Black Cat Blues

by Jo-Ann Carson

  But then something happened inside him. It was as if a switch was toggled and he stopped thinking about what he had done. He pulled himself together. After all, the murder had not been his fault. Jimmy was the one to blame.

  His mouth tasted bitter. How long had it been since he ate?

  If he was going to find the gold, he needed to take care of himself.

  Find the gold . . . Then everything else will fall into place.

  What about the blond Edgar met within the library? What was that about? Was she the shadowy figure in the alley? Damn it to hell. She was the right size and shape. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

  Time to move.

  8

  Beautiful music is the art of the prophets that can calm the agitations of the soul; it is one of the most magnificent and delightful presents God has given us. Martin Luther

  “When they weigh my soul at the pearly gates, I’m going straight to hell.” Maggy said to the dog.

  Eager to hump the next available leg Napoleon pulled her along the sidewalk on English Bay, until her wrist hurt. There were so many other things she could be doing, like fixing the broken string on her guitar, or listening to some cool blues. But walking Mrs. Randolph’s miniature poodle helped pay her bills.

  But the dog wasn’t great at giving advice, so she pulled out her cell phone and dialed her best friend Mei.

  “Morning, Sunshine,” answered her friend. The light hint of laughter in her voice warmed Maggy’s heart. She wasn’t a morning person at all and the sunshine comment was a reference to that.

  Mei had a wicked sense of humor and a mind as sharp and deadly as an executioner’s blade. They had bonded when they joined forces to sabotage a chemistry experiment in the eighth grade, because the teacher had a bad habit of groping the girls. It was a damn good bomb and the memory made her smile whenever she saw blue smoke. They had been as thick as thieves ever since.

  Maggy cleared her throat. “Remember the guy I found dead in the alley on Tuesday night?” She had already told Mei the police version. “Well, he was actually still alive when I found him and he spoke to me.”

  She imagined Mei blinking. “Have you been smoking weed?”

  “I’m serious. Listen to me. The guy talked to me.” Beads of sweat formed on her upper lip.

  “Sounds intense.”

  “That’s not even half of it. Now there’s a guy called Edgar who says I’m in danger because the dead man knew where Brother XII’s gold . . .”

  “Wait. Stop right there. Brother XII?” Mei had also grown up on the coast, been at the same camp fires—knew the same stories.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s all bizarre. Anyway, he says I’m in danger because Jimmy, the dead guy, spoke to me. And now his brother Logan wants me to tell him everything I know about the murder.”

  “So tell him.”

  Napoleon yanked her to the right towards a tree. Her body jerked as she followed along on the lead. “It’s not that simple. I didn’t tell the police, so I can’t tell him.”

  “You lied to the police. What were you thinking?”

  “I told them I found him dead. It was kinda true.”

  “Are you stupid?”

  “Yeah, well.” Maggy took a deep breath. “You know I don’t trust cops. And you know why.”

  “And now you feel bad because you think the brother deserves to know everything about Jimmy’s death?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is he hot?”

  She hesitated. “That’s not the point.”

  “Uh-huh. What did Jimmy say?”

  Maggy leaned over and scratched Napoleon’s head. “I’m going to tell Logan. It’s only right.” Saying it out loud eased her squeamish stomach.

  “What did Jimmy say?”

  Maggy opened her mouth to answer, and froze. The hair on the back of her neck rose. She had that feeling, that unmistakable feeling that someone was watching her.

  Her eyes couldn’t scan the area fast enough. People filled the wide, paved path about five yards across. Some were walking. Others were running and cycling. The seawall was always busy. “I think someone’s following me” She pocketed the phone and quickened her pace. Napoleon lived about a half mile away.

  She couldn’t let her imagination get the better of her. Just because Edgar said she was in danger, didn’t mean she was . . .. And yet, that man a few yards behind her wore a black hoody. Ah. There’s lots of black hoodies in town. She started to jog. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him jogging too. Increasing her speed, she considered all the places along the path she could stop. Her breathing became labored. It had been a while since she had run.

  Her phone rang. “Mei, what is it?” She slowed her pace.

  “Listen to me, Maggy. The lying is eating away at you. It’s going to drive you crazy. Just tell someone. Logan, the cop . . . whoever. Tell someone.”

  Maggy came to a stop and looked around. Everything seemed perfectly normal. The man in the black hoody was gone. Maybe Mei was right. The only thing chasing her was her own conscience.

  9

  Edgar sat on his bed staring at his great-grandmother’s worn leather-bound journal. So many secrets kept for so many years. He’d reread the special pages again, just as he had every day for the last two months. All he needed was a few more details to find the gold. He was so close.

  Rita’s Journal

  Cedar-by-the-Sea, June 4, 1927

  I lost my virginity.

  Brother XII is a great prophet and a wonderful man and I will follow him to the end of my days. Truly, he is an extraordinary individual. He sees things and hears things the rest of us don’t. In touch with the spiritual world, he lives to give us guidance.

  Tonight he drew a symbol in the sand that looked like a giant “T.” He explained it was the ‘Tau,” an ancient cross the Egyptians used to initiate their kings into the mysteries of existence. Brother sees it floating above his head before his visions. It is a sign that his spiritual leader has a message for him. He is the chosen one.

  Brother spoke about his leader tonight, under the moss covered maple tree in Cedar we call the Tree of Wisdom. His master is the twelfth brother of the “Great White Lodge,” a group of advanced spiritual beings who direct the world from a spiritual plane. The spirit leader uses him to tell us how we should live. That’s why we call him Brother XII. He is a prophet who channels the great spiritual leader.

  I finished reading Brother’s first book this afternoon. “The Three Truths,” is a clear explanation of what he learned from his spiritual guide. The words resounded in my heart like bells in a chapel. Finally, I understand the meaning of life. I realize, now, following Brother is my true calling.

  There are three basic truths: the unity of all life, the immortality of the soul, and the law of karma. Brother says the world is ignoring these truths, and we are all going to suffer for it. There is going to be chaos and destruction, an Armageddon, if we don’t mend our ways. And I believe him.

  At the end of his talk he slid into a trance, communing directly with the spirits on the other plane. I will never forget his words. They reached deep inside me and took hold: “Hear ye the words I speak, and fear not, for though destruction cometh upon many, yet for you it is the Day of Redemption. Ye shall come out of the House of Bondage, that House which is Egypt which is even the body-consciousness . . . I am the Messenger of the Fire, the Messenger of the Whirlwind, the Messenger of the Day of Adjustment. The fire burneth but dross, that the silver and the gold may remain. By the Wind ye shall mount to the heavens—if ye be the children of discernment.”[i]

  Sweat poured down his face and he began uttering hideous sounds—other-worldly sounds. Truly his spirit was in another place. Then, as quickly as the trance came, it went and he was himself again. People applauded and everyone shook his hand.

  Several people offered him money right there and then, but he told them to see him in the morning. His smile, peaceful and all-knowing, captured my heart. I knew I
had witnessed a true prophet.

  Later in the evening, when the crowd finally dispersed, I walked with him down to the beach. I was so excited to be alone with him. My heart thudded loud enough to wake the killer whales. When he said he wanted to get know me better, I felt my life explode with delicious possibilities.

  We lay in the sand looking up at the stars. Brother told me how much his mission means to him. He wants to help people see that the way they’re living is wrong. My heart filled with joy that he, a man of vision, was spending time with me. He took my hand in his. I felt like a queen.

  Then he leaned over me and I could feel his soft breath on my skin. I’ve been kissed before, but it never felt like it did when his lips met mine. It was a spiritual awakening.

  And when he reached beneath my skirt with his strong hand, I filled with joy at the thought of being his chosen woman. He stroked my inner thigh as we shared kisses, innocent at first, but then deeper and deeper. Such exquisite passion. His hand slid higher and higher up my leg. A lady should not allow a man to touch her like this. She really shouldn’t. Not until marriage, or at least an agreement to marry. She shouldn’t. But I couldn’t think to stop him.

  I gasped as he pulled down my knickers and explored my body with his hands. I kept thinking I would stop him in another minute, but he stroked me so expertly with his gentle fingers until I had no resistance left.

  The next thing I knew his pants were down. He whispered, “Sweet, sweet Rita,” as he entered me. My virginity was ripped apart and my world exploded.

  We are creating a new world order in the Aquarian Foundation, one in which old rules do not apply. I do not need a marriage certificate to justify making love. Losing my virginity to him felt right, and I know by the look in his eye that he loves me.

  I never knew it would be like that. I had been taught to keep my knees together until my wedding night. But sex is not an ugly duty for a wife. It is a pleasure for a woman. A pleasure I will not deny myself.

  The old Rita would be ashamed, but I am not. I know something that feels so good, can’t be wrong. It is my destiny to be by his side. Imagine, me, the lady of a great leader, the man who will change the world.

  My friend Roger went to the meeting with me and left early, warning me to be careful. He saw how I looked at Brother and how he looked at me. Roger labeled him a master in black magic, told me there are many stories about what Brother XII does to people who cross him. Roger’s just jealous.

  There are 2,000 of us now in the following. Brother’s working with a few other men, making plans so we can all live together here, in British Columbia. It’s a rugged, beautiful place on the shores of the ocean, with mountains and forests. A place that holds a lot of promise they say. We are going to build an “Ark of Refuge,” to prepare for a better time, the Age of Aquarius.

  Tomorrow, I will read his second book and attend another lecture. I hope he takes me to the beach again.

  Am I a wicked woman?

  Quite possibly.

  *******************************************

  [i] Quote from Brother XII’s book, The Three Truths, taken from Ron MacIsaac, Don Clark and Charles Lillard’s book The Devil of Decourcy Island The Brother XII ,Porcepic Books, Victoria, 1989, p. 24.

  10

  Chapter Ten

  Music is love in search of a word. Sidney Lanier

  Sitting alone in his office, Logan scrunched a piece of paper into a tight ball and lobbed it towards the wastepaper basket on the other side of the room. He missed and balled up another. Shooting two out of five was low for him on a bad day. He had been at it for an hour. His average was four, and on a good day he could ace five. But there was nothing good about today.

  Ripping another page out of his latest business plan, he made a tight ball, sighted his throw and launched it into the air. He missed again. Tearing another piece of paper, he decided to scrunch it harder, as if the act of squeezing it could somehow fix it and everything else in his world. He’d find his rhythm. Always did. He’d move his average back up to four. And dream again of five.

  If he could ever dream again.

  Scrunching the tenth page into a tight ball in his hand, the size of a ping pong ball, he stopped. What the hell was he doing? It felt good to take control of something, but he needed to be doing something more useful than playing paper basketball. His business may be collapsing, but he could and would fix it.

  Why couldn’t it have been him in the alley?

  He threw his last projectile and aced it. Yay! He threw his hands in the air.

  They looked alike, Jimmy and him. A lot people said they were alike, but they weren’t. Not really. Jimmy was the one with character and charm. He had a love for life that oozed out of him. When he entered a room heads turned. Men wanted to be his best friend, and women wanted him, all of him. Logan chuckled out loud. Women swarmed him from the time he turned ten.

  Granted, Jimmy’s enthusiasm for life didn’t fit well in a suit, but they were working around that. Logan made the business deals and Jimmy did most of the snooping.

  “Who would want to kill Jimmy?” He’d never thought of what life would be like without his brother. It had never crossed his mind, because Jimmy had always been there. So full of life. They were tight like friends, but the bond went much deeper. It ran in their blood.

  He balled up another sheet of paper and stopped. He had aced the last one. Why tempt fate? He picked up the phone and dialed. He couldn’t put off the call any longer.

  It seemed to ring forever, and then his father picked up.

  “Logan, so glad you called.”

  He cleared his throat. “Dad.”

  “Son, we just got in from the airport.” He paused, and when Logan didn’t say anything he continued, “I see you’ve been leaving me messages. What’s up?” His familiar voice, suddenly deepened with concern, hit Logan hard. His chest tightened.

  “Dad . . . “ How could he tell him? How could he tell his father Jimmy was dead?

  Jimmy had been a pain in the ass kinda kid to raise, but everyone loved him. Dad especially. He’d ream him out for every rule he broke. He even used a strap on him once, but as they grew older it became clear that their dad was secretly proud of Jimmy’s fun loving wild streak. “That’s my boy,” he would say.

  What could Logan say now to make the grim news easier?

  “Speak to me, son.” His father’s voice became taut like a fragile wire about to break. “Just say it. What’s wrong?”

  Logan pictured his strong father trembling, knowing it was bad news.

  “He’s dead, Dad. Jimmy’s dead.”

  ***

  As the night turned cold and lonelier than he could ever have imagined, Logan decided to go to the Black Cat Blues Bar. He knew he would never be able to find his brother again, but maybe, he could find some connection to him. Make some sense of what happened.

  Maggy Malone stood on the stage with her guitar. Her blond hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves. Almost every eye in the run-down bar looked her way.

  Had the curvy lady been Jimmy’s last lover? He always did have good taste. Two inches of cleavage peaked from the top of her tight black lace top. The come-hither look in her eyes added heat to the room. Her sultry voice made his pulse quicken. Yeah, he hoped she had been Jimmy’s last. Every man deserves a woman like that in his life, at least once.

  Maggy looked his way and smiled. The connection made him instantly hard. What a time to get the hots for a woman. A singer no less. But then why not? Maybe, she needed consoling too. He smiled back at her.

  Her soul-stirring blues flowed through the room like a panacea for all of God’s forgotten people. She started a new song, the classic, “I Put a Spell on You.” The audience went silent, mesmerized by her performance. Her sea-green eyes held his for a brief moment and he felt bewitched. Damn she was good. He could blame it on the beer, but he knew it wasn’t alcohol messing with his system, it was Maggy Malone.

  After she finish
ed her set he waited for her. She went back-stage, but he figured she’d return his way sooner or later. It no longer mattered if she’d been Jimmy’s last woman. He knocked back another beer.

  His worries could wait until tomorrow.

  Ten minutes passed slowly. Had she not felt the connection when they shared that look? He checked his watch again.

  “Logan?”

  “Maggy.” Good line, buddy.

  “I’m surprised to see you here. But I guess it makes sense.”

  His mouth went dry. She smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and woman. “That isn’t exactly what’s on my mind right now.” He moved a lock of her unruly hair away from her face. Soft skin and full lips.

  “I lied,” she said

  “Excuse me?” He was imagining what it would be like to taste those ruby-red lips.

  “I have to tell you. I lied.”

  Earth to Logan. She’s trying to tell you something. “Uh . . . about what?”

  “About how Jimmy died. It wasn’t exactly the way I said it was.”

  Fuck. He exhaled noisily and leaned back.

  Maggy swallowed. “When I found him, he was still alive, barely, but still alive.” She touched Logan’s arm.

  All his blood ran south. He took a deep breath. Talk about feeling hot and cold in one single moment. “Maggy . . .” was all he managed to say.

  “Your brother was lying in the alley, like I said. I recognized him, because I saw him in the bar earlier, standing exactly where you’re standing now. You’re not the kind of men a woman forgets.”

  “He was alive?”

  “Barely. There was blood everywhere,” she continued. “I mean everywhere, all over him, all over the ground. And he was ghastly white and still. You know.” She bit her lower lip. “A silver spike was sticking out of his chest. I knew he didn’t have a chance. I screamed for help, but no one came. I dialed 911 and put pressure on his wound until the ambulance and police arrived. That was all I could do.” Her voice rang true.