by Sala, Sharon
He glanced in the back seat at Roberts, who was snoring away, then quietly opened the door and got out to pee. The car needed airing out, too, because Roberts farted on a regular basis as he slept. They’d already disabled the dome light days ago, so he wasn’t worried about being seen and was happily pissing away the three cups of coffee in his bladder when he thought he saw movement coming up the driveway from Wisteria Hill.
He watched, blinking several times to clear his vision before he realized it was a man in dark clothes, and before he got close enough to see his face, the man slipped into the trees.
Parker’s thoughts were jumping from one scenario to another, wondering why the man was on foot and where he was going, but the bottom line was that if the man was coming from Wisteria Hill, chances are it was Poe. He didn’t realize he was pissing on his own shoes until he heard the splatter and did a little shuffle step to get out of the way. The next time he looked up, the man was heading east and swiftly moving out of sight. He stifled a curse, reluctantly squeezed off the stream of urine, and jumped back in the car.
“Wake up, damn it! Poe is on the move!”
Roberts was out of the back seat and loading into the front as Parker started the engine.
“What’s going on?” Parker asked.
“I don’t know. I just saw a man dressed in black come up from Poe’s place and then fade into the trees. He’s heading east and moving fast.”
“On foot?”
Parker nodded.
“So what makes you think it’s Poe? He’s got a truck. Why would he walk?” Roberts asked.
“Well he knows we’re here, so I’d say he doesn’t want us to know he’s left the property,” Parker said.
“Then how the hell are we going to tail him? It’s not like we can drive up behind him without being seen.”
“Shit,” Parker muttered. He hadn’t thought about that. “Wait! There he is again on that rise, which means he’s out of the trees and on the road. What the hell is he running from?”
“Follow him with the lights off,” Roberts said.
“He’ll hear the engine.”
“Maybe not if he’s running and breathing hard. Drive, damn it, or we’re gonna lose him,” Roberts yelled.
Parker put the car in gear and pulled out of the tree and into the road. The windows were down and the lights were off.
“Should we contact March?” Roberts asked.
Parker frowned. “I hate to wake him up at this time of night for nothing. What do I say… that a man we think might be Poe is running up a road in the dark?”
“And, Poe isn’t going toward New Orleans. Whatever he’s doing can’t possibly involve anything to do with the boss or his family,” Roberts muttered.
“Yeah, you’re right, but we still better call the boss. If we don’t and Poe pulls some kind of shit and we didn’t tell him, we’re fucked,” Parker said.
Roberts made the call, unaware that March was not asleep, but at the hospital at his daughter’s bedside.
Grayson answered, then went out into the hall to talk.
“Roberts? What’s going on?”
“A few minutes ago Poe came up the driveway on foot. He disappeared into the trees, then jumped back out of them about a hundred or so yards up the hill and started running. Do you want us keeping track?”
“Hell yes. I want to know what the bastard does every waking moment. Stay with him and get back to me when you find out what’s going on.”
“Yes, sir,” Roberts said and hung up. “Boss said stay with him.”
“Then that’s what we’re going to do,” Parker said, keeping his gaze on the swiftly disappearing figure.
****
Anson was damn tired. This was his second trip to Voltaire’s place on foot, and it was going to be about a half-mile farther this way because he was not cutting through the swamp. But when he heard their engine start up, he knew they took the bait. Now he had pace himself so that they would be close enough to see where he went. He glanced over his shoulder and then took off in a long steady lope, ignoring the pain in his side.
****
“Do you still see him?” Roberts whispered.
“You don’t have to whisper,” Parker said. “The engine is making more noise than we are, and he’s too far ahead to hear either one.”
“Fine, then I’m talking loud and I still want to know if you see him,” Roberts snapped.
“Yeah, I caught a glimpse of his silhouette when we topped the last rise.”
“I don’t think anyone lives around here. How much farther does this road go?” Roberts mumbled.
“Someone does because we followed Poe here once before, remember?”
Roberts frowned. “Oh yeah, but we never knew what he was doing.”
“So maybe we’re about to find out,” Parker said and accelerated around the curve in the road.
“There he is, and you were right. He must be going to that same place.”
“I see him!” Parker said.
“Are we gonna follow him down that road this time?” Roberts asked.
“We’ll play it by ear,” Parker said.
****
Anson knew they’d seen him. Now all he needed to do was issue the party invitations. Once again, he took to the trees as he ran toward Voltaire’s house. There was a light shining through every window, which meant Voltaire was up and on edge.
He looked back toward the road, but didn’t see the vehicle and had to wait until March’s men got closer. He hunkered down in the shadows to watch for their car, and as soon as he saw them slip past the turnoff, he started running toward the house.
****
Voltaire was on his knees by his bed. His rifle was on the floor, his mother’s bible on the bed and her rosary in his hands. He was shaking so hard he could barely stay upright. He hadn’t prayed a day since his mother’s funeral, but he hadn’t stopped praying since he saw the coffin.
“Lord, Lord, if you will save me from this curse, I swear to never do another illegal thing again. I swear on my mother’s soul this is so. Save me Lord, save me.”
He buried his face against the mattress and began reciting every bible verse he could remember, then broke down, sobbing. He couldn’t die this way… not from a voodoo curse. He didn’t think God would let him into heaven if this happened, and if he didn’t get to heaven, he would never see his sweet mother again.
The coffin was still on the front porch. He didn’t know what he should do with it, but he didn’t want to touch it. He could hear rustling noises outside his windows and imagined the devil was out there, waiting to drag him to hell. God in heaven, if only he could go back and change the deal he’d made with Poe, he would.
And then it occurred to him that if he burned the money Poe gave him, it might put an end to the curse. If he didn’t profit from the disaster, then maybe it would be okay. He didn’t know if it would work, but he was willing to try. He pulled a lockbox out from under the bed and quickly removed his share of the money from the fire.
It was a solid wad of bills, more than he would make in a year selling crawfish and the occasional gator. But it wasn’t worth a damn if he was dead. He ran into the kitchen, threw the money into the sink and then struck a match.
The paper was slow to catch. Anxious to put an end the curse, he shook the bills apart so they would catch fire faster, and within seconds, they were aflame. He watched the money burn until there was nothing left but ashes and then he threw up his hands and started talking.
“Look, God, look! I burned it. It’s gone and I’m so sorry. Please make the devil take away the curse.”
In a frantic need to remove even the remnants, he grabbed the handle on the hand pump and began pumping, drawing water up the pipe and into the sink. He pumped until every last bit of ash had washed down the drain, then threw his hands up in the air like he’d just scored a touchdown. Elation ended with a gunshot and the sound of breaking glass.
“No, God, no, I burned it all,
” he wailed.
But in the eyes of God, his repentance must have come too late. If someone was shooting at him, then none of it had worked.
It wasn’t in him to go down without a fight. He grabbed the rifle from his bedroom and headed for the door, unaware the shot he heard had not only broken a window, but also an oil lamp. The back of the house was already on fire.
****
The moment Anson fired the shot into Voltaire’s house, he began running toward the road. He needed for March’s men to see him running away before the next part of his plan could take effect. He was guessing they would have heard the first shot, but fired one more shot into the air to make sure.
And he’d been right.
The guards had just parked the SUV when they heard a gun go off.
Roberts jumped and then opened the door. “That was a gunshot!” he cried, as he drew his gun and jumped out then crouched down, using the open door for cover.
Parker followed suit. “We need to get across the road!” he yelled and started running.
They were in the middle of the road staring straight down the driveway when they heard another shot, this time much closer. Frantic to get out of sight before they were seen, they increased their stride, but it was too late. All of a sudden a man appeared, running toward them.
“There he comes!” Parker yelled.
Anson saw them, pretended to be startled at their appearance, then pivoted and started back toward the house at a frantic sprint, needing them to give chase. When he heard one of them yelling at him to stop, he lengthened his stride.
Ahead of him, he could see the front door opening and Voltaire silhouetted against the lights behind him. One more step and then the rest was up to fate.
He fired one more shot, this time at Voltaire’s house, taking care not to hit him, then looked back over his shoulder to make sure the men were already in sight before he dropped to the ground. He was crawling on his belly toward the trees when Voltaire opened fire.
Roberts and Parker lost sight of Poe for a few moments, and when they saw him again, he was silhouetted against a shack with a rifle in his hands. Before they could react, he opened fire.
“Look out!” Roberts yelled and fired off a shot toward the house as the shooter returned fire in rapid succession.
Parker was running for cover when he realized Roberts wasn’t with him. Crouching down, he looked back. Roberts was face down in the dirt, unmoving. He spun, firing one shot after another as he went back for his partner. He was on his knees beside Roberts, still shooting, when he saw the man he thought was Poe beginning to stagger. Believing he was going down, he lost focus. By the time he realized it didn’t happen, the shooter had emptied the rifle in his direction.
The last two bullets hit Parker; one in the chest; the last in the head. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Voltaire was swaying on his feet, still trying to shoot, but the gun was empty. He knew he needed to pray, but he couldn’t make words for the bloody bubbles coming up his throat. The two men on the ground weren’t moving. Maybe he’d broken the curse after all!
Then his heart skipped a beat. One more man came out of the shadows; moving toward him at a slow, steady pace. The rifle fell out of his hands as a terrible heat burned at his back. The sky was growing dark. He could feel the heat of hell as the devil came closer.
He took his last breath face down, sucking dirt up his nose and into his mouth; dying with the taste of Louisiana on his lips.
The moment Voltaire went down, Anson quickly moved from one body to the next to make sure they were all dead. As soon as he was satisfied, he grabbed a big handful of weeds and began sweeping the ground where he’d walked, wiping out just his shoe prints and destroying all the evidence that a fourth man had been there.
He knew there would be a bullet from his gun somewhere inside the burning house, so he wiped his gun down, stuck it back in the holster, and threw all of it into the fire, along with the empty cartridge from his first shot. The heat would discharge the bullets. The investigators would just assume it belonged to Voltaire because the gun had never been registered to Anson.
He backed into the trees, wiping his steps as he went, and when he was completely out of sight of the house and the road, he started running back home, this time without caution. He couldn’t worry about snakes or panthers. The greater danger was being caught in the vicinity of the massacre.
He was past exhaustion and running with his second wind, glorying in the beauty of how perfectly the plan had worked and was about a half mile away when he heard the bullets in his pistol beginning to explode. He threw back his head and laughed.
****
Grayson March kept one eye on his watch and the other on his daughter, waiting for his men to call back. But the longer time passed, the more certain he was that something had gone wrong. After three long hours and no word, he called Roberts. Just when he thought the call was going to voice mail, a man answered, but it wasn’t his employee.
“Hello? Who’s speaking?”
Grayson frowned. “This is Grayson March. I’m calling one of my employees; a man named Roberts. You have his phone, so who the hell are you?”
“Parish Sheriff’s department.”
Grayson frowned. “Where’s Roberts?”
“You need to speak to the sheriff. Hold please.”
It was already obvious that something was wrong. Grayson was trying not to panic, but when another man answered, and it quickly went from bad to worse.
“Grayson, is that you?”
“Yes, who’s speaking?”
“This is Sumter Henry.”
“What’s going on, Sheriff? Where’s Carl Roberts?”
“What relation is he to you?” Henry asked.
“He works for me,” Grayson said.
“I’m sorry to tell you that Carl Roberts is deceased. By any chance was Lonnie Parker also in your employ?”
“What do you mean, was?”
“They’re both deceased.”
Grayson was shocked. The last thing they told him was that they were going after Poe.
“What the hell happened? Where is Anson Poe?”
Henry frowned. “Anson Poe? Why did you ask about him?”
“Because the last time I talked to Roberts, he and Parker were trailing him, that’s why. Again, what happened to my men?”
“We don’t have any ballistic results to back this up, but at first look, it appears your two men had a shoot-out with a man named Voltaire LeDeux.”
“Who?”
“Their bodies, along with his, are on his property, or what’s left of it. His house also burned down.”
Grayson couldn’t believe it. “No! No, damn it, no! They were tailing Poe. Roberts told me, himself.”
“In light of your information, we will definitely be interviewing him. If you would come in to the Parish precinct sometime tomorrow and give us an official statement to this effect, it would be appreciated.”
“Hell yes, I’ll be there,” Grayson said. “Let me know when the bodies will be released from the morgue. They were working for me. I’ll see to notifying their families.”
“Yes, sir,” Henry said and hung up.
****
Brendan woke up just before daylight, his heart pounding from a swiftly receding nightmare. By the time his feet hit the floor, he’d forgotten what he’d been dreaming. He glanced at the clock. It was almost seven. Time to get up and get moving. Claudette would be here in a couple of hours and he had a long list of things to get done in a short span of time.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, he headed to the kitchen to start coffee and then went back to shower.
He was in the kitchen frying sausage links and beating eggs when he heard voices and then a door slam. They were up and the day had officially begun.
****
Julie woke up needing to go to the bathroom and was surprised to see her mother asleep in a chair by her bed with a hospital blanket pulled up
to her chin. She couldn’t believe she’d actually inconvenienced herself enough to stay the night and reached for her buzzer to ring for a nurse.
A few moments later, her call was answered.
“Good morning, Julie. How can I help you?”
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Someone will be right there,” she said.
At the sound of voices, Lana roused, then groaned beneath her breath as she got up and stretched.
Her perfect coiffure was squashed on one side and there was a smear of mascara beneath her right eye. Julie knew she’d be horrified if she could see herself.
“Good morning, darling. How do you feel this morning?” Lana asked.
“I hurt, Mama… a lot. It’s weird, but my body feels like I was burned instead of beaten.”
Lana could barely bring herself to look at her daughter’s condition and tried not to shudder. Her voice was trembling as she patted Julie’s hand.
“I’m so very sorry I hurt your feelings. I can’t begin to imagine your suffering, and I wish I could make it all better like I used to with a Cinderella Band-Aid and a kiss.”
Julie was thankful for the honesty. It was the first really empathic thing her mother had said since this nightmare began.
“I wish that’s all it would take, too,” Julie said. “By the way, where’s Dad?”
“I don’t know. Something must have happened last night that had to do with work. He left before daylight to go home and clean up. Said he had some meetings he couldn’t miss.”
The news was nothing out of the ordinary, and Julie thought nothing of it.
The door opened and Fern, the day nurse, walked in with a jaunty step. “Good morning, dear. Are you ready for your first walk of the day?”