A New Orleans police detective rose from behind a desk and invited him to have a seat. The detective’s badge said Johnson. John said, “Detective Johnson, I am retired CIA, John Barry, doing a favor for a friend. It requires locating an escaped murderer from Indiana we believe is now located in New Orleans. Probably been here since February. Have you noticed any new activity?”
The detective threw his head back and laughed, “Oh shit that is good! Did you not do your homework? Look around! This is the murder capital of the US. All we have is new activity!”
John Barry smiled. He knew things were bad. He pushed a card to Detective Johnson, “I plan on being here a while, and I am willing to volunteer my services in exchange for access to records. Could you take this to your supervisor for me and have him call.”
Detective Johnson looked at the card. “You’re kidding right? You are retired and willing to jump into this shit again? For free?”
John Barry answered, “Like I said, a favor for a friend.”
William Patterson had finished his manicure and decided to go to the library. Their story hour would start in twenty minutes, and if no volunteer showed up, he could read to the kids. When he arrived, the librarian recognized him and said, “I was hoping you might visit today. Our volunteer didn’t show up yet for the reading hour, and I am short staffed. If you are busy, we can cancel with the children.” William clasped her hand and said, “My dear, I would be delighted to read today. Just point me toward the children.”
“Mr. Jacobs? I sent the videos of the children presenting their art entries over to the gallery for the contest. We had fifty entries this year! Will it be like last year with newspaper coverage and everything?”
William smiled, “Of course! The committee has increased the prize amount for this year too! I think the winning child and their school each get a check for a thousand dollars. Isn’t it grand?”
The librarian was beaming. “I feel so privileged to work with your group Mr. Jacobs. What wonderful people.” She pointed to a room at the end of the hall. “The children are waiting in the reading room.” Her sensible shoes made a clopping noise as she returned to her desk. William couldn’t stop smiling. The club could watch the videos any day now.
Tourey had decided to go purchase a proper mouthpiece for his saxophone and a couple of reeds. He had cracked his regular mouthpiece on the bridge of some punk’s nose last week and hadn’t replaced it yet. How amateur she must think he was. He decided that was what bothered him. She had gotten the best of him, and he had deserved it. About the only thing the encounter had confirmed for him was that the FBI had a serious interest in New Orleans, and it involved the building across from Mickey’s Bar. He had witnessed the raid and had noticed the building was being stocked with supplies. He had never really noticed any activity there before. He’d always assumed it was residential apartments. He had decided to watch for anyone else who might be keeping an eye on it. After his shopping he was going to do a little snooping to find out more about the building’s owner. Yeah, she had made him look pretty bad. Tourey smiled.
After leaving the music store he stopped in to see Spicey. Real name, Sadie Corbin. A self-proclaimed medium with a Voodoo shop covered in signs offering fortune telling, potions, amulets, and the rest of the tourist trap goodies. It was a corner shop and had an entrance door on each street. He knew Spicey actually was a true voodoo believer and really only pushed enough tourist trade to support herself and give a little to the church. She had helped him before, and he knew she would help again. There were shelves upon shelves of trinkets, beads, bottles, and dolls. The place smelled of incense and clove. A brightly colored blanket hung over a doorway tied back with a large red velvet rope like you would see in a bank lobby.
The tinkling of the bells from the door opening brought Sasha from behind the counter. “Tourey! My MAN!” Sasha was Spicey’s friend who helped run the store.
Tourey smiled, “How you doing gal? Looking beautiful as usual.” They exchanged cheek kisses. Tourey asked, “Where’s the boss lady?”
Sasha pointed behind her, “She has a client in there. Should be done shortly. You want to wait, or have her call ya?”
“Have her call. I’ll walk the block a little.”
“Shore thing hun.” The bells dangled again as he left. It was getting later in the afternoon, and the tourists were starting to venture out. Sightseeing before dinner.
He walked down to Jackson Square and watched a portrait artist work the tourists. Good likeness of the little girl and her mom. After they paid and left, Tourey sat down. “Why don’t you do one for me I can send my mom?”
The artist scowled, “Every time I see you, I end up in trouble. Go away.”
Tourey laughed, “Got a five bill question, Dusty. Will take a little diggin’ and needs to be on the quiet side”
The skinny man started drawing and asked, “Five hundred bucks, huh?” Dusty was a college graduate but discovered most employers expected more motivation than he was willing to produce. He managed to squeeze out an existence with his art and now only claimed New Orleans as his home. The saddest thing he could think of was havin’ to say he was from anywhere else.
Tourey answered, “I want to know who used that building across from Mickey’s Bar, up until yesterday. Be careful, the feds have it now.” He handed Dusty his card.
Dusty tore off a sheet of paper and handed it to Tourey, “Here’s your free portrait. I’ll call you if I get something.” Tourey said thanks and looked at the picture. It was a cartoon penis with Tourey’s face on it. Good likeness.
Tourey’s phone rang. It was Spicey. “Sasha said a handsome man come callin’ for me?” Tourey asked if she had a few minutes. She answered to come in the back way. She would be in her apartment for a spell. He arrived about fifteen minutes later, knocked, and went in when Spicey yelled, “If you be handsome, come in.” Tourey gave her a hug, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and sat across from her on a big overstuffed chair. He looked at her beautiful light brown skin. She was half white, half Haitian. She had large brown eyes and thick, short dark hair. Her body was voluptuous and draped in bright colored silk and cotton prints. She was a very attractive woman and knew it.
“Spicey, I need information, but I need you to be real careful. I don’t know what level of ‘bad’ I’m lookin’ at.” He took a slug of the beer and studied Spicey’s face. She was nodding her head. Her strands of beads and amulets rested in her cleavage and her arms had bracelets up to her elbows. He counted eight rings on her fingers and one long one on her ear.
She winked at him and asked, “Who we looking at?”
Tourey answered, “The name is Bernard Jacobs. He has money, likes kids. He bought a house over on Burgundy Street. He didn’t exist before five years ago when he bought that house. He just moved to the city, full time, in February. I think the house has been vacant the rest of that time. He had some remodeling done. He gave the cops a hundred grand this month. A citizen donation.” Tourey said, “That means there was probably another hundred that went into someone’s pocket.”
Spicey rolled her eyes and said, “Whewwww! That’s one bad conscience now ain’t it? Likes kids huh? I know some people who could find stuff out if he has a dark side. His aura will be easy to trail.” Tourey knew that Spicey believed in Spirits and auras. She also knew everyone in the Quarter. More importantly, she knew what most of them were doing. She could organize a research team so efficient most of them wouldn’t even know they were involved. She was a very smart lady.
Tourey said, “I appreciate it. Here’s a little seed money to get you started.”
She looked at the roll and raised her eyebrow as her cleavage devoured the money. “That was about a thousand, I would guess. You must want this soon?”
Tourey stood, kissed her cheek, and said, “Yesterday.”
Spicey frowned and said, “Wait. You sit back down.” She started flipping Tarot cards on the coffee table. She looked at him, “There is a dark Sp
irit looking for you. You are in danger. Go see Mambo.” Tourey only half believed in the powers of the Voodoo Queen, and he certainly didn’t feel like going into the swamp. Spicey frowned at him, “You will go. Mambo is expecting you.”
Carl called the number on the paper Thomas had given him.
Thomas answered, “Well?” Carl told him the job was done, but his insider was still verifying how much information had been transmitted and the potential damage. Thomas was silent for a moment and then said, “I understand there was a survivor?” Carl explained all the information the survivor had was confiscated.
“Stay on it. I want to know our exposure.” He hung up. Thomas Fenley was the Washington insider. The most powerful men in the world worked to keep him happy. In fact, if you weren’t extremely important, you probably had never heard of him. Thomas wasn’t happy right now. Carl looked at his silent phone, snapped it shut, and headed for his office at FBI Headquarters.
We had all taken seats on Jeremiah’s boat and were marveling at the wildlife of the swamp. Jeanne and Jeremiah had loaded some supplies onto the boat, and Linda was sitting on a cooler filled with ice. Jeremiah had decided to give Mambo his old generator since Jeanne had bought him a new one, and they had two barrels of fuel aboard to set it up. Jeremiah looked at Jeanne, “You sure you know how to set up this generator? I think blowing up Mambo would not sit well with the Spirits.”
Jeanne laughed. “Today we will set it up and run wire for two outlets. Tomorrow we will bring her a small refrigerator and a space heater/fan. The Spirits are going to love you!”
Jeremiah laughed, “Yeah.”
When we got there, Jeanne and Jeremiah unloaded the boat load of supplies, the generator and then went inside. We all followed and saw Mambo sitting in the middle of the room chanting with a young woman. Mambo motioned for Jeanne and Jeremiah to sit, and for the young woman to move to the cot. Then she looked directly at us. Oh shit.
We had all summoned chairs and were sitting up near the ceiling. Mambo’s big black eyes narrowed then grew very wide. She closed her eyes, raised her frail body, and began a slow dance. She was chanting, and every so often she would throw some kind of powder at us. She kept glancing sideways at us through the narrow slits of her eyes. She kept tossing handfuls of powder on us. Mary was coughing.
Linda said “She’s killing me here, my migraines!”
Teresa rubbed her eyes and said, “She can see us! I think she wants us to leave!”
The powder wasn’t bothering me, but then Mambo stopped, picked up some kind of stubby club, and started shaking it at me. The club made a weird clunking noise and it looked like a cave man rattle for a huge kid! Mambo’s chanting was now louder and sounded like she was blending it with strange hiccups. She kept getting closer and closer shaking that rattle at me. I was leaning back in my chair hanging onto Mary. I started waving my hands in front of me to keep Mambo from getting too close. What the heck?
Ellen appeared and began dancing with Mambo. Suddenly they both stopped and sat on the floor again. Ellen put her hand on Mambo’s forehead. Mambo was silent. This lasted for over ten minutes. Mambo glanced at us a couple of times. Hmmmm.
Jeanne whispered to Jeremiah, “Is she alright?” Jeremiah shrugged.
Ellen came over to us and said, “I am actually on a plane with Roger, Ray, and Paul right now, so I have to leave. Mambo knows you are here, she can see you. She wasn’t sure what kind of Spirits you were at first. Ellen giggled. She said you weren’t right. I explained you are all special. Ellen giggled again. I have told her about our assignment, and she will help if she can. She thinks you need to talk to Kyeeta, that young woman. She knows something.”
Teresa asked, “How can we talk to her? She can’t see or hear us?”
Ellen said, “You can read her mind. If no one is looking, you can write her a message.” Ellen handed Mary a tablet of sticky notes and a pencil. “The notes will disappear minutes after writing them. Do not lose that pencil! It is invisible, like the notes, until they touch each other. Remember your notes can only last minutes, and you only have so many of them. Good Luck.” Ellen vanished.
Mary was holding the sticky notes and pencil, “You’re kidding right? Why am I holding these?”
Teresa said, “You’re the teacher of the group. I think it makes perfect sense Ellen put you in charge of the notes.”
Mary sat up straight, “She did no such thing! I am not in charge of anything. She just had me hold them!”
I looked at Mary, “I’m with Teresa on this. I think she put you in charge.” I couldn’t stop smiling. Mary was adorable when she was mad.
Linda said to Mary, “I think it is quite a compliment that Teresa and Vicki both think it is okay to have you in charge of every single note we have. That way we have to ask you for a note before we write one…” Teresa and I looked at each other. Maybe that wasn’t so smart. Linda was laughing.
Mary said, “I think I had better be in charge now that you put it that way. As soon as Jeremiah and Jeanne go outside to work on the generator, we can give Kyeeta a note.” Linda just giggled.
Mathew Core had watched the black haired beauty in the bookstore watch the man on the sidewalk. Core’s building seemed to be drawing a lot of attention. He was upstairs in the jewelry store apartment. He knew the occupants would be at work, so he had let himself in. He watched Jeanne walk into the bar and return after about ten minutes.
He had followed her to Jeremiah’s driveway in his borrowed orange city utility truck and had watched them skin minks. He saw her blade that snake and nearly laughed out loud at Jeremiah’s expression. He almost gave away his hiding spot in the thick brush near the boat dock. He watched them push into the swamp and had heard them mention Mambo.
After they left he walked around the property, looked into the sheds, and found the entrance to Jeremiah’s tunnel. He went down the stairs from the shed and followed the tunnel into Jeremiah’s kitchen. He was impressed. He walked out the front door, made his way down the road to the truck, and headed back to the city. Now he wanted to find saxophone man.
Agents Thor, Nelson, Frost, and Manigat arrived at New Orleans Airport at six-thirty. It was Tuesday night and the airport was lined with cabby’s grabbing tourists. They decided to have a van cab take all of them to Mathew Core’s building. On the flight Thor had cautioned everyone that Roger had requested a low profile. Twice. Roger felt it was important they blend into the community if they were to be successful in locating Devon and Patterson.
In the van, Agent Nelson asked the cabby where he would recommend they have their first dinner in the French Quarter. The cabby looked at them in the rear view mirror and said, “That depends, you goin’ as Feds or common folk?” They all looked at each other. They thought they had dressed down pretty well.
Agent Nelson asked, “You made us as Feds that fast? We want to blend in. What did we do wrong?”
The cabby laughed, “I’ve always wanted to do this. Are you serious? I can tell you what is wrong?”
Agent Frost spoke, “We want to look like tourists or locals.”
The cabby pulled the van to the side of the highway, put his flashers on, and turned around to face them. “Okay, first off, none of you will ever pass for locals. Besides, you don’t talk right. If you want to just blend in, pretty boy here only has to get rid of the gun. He looks gay, and he could wear anything and fit in.” He had pointed to Pablo. “And you,” he was looking at Simon, “you might be able to pass as his sugahh, but you need some nice cotton suits and a lot of silk. And dump those shoes, all of ya. When we get close to town, I’ll give you a short fashion tour, for free, so you can see for yourself!”
He cleared his throat and then looked at Thor, “You might have to stay the way you are. Just get tennis shoes and lose the obvious gun. You could fit as a tourist, mid-life crisis type. Everyone laughed at Thor. The cabby looked at Nelson, “You could go gay or druggie. Gay, buy some nice clothes and that snot they wear in their hair. Druggy,
go to the Goodwill store and buy a bunch of shit that’s too big for ya.”
Thor looked at them all and said, “I think if Albert here is willing, we need him to take us shopping before we even get to town. Vote?” And so it was decided that Albert was off the clock as a cabby and was now a fashion consultant. They went to a Goodwill store, changed in the store, and repacked their suitcases when they got back in the van. Thor gave Albert two hundred dollars for his trouble which pleased Albert immensely. He dropped them off individually about two blocks from their destination, and watched them walk away.
Albert laughed all the way back to the airport. It was so much fun messin’ with the Feds. They would stand out like a Nun on Bourbon Street. He wiped his eyes so he could see. It was just so friggin’ funny! The way the pretty one kept lookin’ in the mirror, askin’ if he looked gay enough. Albert slapped his knee, and they paid him two hundred bucks! The guys at the garage were not going to believe this!
Devon asked Rebecca if he could swing by his office and check his messages before they went to dinner. Rebecca batted her lashes as she said, “Of course, Attorney Parker.”
Devon looked at her, “I think we know each other well enough. You can call me Mike.”
She giggled, “Thank you, Mike.”
Devon was actually driving her towards his house. He stopped the car and said, “Hold still. Don’t move. There is a big spider behind your head.” She froze as he slipped the needle from under his cuff and injected her neck.
She squealed, “OOHH, I think it bit me.” Then she fell against the door.
He pulled down the alley and opened his garage door. Once inside he unlocked his guest suite door and dragged her in. He took her cell phone, left her on the floor, shut the door, and triggered the hydraulic lock. She would be too druggy to be any fun for an hour or so. He would go pick up some groceries for dinner and come back.
Extreme Heat Warning: A Shallow End Gals Trilogy, Book Two Page 10