He let Jack squirm for a few moments.
“ . . . But the spirits tell me differently. Come in, let’s talk.” He turned to Josh and the other two. “Josh, you are family, you can come in. Nate, you and Bobby can watch the door.”
Gramps frowned and led his two grandsons into his hut. The interior of the dwelling was a surprise. His grandfather seemed to have moved up a notch in the modern, technological world. The house was furnished with expensive leather couches, a formal dining set, up-to-date kitchen appliances, and modern art interspersed with three giant flat screen TVs on the walls. Two laptops sat open on a coffee table in front of one of the couches.
Gramps moved toward Jack and embraced him. “You have your mother’s eyes. I miss her.” He motioned for the boys to sit and walked over to the fridge and pulled out three Coors Lights. He returned and handed them to Jack and Josh. “I suspect that you might need this.”
Jack nodded, cracking open the beer and downing the whole thing in one long swig.
“In the old days, we would do an augury to find out if things were wrong. Today I still make an augury, but I have the help of the late night news. I woke up three hours ago and I knew that you would be here. The spirits woke me. When I slept I saw great evil. I saw you trapped within its web. I saw you here. As I waited for you to come, I turned on the television and saw this.”
The two young men turned their attention to the largest TV in the middle. Jack saw the old estate house near Clewiston cordoned off with yellow tape, and a dozen police cars sitting in the driveway. A news reporter gave details of a grisly murder, apparently tied in with a Satanic cult.
“The prime suspect is Jackson Walker of Fort Myers. A former NFL player, Walker works for Senator Hunter in his Naples office. Hunter has not been available for comment. Walker is believed to be armed and dangerous.”
Jack wondered why the press suspected him. He’d been set up big time. Why had the police shown up? Buck!
Gramps turned down the sound. A picture of Jack in his Bengals uniform flashed on the screen.
“Satanic cult? What the heck, Jack. What have you done? What is your involvement? All of this is no coincidence. There are no coincidences in life.”
Jack walked over to the fridge and helped himself to another beer. “Okay. I’m here now, I may as well tell you the story. It’s one fucked-up mess, and I can blame no one else for my actions and involvement.”
Josh and Gramps sat in silence as Jack finished his tale. Gramps sat for a few minutes longer without speaking. “You talk as if these Satanists are not bad people. Herein lies your misconception. They are real. They are dangerous, and they are using you. Satan is real and he is manipulative. The cult that you speak of has been in existence here in South Florida since before the first Seminole war. The name has changed. What they call The Brotherhood of Set was formed forty years ago. Before that they were called the Congregation of Set, before that, The Brotherhood of Satan. We have been watching them and they have been watching us. Let there be no mistake, they know your heritage.”
He sat for a moment in silence.
“You see, there are only a few who know of their real intentions, and I am one of them. I know Henrietta LePley. She is old Florida blood and she is a witch.”
Jack raised his eyes in question.
“Yes, there are witches, and this one is powerful. That old house in Clewiston, it’s on the reserve. The Marshes were good people.”
Jack’s jaw dropped. “Fuckin’ hell. Witches with brooms?”
“No, nothing like that. There are those who follow the good path, and there are those who follow the bad. There are channels that flow between good and bad, grey areas. I believe that good people don’t stray from the path that is more socially acceptable. Henrietta and her coven chose the path less travelled. If you have the dark conscience to go that route there will be rewards, but there will always be a price. Henrietta has sold her soul to Satan. She draws upon the devil’s powers of deceit. You are a victim. I don’t think you are a major piece, but rather a fly in her web. You are caught, and it will be hard to get you unstuck. It will be difficult to disprove something that has existed in secret for close to two hundred years. We will have to clear your name through normal means. It would be senseless to try and prove that witches exist. Most people look at these cults as crackpots. I believe your employer must be the real target for some reason. You are collateral damage because of your Seminole blood.”
After a pause, Gramps continued. “What has Senator Hunter been doing for the past while?”
Jack thought for a moment. “He has been working on a clean water bill, you know, revitalizing the Everglades. I don’t know much more than that.”
Gramps nodded. “We are in agreement with the government and in negotiations to help them with their bill. It is good for the Everglades, but bad for the businesses that operate within the watershed. The bill which you speak of affects Henrietta and her investors. Growing sugar cane and feeding cattle require that much of the valuable Everglades water be diverted into drainage ditches, and Lake Okeechobee threatens to overflow every summer.
“The Everglades are dying. Every summer, the water is let out of the great lake and into the rivers, instead of being allowed to flow slowly through the great swamp into Florida Bay and some of the other main tributaries. The fisheries and wildlife are being destroyed. Henrietta’s people have been against the bill, as it would kill their business interests. Moreover, they feel that we cheated them when the gambling authority was first given to us.” He took a long drink from his beer. “Is there anything else?”
Jack thought for a moment. “Well . . . I think the senator is screwing his secretary.”
“Oh ho!” Gramps slapped his leg. “How long has she worked for him?”
“I don’t know exactly, but it hasn’t been for long, maybe a year and a bit.”
“Hmmm, makes sense. The same ploy they used with you. Female sexuality mixed with a little voodoo. It works most of the time. It is said that the priestesses within our tribes had the power to ensnare young men’s hearts. They did not use it for evil, but rather to ensure that our kind survived and procreated. Young men in their prime don’t want to settle down. They want to fight, hunt, and cause trouble. Unfortunately grandson, you are a horny bastard and are paying a high price for your sexiness.”
Josh laughed. “Sexiness?”
“Yes, sexiness. Your cousin Jack is a good-looking Seminole man; he is desirable to women, and this trait is what probably attracted the Satanists to him. He was an easy target.”
Gramps stood and paced the room for a few minutes, his hands clasped behind his back. He moved and stood over Josh and Jack and looked down at them, placing a hand on each man’s shoulder.
He looked Jack in the eye. “Now tell me son, and look me in the eye as well. Are you involved in any wrongdoing?”
Jack pondered the man’s words for a moment. “No, on the surface . . . no. I don’t know why I was drawn into that house. I suppose I unlawfully entered. Then I touched a lot of things, including the blood in the kitchen. I’m not sure, but I think I killed that bastard in Sarah’s apartment building. Not good.”
Gramps nodded. “You’re in deep.” He put his hands on both boys’ shoulders once again. “You were spellbound; you could not break the incantation. You were unaware of it and not strong enough to do anything about it, and it made you stupid for a time. Unfortunately, white man’s society does not account for the occult within its governance. It will be difficult to prove your innocence. We need to get you low. Josh, you need to take your cousin on a long hunting trip. You need to get lost. Follow the old trapping route that we used to take when you were a teen. If I need to contact you, I will do so at your next checkpoint. Leave something at each one so we can tell where you have been. Leave a pack of matches with a note in it on the window sill. If we can keep you safe long enough, we might be able to figure this mess out. If they catch you now, there will be no chance
, much less a plea bargain.”
Jack interrupted. “I told Perry to contact my aunt in Atlanta. She’s wealthy and she likes me. I know you don’t like my dad or his family, why would you? But she could help. She’s always treated me well.”
Gramps looked at him. “You need as much help as you can get. I once met Rebecca. She is a powerful woman.” He grabbed the sleeve of Jack’s shirt. “Look at this. You are a mess. We will need to get you some clothes. Josh, lend him something of yours.” Josh nodded and left the hut. “We also need to get that leg cleaned up before we send you into the wild. Is it sore?”
“It’s starting to hurt.”
Gramps gestured for him to take his pants off. He left and came back with a bag.
“You know that I’m the village medicine man.” He laughed as he cleaned the wound with some peroxide and then iodine. “I can put a Steri-strip on this for now, but you will need to keep it clean.” He handed Jack a Ziploc bag with some cotton balls and peroxide. “Here’s some antibiotics. Take two a day until the bottle is empty.”
Josh returned with a duffle bag filled with clothing for Jack.
“You’re going to need help, boy. Now you get going. Take Nathan and Bobby with you. Take an airboat to camp, then use kayaks. You’re going to have the police down on you from what I can see on TV. They won’t enter the reserve unless they have a damn good reason, and then only with permission of the council.”
Jack looked to his grandfather in admiration.
Gramps finished his beer. “We’re family here. I know you have been away, but you are blood. There are no coincidences. You were meant to do what you’ve done and be where you are. We will look after each other.” He looked into both of their eyes. “We do not leave anyone behind. We do not surrender; we do not get captured. Are we clear? Family is bigger than the individual. If we had not been negotiating the Clean Water Bill, you would not be mixed up in this mess. We have withstood the US military in three wars; we will prevail.”
Jack blanched. Though he was part Seminole, he never truly felt like he was native. The look in Gramps’s eye drew out something from within him, something primal, something he had never felt before. He smiled. “I am sorry to have brought y’all into this mess.”
“Nonsense. I will say this one last time: there are no coincidences, we were meant to help you.”
Josh stood. “We have been in this mess together for a long time. We are one. I will die for you, Jack. Will you die for me?”
Jack did not hesitate. He grasped his cousin’s arm. “We are one.”
The three men embraced, rocking back and forth.
Gramps looked up to the boys. “There’s a storm brewing. I can feel it in my bones. It’ll hit land in less than two days. Get into the swamp, lay low. Storms are an omen of change, bringers of death and rebirth. It will also help give you cover. You can’t stay here any longer. They will seek you out. I have no doubt that they will be here at daybreak. Be gone. May the strength of our forefathers guide you and keep you strong.”
The old man chanted a few words in the Miccosukee tongue. Jack had not heard the language in years. Though he could only make out a few words, the sound of his grandfather’s voice brought him comfort. The old man pushed them to their knees, his hands upon their heads. “I have placed a ward upon you. Do not fear the devil’s magic for the time being.”
Jack stood. For the first time in several years, he felt like he had made the correct decision. Jack reflected on the past four years. His fall had been gradual, a piece here, a piece there, and then a snowball of events. In hindsight, he could have brought an end to the cycle, yet it never works that way; it’s never that easy. He’d believed he was taking the correct steps by getting a job with Senator Hunter, but it had been that very job that had created the final pen stroke in his fall from grace. When you reach bottom, you have to grab onto something or you die. He had his family.
9
Janie
THE SUN BAKED JANIE’S bare chest. She loved the warmth and the tightness of her skin after getting her daily dose of vitamin D. She had been warned by her dermatologist to be careful. She’d recently had a couple of suspicious spots removed. It’s not that she didn’t care, she just figured she would probably die from lung cancer before melanoma. Her sun worship was an addiction, but what the hell, she had worse vices. Janie had smoked a pack of Marlboro Lights a day, sometimes more, since she was sixteen. What else? She needed a few drinks to start the day, and she loved young men. She had no time for forty- and fifty-somethings with their beer bellies and screwed-up attitudes. She liked the feel of a hard body.
She spied her empty pack of cigs. The thought of smoking and how bad it was for her triggered the addiction response. She opened a new pack and lit up. She drew in the heavy smoke and rolled over. One more won’t make it any worse. Janie worked for Peter Robertson, a criminal lawyer in Bonita Springs. Peter had called her first thing that morning—a big client was coming in, a relative of the man accused of the double homicide in Clewiston, and she needed to be on the ball. She was a little short on cash so she said she’d be there with bells on. Peter relied upon her for his dirty work. Janie had lived in Southwest Florida for nearly thirty years, graduated from law school in Connecticut in the early ‘80s, but had failed to pass the bar exam. She moved to Florida, drawn by the lure of sun and fun. In her twenties, Janie had been a knockout—smart, attractive, the quintessential blonde beach babe. She’d bounced around for a number of years as a bartender, moving from one hot spot to the next, until she hit the wall that most sun seekers reach—no longer young, no net worth, and suffering the toll of booze, late nights and sun. Janie was still attractive, but she looked all of her forty-five years. Her skin was wrinkled and she had a smoker’s voice. Her laughs became coughs, her voice gravelly and no longer sexy.
Janie pulled herself up off the lounge chair and walked into her house. She instinctively reached for the bottle of Stoli that she kept in the freezer. She paused. No, she needed the money, and Peter got upset if she drank during a job. She rolled into the shower, stripping off her string bikini bottoms. Not bad for an old broad, she thought, looking at herself in the mirror. She had a few sags here and there, but plastic surgery worked wonders.
Peter had mentioned that the case was high-profile and she should be on her game when she came in. Janie had built up a reputation as a diligent investigator; she wasn’t necessarily fast, but she would turn over every rock in her path to get what she needed. She knew the beaches, barrier islands, and the stretch between Naples, Fort Myers and Port Charlotte better than most. She had been a party girl, knew what bars to drop into for a quick drink where people would talk, and had an endless stream of friends built up over twenty years of being a socialite.
The client was a woman, so she would need to wear something conservative, nothing too sexy, though she knew Peter liked that look. She decided on a dark blue pantsuit, low black heels, and a simple white top. She dragged a brush through her shoulder length hair, pulled it up into a swish as she called it, and stuck in a clip to hold it in place. A soft muted burgundy lipstick. Perfect.
It was hot. It was always hot in Lehigh Acres. Being five miles inland during the summer was hell. She turned on her car to let the air conditioning do its thing and had another quick smoke while she waited. Janie drove one of her boss’s old BMWs. It was pushing 180,000 miles, but still ran like a charm.
She pulled into the parking lot with a few minutes to spare and lit another cigarette. The drive took the better part of half an hour. When she finished she popped a piece of gum in her mouth, thinking it would mute the smell of cigarette smoke.
Robertson and Robertson was located in one of the myriad taupe stuccoed office buildings that filled up commercial strips throughout southern Florida. She walked through the entrance and saw Peter talking to Myrtle, his secretary of at least twenty-five years. Peter was a nice-looking man for sixty-five, always well-dressed and groomed. His hair still showed a hint of
black, and his eyes sparkled with a quick intelligence.
“Janie darlin’, glad you’re on time. Our potential client should be here soon. Come to my office and I’ll give you a briefing.” He wrinkled up his nose. “I do wish you wouldn’t smoke right before a meeting. It cheapens our image.” Peter spoke with a well-cultivated Southern drawl, which Janie thought was a bit put on at times.
Peter Robertson’s office was large, and like the front office, finished in dark hardwood veneer. Two walls were covered with bookshelves stuffed with an assortment of books, many looking as if they had not been pulled in the last half century. The rest of the wall space was filled with diplomas, pictures, and two large windows. There were several low back green leather chairs spread out in front of a stately mahogany desk.
“Janie. Our client is moneyed, as I have stated, and I suspect a good prospect for the firm. Things have been a bit tight of late.” He smiled calmly. “You look perfect, by the way.”
Janie nodded. Peter could be a dirty old man; she was aware of his eyes running up and down her length. The innuendo was more of a game than anything. Janie respected Jack’s wife Isabel too much to act on the many passes he’d made over the years.
Peter gestured for Janie to sit down in one of the chairs. He didn’t waste any time beginning his briefing. “What do you know about Jackson Walker?”
“Christ. Well, isn’t he that Satanic fuck who murdered a bunch of people out in the swamp? Been all over the news.”
“Okay, you know who we’re talking about. Mrs. Dempsey is Jackson’s aunt; I think she is from Atlanta. She believes the boy has been set up. Now I stress to you that we are under the veil of secrecy and I was asked to sign a confidentiality agreement before she would meet with me. The boy is in hiding. You know damn well that there are dozens of cops on the case by now. The papers and television are on it. The whole goddamn thing is a clusterfuck. But as you know, these cases come along once in a while. It’s not just what we might make from Mrs. Dempsey, but rather . . . the exposure. We need to get my face on television. This could be a decent payday, Janie.
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