Authors: C. R. Daems
What's wrong, Hector? You gone
pussy! Maybe, I should lead the Locos against the 666," Scab said
grinning, which resembled a gargoyle's expression, as the left side of his face
didn't match the right. The scar had damaged the nerves and couldn't respond to
match the other side. The Locos stepped back, giving Scab and Hector room.
Hector smiled.
"I'll tell you what, Scab.
I'll give you a chance to lead the Locos if I'm wrong. I say we'll lose if we
meet the MS666 as planned." He held up his hand to stop comments. "Banger
and Knife will go to Louis Armstrong Park midday tomorrow. Banger will find
someplace on St. Ann Street. Knife, you'll find someplace on St. Phillips
Street."
"Why so early?" Banger
asked.
"So that we know if they are
setting up a trap and to see what we will be facing. If it's the twenty-five
they claimed and they have no heavy guns, Scab can lead the Locos."
"If not?" Scab asked.
"Then you'll know why Hector
leads the Locos." Hector knew it was a risk, but Mambo Renee was a
powerful priestess. She had cursed him, used magic to beat Banner and Knife,
which saved his position in the Locos, and overcame
Kweku's black magic. Hector grinned, "Everyone be here at six. We'll
be meeting the 666 but not when they or Scab think."
The next day, Locos wandered in and out of the Barracks Street gang
house. For a change, the drinking was light in anticipation of the coming
rumble that night. But the bedroom remained busy all day, and the gang's girls
looked exhausted by the time night descended on the house.
Around ten the gangs' members began playing with their guns, loading
clips, pointing them at objects, stroking them. At nine, the phone rang. Hector
picked it up.
"Yeah?" He stood there for several minutes, then smiled.
"Stay with them, I want to know where they go."
Hector went to the refrigerator and opened a beer before coming out and sitting
down next to the phone. He ignored the fact that everyone was staring at him. Two
hours later the phone rang again.
"Yeah?" Hector listened. "Stay with them."
When he hung up, everyone was standing, looking ready to go. Hector laughed
long and hard.
"Well, Scab. The 666 number around forty. Twenty of them came early
and hid. They had automatic weapons and vests. The ones arriving now look to
have only guns, but Knife said they looked like they had vests on."
"We'd all be dead meat, if..." Little Al, almost the size of a
bison, looked at Scab, whose eyes searched the room finding only hostile eyes
staring back. Hector sat back and took a swig of beer reveling in the victory. Renee
had saved his life and cemented his position in the Locos. He owed her.
Early the next morning the Locos struck. They killed fifteen, wounded
another ten, and confiscated many of their weapons and drugs. Only three Locos
were killed and four wounded. The French Quarter remained Loco territory.
* * *
Business remained slow over the next week. Only my fortunetelling kept
the store from going in the red. At Granny's insistence, I had taken several
basic accounting and business courses, although, at the time, I hadn't seen the
necessity. Now I realized that without them, the business wouldn't have
survived. The store operated on a small profit if managed properly. There was
little margin for error. Too much inventory and I'd be running a debt I
couldn't afford, and with too little I wouldn't have enough to turn a profit.
Basically, the store broke even or turned a small profit each month selling commercial
things such as candles, knick-knacks, books on Voodoo and New Orleans, voodoo dolls,
gris-gris bags and charms I made. The real profit came from selling herbs and
fortunetelling.
But I was content with my life. My congregation was growing again. I had lost
several when Granny died, but some had returned and four new individuals had
joined. The new members gave me the most satisfaction. I believe in God and
thought Vodou a good way to honor him—or her—and it felt wonderful
helping others find comfort and peace in their lives. For now, I used the Woldenberg
Park on the river but hoped someday I could have a dedicated place of my own
like Monique.
When I looked up at my small, battery driven clock on the wall, it was
nearly eight p.m., and my new client would be due any minute. I put away my
ledgers and went into the store just in time to hear a knock at the door. The
woman had said she heard about me indirectly from one of my clients, a Mr. Harry
Bishop, who ran a small nightclub in the French Quarter called the Blue Sax.
She gave her name as Ms. Ellen Jeffery and looked to be in her early thirties.
I didn't need to press for details about her jobs, where she lived, etc., since
I didn't need any hints about the person as a fake would. On the surface, she
was a professional of some kind, judging by her neat appearance and expensive
clothes, and single since she wasn't wearing a ring. Her dark brown hair was
neck length and curly, which made her angular face look narrower. Her figure was
trim but nicely curved.
"Good evening, Ms. Jeffery," I said as she entered. She had an
attractive smile that seemed a bit practiced.
"You can call me Ellen, Renee." She paused to give me an
appraising look, then nodded. "You're very young for a mambo."
"In age but not for the length of time I've spent preparing and the
Asogwe I've had for a mentor and teacher."
She nodded, evaluating me against some criteria.
"Yes, like most professions, it's not age but talent that determines
a person's worth. I wouldn't normally go to a fortuneteller, since I think most
are...entertainers selling us what we all want—to know the future. But you
come highly recommended." She produced a hundred dollar bill and handed it
to me. "This is yours unconditionally whether you're an entertainer or
real." She held up her hand to stop me from replying, although I hadn't
intended to say anything. "I know you can't say you're an entertainer
without ruining your business, but I would rather not waste my time hearing
stories. So I'll leave and say nothing, unless you tell me not to.
I couldn't help but wonder what a fake would do now. Would she let the
woman walk out the door or would she try to convince her she wasn't? Worse yet,
what should I do? I'm walking through a mine field with Ken and Sheila sniffing
around.
Oh, shit!
I pointed to the
table.
"There are many possible futures. I can only tell you the one I see."
There that should do it for a real or
fake fortuneteller.
"That's very clever. That works for both," Ellen said,
repeating my thoughts. But she proceeded to the table and sat. "All right,
I'll play."
"Please place your hands on the table, palms down." When she
did, I sat placing mine over hers. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't say
anything. I sat watching the days spin by. Ellen worked in an office, with a
door, good furniture, and a window with a view of New Orleans, which meant she
worked in the business district. She also lived in a very expensive apartment.
No accidents occurred, nothing seemed wrong at work, but she seemed to be upset
at almost random times. Then it clicked—she was being stalked.
"I can't tell who, I can only see you, and nothing will happen over
the next several weeks." I said, deep in thought about what I had seen,
and how it had affected her. When she jerked her hands free of mine, I snapped
back to the present.
"You saw! Tell me more!"
"I'm sorry. I can't affect what I see. I see what I see." I'd
had probably said too much already. I wanted to help, but too much would get me
noticed by the wrong people. I didn't think Ellen was associated with Ken or Sheila's
crowd based on what I saw, but... Ellen sat quietly staring at me with those
beautiful green eyes, her hands folded just under her chin.
"How long...safe?"
"Four weeks," I said, thinking I had seen at least six to seven
weeks out.
"If you’re a fake, you're good. But I can't take the chance you
aren't." She rose deep in thought, trance-like, and headed for the door.
There she stopped with the door open. "Make me another appointment for
four weeks from today."
After she left, I sat thinking for the hundredth time that I needed a set
of rules or guidelines for fortunetelling. I wanted to help people with my gift,
but I didn't want it misused. Maybe fortunetelling wouldn't be too bad if I
could convince people I didn't see everything. It was the ability to change the
future that would be the real problem. I needed rules, but I couldn't write
them down because of Ken and others poking around. Just when I thought I was
getting my life back on track, Hector, Locos, Ken, Sheila, and who knew what
else were threatening to derail it.
* * *
The following week, Hector entered my shop as I opened, which confirmed
once again that my life had gotten complicated.
"Mambo Renee," he said placing a hundred dollar bill on my
counter, "You saved the Locos. You bad...powerful mambo. If you need
anything, the Locos will help."
I hoped he wasn't going to spread that around--Locos helping me! The
residents would probably run me out of town. I didn't want to be friends with
the Locos, just to keep them from hurting me. And if he spreads the story about
the MS666... My head felt like a hundred people were playing handball inside
and using my skull as a wall. What next? I was glad I couldn't tell my future.
The present was bad enough. The rest of the day crept by. Without a steady flow
of customers, I had too much time to think and nothing good to think about. I
did manage to sell a few good-luck charms and closed a half hour early in
anticipation of my biweekly client, Oatha. I defrosted some leftover
Chicken
Jambalaya
and dressed in a long gown
and headdress. I know Oatha didn't care, but it put me in the right mood. I found
it amusing because it was exactly what I'd expect a fake to do.
A few minutes to seven, Oatha arrived. As usual, her round face was
smiling, and her eyes sparkling. As long as I had known her, she always seemed
happy and enjoyed people. Although she loved to talk, she didn't gossip.
"Good evening, Renee. I like you in that blue pattern dress and head
wrap. It helps to fill you out a bit. You need more meat on you if you don't
mind me saying."
"I wouldn't mind a little extra in the right places, but I'm afraid
it would settle in all the wrong ones."
"You have a point. Just have to accept what God gave you. I've good
news. My sister is planning on getting married. She asked me if you would
conduct a wedding ceremony. Will you?" she said, taking my hand in hers
and staring at me with big, brown puppy eyes. For a moment, I was speechless.
Although I knew how to conduct the ceremony, I had never done one. Worse, I've
never been married but would have to counsel the couple prior to the ceremony.
Although priests who were celibate did it all the time, that didn't help to make
me feel any more confident. All I could do was to do my best.
"I'd be happy to. You know they will have to have several sessions
with me, prior to the ceremony?"
"Yes, thank you, Renee. I'll send Elva around to make the necessary
arrangements with you. She's been talking about joining your congregation for
months. Her fiancée, Gualter, belongs to another group, but he has heard a lot
about you and wants them to join your group."
"Tell her to come around anytime." The more I thought about it,
the more I was looking forward to the experience. I wanted to help people, and
this seemed like an ideal opportunity. As I considered the idea, she sat down
preparing for our session.
"Funny thing happened yesterday. A woman came by asking about
fortunetellers. She said she was having marital problems and heard I visited a
local one. She said most she had visited over the years were fakes, telling you
what you wanted to hear. When I mentioned you, she asked all sorts of questions
about what you had told me and how it had worked out. I told her I thought you were
real and told her about you seeing Virgil having a good month and how I would
benefit. That was all right, wasn't it?"
"Of course."
What else
could I say?
I wanted new customers, just not certain customers. "I
think I met her the other day. What did she look like?"
"A little shorter than you, thin, short light brown hair, and
dressed casually."
As I thought—Sheila. And I'd bet Ken was talking with my male
clients. I could only hope the information they got was inconclusive in determining
whether I was real or a fake. Unfortunately, I doubted it proved me a fake.
Shit.
I sat and placed my hands over
Oatha's and watched as the next few weeks scrolled past, with little of
interest happening.
"I'm happy to say your life looks good for the next several weeks.
You probably won't win the lottery, but there won't be any major
problems."
"I don't play the lottery— you know that, don't you." She
laughed and produced a big smile. "I'll send Elva around to see you. Thank
you, Renee."
* * *
True to her word, two days later Elva stopped in just after noon. She was
a petite young woman, with Oatha's round face and warm smile.
"Mambo Renee?" she said, as she approached the counter. I
nodded. "I'm Oatha's baby sister. She said you agreed to conduct a wedding
ceremony for me and Gualter. He's heard a lot about you."