Case of the Ragin' Cajun

by Jeffrey Poole

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I said, laughing. “That’s one sundae for each of you.”

  To give you some context, the Tchoupitoulas challenge consisted of an enormous ice cream sundae, with eight scoops of ice cream, eight different toppings, and served in a huge bowl with wafers, sprinkles, and whipped cream. Yes, I could easily have made them enter the other contest I found, which was the Bayou Beast Challenge. That one involved consuming ten spicy chicken wings, all without benefit of other food, water, liquids, or even napkins, for that matter. Get those down in five minutes, and you win the challenge. It also required participants to sign a medical waiver.

  And now you know why I didn’t choose that one.

  “You’re on,” Martins said, grinning. He held out a hand. “Now, what do you say we find out what this crackpot teenager was up to and make sure we put a stop to it?”

  Nodding, I pulled my cell out and called MCU. Richard answered on the first ring.

  “Zack? Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling!”

  I checked my phone, but I didn’t see any mention of missed calls.

  “Didn’t miss anything on my end,” I told Richard. “Hey, what can you tell me about …”

  “Zachary!” Richard practically shouted into the phone. “You need to listen to me!”

  “I am listening to you,” I returned. “It’s kinda hard not to when you’re yelling at me. Now, what I wanted to know is, the book expo? Are there any other …”

  “Will. You. Be. Quiet!”

  “What’s the matter?” I hesitantly asked, growing concerned.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Richard huffed. All of a sudden, it sounded like he was out of breath. “MCU has been invited to participate in a last minute convention. The convention center must’ve felt bad after what happened, because now they’re offering to waive all fees if we’d be willing to give it another go.”

  “Yeah, I know. One of the local cops just told us.”

  “You’re planning on going?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. Surprising, huh? Well, there’s another reason to take into consideration, since …”

  “Zack, we have a problem,” Richard interrupted, the moment I took a breath.

  “What’s the problem, Richard?”

  “What’s going on?” I heard Detective Martins ask, from behind me.

  “Richard? Just a moment. Detective Martins? We’re about ready to head over to the convention center. How many extra pairs of eyes can you give us?”

  Martins stared at me for a few moments before stepping away to make a few more calls. Once the detective had wandered off, I unmuted my cell and returned to my call.

  “Richard? Yeah, sorry ’bout that. The local police have asked us to help determine how someone could pull off another …”

  “Zack? I’m sorry to interrupt, but you really need to hear this.”

  At the exact moment my MCU contact said that, Martins, having finished his phone call and on his way back to me, received another call. This one brought the detective to an immediate stop. It even had him slapping his free hand over his ear. He quickly turned and hurried away.

  “All right, hit me with your best, Richard. What’s so important?”

  “Did you send a threatening message to the convention center?”

  Of all things my MCU rep could have said, that wasn’t anywhere on the list.

  “What are you talking about? I did no such thing.”

  “Zack, they have a recording!”

  “What?!”

  Apparently, I said that with enough animosity that everyone in our group stopped what they were doing and wandered close. Even Detective Martins must have heard my little outburst, because he was back in less than ten seconds.

  I angrily shook my head. “What are you talking about? I did no such thing.”

  “You threatened everyone at the convention center,” Richard insisted. “The cops aren’t going to take that too lightly.”

  “Richard, I did no such thing,” I insisted. “And I’m standing in front of the cops right now. No one has said anything about some type of recorded threat.”

  “Mr. Anderson?” Detective Martins said, as he pointed at my phone. “I’m going to need you to finish your call. Something has just come up.”

  “Is it about some alleged threat?” I asked, growing angry. “Trust me when I said I did no such thing.”

  “I’m inclined to believe you,” Martins told me. He held up his cell. “They sent the recording to me. Once you hear it, you’ll see why we don’t believe it. Granted, I realize I’m racially profiling you, but … well, just see for yourself.”

  Nodding, I told Richard I’d call him back when all of this was said and done. I huddled close to the detective, as did Jillian and the rest of my entourage. Martins nodded, tapped a few icons on his screen, then stepped back. A digital file began playing, and damned if it wasn’t my own voice doing the talking.

  The attack will happen today. Devil’s Breath will rain down on you all. All hail goddess Oya.

  I was frowning even before the recording finished. “Wow, what an amateur. All hail goddess Oya? Oh, yeah. That sounds like me.”

  “What do you mean?” Detective Martins asked.

  “Well, listen to that statement. It doesn’t flow well. The grammar isn’t the greatest. I mean, for crying out loud, all hail goddess Oya? Seriously?”

  “It was spliced together,” Vance said, coming to my aid. “Anyone can tell that.”

  “Spliced from what?” the detective wanted to know.

  I snapped my fingers. “We already know Tina is a nerd, which means she’s undoubtedly good on a computer. Tech savvy, as I believe the saying goes. We know she’s responsible for the first attack, which means she was the mystery caller on Charlie Goodman’s podcast. The podcast might not be currently available to download, but Tina watched it live. That meant she more than likely recorded it on her computer.”

  “For those of us who aren’t tech savvy,” Martins said, exasperated, “translate that into English, okay?”

  “The girl recorded everything Zachary said onto her computer,” Jillian explained, joining the conversation. “Working with digital files is relatively easy if you have the right software. Grab this word here, put it next to that word there, and you can come up with something completely different, all using the host’s voice.”

  “I hate computers,” Martins growled.

  “The only question I have is, when did you mention devil’s breath?” Jillian wanted to know.

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” I argued. “But, I think I remember using devil in some fashion. Clearly, I said breath, too. By the way, what is devil’s breath? It sounds like one of those unreal potion ingredients. You know, wing of bat, eye of newt, and so on.”

  Jillian shook her head. “Believe it or not, devil’s breath is real, and it’s probably one of the most dangerous drugs on the planet.”

  “How do you know so much about it?” I asked, as I turned to Jillian. “Is this something you can grow?”

  Jillian shook her head and held up her phone. “Because I looked it up just as soon as I heard the name. That’s just it. I’ve heard of it, but didn’t know what it was used for. Now that I do, trust me when I say that this is bad.”

  Detective Martins came up to Jillian and held out a hand. “Would you mind?”

  Jillian nodded and passed her phone to him. The New Orleans detective skimmed through the facts on Jillian’s phone and, I’m sorry to say, the blood drained from his face. He returned Jillian’s phone and hastily pulled out his own to start making calls.

  “What is this stuff?” Vance wanted to know, as he lowered his voice. “Does it cause something bad to happen?”

  Jillian shrugged. “It’s more like, what won’t it cause? Let’s see, there’s blurred vision, dizziness, dry mouth, and even urinary retention.”

  Vance and I flinched at the exact same time.

  “Soun
ds miserable,” Vance decided.

  “Oh, I wasn’t done,” Jillian sighed. “According to the data I just read, if you overdose on devil’s breath, then you’re looking at a dangerously high heart rate, hallucinations, confusion, and a very strong likelihood that you’ll fall into a coma.”

  “How is it administered?” Vance asked, dropping his voice down to a whisper.

  Jillian pulled out her phone and tapped the screen.

  “Just a moment. I think I saw … yes. Here we go. It says, for medicinal purposes, you’d use a transdermal patch. If it’s not being administered by a medical professional, then it can be taken orally, or through an intravenous drip, or even as a topical drug.”

  “Orally,” Vance groaned. “Of course it’d be orally.”

  “You seem to be the bearer of good news,” I joked, letting out a nervous chuckle. I playfully nudged Jillian in the ribs, only she wasn’t smiling. No one else was. Shrugging, I held up a finger, indicating I wanted Vance to wait. Looking over at Detective Martins, I caught his eye and motioned him over.

  “What is it?” Martins inquired, the instant he joined us.

  “I wanted to let you know that we’re all going to head over to the convention center. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

  Martins nodded. “I’ll see you there.”

  Once we called for a larger ride-sharing vehicle, and were speeding along Royal Street, heading to the convention center, the ramifications of what we were up against started to sink in. I looked at Jillian, squeezed her hand, and then looked down at the dogs.

  “I’m thinking maybe you should take the dogs and find someplace else to be?”

  Jillian shook her head. “Absolutely not. We’re in this together.”

  “Don’t forget what you told us this stuff will do to you,” I reminded Jillian. “It’s not something you want to mess around with.”

  Jillian shook her head. “I haven’t.”

  “And you’re not worried?” I demanded.

  “I heard her say what it can do,” Vance added, “and have no problems going on record to say that I’m worried.”

  “You are?” Tori asked, concerned. “I don’t like the idea of you two risking your lives …”

  “Lower your voice,” Vance hastily whispered. He nodded his head at the driver, who was now using every opportunity to stare at us in his rearview mirror. “I’m not crazy about it, either, but someone has to deal with this problem.”

  “You haven’t heard why I’m not worried,” Jillian calmly informed us.

  Everyone in the van, with the exception of Jillian herself and the driver, turned to stare at her as if she was now speaking in tongues, and that included the corgis. After a few moments, I gave a little cough.

  “Let’s hear it. What did you notice that no one else did?”

  “This, er, item which is supposedly being used? We all know it’s not something to be messed with. Then again, the same could be said for those berries. I’d like to think a teenage girl wouldn’t want to do, er, something like this, but then again, since when have kids ever behaved rationally? She’s threatened the lives of everyone in that hotel, so …”

  We all heard a gasp come from the driver.

  “It’s this role-playing game we’re all involved in,” I joked, as I plastered a huge smile on my face. “Pay no attention to us.”

  The driver’s concerned eyes held mine a few moments longer before returning to the road.

  “I doubt very much she’ll use poison again,” Vance said, drawing nods of approval from the rest of us. “It’s too obvious. You said she’s tech savvy? That means she’s smart, so we can clearly …”

  “… not choose the wine in front of you,” I interrupted, with a smile.

  Vance stared at me. “How do I know that line?”

  “Princess Bride,” Tori, Jillian, and I echoed.

  “Ah. I’ve got it now. The challenge of wits. Anyway, as I was saying, she’s probably noticed for herself that it’s going to be impossible for her to get her hands on this drug, but that doesn’t mean she can’t make people think she has it.”

  “Whether she has it, or doesn’t have it,” Tori said, “you have to assume she does. You don’t want to be caught unaware.”

  Vance nodded. “Exactly. All right, here we are. Everyone out. Thanks for the lift, buddy.”

  The driver didn’t say a word. He sped out of sight the instant the loading door slid closed. Also of note was the fact that both Sherlock and Watson started pulling on their leashes the moment their paws touched the ground. Encouraged, I gave them some slack in their leashes and headed off.

  “Man, that was quick,” Vance observed. “Oh, I hope they can work their magic here. This is something you don’t mess with, Zack.”

  “Don’t I know it. That’s one messed-up girl. I just wish I knew how she was planning on making us look bad.”

  “What do you mean?” Vance asked. “Why did you say that?”

  “It’s something the girl said,” I explained, frowning. “She claimed there’d be no more book expos after tonight. That would suggest that she’s somehow found a way to make us authors, or anyone associated with writers, look bad.”

  “Why would an author cooperate with a raving lunatic?” Jillian wanted to know.

  I shrugged. “Haven’t a clue, I’m afraid.”

  We followed the dogs as they led us deeper into the convention center. Detective Martins was right. This place was astronomically huge. There was no way we were going to thwart whatever Tina was planning on our own. I just had to hope the corgis were up to the challenge.

  We passed by the large room where MCU had held their panel a few days ago. Sherlock and Watson, with their noses to the ground, ignored the room and continued down the hall, until we emerged into the food court. Briefly wondering if our working theory was wrong, and Tina had somehow planned on poisoning the attendees once more, the corgis veered left, into yet another hallway.

  “We are so getting lost in here,” I muttered.

  “Bite your tongue,” Vance ordered. “You keep your directionally challenged senses to yourself, got it?”

  “Seeing how I seem to be sharing them with you, I won’t complain.”

  “Bite me, Zack.”

  Precisely ten seconds later, the dogs came to a stop. The four of us were standing before a large, spinning, wire display of books. Adding to the confusion was the simple fact that I couldn’t recognize any of the titles or authors. At least, that’s what I thought, until I noticed a copy of Heart of Éire. Why would the corgis show us this?

  “So, one of my books has been mixed in with the others,” I told Sherlock and Watson. “What does that have to do with anything? Can we go now?”

  The dogs didn’t budge.

  “What’s up?” Vance wanted to know.

  I pointed out the book. “They want to show me my own book. I just don’t know why.”

  Jillian appeared at my side. She was silent as she studied the scene.

  “Are the other MCU authors going to be here?”

  I shrugged. “I think so. Why?”

  Jillian pointed at my book. “Well, maybe the dogs are suggesting that Tina is determined to make you and your publisher look bad?”

  Taking a quick picture of the book display, I gave the leashes some slack. Just like that, we were off. A few minutes later, we stopped again. This time, I have to admit that I was surprised. I mean, really surprised. Standing before us was none other than Cassie Merryman, one of my fellow MCU authors. She had apparently just arrived and was setting up several displays of her books on either side of her table. Sensing movement, she turned to find the four of us, with Sherlock and Watson sitting complacently at our feet, watching her intently.

  “Mr. Anderson! What a surprise! Is there something I can do for you?”

  I looked down at Sherlock.

  “All right, pal. Jillian seems to think MCU is involved. What do you want us to see?”

  All either of
the corgis did was watch my fellow author like a hawk, as though they expected her to pull doggie biscuits out of thin air.

  “I said it last Friday, and I’ll say it again: you’ve got some adorable dogs, Mr. Anderson.”

  “Please, call me Zack,” I said. “And thanks. Sherlock? Watson? Now what?”

  Neither dog did anything, as though they had run out of energy. In fact, both slid from their seated positions onto the floor, in proper Sphinx-like form. I looked back at my friends and helplessly held up my hands. What were we supposed to do now?

  We heard a slight commotion coming from the other side of the fabric divider, separating Cassie from the next author over. Both corgis were on their feet in a flash and both started firing off warning woofs. Curious as to who was on the other side of the fabric wall, Vance took a few steps back and leaned around the corner.

  “Hey, don’t mind me. We’re just trying to find out who—or what—our dogs are barking at.”

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “He’s one of the other MCU authors,” Vance reported. “The older one.”

  “The older one,” I heard a friendly voice scoff. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Jack? Is that you?”

  “None other. Damn, Anderson, you’re two for two. How in the world did they get you here for a second time?”

  I wandered around the corner, still holding Sherlock’s leash. The rest of the group followed. I also feel I should mention both dogs had perked up at the sound of Jack’s voice, and now were straining like crazy to make it over to him. Right about that same time, Jillian’s phone rang. She handed me Watson’s leash and stepped off to the side to answer the call.

  “Would you two knock it off? Look, it’s just Jack. He’s not the bad guy.”

  “Not the bad guy?” Jack repeated, curious. “Dare I ask what that’s supposed to mean?”

  Before I could answer, Sherlock and Watson switched to their Clydesdale personas and physically yanked me the final ten feet or so to arrive, breathless, at Jack’s table. That’s also when I noticed there were a variety of packages next to Jack’s assortment of books he had brought with him. Catching sight of the first package, I pointed at it.