One Blood (5 page)

Randy scribbled the numbers on the back of an old business card.

“
Read the number back to me.”

Randy complied.

“
Can you guess what the number is for?”

“
Enlighten me.”

“
It’s a prison ID. Specifically, the ID of a VIP—very important prisoner. He’s a lifer at the Louisiana State Penitentiary. He is going to walk out of Angola at precisely eight o’clock Monday morning. If he doesn’t…do I need to say the rest?”

Angola?

Randy wracked his brain to place the prison ID number. Why did it sound so familiar? “Listen, I want to help you, but what you’re asking is impossible. Do you have any idea how long it takes to pardon someone? There’s a process. Public hearings with witnesses and lawyers. Committees that have to meet and vote…”

“
Not my problem. You’ve got the weekend to get it done. Also, don’t involve the police any more than you already have and don’t even think of calling the FBI or I will send your daughter’s severed head to the Capitol. I don’t think that would be very good PR, Governor.”

Bill was right. I should have traced this call. I would have his location right now for sure
…

“
You still with me, Randy?”

“
Yes. Yes, I’m still here.”

“
Good. I know what you must be thinking, but it wouldn’t have done any good. I can’t be traced or tracked. Technology is amazing, isn’t it? For every scud missile, there’s a patriot missile on the other side. For every police radar, a scrambler. And for every puppeteer, a very pissed off puppet. Let me reiterate, Randy, this isn’t about the money—”

“
Bullshit! It’s always about the money with you people!” Randy yelled, immediately regretting his outburst.

“
You should think of the money as a security deposit,” the kidnapper replied calmly. “Let me be clear. This is NOT about money. That would be too easy for slime like you.
This
is punishment.”

Randy’s instincts kicked in.
Keep him talking. Make him give something away. Something you can use to cinch the noose around his fucking throat
.

“
You keep saying that,” Randy probed. “What am I being punished for? Why are you doing this?”

“
That’s for me to know and for you to agonize over. But I will leave you with this: From this moment forward, you are
my
puppet and I am pulling
your
strings. I am going to make you do things you never imagined. Think back to when you first started manipulating the strings in your favor. Take your motivations at that point in time, multiplied one hundred fold, and you might come close to my level of hatred toward you. Consider yourself exceptionally fortunate that unlike you,
my
beliefs will not allow me to spill blood without provocation. But do not try me. This is one election you can’t steal. Get a good night’s sleep, Governor. You’re going to need it.”

The line went dead.

Randy stared at the phone for a long moment, the conversation replaying over and over in his mind. Finally, he hung up and returned to his car.

He’d never smoked anything in his life but was overcome with a maddening desire to inhale cigarette after cigarette. And there wasn’t enough alcohol in this entire god forsaken city to numb his pain. As he started the vehicle and headed home, he frantically combed through his memories for any clue as to who could be doing this.

Confront the brutal facts. Focus on what you can control. Be proactive.

* * * * *

The answer came just before he climbed into bed. He nearly collapsed under the weight of the memory. Suddenly, it all made sense.

“
This is one election you can’t steal.”

Randy looked over at his sleeping wife in alarm, as if she might wake up from the enormity of his revelation. But she stayed asleep, oblivious to how the room had suddenly started spinning beneath them.

She has no idea who I really am. And she never will.

The kidnapper had given him a major clue to his identity, but Randy needed to confirm his suspicions. He texted the prison ID number to Snake and ordered him to get the prisoner’s name as quickly as possible. Then he swallowed a couple of Coral’s sleeping pills, trying unsuccessfully to close the portal to his past. He doubted that even the miracles of modern medicine could drag him into unconsciousness after a day like this; but soon he passed into a fitful sleep, where his demons eagerly embraced him.

* * * * *

Chapter Six

39 Years Earlier

1963

New Orleans, LA

Randy stepped out of the air-conditioned womb of the hotel into the kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, and smells that made up his favorite street in his favorite city. He paused under the hotel awning, rubbing his hand through sandy blond hair, his clipped nails unconsciously brushing the still sensitive scar. His father had dropped him on his head as a baby—the first of many injuries. Randy wasn’t a baby anymore, though, and the delights of Bourbon Street beckoned.

It was near dusk. The French Quarter was ablaze with the orange glow of electric lamps. The thick, sticky air hung suspended like spider webs of moisture, flavored by an eye-watering aromatic stew of magnolia, urine, cayenne pepper, and exhaust fumes. Randy’s virgin ears buzzed with dusky jazz and blues melodies echoing down a street too narrow to contain the soulful yet sorrowful notes. The foot traffic of hundreds of thirsty, starving visitors—beckoned by the holy trinity of cheap booze, cheap (yet exotic) eats, and cheap thrills—replaced automobile traffic.

Randy was here for none of these, although a few drinks would probably help ease his self-consciousness. He stood out like an aristocrat among the groveling masses in his blue blazer, polo shirt, and khakis, but knew the uniform would please his father. After all, Randy’s father was footing the bill for this little excursion, even though he was in the dark about Randy’s real reason for wanting to come to New Orleans.

To keep up the façade of a celebratory party trip to the Big Easy, Randy had brought his partner in adolescent crime, Bill Edwards, along for the mission. Bill was a physical Adonis whose mental faculties were not much more advanced than a statue. His simple, go-with-the-flow attitude made him the perfect traveling companion.

After the four and a half hour train ride from the heel of their boot-shaped state, into the big toe, Randy and Bill checked into the luxurious suite Joseph had reserved for today’s dual celebration of Randy’s graduation from boarding school and his eighteenth birthday. Atop the dresser his father had left them a stack of cash and a note instructing the boys to explore the city. He’d try to meet them for a late dinner.

As the young men passed throngs of street musicians, hippy hustlers, and tourist shops, Randy considered New Orleans’ deceptive nature, the gluttonous beast beneath the cultured veneer. The city reminded him of a decrepit venus fly trap, opening up her decaying petals to emit what was left of her allure. Randy could relate to that kind of deception and duality.

For an instant, Randy felt the presence of something dark, wet, hairy, and profoundly hungry stalking him. He looked over at Bill to see if any of this was registering.

His taller, bulkier buddy gestured excitedly at a sign advertising penny peep shows. “Check this out, Ran!” Bill whipped his head around and gaped at an attractive blonde who looked around their age. The girl glanced over her shoulder and gave Randy a look to which he’d grown quite accustomed. Southern girls played at being prim and proper but were easier to play than a pre-schooler’s recorder.

“
Forget those girls, Bill,” Randy said. “We’ve got other plans.”

“
You serious?” Bill asked, following the blond and her buxom red-headed friend into a nondescript bar. The sign outside read: Jean Lafitte’s Old Absinthe House.

Lafitte, hmm. Maybe it’s a family-owned establishment.

“
Come on, buddy, let’s get some beers,” Randy said, turning Bill away from the bar and pointing him in the opposite direction. Randy actually had no idea where he was going, but knew what he was looking for. He found it down a dark alleyway three blocks off Bourbon Street.

Explaining the essence of his plan to Bill, Randy got the response he anticipated.

“
No way, Ran. I ain’t goin’ to no fortune teller.”

“
Who said you were?” Randy pushed Bill out of the way. His eyes were drawn to the sign on the worn door before them.

GOOD FORTUNES
, it promised.

Bill interrupted his reverie. “Somethin’ ain’t right about this place. Can we please go?”

“
Calm down, you big chicken,” Randy replied. “Drink your beer and wait for me.” Randy didn’t anticipate much help from a mere fortune teller, but hoped she could at least point him in the right direction. He was searching for a place where spells, curses, and secrets were traded. Where blood sacrifice was the only currency that mattered. And later at dinner, Bill would corroborate Randy’s story about how they’d spent their evening.

Randy winked at Bill and turned the knob.

“
Now why you gotta go and do this, Ran. These places ain’t safe!”

“
Only one way to find out,” Randy replied, pulling the door open. Lavender spice tickled his nostrils as he moved into the building. “See,” he said, “what’s so scary about this?”

Bill peered in briefly before Randy closed the door in his face.

Randy stared up a candle-lit stairway. “Hello! Anyone here?”

“
Upstairs,” a girlish voice sang.

Well, here goes nothing.

Randy’s boldness was replaced with childlike fear and wonder. Swallowing his nerves, he slowly ascended the staircase, gazing cautiously at his surroundings. At the top, he was greeted by a golden light emanating from a room just off the landing. He looked around for the owner.

The space was empty, but for a myriad of plants and a small round table in the center of the room. Light radiated from a globe in the middle of the table. Randy sat in one of the two chairs and examined the sphere.

“
You can touch it if you want,” a voice whispered, an inch from Randy’s right ear.

He jumped up and whirled around, his gaze falling upon a beautiful woman with curly, black hair. Her height and youthful bone structure surprised him even more than her sudden appearance. He’d always pictured fortune tellers as older and gypsy-like, but this woman looked barely older than him.

“
Did I scare you?” the woman asked, her green eyes glinting with mischief. Her near-white skin glowed from the light coat of sweat afflicting nearly everyone in this tropical town.

“
A little,” Randy admitted. “Why did you sneak up on me like that?” His eyes devoured the yellow summer dress clinging to her sultry Creole curves.

“
I like to get a good look at my customers before we engage.”

“
Are you satisfied with what you see?” he asked. He noticed that her delicate hands were wrapped in looping henna script.

“
Not quite. Come. Sit.”

Randy sat before the beautiful prophetess. He felt an uncomfortable rigidness in his crotch.

Stay focused.

“
What’s your name?” he asked.

The woman smiled. “Madame Deveaux,” she spoke softly.

Randy had to lean in to hear her. “You…you’re not…what I expected.” Their faces were inches apart.

“
People rarely are. So, what brings you to me?”

Randy was losing himself in her eyes, forgetting his purpose. Willing himself from her hypnotic sway, he blurted, “I…I want to curse someone.”

Her gaze sharpened. “I do not play games, young man. Nor should you.”

“
I’m very serious.” Now that his dark request was out in the open, his heart pounded against the walls of his chest like a giant trapped behind a great steel door.

“
We’ll see about that. How much money do you have?”

“
Money? I thought…”

“
You thought you could pay me in pig’s blood or some other foolishness?”

“
Favors,” Randy choked out, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I read…I mean, I thought you were paid in favors.”

Madame Deveaux’s face softened as she erupted in laughter.

“
What’s so funny?”

“
You’re just a boy,” she replied. “Who could have possibly hurt you so deeply that you feel the need to hurt them in return?”

Randy stared at the impossibly young fortune teller, trying to decide how much to reveal. Either she would believe him, or she wouldn’t. Either she could help, or she couldn’t. “My father,” he said finally.

She nodded. “Our families are often the cause of our deepest pain. What makes your case so special?”

Taking a deep breath, Randy began his story. It was amazing how easy it was to talk about this secret subject with a complete stranger.