One Blood (12 page)

The guard, Amir, planted a palm on Lincoln’s chest, pushing him against the wall. “Easy, Lincoln.”

As Lincoln prepared to snap the guard’s wrist, Panama X intervened. “Let him go, Amir. He’s not going to cause trouble. Right, Lincoln?”

Lincoln and Amir stared each other down for a moment, then Amir backed down.

“
There’s really no need to be rude, Brother Baker,” Panama X said. “I meant no offense, believe me. It is truly an honor to meet you.” Panama X extended his hand.

Lincoln stared at it like it was a loaded weapon, then reluctantly grasped the man’s strong, smooth hand.

“
You know, Brother Baker,” Panama X whispered, “the handshake has destroyed more civilizations than any weapon.”

“
Brother Baker?” Lincoln asked, dropping his hand to his side. “There you go wit’ that Moslem crap. I ain’t got no brothers that don’t wear the red and black.”

“
Well, you’ve got one more now,” Amir interjected, staring at Lincoln intently. He pointed to the center of his chest. “But we wear the red on the inside, know what I mean?”

Lincoln’s muscles tightened and twisted beneath his clothes as he prepared to give the guard an old-fashioned Dirty Skulls beat down just for daring to suggest what he was suggesting.

Panama X continued, “It truly is a shame that we all have to meet like this.”

Lincoln’s head was a mess. “What the fuck are ya’ll talkin’ ‘bout?”

Panama X gave Amir a slight nod.

“
We don’t have much time,” Amir said. “I took this job inside Angola to make sure my Pops—” he leaned in Panama X’s direction, “—was taken care of.”

Lincoln looked between the two of them and finally saw the resemblance.

“
But that’s not the only reason I’m here,” Amir continued. “I’m also here to find my half-brother.” He pressed a crumpled piece of paper into Lincoln’s hand. “Take this.”

“
Keep an open mind, Lincoln,” Panama X said. “When you’re ready, you know how to find me.”

With that, Amir and Panama X walked away, leaving Lincoln alone and more confused than ever.

Lincoln waited until he got back to his cell before unfolding the note. The spidery handwriting on the wrinkled paper was difficult to read but Lincoln’s rage made it nearly impossible:

My Dearest Lincoln,

God, I never believed I would be writing a letter like this one. I never believed I would find you and have the opportunity to reach out to you in any way. I’m sure you must be confused by everything happening right now. The only thing I ask is that you read this whole letter before you decide to destroy it. Please.

My name is Juanita Barber and I am your mother. I used to go by Juanita Simmons, but that was a lifetime ago, back when I was married to your father, Walter Simmons.

I know I haven’t been a mother to you and I’m sure you’re asking yourself, why now? Why after all these years am I just now hearing from this woman?

Lincoln, baby, I knew the truth the moment I saw you on my television screen looking at me with my own lips and nose. At first I thought, how is this possible? How am I seeing someone that looks so much like he came from me, yet I don’t even know him? But I knew, Lincoln. I suppose I’ve always known.

Lincoln, I’ve been looking for you your whole life. I lost you shortly after you were born, but I never gave up the hope of one day finding you…

It was too much for Lincoln. He covered his eyes with his hands as the letter drifted to the floor of his cell.

Lincoln had always wondered about his real mother and father. His entire life had been filled with strangers standing in as family. But now he held a letter given to him by a man claiming to be his half-brother, written by a woman claiming to be his biological mother. For some reason the name Simmons kept ringing in his ears, but the only Simmons he knew was…Simmons Park.

Goosebumps erupted all over his body and black stars descended over his vision. He couldn’t breathe. Overcome by foreign emotions, he kicked at the stone walls of his cell, overturned his cot, and knocked his few material possessions off the sink before falling to the floor, gasping for air.

The next day, determined to get to the bottom of things, Lincoln called Moses.

“
Hello?” a boyish voice greeted.

“
Brandon?” Lincoln asked, a little choked up. He hadn’t spoken to his adopted brother in what seemed like forever. “It’s Lincoln.”

“
Hold on.”

A moment later, Moses picked up the line. “Lincoln?”

“
Hey. I can’t believe that was Brandon.”

“
Yeah, he’s getting bigger every day. I’ll send you a picture.”

Lincoln couldn’t even imagine it. “That would be great. He’s still not talking to me though.”

“
Give him time, Lincoln—he’ll come around. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until Sunday. What’s going on?”

Lincoln thought about nixing the whole conversation, but then forged ahead, telling Moses everything Panama X and Amir had said. He was certain Moses would write the whole thing off as fiction.

Instead, Moses said, “So they finally found you.”

Lincoln tried to contain his anger, but it grew more difficult with each breath. “Wait a minute, you knew about all this?”

“
I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, Son. I just thought…well it doesn’t matter now.”

“
So, wait, this is real?”

“
I can’t tell you if this Amir is related to you or not, but yes, you are Juanita’s son.”

Lincoln couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “And what does Panama X have to do with this?”

“
I don’t know, but Panama X is not to be trusted, you hear me? He only told you all this because he wants something from you.”

“
What? What could he possibly want from me?”

“
That’s what scares me, Son. Scares me to death. My advice: steer clear of him and this Amir character. I’ll try to track down Juanita and clear this whole thing up. Can you hold on for me?”

“
Well, what else am I gonna do? I’ve got nothing but time.”

* * * * *

Chapter Fifteen

Saturday

Lake City, LA

Randy sat at his desk in the Governor’s office. His face contorted as he re-read the passage from
The Pirate King
:

Overwhelmed with grief over his daughter Melinda’s suicide, Luc Lafitte killed himself at the base of their live oak tree, just three days after her death. There was another prevailing theory as to what had overcome Luc, however. The slaves whispered about a voodoo curse…

He looked up, dazed, and stared at the framed photo of Kristopher and Karen, taken when Kristopher was fifteen and Karen was five. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since Randy’s last contact with Snake, and still no word.

The kidnappers had given Randy plenty to keep himself busy. The Pardon Board had convened earlier that morning in an emergency Saturday session and voted in favor of releasing Lincoln Baker. Not that it had been easy. Randy had been forced to proffer exorbitant favors—the currency of politics. This was after he’d lined their pockets, of course, and promised that Baker would never actually see the light of day.

Randy’s thoughts turned to his wife’s mental state. Coral had been practically catatonic since learning of Karen’s disappearance. Episodes like this hadn’t exactly been rare since Kristopher’s death, but it did demand additional attention on Randy’s part. Attention he did not have to spare.

“
You really have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, do you?”

Madame Deveaux’s admonishment continued to torment him after all these years. But it had all been a ruse, hadn’t it?

There is no curse. I was used by the fortune teller. She hired someone to kill my father.

Someone rapped on his office door. It was one of the mail boys.

“
Delivery, sir.”

“
Bring it on in, Chase.” Randy prided himself on his ability to recall names. Randy signed the release form and tore open the envelope. It contained a single DVD. There was no note.

“
Chase, do you mind setting this up in the DVD player for me?” Randy had never been good with technology.

Chase made it happen and left Randy’s office as soon as the video started. At first there was nothing to see, just a pitch-black screen. Then Randy detected a faint bass drum pulsing in a rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum rhythm. Next, the screen filled with an extreme close-up of his daughter’s face.

Randy leaped from his chair in shock.

Karen’s hair was a dirty blond mop atop her head, her eyes half-open and rolled all the way back. Dried blood lay suspended between her nose and the top of her mouth, her lips curled into a lazy smirk as if she were in on a private joke.

A deep voice off camera began chanting.

“
Say hey!

Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the sword.

Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.

Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the sword.

Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.

Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.

But the blood is marked for him.

I say hey! I’m going to vomit blood, it’s true.

Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the sword.

Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.

Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.

My blood is flowing, Dantò, I’m going to vomit blood.

My blood is flowing, Ezili, I’m going to vomit blood.

My blood is flowing, Karen, you’re going to vomit blood.”

Each time the speaker said, “I’m going to vomit blood,” a dark, viscous substance that looked a lot like blood was liberally sprinkled over Karen’s head and face. Throughout the dousing, Karen’s facial expression never changed.

The speed and volume of the drums increased, becoming like a frantic tachycardia. Scattered shouts and moans punctuated pauses, creating a cacophony of chaos.

The drums abruptly stopped.

The speaker said, “Kristopher Lafitte, come forth. We welcome you back to the realm of the living.”

Karen’s head, which had been listing to the left, straightened. She started convulsing and frothing at the mouth, as if in the midst of a powerful seizure. Then, as suddenly as it began, the seizure stopped. Karen’s chin dropped to her chest.

A conch shell rang out from the silence.

Karen raised her head in response. She stretched her neck in a circular motion and then stopped dead center. Her eyes opened.

Randy covered his mouth. Karen’s hazel eyes were gone.

Randy stared into the piercing blue eyes of his long dead son, Kristopher. Any hope he’d reserved was replaced by a cold, murderous rage.

The voice continued, “Kristopher Lafitte, I permit you to leave the door of the spirit world. Look upon my enemy, Randy Lafitte, who deserves just punishment. Torture Randy Lafitte in the following nights with the worst dreams. Make him writhe in pain, fear, and illness. After fulfilling your task, you will return to your world and this door will close. Thank you for your services. Be it so!”

The screen went blank.

After a while, Randy got up and reluctantly replayed the video. But this time he looked for any signs of trickery or tampering. You could do anything with digital technology these days. He probably would have watched it the rest of the day if Snake hadn’t called.

“
Snake,” Randy answered, trying to control the tremor in his voice. “For your sake you better have found her.”

“
Yup, Boss. I found Jhonnette Deveaux. What’s the plan?”

Randy’s mind returned to the image of those crazed blue eyes screaming out of his daughter’s head.

“
Boss? You okay?”

“
Yes. Of course. Have Miss Deveaux meet me in New Orleans first thing in the morning. And make sure you have those other things I asked for.”

“
Sure thing, Boss. But I tell ya, this little chicky is a tough one. How you gonna get her to talk?”

Randy smiled grimly, seeing Madame Deveaux’s face in his mind’s eye. “That’s not going to be a problem. Just make sure she shows up.”

* * * * *

Chapter Sixteen

Sunday

New Orleans, LA

Jhonnette Deveaux entered the Presidential Suite at the New Orleans Sheraton. A large, burly bodyguard ushered her through the door into an expansive sitting room.