“City here got things you can’t even imagine in the swamps,” he replied. “Been here for Mardi Gras, another time for a funeral. I don’t know which one was better. Even spent a summer here once. Nothin’ like it anywhere. Now help me out here,” the chief said, turning right on Bourbon Street. “We’re looking for Fat Cash Pawn. Supposed to have a big sign that looks like a catfish made outta dollar bills. That’s what he said to look for. Red brick building.”
“Over there!” Nelle called out, pointing to the left outside her window. “Next block up.”
“Yep. That’s it,” the chief said, speeding up and pulling into the empty parking spot right across the street. “Ya’ll ready?”
And there it was. A big, gaudy metal catfish with blinking red neon eyes, painted all over with hundred dollar bills. The fishing pole attached to its head had a green fluttering banner that said Let Us Reel You In. The shop was located in an unremarkable red brick house. The fish sign was the most interesting and distinguishable feature. A heavy wooden door with a single window had the “open” card hanging in front.
Nelle took a deep breath. She felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz transported to another land, far, far away from Kansas.
Chief Boudreaux walked briskly across the busy street, hesitating slightly for the oncoming traffic. “Careful,” he cautioned as he looked over his shoulder to make sure Pete and Nelle were following close behind. Pete had his hand on the back of Nelle waist. “Okay, now. C’mon.”
A buzzer went off as the chief pushed his weight against the door. The three of them filed in slowly, astounded by the amount and variety of items that rested on shelves going all the way up the walls. Not a single space was empty. Two brightly lighted glass display cases sat in front of a narrow hall space where a tall black safe and single caned seat wooden chair stood. A man appeared through the back doorway as they entered the shop. He was stocky with golden brown skin, wore round wire glasses and had his long black hair tied back in a braided ponytail. An alligator tooth attached on a thin leather cord hung around his neck. His white tee shirt had a faded image of a huge catfish with the caption 1966 Black Bayou Competition. He looked to be maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, judging from his smooth skin and jet-black hair. Pearly gray eyes gave him a striking presence.
“Hey. You must be the folks from West River,” he said in a friendly manner, examining Chief Boudreaux’s uniform. “Been expecting you.”
Chief Boudreaux extended his hand and introduced himself. “And this is Pete Everheart and Miss Nelle Lyons,” he said cordially.
“Gabriel Landry,” he said, shaking hands politely. “Proprietor. Have a look around and I’ll get that jar I called you about.” He disappeared into the back room again.
The objects in the shop were enthralling. Trumpets and trombones hung from hooks on either side of the doorway that Gabriel had disappeared through. A blonde wood guitar with a dark fretboard stood propped inside a large music rack with a violin, banjo, and mandolin. Silver flutes and brass saxophones lay on shelves, too many to count. An old accordion with shiny white buttons and black bellows splayed apart leaned against the wall.
The glass cases displayed rows of wristwatches and pocket watches, gold necklaces and earrings, rings with diamonds and sparkly colored gems. There were elaborately carved silver serving spoons and matching napkin rings, from a time long gone by, and small ivory carvings of Chinese figures toting sacks. Gold and silver charms of alligator, crayfish, and skeleton heads were corralled in black velvet lined boxes that also held alligator teeth, black bear claws, rattlesnake rattles, eyeless leather voodoo dolls, arrowheads, and glass vials that held tiny beads and dried herbal concoctions. Fat Cash Pawn was loan shop, trading post, and museum crammed into a tight space that felt slightly dank and smelled faintly of musky incense.
One display in particular caught Nelle’s attention: two shelves of artifacts and relics locked behind a glass front bearing a sign that read Do not touch. Ask for assistance. These items not for sale. The contents held items reminiscent of the vessel she had uncovered on the banks of the Ouachita River a few years before that had caused a major stir and changed the development plans for West River’s affluent business community completely and likely forever.
Gabriel returned holding the vessel and looked her way. “I see you have an interest,” he said. “Those are really old. Very delicate. Choctaw ceramics. So is this,” he said, holding up the vessel so familiar to her.
Nelle gasped. The same vessel she had dug out from the river bank was thankfully undamaged and intact. She reached out and touched it lightly, tracing her finger along the decorations of stylized frogs and intricate swirling designs. “Thank goodness we tagged it,” she said, heaving a sigh of relief. “Yes, I know what it is. Just an incredible and lucky find.”
“Yeah, if I hadn’t seen that O.V. Nature Preserve identifier on it I would have kept it for my own collection. I don’t sell them. Too valuable to my family. But I figured this was the one I read about when they were going to dig that land up for more fancy houses and playthings rich people want. This should go back there where it came from. You the one who found it?”
Nelle nodded and realized that Gabriel was preserving his own history, too. She admired him and his jumble of a shop, realizing he could have very easily claimed the artifact for his own without any suspicions or repercussions.
Chief Boudreaux walked over and interrupted their conversation. “Tell me about who brought this in.”
“Well, I wasn’t here when they came in. My part-timer Curtis did the transaction. I took off fishing for a couple of days and Curtis covered the shop, so I didn’t see it right away. He thought I’d hang on to it because of how old it looked, but it didn’t occur to him that it could be stolen. He didn’t see the tag on the bottom and wouldn’t know what it was if he had. Not the sharpest boy I’ve had working here. I didn’t notice the tag either until I re-arranged my collection. Curtis didn’t offer them much. Said they were disappointed but took the $75 anyway. Man and a woman come in together.”
“Where’s Curtis now? Can I talk to him?” Chief Boudreaux asked, his brow furrowing. “I got more questions for him.”
Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. “Fired his ass two days ago. Stealing me blind. Can’t trust nobody these days, but he did say something about them I thought was kinda strange when I asked him if they were Cajun or Creole. Said he didn’t think they was either, but the girl told him it was a family piece belonged to her great grandmother. Now I know that’s a lie ‘cause it was tagged. Said the guy was rough looking, redneck, and the girl was uppity, snooty type. She bought an old voodoo doll before they left. Curtis said they didn’t look like they went together and he figured she was going to use the doll on him. He laughed about that.”
The chief’s eyes fell to the alligator tooth that Gabriel was wearing. “You believe in those things?” he asked with his lips tucked back in a tight curl.
“Mon Dieu, yes!” Gabriel responded forcefully. “Don’t mess around with it. Not in bayou country. Plenty of that going on around here.” Gabriel touched his alligator necklace.
“Why the alligator tooth?”
“Keeps the bad away. I can sell you one, pretty cheap.”
The chief shook his head. “Good. I mean, no thanks. But good if it keeps harm away.”
Pete entered their conversation after hearing about the voodoo doll. His grandfather had totems and objects he held to be sacred and Pete was no stranger to Papaw’s private ceremonies conducted for the two of them whether they were for giving thanks, summoning rain, praying for the release of ill health, or asking for special blessings and favors. His cache of holy items included eagle feathers, a small pouch of ancient corn kernels, a turtle rattle, and a smooth clear quartz stone. Pete believed in the power of earth, water, sky, and living things and the ability to invoke unseen influences. He respected and protected the relics that Papaw left behind in the timeworn cane basket given to him by h
is grandmother and felt the same reverence at the sight of it that his grandfather did. The basket remained securely stored under Papaw’s bed. This was Pete’s personal religious life, which even Nelle knew little about. The idea of dark power fascinated him, since it was the reverse of what had been ingrained in him.
Pete felt a kinship with Gabriel, the same as he did with Beau. They were children of the land, marshes, and bayous where the buzzing of cicadas provided church music, the pitter-patter of raindrops on delicate cypress leaves calmed worries, and the position of the sun served as timekeeper. These unspoken, unexplainable, and undeniable connecting threads put them at ease with one another and bound them together without words.
“Say, Gabriel. That voodoo doll. How do you get out from under something like that?” Pete wondered with uneasy curiosity.
Gabriel chuckled at his candid question. “Oh. Bon ami,” he answered, unconsciously fingering the tip of his alligator tooth. “You run. You run like hell!”
“I thought we’d get more,” Chief Boudreaux said somewhat puzzled after they piled back into the patrol car and started the long drive home. “Not much I got a lead on about who done this. No record to go on since it was a cash sale and not a loan. They never intended to come back for it.”
“We got the vessel. That’s what I care most about,” Nelle responded with genuine relief. The cardboard box sat next to her. Gabriel had wrapped it carefully in several layers of The Times-Picayune newspaper. It lay like a delicate egg in a nest of crinkled paper.
“That Curtis guy could have helped a lot. He knew what they looked like at least,” Pete commented. “Too bad he’s not there anymore.”
“Too bad Gabriel didn’t have him arrested! Probably been stealing from him the day he was hired. I would love to lock him up. Maybe scare him to death with some of that voodoo magic. He’ll get snared someday. Always catches up. Some way or another,” the chief said matter of factly.
“Mmmmm,” Nelle uttered thoughtfully. “This city is like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s got a certain feel. I can’t describe it. The people here are like…” voice trailed off searching for the right words.
“Jambalaya!” Chief Boudreau yelled. “All kinds. All different ingredients. Some hot. Some spicy. Some cool. Some nothing at all. It’s a mix of good and bad, heaven and hell all rolled into one.”
Pete mumbled in a low voice, “I’m glad I don’t live here.”
The chief shot him a glance. “Me, too. Lots of trouble simmering on these streets. Would keep me really busy. Lots of folks come wantin’ to find purpose, fortune, or fame and get gobbled up. I’ll bet even Curtis didn’t set out to be a thief. Maybe he wanted to be a famous horn player in a jazz band. Maybe that’s how he found Gabriel’s shop. Down on his luck. Who knows. Maybe that’s why Gabriel let him go and didn’t bust him. Just another one who didn’t make it. This place is full of them. Walk through Gabriel’s door every day, I’ll bet.”
“You gone soft now,” Pete said looking at him, his lips stretched in a polite smile.
“Nah, nah, nah. Just that I know that dreams can tear you up. Shred you into pieces. Can’t always put it all back together. Come back a little crooked.”
Chief Boudreaux’s comments made Nelle think of her mother. What were her dreams? What was she chasing? She knew well enough what tore her apart. Nelle looked at the chief through the rearview mirror and noticed the yearning in his eyes. She understood that she really didn’t know him at all. His depiction of the people who inhabited the unique city made her realize that he had his own dreams and his own story, too. He seemed to understand the character of New Orleans very well. She averted her eyes quickly when his gaze met hers in the mirror.
Pete nodded as he considered the chief’s words and asked, “You always wanted to be a cop, Beau?”
“Mon Dieu, no! I wanted to be a singer! Came here for a whole summer after high school.”
“What happened?” Pete asked.
“Couldn’t carry a tune. Beat up the guy who told me that. Landed in jail. Met a good cop who told me the truth hurts. He happened to know the Reverend Dunn real well from his famous revivals and lectured me about how pastors’ work and police work were pretty much the same. Said it was about helping people and saving people. He set me free, gave me twenty bucks and put me on a bus back home. The reverend met me at the bus station and took me straight to Miss Ruby’s place. Miss Ruby put me to work in her store, checking inventory, ordering supplies, watching over things. After a little while she told me I was good at finding mistakes, like suppliers who tried to cheat her, and that I had a knack for seeing through people. She calls it a detective’s mind. So it was Miss Ruby who pushed me toward police work. I’m glad she did.”
“You’re happy,” Pete stated.
“Most days,” he replied. “Never dull. That’s for sure.” He pressed down hard on the gas pedal speeding suddenly for no apparent reason, except that he was eager to leave New Orleans behind.
Pete could tell the conversation was over from the way the chief was handling the car. “Hey, Nelle,” Pete said looking at her over the back of the front seat. “How about some of those sausages you brought. I’m starving. And pass up some Yoo-Hoos, too. Please.”
Nelle was happy for the distraction and hungry, too. This visit had stirred thoughts and emotions in unexpected ways and she was ready for home.
The trip back to West River seemed to go faster than the ride going toward their destination. Or maybe it was just Chief Boudreaux’s increased speed that turned the landscape into an impressionistic whir and blur of pleasant rural countryside. After sausages on crackers devoured in comfortable crunchy silence, the three settled contentedly into the soothing vibration of the road.
Nelle snoozed in the back seat with her hand resting on top of the cardboard box touching the vessel, Pete leaned back into his headrest stretching out his legs with his face turned toward the scenery outside his window, and Chief Boudreaux had his eyes fixed hypnotically on the black strip of highway before him. Unaware of time, they blissfully lost track of it until the car slowed down to a crawl. The change in speed caused Pete to lurch upright in his seat. Nelle roused at the low rumbling sound that awakened her from a pleasant dream.
“Here it is. Good,” the chief said as he slowly drove down the gravel driveway toward the shabby gray truck stop.
Nelle rubbed open her eyes to see the bright red flying horse Pegasus sign and Emmeline walking briskly toward them. Pete smiled broadly, surprising himself at how pleased he was to see her.
“There she is,” the chief announced in a very satisfied manner.
“Hey, ya’ll!” Emmeline called out enthusiastically. “Back so soon! Come on in! Comment ca va?” Her ebullience was endearing.
He parked the patrol car in the small parking lot and the three of them entered the tiny truck stop café. A large metal fan, the kind used for cooling down barns and mechanics shops, sat on the floor behind the counter and created a surprisingly strong and most welcomed breeze inside the cramped space. A spotless red linoleum counter top was set with two half-full bottles of ketchup, two sugar jars, and two sets of glass salt and peppershakers A big aluminum coffee pot, dinged from years of use, sat on the back burner of the small gas stove. Paint was peeling off the faded white refrigerator but the magnet decorations of an alligator, a large religious cross, and a plastic version of a faceless voodoo doll that secured the red and black flyer for the 1968 Black Bayou Competition created an intriguing canvas.
As they took seats on the green vinyl stools, Pete nudged Chief Boudreaux and lifted his chin in the direction of the refrigerator. “Gabriel’s tee shirt. Remember? It said 1966 Black Bayou Competition. There’s another event right there.”
The chief didn’t quite hear over the noise from the fan and gave Pete a puzzled look. Pete then pointed his finger at the flyer at the same time that Emmeline moved behind the counter and turned off the fan.
“I know it’s loud. Hard to talk. Bu
t keeps things cooled in here, especially if I have to turn the stove on. How about some coffee to start you off.” She placed mugs in front of them without waiting for an answer, turned toward the stove and lit the back burner to warm the pot. “Now, mes amis. I am glad to see you all again. Tell me. Did you find what you were looking for?” She leaned over the counter and looked squarely at Chief Boudreaux, flashing him a wide grin.
He returned the gesture, clearly taken with her attention and dazed by her striking good looks. “Well. Yes. And no. Not exactly. Not completely.”
“I see,” she said. “Clear as mud,” giving him that smile again.
Nelle piped in. “We found our stolen property, but not the person who took it, is what he means, Emmie.” Nelle was amused at the effect she had on Beau. She had never seen him as tongue tied as he was in her presence.
“Oh. Now I get it. Where did you find it? You weren’t gone very long from here.”
“Ever hear of Fat Cash Pawn?” Pete asked.
Emmie answered quickly. “Gabe. Gabriel Landry. Sure. Everybody knows him. Big fisherman. Gabriel’s a good guy,” she said insistently. “He collects old Indian pieces from around this area. I sell him alligator teeth and arrowheads when I come across them. He stops by when he’s fishing the bayous to see what I’ve got for his shop. Folks even bring in things for me to show him. Gabe likes my gator nuggets and catfish sandwich. What was it got stole from you anyway?”
Chief Boudreaux gathered his senses after hearing her talk about Gabriel and his shop. There were few places to stop for directions, gas, or nourishment between Emmeline’s truck stop and New Orleans. As shabby as it seemed from the outside, her business was probably very brisk.
“We got a valuable jar stolen from our community center. It’s old. Real old Indian vessel. Was on display in a glass case. Thief broke the glass and took it. Wonder if someone might have come by here maybe asking …” he hesitated as he started to formulate other possibilities.
The Road to Home Page 11