One Blood

by Amaru, Qwantu

  If he wasn’t a politician, Snake would eagerly gobble down his own shirt. Then it came to him in a flash of insight. He’d seen this man-boy before, as recently as a few weeks back, and much to the delight of his shirt-phobic stomach, he was a politician. Having placed the face, Snake reached for the name.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr…”

  “My name isn’t important, but the work I’m offering you could be. I was told you were a man who could get tough jobs done, discretely. I’ve got such a job…”

  * * * * *

  Fifteen years later, Snake was still cleaning up Lafitte’s messes.

  “I need you to find someone for me, Snake,” Lafitte said after a short pause.

  “And what do I do once I find this upstanding gentleman?” Snake replied, taking another sip of juice. Reminiscing was thirsty work.

  “It’s a woman. Her name is Desiree Deveaux. She was once a fortune teller calling herself Madame Deveaux, last known to live in New Orleans. I need you to find her by no later than tomorrow night and bring her to me.”

  “That it?”

  Another uncustomary pause. Maybe the instrument needed warming these days, the way an old car did. As if to confirm this, Lafitte cleared his throat. “Snake,” he said. “Someone took my daughter today.”

  So it begins.

  Snake had known this moment was rapidly approaching, but now that it was here, he almost felt bad…almost. “I’m sorry to hear that, Boss.”

  “I can’t have the police or Feds involved in this.”

  “Of course not. Who needs ‘em.”

  “I’m speaking to the kidnappers in about two and a half hours. Once I know their demands, I’ll call you back so we can put together our game plan.”

  “What if they don’t have any?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Demands, I mean. What makes yuh think they’ve got demands?”

  “Everyone wants something, Snake.”

  “But what if yuh don’t have what they want or can’t get it in time?”

  “I’m paying you a lot of money to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Lafitte hung up.

  Snake placed the cell phone in the cup holder. The square green sign just beyond his windshield announced Lake City’s municipal boundary. Snake had chosen his parking spot carefully, so he could remain within the city limits of Iowa (pronounced eye-a-way in Louisiana). He hated Lake City almost as much as he hated the sun.

  Everything about the city bothered him. How drivers were forced to take the Interstate just to get anywhere; the billboards advertising casinos where all they did was take his money; the Super Walmarts on every corner. The whole city smelled like a chemistry experiment gone bad because of the throng of chemical plants down by Lake Francis, and it was downright insufferable. People couldn’t even go to Prien Pines Beach anymore because of all the chemicals they dumped in the water. But most of all, he detested the fifty-five mile per hour speed limit.

  Who the fuck could get anywhere driving fifty-five?

  Snake dialed another number.

  “Well, Jhonnette, the Governor went for it, just like you said he would,” Snake said after his lover’s greeting.

  “Did you ever doubt me?” Jhonnette replied in that sexy, all-knowing way of hers.

  Snake quelled the desire to proclaim his undying love. There would be plenty of time for that once this was finished. “Never that, my love. I’m putting everything in motion now. See you in a couple of days.” Snake hung up and exhaled.

  It was amazing how the world worked. A year ago he’d been lost. His gambling debts were sky high. Doctors had diagnosed him with chronic hepatitis and advanced cirrhosis. They told him that without a liver transplant, he’d be dead within a year.

  Then he’d met Jhonnette Deveaux at an old Blues bar in the French Quarter. After six months with her, Snake’s liver exams had returned to normal, he’d paid off his gambling debts, and had fallen madly in love. At first, Snake tried to manipulate Jhonnette as he did most women. But it was pointless. Jhonnette saw his every deception birthing. She saw everything—a gift from her mother. One night after lovemaking, she revealed his fortune.

  “You will be a millionaire in one year’s time.”

  He was now three days away from realizing Jhonnette’s prophesy. Whenever Snake found himself doubting the course they’d laid out together, he remembered that everything Jhonnette predicted had come to pass. Every single thing. And though he’d never admit it to another soul, Snake knew when Jhonnette put her hands on him during those long gone days of sickness, she’d healed him.

  Certain of his future for the first time in recent memory, Snake cranked up the stereo, rolled the windows down, and fed his rented Mustang some gas. It was going to be a historic weekend.

  Lake City, here I come.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Four

  Friday

  Location Unknown

  Karen Lafitte was lost in an unfamiliar forest. Fear drove her forward as she ran toward the light shimmering through the branches like a beacon.

  Arriving at the forest’s edge, she saw that the light was coming from a large house in the clearing. Less than twenty feet away, a man stood with his back to her wearing an orange fleece sweater and blue jeans. The man aimed a shotgun at something in the distance.

  Instinct commanded Karen to stay put. She held her breath, afraid to make the slightest sound.

  The hunter pulled the trigger on his shotgun. The backfire boomed like an explosion.

  What is he shooting at?

  The hunter prepared to fire again, then suddenly turned and glared in Karen’s direction as if he’d heard her thoughts.

  Karen ducked. She was shocked to discover that the hunter was her father. Her brother Kristopher was nailed to a post thirty feet away.

  A large, bullet-riddled target was painted on Kristopher’s chest, his face contorted in a twisted scream.

  Karen’s legs went numb and she crumpled to the ground.

  “Get the fuck up, bitch, before you make me hurt you,” her father growled. “Get up right now!”

  Karen blinked her eyes open, the strange dream seared away by a bright white light assaulting her sensitive irises. She squeezed her watering eyelids shut to protect them. She heard a click and the light disappeared.

  “’Bout goddamn time. You could sleep through fuckin’ World War III. Been tryin’ to wake your tired ass up for the past five minutes.”

  “Why’s it so dark?” Karen asked, shivering. She felt an unnatural grogginess, similar to the waking effects of the sleeping pills she “borrowed” from her mother from time to time. “Where am I?”

  The last thing she remembered, other than the fading dream, was speeding down Freeman Road on Jess’s Honda Ninja. Karen had really gotten into the biker scene last year and had become a fairly capable rider. When she was on a bike, everything fell into place. She could usually outrun her worries—with the exception of her number one concern, her eighteenth birthday. Or “cursed-day” as Kristopher had christened it.

  When Mom told her about the spa appointment, Karen saw it as another opportunity to do something she wanted to do today. It was her birthday after all, not theirs. Jess was happy to take her massage appointment; she could never afford such pampering on her own. All Jess had to do was sign in under Karen’s name. No one would be the wiser.

  “You betta stop axin’ questions and start followin’ directions, bitch, or somethin’ bad gone happen to you.” Big, abrasive hands pulled her into a sitting position.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  She tried to squirm out of his grasp but was slammed against a rough wall that cut into the flesh of her back. Her arms were tied and left to rest in her lap. Frightened at the echo of her desperate cries, she sobbed uncontrollably. “Please let me go. Please! I’ll do whatever you want!”

  Flashlight Man chuckled. “You’re damn skippy,” he said. “I’m gone give you some ground rule
s now. Rule number one, keep your fuckin’ mouth shut. Rule number two—”

  “What do you want with me?” Karen wailed.

  “It’s not you we want,” he whispered.

  If not me, then who?

  An internal alarm went off. Ever since Kristopher’s death, Dad had warned Karen to be careful.

  “People will try to hurt me by hurting those I love most. All it takes is one slip up.”

  Her father was convinced that Kristopher brought on his demise by making that ill-fated trip to Simmons Park that day. That’s why he’d hired the extra security. Guards she became increasingly adept at duping and ducking over the years, and today was no exception.

  A cold hand touched her thigh.

  “Get away from me!” Karen twisted her head in all directions trying to see in the pitch black.

  “See, there you go violatin’ rule number one and it ain’t even been an hour yet.”

  “You won’t get away with this! My daddy—”

  The slap came out of nowhere, like the darkness itself had assaulted her, snapping her head into the wall. Her teeth clamped down on her tongue, filling her mouth with the coppery taste of warm blood mixed with saliva.

  “Which leads me to rule number two. I’m yo’ daddy now. You do what I say, when I say, and you’ll be aight. If not, I’ll be forced to beat you like yo’ daddy, you understand?”

  Karen barely heard, much less understood. She swallowed some of her coppery flavored blood and her stomach quivered in near revolt.

  “And rule number three: If you don’t want to end up dead, don’t try to escape. You take whatever I give you and don’t give me any shit. I don’t give a fuck if you’re scared of the dark, needles, or if you don’t like to swallow pills. You take that shit like a good little girl, and we’ll be aight. Aight?”

  She felt him tie a thick rubber band around her upper left arm.

  The flashlight beam played on her arm as her oppressor pulled something out of his pocket. With the light out of her eyes she was able to make out a rotund black man of medium height. His face was not nearly as menacing as his voice, but his pitch black eyes held no trace of warmth.

  “This gone sting for a second. Don’t scream or make no sudden movements or I might miss the vein. We got to get you ready for the ceremony.”

  Ceremony?

  Karen clenched her jaw in protest as the needle entered her flesh. She closed her eyes. She was usually the one giving the injections, not receiving them.

  * * * * *

  When Dad had fallen sick, the home care nurses taught her how to switch out his I.V.’s on nights when they weren’t there. Her nerves were so wracked the first time that she dropped four needles. Nevertheless, Dad calmed her down. He didn’t yell even once, although she saw how he flinched each time she inserted a new needle.

  Soon she could switch them out so swiftly Dad claimed not to notice. It had felt good being able to take care of him. Kristopher was gone and Mom was useless in her drug-induced fog. There was no way she was going to let Dad die and leave her alone with her mother.

  * * * * *

  Flashlight Man said something else.

  Karen couldn’t hear him over the bass drum pounding of her heartbeat.

  Flashlight Man shook and then smacked her again.

  Karen felt disconnected from reality. Hypnotized by the flashlight’s beam – the sole source of illumination – the drug’s effects took hold. The light became her sun and she bathed in its warmth as it melted the ropes that bound her physical self. Nothing could hold her now because she was flying.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Five

  Friday

  Lake City, LA

  Randy picked up the pay phone on the first ring. One of the advantages of being a high-ranking public official proved to be a nuisance tonight, as he had to drive fifteen minutes out of his way to lose the state trooper escort. He answered the phone with as much attitude as he could muster. “Speak.”

  “Do you like puppets, Randy?” The kidnapper used some sort of modulator to disguise his voice.

  “Puppets?” Randy’s face wrinkled in confusion. “No, I don’t. I just want my daughter back.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that, Governor,” the kidnapper replied. “I thought you were a master puppeteer. But even a master puppeteer must sleep, right? Can’t manipulate the strings all the time. Imagine what all those poor puppets do when they’re alone in the shop…”

  Randy’s ears were suddenly filled with a roar of static, which he realized was laughter.

  “Still waiting for the other shoe to drop, Randy?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to talk to my daughter.”

  “Well, everybody wants something, right?”

  Randy’s mind swam with déjà vu. He’d used those same words with Snake just hours ago.

  “Randy, are you still with me?”

  “Yes. I’m here. Now what do you want from me?”

  “I’m going to punish you, Randy,” the kidnapper replied. “But before we get to that, I need you to do some things. When I’m satisfied with your progress, then we can talk about you getting your daughter back. If I’m not satisfied, well, I’d think twice before getting into any moving vehicles, if you know what I mean.”

  Randy swallowed the obscenities forming in his throat. He took a few slow breaths.

  Let him think he is in control. Eventually, he’ll slip up and then you’ll have him.

  “I’m listening.”

  “In twenty-four hours, I expect to see a deposit of seven million dollars into my offshore account.”

  “You can’t be serious. There’s no way I can get that kind of money so fast.”

  Silence on the other end.

  “Are you still there?” Randy asked. “Did you hear what I just said?”

  “Don’t…”

  The menace in that single syllable petrified Randy’s core.

  “I don’t know what you—”

  “I can see how a man of your position and influence could begin to think of yourself as a master of the universe,” the kidnapper interrupted. “But don’t ever question my intelligence or my resolve again or I will put a knife through your daughter’s gut and make you listen to her last screams.”

  Randy fought the urge to hang up the phone. An image of Kristopher, riddled with bullets, gave him pause. “Okay,” he said. “Seven million dollars. When do I get the account information?”

  “Did you think I would send you an e-mail?” the kidnapper replied through more static bursts. “It’s on the back of the note. Apply a liberal dose of lemon juice and voilà.”

  Invisible ink. Very clever.

  “Now listen carefully to this part, Randy. This money will purchase your daughter’s life for the next seventy-two hours. Understood?”

  “What happens after that?”

  “That depends on how well you do with the rest of my list. Now, get out a pen. Write down this number: 6-7-5-4-3-9.”

  Randy scribbled the numbers on the back of an old business card.

  “Read the number back to me.”

  Randy complied.

  “Can you guess what the number is for?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “It’s a prison ID. Specifically, the ID of a VIP—very important prisoner. He’s a lifer at the Louisiana State Penitentiary. He is going to walk out of Angola at precisely eight o’clock Monday morning. If he doesn’t…do I need to say the rest?”

  Angola?

  Randy wracked his brain to place the prison ID number. Why did it sound so familiar? “Listen, I want to help you, but what you’re asking is impossible. Do you have any idea how long it takes to pardon someone? There’s a process. Public hearings with witnesses and lawyers. Committees that have to meet and vote…”

  “Not my problem. You’ve got the weekend to get it done. Also, don’t involve the police any more than you already have and don’t even think of calling the FBI o
r I will send your daughter’s severed head to the Capitol. I don’t think that would be very good PR, Governor.”

  Bill was right. I should have traced this call. I would have his location right now for sure…

  “You still with me, Randy?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m still here.”

  “Good. I know what you must be thinking, but it wouldn’t have done any good. I can’t be traced or tracked. Technology is amazing, isn’t it? For every scud missile, there’s a patriot missile on the other side. For every police radar, a scrambler. And for every puppeteer, a very pissed off puppet. Let me reiterate, Randy, this isn’t about the money—”

  “Bullshit! It’s always about the money with you people!” Randy yelled, immediately regretting his outburst.

  “You should think of the money as a security deposit,” the kidnapper replied calmly. “Let me be clear. This is NOT about money. That would be too easy for slime like you. This is punishment.”

  Randy’s instincts kicked in. Keep him talking. Make him give something away. Something you can use to cinch the noose around his fucking throat.

  “You keep saying that,” Randy probed. “What am I being punished for? Why are you doing this?”

  “That’s for me to know and for you to agonize over. But I will leave you with this: From this moment forward, you are my puppet and I am pulling your strings. I am going to make you do things you never imagined. Think back to when you first started manipulating the strings in your favor. Take your motivations at that point in time, multiplied one hundred fold, and you might come close to my level of hatred toward you. Consider yourself exceptionally fortunate that unlike you, my beliefs will not allow me to spill blood without provocation. But do not try me. This is one election you can’t steal. Get a good night’s sleep, Governor. You’re going to need it.”