One Blood (38 page)

Randy tried to process the pilot’s words. The hurricane was headed to Lake City? Karen was still at the LCPD? People were rioting?

He watched Melinda Weeps come alive in the foreground as the wind whipped through the leaves. There appeared to be an ominous red aura surrounding the tree.

“
Will you need me for anything else, Governor? I’ve got to get this chopper back to Baton Rouge before it’s too late.”

Randy got out of the helicopter transfixed, by the glowing tree in his yard. As the chopper lifted off, he reflected on the pilot’s words. Things were finally starting to make sense. Isaac was tracking him, though he couldn’t tell if it was Isaac the hurricane or the slave Luc Lafitte had hung from the branches of Melinda Weeps. Not that it mattered.

What mattered was that his father had actually killed himself that night. And Randy had sacrificed his own son’s life to this godforsaken curse as well. Karen would not suffer the same fate. It was time to end this. Randy strode toward his home, knowing what had to be done.

* * * * *

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Angola, LA

The Louisiana State Penitentiary complex was a study in organized confusion. But that was prison. Jhonnette was just happy she wasn’t outside in the stifling heat like the inmates she’d seen working the expansive fields.

Who needs a time machine? All I ever needed to know about slavery is right here.

She walked into the Reception Center, a small building set up like an airport security checkpoint. It was empty except for two guards. “Where is everybody?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“
Big storm’s comin’.”

They x-rayed and searched her belongings. The guard took extra pleasure in patting her down.

“
You should get a job at the airport,” she said to the guard as he disassembled her laptop bag and purse. “Terrorists wouldn’t stand a chance against you.”

The guard smirked, giving sign of an actual human heart beating beneath that navy blue uniform.

Jhonnette desperately tried to distract him from finding the note Lincoln had told her to get to a trustee named Bishop.

“
He’ll be the old, toothless, bald guy sweeping up around there,”
Lincoln had said.
“All you have to do is make sure the guard doesn’t find this note. For your sake, I hope it’s Combs’ day off. He is one meticulous motherfucker.”

Unless Combs made her pull down her panties, he’d never find the note. Lincoln was right though, this guy wasn’t messing around.

“
So what’s the deal with this storm?” she asked the more relaxed guard at the confiscation desk. He was staring at her as if she were a T-bone at a backyard barbecue.

“
It’s Category Four right now, or whatever that means. Prob’ly gonna hit close to Baton Rouge sometime tonight.”

“
What if it comes this way?” she asked.

“
Warden has to make that call. Evacuating five thousand killers ain’t no easy task, you feel me?”

“
I can imagine.”

“
No, you cain’t,” a thin voice said from behind her.

Jhonnette turned and faced an older black man about her height. His head was bald, his eyes yellow and jaundiced. After looking her over for a second, he revealed a toothless grin.

“
Had us a big stohm a coupla yers back, maybe twinty yers ago. Warden dint evacuate. Quite a few of da boys in her drount.”

“
Shut up and go on ahead with that crap, Bishop,” the guard replied.

Bishop gave the man a cursory glance and focused on Jhonnette. “You shouldn’t even be her,” he warned. “Dis stohm gonna make dat un look like a summa drizzle.”

“
Really? Wow.” If he was right, Jhonnette would be trapped inside a prison during a hurricane with thousands of crazed lunatics. Still, she wasn’t fazed.

Panama X will protect me.

Other than the letters between her mother and Malcolm Wright, Jhonnette had no physical evidence to prove he was her father. But she’d known the moment she’d seen him during the River Boat bombings trial that they were blood, and when Panama X saw her, he would know, too.

It was clear from her mother’s letters that she thought him a great man. There had been no angry or bitter messages—just undying faith that he would one day return to her.

Jhonnette would bring him home. Right after she neutralized Moses Mouton.

“
Hey,” she said, turning back to the guard. “How much longer?”

“
Any minute now, Boo. Warden’s just finishing up a meeting.”

“
Can I, you know…is there a bathroom in here?”

“
It’s right ova heah, Miss,” Bishop replied. He pointed toward a bland brick wall.

Jhonnette quickly stashed a pen in her pocket before the guard took her things. The door had no lock on the inside; she figured she had about five minutes before the guards came knocking. She unzipped her skirt, revealing pink panties that covered the note, warm from her body heat. She transposed the message onto the toilet paper.

She was ushered into the warden’s office twenty minutes later. He sat behind a modest desk, poring over a series of maps.

The warden greeted her with a look of unguarded lust. “Well, hello there,” he said, clearing his throat. “What can I do for you?”

She took a seat. “What have you got there?” she asked, pointing at the maps.

“
Oh these? These are just some things I’m working on. Not important. Now what can I do for you again, Miss—”

“
Mouton. Jhonnette Mouton. I drove up from Lake City to see about my father, Moses.”

“
Well, it looks like you picked a decent day to get out of the city.”

“
What’s that supposed to mean?”

The warden smirked. “Take a look-see at this here satellite photo.” He slid a map-sized photo across his desk.

It was a diagram depicting the size and projected path of Hurricane Isaac. A deep feeling of unease settled into the pit of her belly. The storm was on a collision course for Lake City. Was this Amir’s doing as well?

“
Oh,” was all she managed.

“
Oh shit, you mean?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Now, Miss Mouton, my time is very short. You said you were Moses Mouton’s daughter?”

“
That’s right. How is he?”

The warden crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s being treated in the hospital as we speak.”

“
When can I visit him?”

“
I’m terribly sorry, Miss Mouton, but I can’t allow that. My assistant will contact you after your father has been moved. It is not safe for you to be in the prison. Some of these animals would love nothing more than to rape a pretty girl like you. So, once again, I’m saying this as nice as I possibly can, you need to leave.”

Jhonnette and Lincoln had discussed the high likelihood she would get kicked out of the prison without seeing Moses. But Jhonnette was not easily deterred. The warden was no match for her powers of persuasion.

Jhonnette locked into the warden’s eyes and pushed a thought at him:
This will become a public relations nightmare.

Next, she amplified his anxiety, showing him the National Guard swarming into the prison, taking over as thousands of angry citizens, screamed for his resignation.

The warden flinched as the thoughts flew at him. His pupils dilated as the images played in his mind’s eye.

“
Warden, I’m not going to take no for an answer,” Jhonnette said emphatically. “I know people. Important people. People who can make life difficult for you. Neither of us wants that, right?” She smiled sweetly. “I want to see my father. Now.”

Minutes later, Jhonnette stepped out of his office, escorted by a young prison guard. As they walked toward the infirmary, a sudden image flashed of Panama X being zipped up in a body bag. Jhonnette’s breath caught in her throat.

No!

She was reminded of the time she’d healed Randy Lafitte and learned of his relationship with her mother. The feeling of knowing was unshakable. Jhonnette desperately tried to deny what she’d seen, but knew it was the image of her father as the Warden had seen him.

How had this happened? Was Moses Mouton involved?

Picking up the pace, she realized just how right Bishop had been. There was a huge storm coming Angola’s way. This time, however, there would be no survivors. If something had happened to Panama X, Jhonnette would make sure of it.

* * * * *

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Six years earlier

1998

New Orleans, LA

Moses descended into a room that contained a bullpen that once held slaves prior to auction. The air was thick with the stench of mildew and rot. The only light emanated from a small crack in the door behind him. If the boogeyman had a hideout, this would be it.

He spotted the real boogeyman sitting against the far wall. “Malcolm,” Moses called into the black.

Nothing returned. Moses took a few cautious steps in Malcolm’s direction.

“
Stop right there,” a gravelly voice commanded.

“
Malcolm, it’s Moses.”

A sigh from the wall. “So you’ve finally come to save me, that it?”

“
Only God can save you, Malcolm, you know that.”

A curious pause and then, “Truer words were never spoken.”

He’s mocking me? Under these circumstances. The man is amazing.

“
So how long do we have, Moses?”

“
It’s not a question of time, but more a question of how we utilize what’s been allotted to us. You remember who said that?”

“
Of course I remember. And I remember how little Walter did with what he had. What a waste!” Malcolm spat on the packed earth that constituted the floor of his cell.

Moses reminded himself to stay calm. Malcolm always knew how to push his buttons.

“
So you’re here to do what exactly?” Malcolm asked. “Gloat? Offer sage advice? Or perhaps some misguided spiritual counseling?”

“
Living on the lam has made you bitter, Malcolm. Or maybe it’s just the reality of finally getting caught. What do you think?”

“
You should know better than that, Tabs.”

As a joke, Malcolm had nicknamed Moses “Tabs”—short for stone tablets. He’d invented the name after Moses became a minister.

Malcolm continued, “I’m here of my own free will, of sound body and mind. My conscience is clear. Yours, I’m afraid, is not. I can smell your guilt and regret from here.”

“
Guilt? What do you know about guilt? You’ve been a sociopath for as long as I’ve known you!”

Dammit, he pulled me in again.
Moses took a deep breath to calm down.

“
Don’t confuse my lack of sorrow for lack of conscience, Tabs. The difference between us is that I’ve found a way to make peace with my past, while you continue to drown in the world’s blood. You’re wondering what I’m up to, yes?”

Moses nodded at the darkness.

“
We all atone in different ways, Brother. I’ve got to atone for my sins of arrogance, pride, and wrath. It’s just my time.”

“
But why now? And why did you try to kill Lafitte?”

“
Because it’s time for me to go where I’m most needed.”

Moses laughed out loud. “You always were great at justifying your actions, you know that?”

“
Where you see justification, I see purpose. Something that you’ve clearly lost over the years. But not from a lack of trying. No sir! Take Lincoln Baker for instance…what a great deed! You must’ve felt like a true angel for taking on that challenge. You think you’re serving the greater good but all you’re doing is creating tomorrow’s heartache, tomorrow’s cautionary tale, tomorrow’s regret. I’m no saint, but at least I’ve lived a regret-free existence. First Walter, and now you. Do-gooders doomed to fail due to a lack of purpose—”

“
That’s enough!” Moses commanded. “I’m not here so you can unload your anger and frustration on me. I’m here to warn you…stay away from my son. Stay the hell away from him!”

Now it was Malcolm’s turn to laugh. “You came all the way down here for that? Man, you really are lost, aren’t you? Tabs, there are things in motion here that you could never understand. I won’t have to bother Lincoln. When the time comes, he’ll seek me out. I’ll teach him the meaning of purpose. And when the Big Picture becomes clear to you, Tabs, which I hope it will in time, you will understand the power of my purpose as well. And as usual, you’ll be too late to stop it…”

* * * * *

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Angola, LA

A nearby commotion awoke Moses. His vision was blurry, but he didn’t need eyes to know Angola had him in its bloody clutches once more. He was lying on a hard bed inside the R.E. Barrow Treatment Center, the place where only the very unfortunate few survived. The lucky majority were unceremoniously buried in Point Lookout Cemetery, their crimes forgiven if not forgotten.