by Peg Brantley
She’d made some mistakes. A tear tracked down from her eye to the tip of her nose, where it sat for a breath before finally dropping to the pillow.
She had made mistakes.
She couldn’t think about her oldest brother or her pregnant sister, also murdered that day. Then there was Teo’s wife, Maria, also pregnant. And her nephew and niece. If she dwelt on them, she’d surely die of a broken heart.
She wished she’d never answered the night Vicente Vega showed up at Teo’s door. One more time, a cartel leader was making her and her brother’s life hell. One more time, this particular cartel leader was impacting her life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Oh God, let this work. This man needs my idea to be successful. Cade hurried into the small motel’s lobby. She quickly spotted what she wanted and moved toward the rack of tourist brochures that lined one wall.
Cade didn’t see exactly what she was looking for, but found several that would do. She grabbed a handful and stuffed them in her purse. Took another handful for Mex.
As she’d done every time before what she called a “soft operation,” she remembered her sister. Delphine could have been so much more. She should have fallen in love, had children, done something positive with her life.
Cade whispered, “Delphine, show me what I need to see. Help this young girl live to become a young woman. Don’t let me lose her. I can’t stand another loss so soon.”
She never really knew if Delphine actually heard her, but she knew it made her feel better to talk with the sister who had meant so much to her—even if it couldn’t exactly be called
communication. When things went right in an operation, she liked to think it was because Delphine had shown her the way. When things went wrong, Cade burrowed the failure into her heart and felt its weight.
She walked back to the SUV where Mex waited. The man intrigued her. She’d tried to find out about him online but had been frustrated. There really wasn’t much, at least not as much as she’d hoped for. She could tell by looking at him that he’d fought through his own share of pain, but exactly what it was and why, she hadn’t been able to find out. He’d graduated from San Diego State University, been a lawman in Mexico, and was an early investor in an internet startup that made billions when it was sold, but other than those pieces of information, his life was a blank. The only odd thing she found was a link to a blog post that was entirely in Spanish and looked like it belonged to a drug cartel she’d never heard of. The name Anderson was easy to pick out because that’s the only word she knew. She wondered if this wasn’t the event that had changed his life. She marked it to have translated when time permitted.
Except for his involvement in bringing a particularly hideous case to a close in Aspen Falls a year ago, there wasn’t much about his current life. Clearly he worked hard to keep out of the limelight. Her intuition told her, based on some of the details of the story, it was the trust the Hispanic community had for him that helped the local
authorities bring down a particularly bad group of people.
Cade admitted to herself that she would really like to learn more about Mex Anderson. She also admitted that while she was clear about what she should do next to free someone from the clutches of a cult, she had no clue how to move a relationship along.
As an exit counselor she ranked high. As a relationship expert, she sucked.
She hopped into the SUV. “Miss me?”
“About to call the search and rescue team.”
Cade checked his eyes to make sure he was joking and not frustrated because she’d taken too long. She read joking. “The more the merrier.”
Mex put the SUV in gear and they drove out of the parking lot. “Can you tell me now why we needed to make this stop?”
Cade held up a handful of
brochures. “We needed these.”
“What the hell? We needed to know more about the French Quarter? The French Market? A frigging swamp tour?”
“What we needed, mon cher, was a little gris-gris for some cunja.”
“Translate.”
“Happy to. Even though it sounds like “gree-gree”, g-r-i-s times two refers to an object that’s used to either inflict evil or protect yourself from evil.” She held up the brochures. “And if we’re lucky, they’ll help us in our attempt to create some good cunja, which is a spell that’s put on someone else.”
Cade put the brochures down and looked at him. “You really need to get out more.”
“What I need are two things. I need to bring Dia back to her family and I need to lose all involvement with Santeria and any other kind of cult. This shit makes me glad I’ve never been ultra-religious.”
Cade considered her next question carefully. By virtue of what she did for a living, Santeria would always be a part of her life, but it wasn’t a part of her. “You’re not religious?”
“Nope. Never have been.”
“You don’t believe in God?”
“Damn, Cade. I didn’t say that. I do believe in God. I’ve seen too much not to. God and I have had more than one argument and we both know who we are. What I don’t buy into is all the kneeling and raising of the hands crap. God doesn’t give a shit about that. He appreciates people reading words attributed to him, but he hates them trying to confine and define him based on those words in the Bible or Koran or Torah or whatever.”
“You know this how?” Cade had her own ideas about God, but she was more curious about Mex’s.
“Like I said, we’ve argued a bit.”
She decided to drop the subject. Tension between them would not be good while they were nearing the target.
A few minutes later they’d driven through Slidell and were on their way to Pearl River and to the home owned by relatives of Luis Alvarez.
* * * As intrigued as Mex was with Cade LeBlanc, this gris-gris and cunja stuff could probably kill the whole thing. Did she have to think like this every day? Did she have to know about—try and live every day with the knowledge—of all of this darkness? What else did she think and know about? Mex wasn’t sure he could continue to be involved, even on the sidelines, with beliefs that were so radical. At least to him.
But still, she had that laugh. And those eyes. And a certain strength of purpose that made her a presence. Maybe he could hold off a little before he made a decision. Just thinking that surprised him. He thought he’d never be remotely interested in another woman after Maria. He’d never imagined another woman could ever pique his interest again.
He’d been wrong.
Mex checked the GPS. Looked like they were now about five minutes away.
“Tell me again how we’re doing this?”
“You and I are canvassing the neighborhood with a religious message. Haven’t those people ever come to your door? They usually come in pairs, sometimes even teams, and they want you to know what their God can do for you—for your salvation. The implication is that if you don’t jump on their
particular bandwagon, God is gonna vent some wrath onto you. Anyway, we’re out trying to save as many souls as we can from the fires of hell.”
“Yeah, like a Santeria practitioner is going to give us the time of day.”
“That’s the beauty, Mex. I know more about Santeria than you do. All you have to say is that I was once a follower but have now found the truth and the light. Got it? I can take it from there.”
“So I let on that we know they’re Santeria?”
“Pull over.” Cade’s voice was more strained than he’d ever heard. “Now.”
Mex moved the SUV onto the shoulder. “What did I say?”
“If you even mention the word Santeria, our cover is blown and the girl could be dead.”
“I thought you wanted me to say you were a Santeria follower.”
“Just a follower, Mex. Someone who fell into a cult. Do not get any more specific. If you mention the word Santeria, a family with secrets would know their secrets were out. And a family with major secrets, like a
kidnapped little girl, could decide to cut their losses and move on before anything else became known.”
Mex considered what she said. “Okay. I introduce you as being a victim of a cult when you were younger, who was later called to witness for your new religion?”
Cade sat in silence. After about ten seconds she said, “Maybe I should do the talking. You just look pretty and conservative in your suit.”
Mex could not begin to express his relief. “But I’m taking my gun.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He pulled back onto the road. He thought about what he knew about Cade and her connection to either suicide or depression—or both. About how Cade might feel the need to act now in the heat of passionate information rather than wait for a more studied, logical
approach. “We have to agree that we’re not going to take them now. It’s going to require surveillance to know the best way to get Dia out of there—if that’s where she is. We’re just after intel. Are you with me? Neither of us can come close to risking this girl’s life.” Not to mention Sedona’s life.
“What if I get the feeling that it's now or never?”
“Then we pull away and come up with a secondary plan based on what we’re able to ascertain from the first contact.”
“But Mex, I’ve done this dozens of times. Sometimes you only get one chance. I’ve learned the hard way that sometimes waiting for the best time to move in is the same thing as putting them in a bonus position.”
“Let’s do it this way. If there’s an immediate threat to Dia’s life, we act. If it’s anything else, we pull back first to analyze the situation. Between the two of us, thinking without pressure, we should be able to develop a plan that incorporates all of our new intel.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dia laughed at the face Pilar was making. She was so funny. Dia couldn’t remember laughing like this since her mother died. She was sure she’d laughed with her mom. With her brother too. And with their friends. It had been a long time.
She missed VV. She should give him a call and let him know she was okay. That she’d found a new family who loved her and spent time with her. He’d probably try and find out where she was, who she was with. Try and talk her into coming home. Which is why she hadn’t called him already. Well, that plus the fact she didn’t have a phone.
The little stilt-home was
beginning to fill up with guests. Pilar said they should all be here in a day or two and then they’d have the important ritual. Dia had tried to help Pilar prepare some of the items but Pilar had shooed her away and told her it
wouldn’t be appropriate. Appropriate? Maybe because she was still too young. She had a lot to learn about the ins and outs of Santeria.
Pilar stopped making funny faces. “Okay, ma chère.”
Dia loved it when Pilar spoke French. It sounded so sophisticated.
“It’s time for you and I to begin to prepare our mid-day meal. We have a fresh chicken, but you need to pluck the feathers.”
“Pluck the feathers?”
“It isn’t easy. Hector will help you.”
Hector handed her a pair of pliers. “You’ll need these.”
“Pluck the feathers?” Dia
repeated. She thought she might throw up.
“Ma chère, it is an act of Santeria. Both a thanks and a preparation for the future. Think of it as your own private ritual.”
“Feathers? Connected feathers?”
“Hector, please. Take her to the yard.” Pilar stood and walked to the kitchen.
The young man waited. “We need to begin now, while the water is still hot.” He held something in his hand.
“What’s that?” Dia stalled.
“A blow torch.”
“For what?” In spite of herself, she was intrigued.
“To burn off the bits of feathers that don’t come out.”
Gross. “Hector, I don’t want to do this.”
“Pilar says you must. But I will help. Come.”
She rose and followed him into the yard. “Do we use the pliers to pull out the feathers?”
Hector didn’t respond.
A wooden pole she hadn’t noticed before stood in the yard. It was about four feet high with a metal rod coming out of it horizontally at the top. A dead chicken hung upside down from the rod. There was a plastic garbage bag
stretched out on the ground directly underneath the bird, and a large metal bucket sat nearby.
Dia slowed her pace, eyes riveted to the carcass. She was sure she saw it breathing. “Where’s its head?”
“Over there.” Hector pointed.
She stopped. Swallowed. She’d known that certain ceremonies required an animal sacrifice and chickens were pretty common. The one she’d heard about involved five small freshwater fish in five small gourds, peanuts and parrot feathers, and the sacrifice of five young chickens letting their blood drip into the gourds. Five days after the sacrifice, everything is taken to the river with five cents. She thought of it as the Rite of Fives, even though she hadn’t seen it done. Not even once.
Now, here was this headless dead chicken hanging in front of her. A creepy chicken that she was supposed to touch.
Hector grabbed the chicken and dunked it in the bucket of hot water. A crazy thought that he was drowning the chicken flashed through her mind. Dunk and swish. Dunk and swish. With a fluid motion, Hector hitched one of the chicken’s legs into a noose made of thin rope and looped it over the metal pole. The chicken hung there, headless and wet. And really gross.
Hector grabbed a handful of feathers and pulled, dropping them onto the plastic bag. “See? Agua caliente helps to loosen the feather making them easier to pull.” He stepped to the side. “You try.”
Dia didn’t move. She watched the swaying headless body of the dead bird, its neck swinging loose.
“Dia.” Hector raised his voice. “Dia.”
She pulled her gaze away from the horror in front of her to look at the young man who had saved her from the
alligator. Surely he would not have her do something like this unless it was necessary. Harmless.
“You try. Now.”
Dia moved in closer and reached her hand out. She timed the back and forth motion and pinched a single feather from the body, immediately dropping it to the ground.
“There, see? Not so bad. But if you do it that way, we will never eat. You need to grab many at once and pull. Try not to rip the skin.”
Dia turned and ran. Before she hit the screen door she looked back and saw Hector stripping the chicken with sureness. She thought it odd that he had one feather sticking out of the pocket of his shirt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Mex and Cade found the house without any trouble and took a few minutes to scout the neighborhood. The pair was silent as Mex drove block after block.
Small, older houses. Most in need of some kind of repair but nothing actually crumbling. The landscaping however, varied. Some were pristine with flowering shrubs and trimmed lawns. Others were pigsties. Rusting parts from who-knows-what mingled with weeds and errant trash. Most homes looked like early spring in Colorado—a little neglected but with potential. Then Mex thought, Pearl River, Louisiana, probably didn’t have much of a winter. The potential quotient took a dive.
Manicured and maintained properties were losing out to the
hopelessness and neglect of those occupants who had simply ceased to care. Mex had seen neighborhoods like this all his life. Hell, he’d lived in them as a young boy. People tried for a year or two, but if their efforts weren’t rewarded, they gave up, and grew to believe they weren’t worth anything more than what they had. An empty neighborhood park reminded Mex that it was a school day.
“We lived in a neighborhood like this,” Cade said, breaking into Mex’s thoughts.
He wanted to ask questions but decided silence might gain him more.
“My sister fell in love in a neighborhood like
this.” Cade sounded almost wistful. “And then she found a belief system no one else in our family could understand.”
“System?”
“A screwed up catchall word for something organized. A cult. Delphine’s was voodoo.”
Mex held his breath and felt his heart expand. “And yet?”
Cade looked out the window. “And yet voodoo was completely contradictory to everything we’d ever been taught.” Cade shifted in her seat. “Stick around for a while and there will be plenty of people to tell you the story. Maybe you’ve heard it already?”
“I’d like to hear the story from you. It couldn’t have been easy.”
“We grew up poor. Dirt poor. I had an angel who appreciated my mind and became a mentor. Delphine, though she was every bit as smart, didn’t.”
“That made the difference?”
“I think so. I loved my big sister. I looked up to her for so long. What happened was almost unbelievable. Delphine got involved with some screwed up people who were into voodoo and Santeria. Before we knew it, she’d become a fanatic and wouldn’t listen to anyone.”
“You mean she wouldn’t listen to you.”
Mex heard a soft gasp.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to go all interrogative on you.”
“No, that’s okay. You’re probably right. Maybe she didn’t know how much I loved her.”
Mex waited for Cade to continue.
“Anyway, she eventually moved to an old abandoned shack deep in the bayou near our home. There, she could lose herself in her spells and no one would be around to try and change her mind. I would go and check on her regularly, take her food to make sure she was eating properly. I wanted her to know she had family who loved her. She seemed confused and depressed most of the time I was with her. Especially toward the end.
“One day I learned about people who extracted loved ones from cults. Back then we called them
deprogrammers. I found one and hired him. He said it would be comparatively easy since she wasn’t living in a
commune or under the influence of others 24/7.”