The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely fictitious, used fictitiously or coincidentally.
Copyright © Vicki Graybosch 2012
All rights reserved
LCCN: 2012918167
Copyrighted Material
ISBN: 1479387010
ISBN 13: 9781479387014
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62346-326-7
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording or otherwise, without express written permission of the author..
List of Characters at end of Book
A VERY SPECIAL THANKS TO:
SADIE CORBIN
BOB SMITH
MICHAEL SUTHERLAND
SUSAN WEAVER
EXTREME
HEAT WARNING
The Shallow End Gals
Book Two
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Jeremiah Dumaine was seventy-four years old, a fourth generation swamp man with a tuft of long gray hair, and one blind eye. He had seen a lot in his years of living in the haunting bayous. His cypress clad home had been his grandfathers, and he had helped his own father carve the belly of this boat. These were dark waters tonight…silent…as if life itself was holding its breath. He stood, his bent frame nudging through the thick muggy air, and slowly glided his craft to Mambo’s den on the other side of Honey Island.
His eyes moved to the half dead woman in the corner of his boat. Almost didn’t see her curled on that cypress root in the swamp. Lucky a gator didn’t find her. Mambo would know what to do. He stooped as the draping moss tickled across his boney shoulders, and he listened for the whispers of the marsh. The occasional soft splash of his paddle and the subtle ripples on the water were the only hints he was there. His skin twitched with fear tonight. This was the second woman he had found in his swamp.
Jeremiah secured his boat to a large cypress root at the edge of the swamp near Mambo’s den. The dirt path into the marshland was well worn from many visitors. Tiny animal skulls and colorful clumps of feathers tied with thin leather straps adorned the low branches of shrub trees. Where the path met the green iridescent crust that cloaked the black water edge, the swamp gasses bubbled and occasionally released tiny spurts of blue flame.
Scientists had explained the phenomenon as decomposing organic material mixing with the stagnant swamp waters, creating methane that would ignite and create a pop like sound. That didn’t explain the concentrated pockets of activity. In spite of the efforts of numerous research teams, this mystery of the swamp remained impossible to duplicate in a lab. The scientists were left with unproven theories.
Nights like tonight, the blue haze from the gasses made the wings on flying insects appear florescent and the huge webs of the cypress spiders glow blue. Jeremiah didn’t care what the scientists’ thought. He knew that in all his years in the swamp, the most flames were at Mambo’s. The eerie blue glow surrounding her hut could be seen for miles at night. Any fool could see the Spirits lived here.
Jeremiah had come to Mambo last month when he had found the first woman in the swamp. Mambo had taken her in and brought her back to health. Instead of leaving, the woman had stayed to help the aging Mambo in her daily chores. Mambo had named her Heeshia, meaning ‘chosen one.’
The path to reach Mambo was narrow and overgrown. If you didn’t know where her hut was, you would never see it. Her hut had been built in the center of a large clump of gnarled cypress trees. Decades ago moss and wetland shrubs had enveloped the entire structure except for a small chimney opening in the roof. The cypress clad door was covered in moss, and piles of offerings were scattered at the threshold.
Believers brought staples and gifts for the gods in exchange for potions and amulets. They wanted Mambo’s blessings and protection and believed in her abilities to summon the Saints. Mambo was the recognized Voodoo Queen of the faithful.
Jeremiah helped the woman he had just found out of his boat, and he wondered what Mambo would say. He didn’t know what else to do.
Heeshia met him at the door and helped him walk the woman over to a cot in the corner of the large main room. Mambo was sitting on the floor in front of a small open fire pit throwing pinches of powder into the flames and chanting softly. The powder would briefly ignite and shoot colorful flashes of light that danced around the walls casting shadows from unseen sources. Her large dark eyes followed them across the room, and then she slowly stood. “Heeshia, bring our guests food.” Mambo sat on the edge of the cot and put the woman’s hands inside her own, “You are protected here.”
The young woman burst into tears and Mambo stroked her hair, “You have seen evil and survived. We will build from that.” Mambo slowly walked back to her place in the center of the room and lowered her crippled body to the floor. She had her arms held up over her head and was chanting loudly. Then she closed her eyes and began swaying to a softer chant. She slowly lowered her arms, crossed herself, and began a slow rocking motion. She looked so frail. No one really knew how old she was. She had always been described as an old woman, even when Jeremiah was a boy.
Jeremiah went outside and cut firewood for Mambo’s stack. He filled a water bucket from the rain cistern and carried supplies he had purchased to Mambo’s little porch. Heeshia stepped outside to speak to him. Her long black hair was pulled loosely back from her face, and she was wearing clothes that probably had once belonged to a man. Her boots were worn, and she had made a belt of rope. Even in the middle of the swamp she was a striking beauty.
“I need to leave here now. Mambo will need to help the new one. Did you find her, like you found me?” Jeremiah nodded. Heeshia said, “Dangerous men are bringing women to this swamp, to die. I am strong enough now to stop them. Can you take me to the city tomorrow?”
Jeremiah looked at her lean body and wondered how she could stop the evil that had come to his swamp. He started to speak, then saw something in her lavender blue eyes that was very powerful, almost hypnotic. It was as if her eyes had tiny pulsating points of light behind them. Jeremiah was instantly reminded of a story his grandfather had told him. A band of Polish warriors came to Haiti on the orders of Napoleon, but they soon changed affectio
ns and helped the Haitian people win their revolution against the French Army. A few descendants of these folk legends could still be found in rare blue-eyed Haitians.
Almost exclusively women, Voodoo lore professed them to have special warrior skills. They were believed to be cherished by the Saints, messengers of Erzulie Dantor, sometimes called ‘Black Madonna’. A female warrior spirit and fierce protector of women and children. Jeremiah was quite certain Heeshia was a blue-eyed Haitian. Mambo named her the chosen one. Jeremiah would not question the wisdom of the Spirits.
He nodded respectfully to Heeshia, and slowly walked back to where his boat was tied to the shore. He pushed his long paddle against the tall swamp grasses and quietly steered his craft into the open black water towards home. Heeshia stood at the swamp’s edge and watched his boat slowly glide away. He could see her form fading in the blue haze, yet he could still see those eyes.
Jeremiah had a plan. He had a large stash of mink furs and alligator skins he would take to the city tonight to get money for Heeshia and buy more supplies for Mambo. He would also purchase ammunition for his guns. Jeremiah didn’t like guns, but evil had come to his swamp.
A single frigid breeze whipped around his shoulders and vanished. Jeremiah shuddered as the icy sensation trickled down his spine. He looked around for some source of the sudden chill. It was unseasonal, unexplained. The moon peeked from behind the dark clouds and offered a brief display of diamonds sparkling on the black water. Sounds of wildlife rose from the marsh like an orchestra warming for a performance. The long grasses rustled and began to dance near the shore from invisible trespassers. The swamp was coming alive again.
With traffic, Supervisory Special Agent Roger Dance had an hour drive from the Indianapolis courthouse to the Indianapolis FBI Center. Memories of the last year blasted through his mind. The hunt to catch Devon and Patterson had taken its toll. A full year for the case to come to trial. Just last evening there had been an “After Party” at the PUB celebrating Devon’s first day of trial. Everyone involved in the case was back in the area as witnesses for the prosecution.
Roger’s mood turned even more somber. This new development with the Devon/Patterson case meant Paul and he would be thrown into that hell again. He entered the FBI Headquarters in Indianapolis and asked to meet with SSA Dan Thor, Senior Agent for the Operation Center. Agent Thor appeared, greeted Roger, and walked him to his office. Once inside, Thor sat heavily in his chair and exhaled, “Damn bad luck there, Roger. How bad is it?”
Roger relayed what he knew about Devon’s escape and what he thought had probably happened. He ended with, “Paul is on his way to the prison now with two agents to interview prison staff and secure film.”
Thor rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head, “You are one of the few people who will understand when I say, I just want this done.” Thor stood and ran his fingers through his dark blonde hair and massaged his temples. He turned to Roger, “I am spent. I have been a year dealing with the families of these victims, and to find out we only have half a case now…’til we catch Devon again. You know what they call us here? The Death Squad.” Thor returned to his seat and dropped his hands on the file covered desk. His expression was etched with despair. He was empty.
Roger was taken aback by Thor’s confession. This case had broken him. Thor had a well-earned nasty reputation at the bureau, and few friends. Roger assumed Thor counted him as a friend, or he would not have said what he did. He thought for a minute and asked, “How much help have you had from that young Agent Nelson out of St. Joseph, Michigan? I had him make the Patterson arrest. I assumed the bureau would let you keep him until this thing was over.”
Agent Thor threw his hands up, “That’s another damn thing. Good kid! Damn bureau thinks he doesn’t have enough experience, and they haven’t let him stay on the case! I think it’s because he’s good, and St. Joe didn’t want to lose him. Now it sounds like we have lost Devon? It’s going to make the Patterson side of this a lot harder to hold together.”
Roger was nodding. He knew Thor wasn’t getting the whole picture yet. “You know that Patterson is probably gone too?” Roger leaned back in his chair and waited for the eruption.
Thor answered, “Nahhh! I heard they were testing his DNA to be sure, but…” Thor didn’t like the expression on Roger’s face, he leaned forward with a menacing scowl, “you think he’s gone too?”
Roger nodded, “Seven months gone. Look Dan, I believe this was a well-orchestrated plan they had in place long before we caught them. They paid for some very good help to pull this off. I think we have two impersonators, and Devon and Patterson have been gone for seven months.”
Thor couldn’t even speak. A moment passed. Roger knew that look. Thor couldn’t do it. Roger said, “Why don’t I call the Director and see if I can’t pull in a few favors to get Nelson back on this. I still have Paul, and maybe you could take a backseat role for the kid. Keep some of the bullshit off him.” Roger saw the first glimmer of hope in Thor’s eyes.
“I would owe you forever,” Thor said. Roger held the highest designation an agent could obtain and had been offered a position as Deputy Director and refused. He liked field work and abhorred the politics of law enforcement. Dan Thor was sure Roger could arrange anything he wanted.
Roger asked, “Regardless of how Patterson shakes out, I need a place to work, probably room for at least five agents on and off. We have to open this Devon/Patterson case again. Can you house me?”
“I got everything ready the minute I heard what happened in court this morning. I’ll walk you to your wing.”
As they walked down the hall, Roger asked, “Do you remember my cat…the black cat?”
Thor laughed, “I don’t care if you want a mountain lion here if it helps you get the job done!” Roger smiled, he was hoping to have his cat back.
Kim had heard the news about the trial and was pacing across her living room. Every channel on the television flashed ‘Breaking News’. This can’t be happening. She was worried about Roger and Paul. They will have to catch Devon all over again. Just then her phone rang with “Help me Rhonda”, her mom’s ring tone. “Mom? Hi! I haven’t talked to you in a long time.” Kim plopped on her recliner smiling.
I answered, “We have been in some serious crazy training. I think Ellen is trying to kill us off! Again. Right now we are at a biker convention in Nevada, of all things.”
Kim laughed, “How are Linda, Mary and Teresa doing?”
I answered, “Other than having to dance with drunken bikers and learn how to move mortals against their will, fine.” It was wonderful to hear her laugh again. “Ellen asked if you would call Roger and see if he wants our help again.”
Kim was serious now and said, “I’m worried about Roger and Paul, Mom.”
“I know. I am too.”
Roger smiled at his caller ID, “I have been sitting here hoping you would call.”
Kim laughed, “Because you missed my lovely voice or because you hoped that mom was asking about you?”
Roger chuckled, “Both actually.”
Kim said, “I enjoyed last night at the PUB. I’m sorry it went from a celebration to this!”
Roger was nervously clicking his pen and said, “No shit! Has your mom called?” He was holding his breath for the right answer.
Kim laughed, he was so transparent. “You could at least pretend to want to talk to me! Yes, she called and asked if you wanted their help. They are training at a biker convention. She says they should be ready soon. Ellen can help you right away.”
Roger was laughing, “Did you say a biker convention?”
Kim answered, “Yup. Don’t see it, do you?” Roger realized the only time he seemed happy was when he was talking to Kim. So it was set. He would have his gals again. Maybe there was hope after all. They talked a few minutes, and Roger asked Kim to let Ellen know he really needed her and the gals.
Roger dialed the Director of the FBI. This would be one of the most imp
ortant calls of his career. He hadn’t spoken to anyone at the Bureau since the news broke at trial, just two hours ago. Roger had been very careful to keep the Director involved in this case since it started. It was always a high profile case and now the media feeding frenzy was at full force. The Director listened carefully to him, asked a few questions, and asked Roger for his gut feeling on where the case would go. Roger confessed he was worried. He felt this time would be even nastier. It was apparent Devon and Patterson had some very influential friends helping them.
The Director had just finished the paperwork for Roger and Paul’s commendations on their work last year on the Devon / Patterson case. It wasn’t their fault these guys escaped, but right now the whole system looked bad. The Director needed Roger to have every advantage possible if this was going to turn around.
Roger hung up and just stared at the phone for a minute. The Director had just made him lead, nationally, on this case. It was the most powerful designation that could be bestowed on an agent, and could only be issued by the Director. It also meant that Roger could utilize any resources of the FBI without prior approval. Roger only knew of one other time an agent had National Authority. The Director said he would issue the bulletin immediately.
Roger walked down to Thor’s office to tell him he could have Agent Todd Nelson. Thor was staring at his computer screen. He turned around to look at Roger. “Holy shit! The only time I ever heard of them doing this was Dillinger!”
Roger smiled, “I was thinking that too. The release is already out?”
“Yeah, do I get my boy?”
Roger smiled, “Call him. Whatever else you want, make a list. You think about what role you want in this and just let me know. I don’t need any explanations, and I don’t want to interfere with the demands of this office.”
SSA Dan Thor thanked Roger and watched him leave his office. They had both been serving the agency over twenty years. Both had started in their early twenties. Thor felt a great deal of respect for Roger. He knew that Roger was taking on the world right now, and needed all the help he could get. Yet he was willing to let him bow out for free. Roger was the kind of agent Thor had hoped to become. “Class act,” Thor said as he lifted the phone to call district and get Special Agent Nelson.
Extreme Heat Warning: A Shallow End Gals Trilogy, Book Two Page 1