by Quig Shelby
Talking to Lucy was Dilwood Benson the businessman; often known as Dull Wood due to his staid conversation.
Circumstances had thrown together the oddest of bedfellows, but they had all, in one way or another, come to believe in Dela Eden Obi, and her Petro voodoo magic. Petro because, as Dela so often put it, ‘only evil gets things done.’
Gasper, Pandy, and Dilwood had all seen their wealth increase seven fold, or more. Felix and Din had stayed out of jail, and Charles was somewhere in the middle. Gladys at forty-nine was pregnant, although the father’s identity was a secret. And after the doctors had given up, Lucy was no longer paraplegic. As for Bill and Barbara, they were still hoping for a windfall, but then again, they always did like to be last.
James was praying for a rather sinful blessing from the Spirits; to attract a new lover in the rather delightful shape of his virgin curate Eve. Fortunately Dela kept her patron’s aspirations secret; at least from their betrothed.
‘She’s a little under dressed don’t you think?’ said Vankoni, nodding towards Susie Chang.
‘Well don’t worry, it’s not a swingers party,’ replied Christine.
Vankoni smiled.
‘Besides my dear,’ she continued ‘she is a he. And stop staring, it’s not polite.’
Vankoni laughed.
‘Christine Middlemass,’ she said, offering her hand ‘pleased to meet you.’
‘Vankoni,’ he said, holding her warm smooth hand perhaps a little too long.
Christine had long blonde hair, and a devil may care look in her eyes. She was younger than her husband, with an hour glass figure. She could look both pompous, and raunchy. The stable lads that rode around the village often dreamed of her.
‘I’m ...’
‘I know,’ interrupted Christine ‘Din’s friend.’
‘And what is special about you Mr Vankoni?’ she asked, before taking another sip from her cocktail. ‘After all, we are a rather select group.’
Christine looked out at the night sky. It was clear, and for once you could see the heavens.
Vankoni was tongue tied, unsure how to reply. He could be vulgar, but was uncertain of the etiquette.
‘Well don’t be shy, I’m not a blabbermouth,’ Christine goaded.
‘My stamina,’ he finally replied.
‘I see. Then can you pursue what others avoid?’ she asked, circling the rim of her glass with an olive.
‘If my heart is in it.’
‘And what does that require?’
‘Excitement.’
‘Damn,’ she said facing the wall ‘these suspenders are killing me.’
She was wearing a little black number, and hitched it up to straighten a suspender. There was a bulge in Vankoni’s eyes, and elsewhere.
‘I see,’ said Christine smiling ‘that’s what you mean. It appears your mind is in my gutter.’
‘Sorry,’ said Vankoni.
‘Now don’t go soft on me,’ she said.
‘My circulation is fine.’
‘In that case, perhaps you could escort me to an exhibition this weekend. James finds pleasing me such a chore, bless him.’
She slipped a card into Vankoni’s jacket pocket, and he smelled her Chanel No. 5 one more time.
‘Cosmology; I have a PhD. The odd lecture helps to buy life’s little luxuries. Who knows maybe I can show you a thing or two?’
Vankoni swung around to see where James was sitting.
‘Oh don’t worry about him. He prefers tranny’s too,’ said Christine lying.
Vankoni quickly knocked back his double vodka.
Dela rang a small china bell, inducing instant silence. One by one they put down their glasses, and followed her down the steps, into Charles’ cellar. James carried his daughter, and placed her gently on the one provided seat - an old cushioned rocking chair.
Rows of steel cages, covered with sack cloth, greeted them, whimpering mutts audible. Though Meadow, the golden retriever was wagging her tail as Charles approached; her lead tied to the iron legs of sink.
‘Good girl,’ said Charles stroking the top of her muzzled head, ready to set her free.
Dela wore a long red toga, and white head band. The beads around her neck rippled there applause, as she held a knife above her head.
‘Ancestors, we dedicate this beast to you, and pray that the Spirits continue to bless us,’ she said.
Charles held back the neck, open to incision, whilst Dela slit the throat. The blood was drained into St Agnes’ chalice; kindly held by Gladys. Din and Vankoni kept the animal still, until it flopped in their hands, lifeless.
Dela placed the knife on Lucy’s lap, upon a pre-arranged napkin. Thirstily, the priestess drank from the cup, before whirling around the room, entranced. Everyone stayed well back, praying, screaming; Gasper shouted the loudest, his fists clenched. They passed the chalice amongst them, each taking a sip of blood.
The timer on Charles’s steel cooker buzzed. Fortunately lamb was on the menu, not dog.
‘So what did you wish for Mr Vankoni?’ asked Christine at the dinner table.
‘Security and prosperity. And you?’
‘Just a little excitement; life can be so tiresome.’
James looked up from his radish. He knew she was gorgeous, and no doubt many a trouser pocket was ruffled in her lectures. But even curators get bored with seeing the Mona Lisa every day.
Chapter Twelve
The wheel was spinning in front of him, with the croupier holding the ball. Joost flicked the gaming chips back and forth between his fingers, but he wasn’t concentrating on roulette; Bheki Ncube was on his mind. But as always the guilt he felt for loving tarnished his joy.
Joost followed the ball as it whizzed around the rim; the brass spokes hypnotic. He saw a revolving car tyre on a burning wreck, in faraway South Africa.
Someone had placed a late bet, and the croupier quickly removed it.
‘Too late,’ he said.
The aggrieved gambler kicked the table leg. Joost heard a car door slam, and the words ‘too late’ echoed in his mind. He felt confused, was losing focus, and rubbed his eyes. Then he saw him, the carjacker that got away.
Their eyes locked. Vankoni more startled because he didn’t relive the scene every night. Joost did a double take; he’d wrongly seen the face many times before. But it was really him, already edging away from the table. Joost got up to follow.
Vankoni strode to the lobby, opening the door into the cold night. He broke into a run, with Joost hot on his heels.
Both men were sprinting, when Vankoni jumped the barrier. He glimpsed Joost over his shoulder, pursuing him down the escalator. At the dark lip of a tunnel Vankoni heard a train approaching. Darting up the platform, he dodged the late night drunks, and jumped in.
Joost was doubled over, hands on his knees, and breathing heavily. The doors closed feeling his collar; he’d made it in the nick of time. He quickly removed his belt as a garrotte. But on the platform he could see his quarry waving him goodbye. Joost sat down before he was sick.
Vankoni phoned Din at the casino to explain his hasty departure, and why it was best, for now at least, to avoid the gambling den. Din couldn’t stop laughing. Vankoni read the poster across the tracks, ‘Do you have enough life insurance?’
He made it home, exhausted, like a punch drunk boxer at the final bell. Joost showered the sweat away; the remorse would take longer to go. He changed into loose denim jeans with bare feet, standing six foot tall. He wore no top, and was lean and muscular.
Joost checked the mirror one more time, before shaving his head. A short jagged scar scowled above his right ear; an unwanted souvenir from South Africa.
Joost lived in a converted warehouse, and the windows ran along one side; blue steel, and
thick glass. There were few internal walls, and the floor was covered in soft rubber sheets. Thick pipes concertinaed around the flat, and blasted heat like a furnace. He pushed a DVD into the deck, and collapsed into his recliner, before pressing play on the remote. He drank brandy from the bottle.
‘Wave Hildy,’ shouted a woman’s voice, and a hand was held out obligingly, rolling its wrist like a Queen passing by in a horse drawn carriage.
‘How does it feel to be twelve?’ asked the girl’s mother, Stella van Houten.
‘I wish to tell my subjects it is most excellent,’ came a very regal reply.
Hildegard delighted in being theatrical, and wished with all her might to be a future star of stage and screen. Joost was holding the camcorder and zoomed in.
‘Make sure you get my good side dad,’ said the girl playfully.
Stella held her daughter’s wrist and birthday bracelet as they both gripped the croquet mallet. They aimed at the hoop, then swung and smashed the ball together, but it skewed into the mulberry bush. The sun had gone in, and dark clouds were on the horizon. The first few drops of rain began to fall.
‘We’d better get inside. Any last message your Majesty?’ Joost asked his daughter.
‘Yes. I love you mum. I love you dad.’
The camcorder switched itself off, its battery dead, and leaving a blank screen, an empty space.
A tear welled up in the corner of his eye before slowly rolling down his cheek. Then he began to sob uncontrollably, his head shaking, and held in his hands. If only he could see them both one last time, just to say how much he missed them, and sorry. For the guilt he felt was ever present and crushing.
He looked at the long crocodile mask on the wall. It was three foot long, and its snout pointed to the ground. The seller was from Burkina Faso, where masks mediated between the living and the dead. There was a chequered pattern carved into its body, and behind its eyes lay Joost’s escape. Strangely there was a third eye in the forehead.
Ten minutes had elapsed, and the rush was taking him high above his worries. The warm solitary detachment would normally last a few hours, but tonight Joost had a visitor. He was cushioned from alarm, but nonetheless amazed as the crocodile scurried down the wall towards him.
‘I said it was good stuff,’ said the familiar voice.
‘John?’ asked Joost.
‘That’s right. Pretty amazing isn’t it.’
Joost smiled. This was the strongest hallucination he’d had.
‘I guess you think this is a hallucination,’ said John Lacey.
‘Of course.’
‘Well I hate to spoil your high, but this is actually me.’
Joost laughed, but the claw on his foot felt pretty real, and those teeth looked mighty sharp.
‘How is that possible?’ asked Joost.
‘Dela’s powder, I mixed it with the heroin.’
‘Dela who?’ asked Joost.
John explained as best he could; the voodoo priestess, her brother Din, and Vankoni.
The medicine Dela had sold to ward off Sergeant Cooper had just gone up in smoke; well some of it. The only Spirit it now summoned was John, who lay on the floor in the guise of a crocodile. Joost played along, expecting to leave his mirage anytime soon.
Joost never let anyone close, for he was afraid of losing them again. So perhaps the crocodile was tapping into his subconscious, when he warned that Bheki Ncube was in danger.
‘How do you know?’ asked Joost.
‘I’ve heard them talking. They want her for muti.’
Joost’s tranquillity was definitely coming to an end.
‘And Joost.’
‘Yes,’ he replied wearily.
‘The other carjacker, the one you chased tonight, he’s called Vankoni.’
‘How do I know any of this is real?’ asked Joost.
‘Ask Felix Gale about his wife. He’s coming to the office tomorrow morning, at ten,’ said John.
It was news to Joost.
‘Anyway times up,’ said John. ‘And Joost, if you want my help I only ask one favour in return.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You get what’s left of me out of Dela’s reach. It’s bloody cold in this freezer.’
Then the little crocodile scurried back up the wall, turned on the hook, and froze.
It was a couple of hours before Joost awoke, but the first thing he did was check the crocodile mask. It was the same as always, but underneath there were scratch marks clawed into the wall. Could it really be he wondered? He checked the drugs; there were six packets left.
Chapter Thirteen
Felix Gale’s file was open on his desk, as Joost looked at the clock one more time. It was ten in the morning. Sure enough Felix’s wife was called Dela Eden Obi, just as John had said. But he’d seen the file before, and it was easily a memory. There was a knock at the door.
‘Come on in,’ said Joost.
‘Hi,’ said Felix ‘I’ve brought in my timesheet.’
‘Please, take a seat.’
Joost looked at him. Felix was sitting cross legged with one hand on his knee. He wore navy blue slacks with a crimson sweater.
‘Tea, coffee?’ asked Joost.
‘No thanks, I’ve just had one.’
Felix was cautious when it came to accepting drinks.
‘What did you think of Blackfriars?’ asked Joost.
‘Interesting.’
‘And the permanent staff?’
‘Actually, very friendly.’
This wasn’t always the case when you were an agency nurse.
‘Funnily enough I was just checking your file,’ said Joost. ‘And the references. I must have known you were coming.’
Felix tried not to, but gulped.
‘Oh they’re OK. In fact the one from Atoll is very flattering,’ said Joost.
Felix smiled. In truth they were desperate to offload him.
‘You know your wife’s name seems familiar. Is she a nurse?’
‘No, but she does heal people - with traditional medicine. She’s from Tanzania.’
‘Really. I once knew a girl from Zanzibar who had a great remedy for insomnia.’
She did, but it wasn’t the kind you’d find in a packet.
‘Did you keep in touch?’ asked Felix.
‘I’m afraid not.’
She never got used to his nightmares.
‘Well Dela makes all kind of potions, maybe she can help.’
‘I might take you up on that, I still have sleepless nights.’
Joost casually flicked through Felix’s file.
‘Why the change from dementia care?’ he asked.
‘I was beginning to feel dead tired.’
‘Well I’ve got another five nights to cover at Blackfriars. If you’re interested.’
‘Which wards?’ asked Felix.
‘Brent and Surrey.’
‘I’ll take them.’
Both wards were rehab, and the patient’s had been sedated for years.
Joost wrote the shifts down for Felix, who’d already decided to go off sick, and leave Atoll nursing home for good. His back felt better already.
‘Well thanks for dropping by Felix, and if there’s any changes I’ll give you a call.’
Felix got up, and straightened his tie.
‘Just out of interest,’ asked Joost ‘does Dela do voodoo?’
Felix smiled.
‘Of course, and business charms a speciality.’
‘Let me think about that one.’
‘No problem,’ said Felix, and he left, leaving Joost to ponder if the crocodile mask had really spoken.
Late afternoon, and she saved him the dilemma
of phoning.
‘Hi handsome,’ said Bheki.
‘I was just thinking of you,’ said Joost.
‘And what were you doing?’
‘Not what you would imagine.’
‘Anyway, do you want to see me after work?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘OK I’ll be waiting outside the offices. I’ve got somewhere I want to take you. But don’t get too excited, it’s your mind I’m after this evening,’ and she put down the phone leaving Joost intrigued.
Bheki wasn’t dolled up, but Joost’s passion was still burning, and her tight boot cut jeans were romantic enough. Likewise she found his newly shaved head, scar and all, a bold erotic statement. It was late night opening in the British museum, and they were looking at an exhibition of West African art.
Joost tried to stay interested, but Bheki wasn’t fooled, and it became pretty obvious he was more interested in her ass than the museum’s assets. Although she’d checked her reflection several times in the glass cabinets, and was more than pleased with her own treasures.
Bheki hesitated at an Ngbaka statue from the Congo. It was 19 inches tall with a protruding stomach, and slightly bent knees. On its face was a string of scarification lines.
‘You like this one?’ asked Joost temporarily lifting his eyes above waist level.
‘It reminds me of one I’ve seen before.’
She didn’t want to say too much. Joost seemed decent enough, but men had a habit of disappointing her, and it was still early days.
They saw the rest of the exhibition, and as much as Joost tried to turn the conversation around, Bheki was determined to keep their discussion highbrow.
Joost was sitting across from Bheki, and stirring his coffee on the small round table in the cafeteria.
‘Well don’t look too disappointed,’ she said ‘you’ll have plenty of time to undress me, and not just with your eyes.’
He smiled broadly.
‘Just not tonight. Anyway I could do with some more work, and I hope sleeping with the boss gives me preference.’
‘I’ve got plenty of work at Blackfriars.’
‘Sure.’