s eyes brightened. “You made me look beautiful.”

  Humphrey cast an expectant look at Jake, who said, “He only captured what I see.”

  Maria laughed. “If only you always lied as well as you do when you’re covering your tracks.”

  Humphrey tore the portrait from the pad, rolled it up, and rubber banded it. “Forgive me for not signing it. I’ve lived this long by keeping a low profile, which isn’t easy for a man possessing my amazing talent.”

  “Tell us about your organization,” Jake said.

  “Our problem is that we have many organizations, with many conflicting ideas about what’s best for Pavot Island, while our enemies remain strong because they’re unified by Malvado. We call him Le Monstre.”

  “The Monster,” Maria said.

  “I figured,” Jake said in a monotone.

  Humphrey lit a cigarette. “There are three main opposition groups to the rulers of Pavot. The first is the Church of St. Anthony, which funnels funds to other groups. Father Alejandro makes few political stands and publicly addresses only social issues, which keeps him busy enough.

  “The second group is the People for Pavot. Some would say they are extremists; others would call them courageous freedom fighters. Malvado calls them terrorists. They have conducted several suicide missions, but Malvado is too well protected for them to reach. The People for Pavot don’t have the full support of the people on Pavot, because they’ve deemed civilian fatalities as acceptable collateral damage.

  “I belong to the third group, Pavot for the People. We’re a network of journalists, artists, and civilians whose mission is to spread the truth about Malvado. We’re the underground press, the pirate radio stations. We support the use of violence but only when used properly. To us, civilian deaths are unacceptable.”

  “And Miriam Santiago supports your cause?”

  “La Mère supports the Church of St. Anthony and Pavot for the People, but the funds she sends also reach the People for Pavot through the church.”

  “La Mère?”

  “Miriam is our spiritual mother. Andre is our spiritual father. We believe Le Père’s release will unite the three principal groups and those who are afraid to stand against Malvado. It’s our one chance for liberation. That’s why my people will die for you if you free Andre from El Miedo.”

  Jake chewed his food. “What about your criminal elements?”

  Humphrey shrugged. “They’re criminals, as you say. They’re only interested in illicit gains, with no political convictions.”

  “Malvado’s a drug dealer first and foremost. That limits the amount of money your crooks can make. If Malvado’s taken down, their opportunities multiply.”

  “The People for Pavot and Pavot for the People buy guns from La Main Noire—the Black Hand. Arms dealing is one of the Hand’s principal means of income. The other is smuggling people off Pavot.”

  “Sounds like they’re already as opposed to Malvado as you are.”

  “For the wrong reasons. They can’t be trusted.”

  Jake did not pursue the matter. He had a hard enough time understanding American politics and divisions, let alone those on an island where English, French, and Spanish were interchangeable languages. “Today a policeman warned us away from the rain forest when we were alone on the mountain overlooking it. He had a tattoo of a black snake on his arm.”

  Humphrey blew a stream of smoke over their heads. “L’èglise du Serpent Noir.”

  Maria narrowed her eyes. “The Church of the Black Snake.”

  “All of Malvado’s police, soldiers, and civil servants belong to his church. It’s a prerequisite for government positions and advancement.”

  With unease growing in his stomach, Jake set his fork down. “Black magic?”

  “Yes, but not quite in the way you think. The leaders of the church serve on Malvado’s council of bokors, the Mambos and the Houngans. The congregation swears fealty to the church, but its members don’t practice vodou.”

  “There’s that word.”
>
  “White vodou and black vodou are common on Pavot. Get used to it.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m Catholic, like the beautiful lady here.”

  “Vodou is an offshoot of Catholicism.”

  “True.”

  “But you don’t believe in vodou?”

  “I don’t belong to a church that practices vodou. I don’t belong to any church. If I did, I would belong to St. Anthony’s. But to belong to that church is to place yourself under suspicion, and I’m a coward.”

  “You’re no coward,” Maria said. “Or you wouldn’t be helping us.”

  “Merci, mademoiselle. But my motives are selfish. I’m helping you because it will help myself.”

  Jake stared at Humphrey. “You’re not a coward but you’re evasive. You never answered my question.”

  Humphrey stabbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’ve lived on this island all my life. I’ll die here. I’m steeped in its culture and its rituals. I’ve seen people cured of diseases and healed of fatal injuries by spiritual leaders. I grew up hearing tales of the walking dead. I’ve spoken to people who believe with all their might that they’ve seen zonbies. We’re a superstitious people, and I’m a man of the people.”

  “Have you ever seen a zonbie?” Maria said.

  “I think so. Once. A special friend and I sought privacy during a community outing. We went farther into the black woods than we should have, because we knew no one would follow us. We saw a man … or what once had been a man.” Humphrey waved a hand over his face. “His features were expressionless. His skin was gray. His eyes were white.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I told you, I’m a coward. We ran like hell.”

  Dusk settled and the restaurant’s patio lights came on. Maria took out a cigarette, and Humphrey lit it with his lighter.

  “We saw some scarecrows down the block,” Jake said.

  Humphrey kneaded his eyebrows. “Scarecrows?”

  “Junkies addicted to Black Magic,” Maria said.

  Humphrey nodded. “It’s a deadly drug. Two, three weeks is all it takes to kill users.”

  “And then they walk again,” Jake said.

  “So they say.”

  “What else do they say about zonbies?”

  “They say Malvado uses them as slaves in his fields at night, harvesting his heroin and cocaine when no one will see them.”