The Lucy Ghosts

by Eddy Shah

  ‘Go home, Adam. This is not your place. Mind your own business and go home.’

  ‘I can't, Marcus.’

  ‘Leave it.’

  ‘How? It's not our way.’

  The dark side, as always, won.

  He put his coat on, the Browning safely tucked away in the shoulder harness, grabbed some extra ammunition clips which he slipped into his pocket, and went out into the hallway.

  The area had been cordoned off and there were police at both ends of the corridor. He looked into Trimmler's suite and saw the hive of activity that was taking place. Doctors, police photographers, every Tom, Dick and Hank from the police department. It must have been a quiet time in the old town tonight.

  'Where're you going?' asked Tucker as he saw him.

  'To get some fresh air.'

  'You shouldn't leave the building.'

  'Why not? No-one to protect anymore.'

  'You should stay in.'

  'I don't work for your people any more.'

  'I still don't think....'

  'So have me arrested.'

  'You fucking smart arse.' Tucker knew he'd lost control. 'They'll want to see you.' He desperately tried one last time. 'Come on, they'll want to know what happened.'

  'Ask Billie. She walked in there with me.'

  'She says you already had a gun in your hand when she saw you. That you expected something. Did you?'

  'Don't be stupid. Do you think I sliced his arms off with my gun?'

  'Why the gun?'

  'What did you expect me to do? Get a hot water bottle and tuck myself up in bed. You weren't here, Tucker. I was on my own.'

  Billie caught him up outside as he waited for Frankie. The brown bag was slung over his shoulder.

  'Tucker said you were going out. Why?' she asked.

  'It's over now.'

  'Can I come with you.'

  'No. You're CIA. They'll expect a report from you.'

  'I'm getting to know you, tough guy. You've got that look in your eye.'

  'Don't look for what isn't there.'

  'They said you had a death wish.'

  'Wrong. I don't like being set up.'

  'Who?'

  'I just need to get away. You feeling better now?'

  She ignored his concern. Her sickness had been unnecessary. As he reminded her again, she felt the bile rise in her throat, fought to keep the retching back. 'Can I come with you? I don't want to stay here alone.'

  Adam slipped his arm round her shoulder. 'You have to. Don't ask me why. Just...stay here until I get back.'

  He climbed into the cab and shut the door. Billie stood at the pavement and watched him; he waved at her, tried to reassure her. When she could hold the retching no longer, she spun and rushed back into the hotel.

  'Where to?' asked Frankie.

  'Drive slowly up towards the Quarter. Come on, let's go.'

  The Cadillac pulled out from the kerb and turned up to Canal Street. Behind him, through the rear window, Adam saw Billie turn and run into the hotel. He regretted leaving her at such a time, but he needed to be on his own.

  'You heard what happened back there?' he asked Frankie.

  'Couldn't miss it. Marked cars, sirens flashing, half the New Orleans police falling over themselves to get into the hotel. Where we going?'

  'I want to see some more voodoo.'

  'You gotta be joking.' Frankie looked at Adam's face in the rear view mirror and answered his own question. 'No. You ain't joking.'

  'I need to find Fruit Juice.' Adam pulled the bottle he had found in the sun room from his pocket and held it over the seat so that Frankie could see it clearly. 'I think this is his.'

  'Where'd you get it?'

  'Doesn't matter. But I need to see the man.'

  'We can try. Don't you think you should tell the Agency?'

  'It's personal. To me.'

  Frankie shrugged and drove up Canal and turned onto Basin Street. Life in the Quarter continued at its full frenetic pace, but here, northside, the streets were deserted, the overhead lighting poor and the ambience menacing. Frankie pulled up at the kerb.

  'Why here?' asked Adam.

  'He's going to be round here someplace. At this time of night this is his territory.'

  'How do I find him?'

  'He'll find you. If he wants to.'

  Adam opened the door and got out.

  'You're crazy,' said Frankie. 'They already know you here. Soon as they saw this car.'

  'They?'

  'The voodoo men. Why the hell do you want to see Fruit Juice?'

  'Because he killed Trimmler. And he left his calling card to tell me he did it.'

  'You gotta tell Tucker.'

  'He wouldn't know where to start. Even if he brought in the whole fucking CIA, they couldn't do a thing.'

  'Don't go where you got no chance.'

  'Not my nature, Frankie. It's how I am.'

  'Okay, but you can't just walk the streets. Not these streets.'

  'So where do I start?'

  'Old Number One.' As Frankie spoke, Adam remembered the cemetery where the voodoo ceremony had taken place. 'But you gotta walk in the dark, be as black as the night and as empty as a shadow. I mean it when I say they watching you.'

  'I'll start there.'

  'Why? They'll be waiting for you.'

  'First rule of combat. Fight on territory you know. Second rule. Take the bastards by surprise. It's the only fucking place I know round here, Frankie. See you back at the hotel.'

  'Hold it. You better take some help.' Frankie reached over to his glove compartment and pulled out two hand grenades.

  'You carry these in the car?' asked an amazed Adam.

  'You don't know what else I got on board this Caddie. It's more tank than car. I like being a secret agent. Beats working in the cripple factory. There's no Christmas decorations got my name on it.'

  'Thanks,' said Adam, taking the two grenades and putting them in his bag.

  'You okay for everything else?'

  'I've got all I need now.'

  Adam, the brown bag still slung over his shoulder, disappeared into the shadows, out of the cab driver's view as he moved stealthily along the decayed walls of the old buildings that had long since been in need of a face lift. Frankie suddenly understood why Adam was dressed in black. Maybe he stood a chance. Not much, but just a hint of a chance.

  Adam's toe throbbed as he moved along, hugging the walls that were his cover. But he didn't let the pain touch him. As he moved, he called to Marcus, called to the other dark half that would watch through this night with him while he set about exacting his revenge.

  The voodoo men had seen his death wish; they understood what drove him on. It was his natural advantage, the ability to face death and not fear it. And they would be frightened of it. Because they feared death. He would use that against them.

  There was little point in hiding his presence. He knew they were watching him, that he couldn't hide. He also knew that he couldn't see them, and that made a surprise move almost impossible.

  ‘They made a fool of me, Marcus. They bloody stuffed me and then took Trimmler's life.’

  ‘Don't let it get to you. Stay cool. Sense the danger. Ride it. Make it work for you.’

  ‘Made a fucking fool of me. I'm going to ram his bloody blood and piss down his fucking throat.’

  ‘Think.’

  ‘I can't. Everything's red.’

  ‘Think. Why did they kill Trimmler?’

  ‘God knows. I just...’

  ‘Why? Why did they kill Trimmler?’

  ‘I don't know.’

  ‘Why them?’

  ‘Because they're part of something bigger.’

  ‘They could be agents.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Anybody's. Russian. Even American.’

  ‘Someone's setting you up.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Don't know. Do you really want to get Fruit Juice?’

  ‘Yes.’
/>   ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he made an arse of me.’’

  ‘So what? Why?’

  ‘Because he made me small in front of the rest.’

  ‘Who cares? Why?’

  ‘Because he knows the answers.’

  ‘Now you're thinking. Let's go.’

  Adam knew he must create his own surprise. He could only do that by doing the unexpected. He smiled to himself. That was easy. And it put him on terrain he knew something about.

  Straight into the lion's den, Marcus. That's the only way.

  The stillness of Old Number One was as it had been the night before, but it was darker. Thick clouds covered the sky; there was a dampness that signaled rain. Adam hoped it would come soon, the noise and wind that accompanied it would be to his advantage.

  He followed the main footpath round the cemetery, at first keeping clear of the tomb where the ceremony had taken place the night before. It didn't take long before he heard the first rustle in the bushes behind him. They were gathering, the enemy was on the move. He kept walking, studying the terrain as he did. He was certain they wouldn't shoot him. Fruit Juice would be intrigued by his visit to Old Number One, and if he was to die, then their instinct would be to couple it with their sense of theatre.

  When he had completed a circuit of the cemetery, passed the grand tombs and vaults, he followed the smaller routes that led to the poor graves as well as the middle class tombs.

  Twenty minutes later he was making his way to Marie Laveau's tomb. If Fruit Juice was as sure of himself as he believed, he would be waiting there.

  'What you got in that bag you carrying?'

  Fruit Juice was standing in front of the tomb, dressed as he had been the night before, his hair now reverted to white and short curled. As he spoke it started to rain.

  'The rainmaker. Down to you, is it?'

  'Everything come from voodoo magic, boy,'

  'Where're your friends?'

  'They here. I only got to call. What you got in that bag?'

  'Magic tricks. My sort.'

  Fruit Juice laughed. 'Guns. They no good. Not here. Not in the Magic Kingdom.'

  'Don't tell me. You're Walt Disney reincarnated.' He heard the movement in the bushes. The troops were getting into place. He would have to move soon. He was glad the rain was getting heavy, didn't realise that's how it came in Louisiana, fast and furious and in short bursts.

  'Different kinda magic, boy. This is for real.' He moved towards Adam. 'How's the toe?'

  Adam's instinct told him that they were closing in, that Fruit Juice was spinning it out while they positioned round him.

  'Why Trimmler?' he asked.

  'Orders.'

  'Whose?'

  'From those who have the money.'

  'Russians?'

  'That ain't for us to discuss.'

  'Why? You going to let me out of here alive.'

  'No chance.'

  'Then tell me who gave the orders.'

  'Fuck you, boy.'

  Adam swung the bag off his shoulder, startling Fruit Juice who stepped back sharply. He reached in and took out one of the hand grenades and popped the safety pin. He crossed over to Fruit Juice, pulled his trouser waist band open with his left hand and slipped his other hand with the grenade down into Fruit Juice's crotch, into the softness of his balls.

  'If someone shoots me, then this thing's going to go off. Before you can unzip your flies. Make one hell of a mess.'

  'Stay clear!' screamed Fruit Juice. 'Don't nobody do nothing.'

  'That's good. So tell me. Who gave the orders ?'

  'Fuck you, boy.'

  'You go on like that and certainly won’t be fucking anyone.' He pushed the grenade harder into Fruit Juice's scrotum.

  'You let that thing go and you're a dead man. You know that. Hell, I don't know who gave the orders. We was just paid. Just told to knock out the guy in 1844. And make it messy. After you gave us a hard time in the lobby, shit, I just decided to have us some fun. That was personal.'

  'So why cut off his arms? Or was that orders, too.'

  'Look, I did like I was told. It's crazy, but I did it just like they paid for.'

  'Who paid?'

  'Usual channels. Could be anybody, even the Mob. You can't trace these things.'

  Adam believed him, he could read it in his eyes.

  'Just cool it, huh?' continued Fruit Juice. 'Come on, this thing's outta hand.'

  'He was my responsibility. You made me look bad.'

  'Weren't deliberate.'

  'Neither's this.' Adam moved behind Fruit Juice and, with his arm now wrapped round the voodoo man and using him as a shield, dragged him backwards towards the bushes. Fruit Juice yelped and others started to shout from their hidden vantage points.

  But it all happened too fast. Before anyone could react positively, Adam was in the protection of the bushes.

  'Was it blood and piss, or was it tomato juice?' he asked Fruit Juice.

  'You shit crazy, man,' screamed Fruit Juice.

  A gunshot exploded from nearby.

  Adam would never know. He closed his eyes to accustom himself to the darkness and then pushed Fruit Juice back towards Marie Laveau's tomb. He turned and ran, low to the ground, through the undergrowth.

  He never saw Fruit Juice fall to the earth, never saw him writhe and twist on the ground as he frantically tried to pull out the grenade that was trapped in the tightly tailored cloth of his trousers. The more frantic his actions, the more difficult it was to dislodge the bomb. And then time ran out.

  Adam only heard the explosion. Didn't know whether Fruit Juice had avoided death or not. It wasn't his problem.

  The earth was soft under him, the rain now beginning to take its toll as it fell. His senses were fully alert and he heard shouting from behind, then a few gunshots followed by people crashing through the bushes. Someone yelled for quiet, but it had little effect and he heard the order being repeated.

  He spun round, pulled the Browning from his waistband and fired three rounds towards whoever was giving the orders. He heard someone yelp in pain and yell he'd been hit. But he knew it wasn't serious, otherwise he wouldn't be complaining so vigorously.

  Another voice now pleaded for calm. 'Shut yo' fucking mouth fo' I fucking do it fo' ya!' it screamed. This time the others listened and the shouting faded to nothing. From the noise Adam knew there were no more than seven or eight people, not a number that couldn't be dealt with.

  Adam could still hear the recipient of his bullet moaning some forty yards away. As he moved towards another part of Old Number One, Adam knew he had to confuse them, scramble their knowledge of the cemetery until they didn't know where the next area of conflict was coming from. He knew he didn't have long. The grenade, as muffled as it was by Fruit Juice's body, would have been heard and someone would probably have told the police. Even in Sin City, grenades were not the norm.

  He worked his way round to the west side of the cemetery and entered an old vault he had chosen when he had first circuited the cemetery. The door, steel, had been slightly open and he slipped in through the narrow gap.

  It was cold, a dry chill that hung still. His eyes made out large stone shelves, four deep, that ran round three sides of the vault. There were coffins on each shelf, some resting directly on top of others, more than thirty ornate wooden boxes in the mausoleum.

  Glad of the respite from the rain, he wiped the water from his hair where it had run into his long waves. Then he opened the brown bag and took out the Heckler and Koch MP5K sub-machine gun. He rammed a clip in, swung it over his shoulder, rammed two more clips and the remaining hand grenade in his pockets, then waited by the door for whatever came next.

  It didn't take long.

  Two of them, moving in the bushes on the opposite side of the park, both with hand-guns ready. They moved like amateurs, street bullies used to having their own way. They were sitting targets, too easy for Adam.

  Killing was easy to Adam, something he
did without considering the consequences. But that was when the odds excited him, when he felt there was real danger. It was his buzz, his church. These were funfair targets, something to hit and take home a prize Teddy Bear for. He let them pass, heard their whispers as loudly as if they were in conversation with him, and waited to see who followed.

  No-one.

  His pursuers had obviously spread out over the cemetery.

  He came out of the vault and followed the two Teddy Bears. He caught them up quickly and stayed close behind. The heavy rain and its resultant sound on the bushes made his task easy. They split up to go around a large tree that was surrounded by big bushes under it. Adam decided to go after the man on the left.

  As soon as he was out of sight of his companion, Adam was on him, the knife he always carried slashing down and across his throat.

  By the time his partner had stumbled on the fallen corpse, Adam was nearly fifty yards away in the safety of the old vault. He heard the man scream, then stifle his fear. There were shots, four of them, as he either blasted at thin air in panic or signaled his cronies to him. Adam saw the torch lights shining in the dark.

  'He fucking killed him. He fucking cut his throat.'

  'Take it easy, for...'

  'Sliced him right next to me. He was only next to me.'

  'Lay off. We got...'

  'Fuck you. They said he got the death wish. He a fucking spook, man'

  'Don't talk shit.' It was Goat Face.

  'He fucking invisible. Right under my fucking nose.'

  Adam grinned as he stepped out from the vault entrance and sprayed the Heckler and Koch in their direction. It was a short burst, enough to send them diving for cover into the undergrowth. When he had finished there was an absolute quiet. Nobody was saying anything now.

  As he turned to retrace his track, he heard the police sirens in the distance, growing closer as they approached. e headed for the entrance to Old Number One. Heard the shouting start up again behind him as they hastily prepared their exit, and walked through the gates and out onto Basin Street.

  'You causing trouble again?' was Frankie's caustic greeting.

  He was in his wheelchair on the pavement, an old 1950s Reising M50 sub-machine-gun across his legs. Adam walked past him, packed his weaponry back into the brown bag and tossed it into the trunk.

  'Let's go,' he said.