Rock and Roll Voodoo

by Mark Paul Smith

  Casey couldn’t help but join in. “Plenty of people around, it was high noon, like the shootout at the O.K. Corral. Each guy could see the other one coming and see that he was alone and unarmed.”

  Jesse continued. “Funny thing was, they both walked with a limp, and they were trying hard not to show it. Dupre broke his foot at the Safari Club fire.”

  “And Gypsy got shot in the hip about a month ago,” Casey said.

  Amy looked at both of them like they were out of their minds. “So, where were you two?”

  “I was walking right behind Dupre and Casey was right behind Gypsy.”

  Amy covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh, my God. It sounds like a duel. You could have been killed. Go on. What happened next?”

  Jesse made her wait for it. “It was the coolest thing you ever saw. The two toughest dudes on the bayou coming face-to-face to shake hands over the deal they’d worked out with me and Casey. And then the shocker. Dupre actually smiled when they shook hands. He smiled and said to Gypsy, ‘Good to see you again, man.’”

  “Turns out they’d done some dealing with each other back in high school, before the gangs got started.” Casey said. “Gypsy actually laughed when they shook hands.”

  “What did he say?” Amy asked, bouncing up and down on her chair.

  Casey chuckled at her eagerness. “Gypsy said, ‘Looks like we’re going to be partners again.’ Then Dupre said, ‘It’s a little late to be talking about being partners. All we’re trying to do here is not kill each other.’”

  Amy wanted more. She stopped bouncing. “So what happened next?”

  Jesse picked up the story. “They shook hands again and turned around and walked away. It was like something out of an old movie, neither one of them looked back. Casey and I stayed behind at the statue, looking up at St. Louis Cathedral like we’d just witnessed a miracle.”

  “I almost thought they were going to hug each other,” Casey said.

  Amy looked at Jesse and Casey in wide-eyed wonder. “That is so cool. That is so cool I can’t stand it.”

  Casey returned to the legal theme of the tale. “I wonder what real lawyers would have charged them for negotiating the truce?”

  “A fortune and then some,” Jesse said.

  Amy looked at him with eyebrows raised. “Maybe we ought to think a little more about practicing law.”

  Casey and Jesse looked at each other. Jesse knew what she meant by using the term we.

  He looked at Amy like she had just crossed some kind of imaginary line in the relationship sand. “Maybe we should think a little more about booking the band.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PETE

  Pete invited the Divebomberz to spend a couple days at his ranch house along the Tchefuncte River, north of New Orleans, across Lake Pontchartrain. He had first contacted the band after their public television performance. His invitation was a big deal to Jesse. Pete said he was interested in managing the band and was talking about putting them in the studio to make a record. He offered his house for two days of rehearsal and a chance for him to get to know the band.

  So they headed across the 23-mile, Lake Pontchartrain causeway. Tim rode with Rene in his truck while Dale, Butch, and Jesse crowded into the band van with most of the equipment. Each vehicle was filled with marijuana smoke as they traveled, side by side, down the two northbound lanes of the sea level bridge. With water stretching out on either side, it felt like they were in a boat race. Jesse and Rene jockeyed for position and nearly collided several times as they came closer and closer to each other in the center of the road. Jesse was a thrill seeker in his own right but Rene was flat-out reckless. Jesse found himself backing down again and again. He didn’t like being the chicken.

  Butch was relieved to see Jesse exercising uncharacteristic restraint. “Good man. No need to get us all killed.”

  Jesse’s spirits were high. The band was finally going to make a recording of their music. What little he knew about the music business told him it was all about getting a recording contract. To do that, they would have to make a demo tape.

  Dale leaned forward and put his hand to his ear. “I hear destiny calling from across the lake. Listen, can you hear it? It’s calling our name.”

  Butch pretended to listen. “I hear it calling my name but I don’t hear your name, Jesse.”

  Dale laughed. “Jesse doesn’t have to listen. He’s got his own voice. Isn’t that right, Jesse? You’ve got the Voodoo voice. Where’s it been lately?”

  Jesse decided to be candid for a change. “I haven’t heard the voice since I met him in the graveyard a hundred years ago.”

  Butch and Dale looked at each other in shocked surprise. Jesse hadn’t shared anything about his Voodoo connection in quite some time. Nobody said anything more for several miles. Jesse knew they were waiting for more so he finally told the story of his trip to the graveyard with Carmen. Butch and Dale were spellbound as he told about his Voodoo vision and meeting the African man behind the voice at Marie Laveau’s healing fire.

  “And you say there was no electricity?” Butch asked.

  Jesse realized his account was difficult to believe. “Look, I don’t know if it was a dream or a spell or a trance or what it was. All I can tell you is, it felt as real as this. And it was in a time before electricity. The only light was from the fire.”

  Butch responded slowly and carefully. “Jesse, I’m seriously starting to worry about you. Maybe you’ve been hitting the magic mushrooms a little heavy.”

  Dale didn’t share Butch’s concern. “Far out. We’ve got Voodoo on our side and we’re on the road to meet our new manager.”

  “He’s not our manager yet,” Butch said. “I like Pete fine, but from what I’ve heard, he’s mainly a real estate agent who thinks he can start some kind of music festival in New Orleans. I don’t think he knows anything about managing a band.”

  “He doesn’t have to know anything if he’s ready to pay for our recording time,” Jesse said.

  “But what does he want in return?” Dale asked.

  Butch thought about the question for a minute. “I guess we find out soon enough.”

  Dale turned to Jesse. “Is this witch doctor voice you’ve been hearing connected to the bayou cow skull?”

  Jesse was pleased to have Dale asking intelligent questions. “Carmen seems to think the skull and the voice are the same thing, trying to get through to me by sight and sound.”

  Butch reluctantly got on board the inquiry. “So what is this Voodoo thing trying to tell you?”

  Jesse thought for a minute as he drove across the lake. “It’s telling me that music has the same kind of power as Voodoo. It connects the spirit world to the material world.”

  “Sounds like you’re talking about God.” Butch said.

  Dale jumped in on one of his favorite topics. “God is bigger than Voodoo. God might use Voodoo or rock and roll or whatever to get his point across, but God is bigger than all of our spiritual and material worlds.”

  Jesse did not want to get Dale going. “God’s a pretty big word. I don’t know what God is. I don’t think anybody knows. The people who claim to know God are the ones that scare me.”

  “I don’t claim to know God,” Dale said. “But I do claim to feel the presence of God in all that is good in the world.”

  Butch intervened. “Okay, okay. I don’t want to have a big theological debate here. I’m just wondering how this voice Jesse claims to hear is going to affect the future of The Divebomberz.”

  “I don’t know if the voice has anything to do with us heading to Pete’s ranch,” Jesse said. “But I’ll tell you this. It was the voice who saved us in the Safari fire.”

  “You saved us there,” Dale said.

  Jesse took his right hand off the steering wheel and pointed his index finger upward to make his point. “It was the voice who told me to kick the walls down. Before I heard the voice, I was pretty sure we were all going to die.”

 
“Why didn’t you tell us that before?” Dale asked.

  “I know you all think I’m crazy about this voice thing so I just stopped talking about it.”

  Butch was shocked by the revelation about the voice at the Safari fire. His mouth was open long before he began speaking. “Don’t worry about us thinking you’re crazy. We knew you were crazy long before you started hearing the voice. The thing about the voice is this. I’d believe it a lot more if I heard it myself. It doesn’t make sense that it would only speak to you.”

  Meanwhile, Rene’s truck and trailer had fallen into line behind the band van. He and Tim were having their own discussion about the band’s current and future course of action.

  “I think it’s a good idea to get a manager,” Rene said. “We need somebody besides Jesse running the band.”

  Tim looked at Rene in surprise. “Do you really think Jesse runs the band?”

  “He’s the one who brought you to New Orleans, isn’t he? He’s the one who does the booking. He’s the one who decides what songs go on the set list.”

  “He’s the one who wanted you in the band,” Tim said.

  Rene looked hurt. “Was it just him?”

  “No, we all wanted a drummer. And we all think you’re perfect for the band. But that’s the point. Jesse doesn’t try to run the band. We all run the band. Butch is probably the closest thing we have to a musical leader.”

  Rene drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “No, I’m not trying to get into a power struggle with Jesse. All I’m saying is it would be a good thing to get a manager. What do you know about this Pete guy?”

  Tim responded thoughtfully. “I don’t think he’s ever managed a band before.”

  “So why are we going to his house in the country?”

  “For one thing, we need a place to rehearse. Your drums have made our sound too big to rehearse in anybody’s apartment.”

  Rene did a drum roll on the steering wheel. “You got that right.”

  Tim continued. “That’s why we got burned, rehearsing outdoors, giving a free concert to all those kids at the Race Street Park.”

  Tim was referring to the band rehearsing at a city park pavilion and giving a free concert to kids and grownups who streamed in from everywhere within hearing distance. There was a huge turnout since The Divebomberz could be heard eight blocks in any direction.

  Unfortunately, someone saw the band loading all the equipment into the van after the performance. That same someone saw the van get parked nearby in front of Jesse and Amy’s apartment, which was only two blocks from the park. The next morning, Jesse awoke to find his driver’s side window shattered and all the band’s new gear stolen. Everything the band had purchased on borrowed money after the Safari fire was gone. In a sickening flash, Jesse realized how stupid he’d been to show all the poor kids in the neighborhood where the valuables were stored. The thieves had left the back door and the sliding side door of the van wide open.

  Jesse discovered the devastating loss just six hours before the band’s debut booking on the riverboat. At first, he thought there was no way the band could do the gig. Amy found him sitting dejectedly on the curb beside the burglarized vehicle. Once he showed her the loss, Amy swung into action. “Don’t even think about feeling sorry for yourself and missing that job on the riverboat. Let’s get on the phone and call the guys. We’ve got to beg, borrow, or steal instruments in a hurry.”

  After a mad scramble to rent and borrow equipment, The Divebomberz covered the gig. The band was set up in front of the paddlewheel that powered the boat. The only thing between the band and the churning water was a glass wall. It was tough playing on strange instruments, through a makeshift sound system. Nobody on the riverboat seemed to notice. The big wheel kept on turning.

  There was no insurance to cover the loss. The Divebomberz had to borrow money from Rene’s father again to buy its second round of gear in less than two months. They’d gone wild upgrading equipment after the Safari Club fire. This time they were more frugal. Even so, it gave them one more bill to pay each month.

  “I can’t believe Jesse got all our gear stolen,” Rene said as he continued driving across the lake to Pete’s house.

  Tim stopped rolling the joint he was preparing. “That wasn’t Jesse’s fault and you know it. What is it? You’ve got a problem with Jesse?”

  Rene was on shaky ground. “No. No. All I’m saying is we need to be more careful. With our gear and our career.”

  Tim fired up the number and passed it to Rene. “Are you worried about Pete?”

  Rene took a huge hit and passed the joint back to Tim. “It’s all about making a record. That’s what this business is all about. If Pete’s ready to help us do that, I’m all for him. Plus, I hear he’s got connections with Allen Touissant.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Rene looked at Tim like he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Who’s that? Allen Touissant is the biggest thing in New Orleans. He owns Sea Saint studios. He worked with Fats Domino and Dr. John and the Neville Brothers. They had a string of hits in the sixties. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of him.”

  “Sounds like we need Touissant to manage us, not Pete,” Tim said.

  “We can’t just walk in and talk to Allen Touissant.”

  “Why not?”

  Rene pounded out a beat on the steering wheel to emphasize his point. “We need to record a few songs first so we can take him our demo tape.”

  “What happens if he likes us?” Tim asked.

  “I don’t really know. I’m not a music manager. I’m just a drummer. A drummer who knows we need to make a record and that’s about all I know.”

  Tim and Rene rode on in silence as they followed the band van across the lake and wound their way into the giant trees along the Tchefuncte River. Swampland Oaks and Seneca and Butternut trees combined with all kinds of pines to create a lush canopy that nearly blotted out the sun.

  “Are there alligators here?” Tim asked.

  “Lots of them,” Rene teased. “Be careful when you get out of the truck.”

  “Come on, man,” Tim said. “Don’t joke about that stuff. You know it freaks me out.”

  As the truck and the van were pulling up in front of Pete’s sprawling ranch house, Tim heard the voice for the first time. There was no mistaking it. The voice was just as Jesse had described it, deep and booming and African.

  “This man is a slave owner,” the voice said as Pete walked out of the house.

  Jesse noticed Tim remaining in the truck. “Come on, Tim. What’s the holdup?”

  Tim got out of the truck and grabbed Jesse by the shoulders to whisper in his ear. “I just heard the voice. I know it’s the same one you’ve been hearing. I just heard it. It sounds exactly like you said.”

  Tim’s eyes were so wide Jesse knew he had to settle him down somehow. It was obvious Tim wasn’t playing with him. He looked like Jesse had felt when he first heard the voice, like he’d just seen a ghost. Or heard one.

  Jesse hugged him tightly. It was a great relief to have someone confirm he wasn’t out of his mind for hearing a Voodoo voice in his head. “What did it say?”

  Before Tim could answer, Pete walked up to greet the band. He was wearing a light blue suit with no tie. It was early afternoon. Pete was obviously done with real estate for the day. He didn’t look anything like Jesse had imagined. Pete was only twenty-nine years old. Jesse had expected him to be an Italian man in his fifties with slick black hair. Pete was five foot nine with blonde hair and a fair complexion.

  “Welcome, Divebomberz, to my humble abode,” Pete grinned as he shook hands all around. His teeth were big and white and perfect. It seemed he had forgotten all about the beautiful woman standing behind him. Then he remembered his manners. “This is Darlene,” he said, introducing a slightly taller brunette. She looked elegant, even in jeans and a work shirt. She was a person quite used to having her picture taken.

  Pete hugged her. “She’s my nu
mber one ranch hand.”

  Darlene quickly demonstrated her southern belle charm. She shook hands warmly with each member of the band. The diamond ring on her left hand was hugely noticeable.

  “So good to meet y’all,” she said. “Pete’s told me so much about you. I feel like I already know y’all.”

  “Welcome to the ranch,” she said to Dale. “We thought we’d take a walk down to the river to start things off right.”

  She turned to Butch. “A little walk will be good after your drive, won’t it?”

  “We love to explore new territory,” Butch said as he shook her hand.

  “And you must be Jesse,” she said. “I wish I could get my hair to curl up so pretty as yours.”

  Before Jesse could comment or wonder how many more times she could say “y’all,” Darlene pivoted to Tim, who was still staring off into space.

  “So, you must be Tim, the fiddle player. I can’t wait to hear y’all play right here in our party den. We’ve got all the furniture moved over so y’all can set up.”

  Tim snapped out of his daydream and remembered his manners. “Thank you for having us. It’s nice to get out of the city.”

  Pete must have been waiting for Darlene to complete her introduction. Once he felt she had properly welcomed each band member, he organized the party. “All right then. Come with me and discover the magic that is the Tchefuncte River.”

  Jesse felt like he was walking into a jungle as the band followed Pete and Darlene down a grassy, two-track road into what seemed an impenetrable array of trees, shrubs, and undergrowth. A cacophony of sounds from insects and birds and frogs and things that crawl gave the hike a forbidden forest feel. The mosquitoes were big and bad.

  Darlene handed Dale a can of bug repellant. “Here, spray this on everybody. The bad news is you’re really going to need it. The good news is, it works.”

  Tim was watching the ground closely. “Does it keep the snakes away?”