by John Moore
“I understand. But you need to put it behind you. It’s time you faced the fact that there is pure evil in this world. Sometimes you have to kill it to stop it. Good people have to fight it or it will take over the world. Hitler was evil and had to be stopped. Do you think anyone could reason with Ted Bundy or Charles Manson? Hell no. They had to be stopped. Don’t fool yourself. There will always be another evil bastard to take the place of everyone of them that gets put down.”
“You are right, but I still struggle with the memory of his face as he died,” I said.
“I need to talk to you about something else,” Jess said as she stood up and closed her office door. She’d never closed the door before. Oh shit, this must be really bad. “Alexandra, I have throat cancer. My doctors say it’s bad and I have to go through treatment that I may not survive. I’m not saying I’m giving up, because I’m not. But I have to be realistic, and I’m telling you becauseI want you to consider taking my job.”
Another person I loved with cancer. It wasn’t fair. I hated cancer, and it seemed to be everywhere. I couldn’t hold back my tears. They just flowed. Were they for Jess, or were they for me, I wondered, but in the end it didn’t matter, because I might lose another person I loved. Jess sat back and let me cry, handing me a tissue after a minute. It embarrassed me that I was the one crying when she was the one sick, but I guessed she’d had her own time to cry.
When I was able to speak, I said, “Sorry for the tears. And I’m much more sorry to hear about your illness. I know you’ll beat it, Jess.You have to, and that’s all there is to it. I’ll help you during and after your treatment if you need me to, but I can’t take this job. At one time, I thought it was exactly what I wanted, but not anymore. I want to focus on my family. I also think that getting the word out about poisons in the environment and the misdeeds of large conglomerate corporations is a mission I can’t ignore. Here at the paper, I would have to cover the stories important to the managing editor. I want to cover the stories important to me, and I also want to be at home with Piper and Tom. You are always working, Jess. I don’t want that life.”
“I understand,” Jess said with a sigh. “You are wise beyond your years. I can’t say you’re wrong about the paper. I do love this job, but news is a demanding business. Now that I might be facing the end, I wish I’d spent more time smelling the roses than working like a mad dog. Hell, I wish I’d let Demetre in my pants instead of keeping our relationship on a professional level.” She laughed as she thought for a minute. “Maybe not too late for that.”
“I’m so sorry. Jess, you can count on me to help as much as I can.”
“I appreciate your honesty. At least you’re not still working for Jenkins in that awful public-smoke-screen-creation machine anymore. Now, I’ll tell you what I know about Bart Rogan. It cost him $5 million to buy his way out of trouble in India, and word is that ACC put up half of the money. He’s been in their New York offices negotiating his new role with the company. Everything is supposed to be secret, but I have a mole in the inner circle. They are working on some type of disinformation program. Don’t know the details yet. But it’s important to ACC,” Jess said.
I left Jess all of my new contact information since I had to ditch my old phone after my run-in with Victor Ivanovich, and headed to my place. I’d asked Charlotte to stop by to go over the finances of the stevia business. She was waiting in her car for me when I got home. We spread all of the financial papers over the kitchen table and floor, and our financial condition was a mess. I couldn’t say I really understood all of the ins and outs of the finances, but I could see our expenses were greater than our income. I didn’t know what to do, and neither did Charlotte.
“We have to hire someone to help us run this company. You and I know how to market the business, but we have no clue about the logistics of buying the raw materials, manufacturing, packaging, transporting, and distributing the products. We need a manager,” I said.
“No shit,” Charlotte replied. She was so classy and elegant she even made the word shit sound sophisticated. Damn,that girl had it together. We decided to go to all the employment websites and place an ad for an experienced manager.
Charlotte told me she was having a hard time adjusting to life without Mr. Morris, desperately missing him. She spent her nights alone, not dating or going to any restaurants or clubs. She just didn’t feel like being involved with people.
“Well, that just won’t do,” I said. “Tomorrow, Tom, Piper, and I are going to Tom’s company’s crawfish boil and you are coming with us. Don’t give me any shit, because like it or not, you are coming with us, so wear something comfortable.”
“OK, Alexandra. I’ll go, but you have to pick me up.”
We agreed I’d pick her up at ten the next morning. I had to learn the science and art of eating boiled crawfish. We didn’t do such things in Indiana. Louisianans would fill their baby bottles with crawfish milk if they could figure out how to milk them. Everyone in the state ate crawfish, butit was a little of an acquired taste for me. Tom, on the other hand, took to them quickly. Maybe he liked them because they were aquatic creatures. The truth was, once you were hooked youcouldn’t wait for crawfish season to begin and you hated when it ended.
Crawfish are an important industry for Louisiana. Crawfish are still caught in rivers, swamps, and some lakes. But by far the most abundant source is crawfish farms. Tens of millions of pounds of crawfish are harvested each year from both ponds and the wild. There are more than 1,300 farmers producing crawfish in Louisiana. More than 1,000 commercial fishermen harvest crawfish from natural wetlands, primarily the Atchafalaya Basin. The Atchafalaya is an important part of the wetlands in the southern part of the state. Every type of native animal can be found in its acreage. There are tons of legends of mystical creatures living in those swamps and of alligators the size of submarines. If you combined all of the catches of the fishermen it would be greater than 120 million pounds. The industryhas a $300 million annual impact on the Louisiana economy.
Charlotte left to post our help wanted ads on the employment websites. She had the time to do the preliminary screenings. I did not. Besides, I trusted her judgment. She was slower than me to trust people. I think she was excited about going with us to the crawfish boil.
Tom and Piper came home bearing gifts. They had two pizzas and a bottle of wine. Oh boy, I thought, let me at both of them. I needed to chill a little. Jess’s news had really upset me. Too many good people died of cancer, and I wanted to put death out of my mind for a while. The crawfish boil tomorrow was going to be a real treat, and I couldn’t wait to see Piper and the crawfish getting to know each other.
The sun ushered in a blistering hot day, July 4th, our nation’s birthday. We had a great deal to celebrate in the United States. Most of us had plenty of food to eat and we lived safe, productive lives compared to people in many parts of the developing world. Here in Louisiana, for example, we had crawfish, and that was fine with me. We prepped Piper on the basics of crawfish etiquette before we went to pick up Charlotte.
The crawfish boil was at the warehouse area of Tom’s company. There were five butane burners going, each with a pot of crawfish boiling on top. They prepared by arranging twenty tables covered with plastic tablecloths lined up in four rows. Trash cans sat every few feet. Miller and Budweiser beer trucks were parked next to each other, serving draft beer, leaded and unleaded, as they loved to say. The trucks each had hot, busty server chicks in tank tops filling the plastic cups as fast as they could.
When the crawfish finished boiling to the taste of the cooks, they sat for a while in the hot seasoned water to soak up the pepper, salt, red pepper, Tabasco, and garlic. Each cradle of crawfish was dumped on a table along with potatoes and ears of corn boiled with the crawfish. We all dug in. I showed Piper how to twist the tail from the torso of the crustacean and then peel it. She learned quickly and she loved it, asking me why I did
n’t tell her about crawfish sooner.
“Too busy exposing you to beignets,” I said. She grinned, and I felt happy. There’s nothing like good food. I was lucky my new daughter had the same tastes as Tom and me.
Zydeco, Cajun, and rock and roll music blasted from the sound system, and we ate till we could no longer move. People talked, laughed, and danced. No one brought their troubles to the event. They all shared the crawfish, beer, and good times. Most of them had been here during Katrina. They’d seen enough of hard times. They were doing what we do in this city: partying. This was New Orleans, the town that care forgot.
Charlotte had no trouble mingling with the crowd. That girl could get along anywhere. She danced to almost every song the DJ played. It was good to see her happy. We had plenty of time to worry about making our business work tomorrow. Right now her feet were lighter than air. Maybe the beer had something to do with it. I know it did for me.
Tom introduced me to all of his workmates and the guys who tested the samples at the lab his company used. They seemed to be a close-knit group bonded by their love of the environment. Tom had told them about me, but they asked about my blog. I told them the basics, but before I could say anymore the DJ played their favorite dance song and they each grabbed a girl and started dancing. They were Cajun dancing, kind of a two-step, spin-your-partner-around kind of thing.
Tom got a kick out of watching them dance. “He’s kinda shy and has only been with the lab a few months,” Tom said as he watched them dance. “They don’t get out much but they can dance to the right music.” Meeting those guys and watching everyone party was a welcome distraction for me.
The music wound down and so did the party. Good thing too because I was bushed. We dropped Charlotte off and headed home. Tom chose not to drink at the crawfish boil since he was the designated driver. I only had a couple of beers. Wine was my drink of choice. On the way home, Piper brought up the condo in the Quarter. This was as good a time to talk about it as any, I thought.
“Piper, I want to move into the condo as much as you do, but there’s a serial killer loose in the Quarter. It might be Bob Broussard, the man who sold us the condo, and I don’t think it’s safe for us at this moment,” I said.
Piper cracked, “We can handle ourselves. Look at the way we chased Victor out of town. He’s a lot scarier than a stupid serial killer.”
“You are right, Victor is scary, but he came after us. We didn’t go looking for him. If we move into the Quarter we’ll be putting ourselves in the line of fire,” I said.
Tom listened to the back-and-forth for a while without speaking. Then, during one of the few silences, he said, “Since when does Alexandra Lee freeze with fear? If Bob Broussard broke out of the loony bin to go after you, don’t you think he’d find you at your condo as quickly as in the Quarter? My guess is he would have found you already. Alexandra, we can’t live in fear. We must face it just like we did Rogan and Victor, head on. Remember the plaque over Jess Johnson’s desk? Evil will triumph if good men do nothing. That’s not us, and that’s certainly not you.”
I took in the words as if they were food given to a starving man. He was right. I wouldn’t run from the evils in the world, so why in hell was I trying to hide? It finally struck me that what I was really afraid of was that I might have to kill again, and I didn’t know if I could. But I knew that I wasn’t going to live my life in fear, and I wasn’t going to deprive my family of the life they had fought for. No one was going to march me to the principal’s office for doing the right thing. I was going to do what I had to do to live my life with my family the way we wanted to live it. And I was going to do it now.
“Tom, Piper. Thanks. You are both right. We’ll move into the French Quarter condo as soon as we can.”
Chapter Four:
Moving On
My inner turmoil settled down after I made the decision. It was our condo now, not Bob Broussard’s. Our job was to make it home, and that meant Piper and I were going shopping. We headed to the French Quarter to check out some of the exotic shops. We’d purchased the condo furnished, but Piper wanted to put some French Quartery things in it. I had no idea what that meant to her. I was afraid I was about to find out.
We saw more fleur-de-lis decorated plates, plaques, candleholders, and pillows than anyone could imagine. Most people got into the fleur-de-lis image on trinkets and garments after Hurricane Katrina. The city used it as a rallying badge of support for the rebuilding of New Orleans. It was a nice idea, and I liked the sentiment, but it just got out of hand. But we bought a couple of pillows with the image on them, fleur-de-lis everywhere. Then Piper found the voodoo and Wiccan stores in the Quarter. I was almost never able to persuade her to leave once she started browsing. We purchased an amethyst geode set of bookends at one store and some voodoo masks at another. I had to draw the line at voodoo dolls because they freaked me out.
It took a while, but I had finally convinced Piper to leave, when a voice bellowed from the front door.
“Didn’t think I’d run into you two girls shopping in my favorite store!”
I knew that voice. It resonated through my brain like fingers across a concrete sidewalk. My muscles tensed and my shoulders hunched as I spun around to see the black-clad figure of Mandy Morris. Just what I needed, a possible accomplice to a serial killer cornering me. She strutted up to Piper and me, and we did that fake kiss thing people in the South do. No lips ever touch anything except air. It’s a way of saying, “So nice to see you,” without really meaning it.
“This store is so cool,” Piper said. “I could spend the entire day here.”
Mandy put a frown on her face. “I was hoping to show it to you first. You’ve ruined my surprise, Alexandra. Piper, have you seen the back room yet?”
Piper’s head snapped back and her eyes went wide. “No! What’s in the back room?”
Mandy grabbed Piper’s hand and escorted her to the rear of the store. She opened a door hidden behind a hanging cloth toga and escorted us in. My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw there was a complete altar adorned with black, well, black everything, even the flickering candles. Five or so people were standing in a semi-circle chanting together in whisper tones. The air in the room felt heavy, as if invisible bodies had breathed all of the oxygen from it. The sight was enough to scare the shit out of Steven King. I took Piper’s hand away from Mandy’s and got us both out of there.
“Mandy, Piper and I have to meet Tom at the condo. We’re running late,” I said, stretching the truth a bit.
“OK, but I want you to promise to meet me tomorrow morning at Café du Monde at eight for coffee,” Mandy whined. “We still have to talk about you helping Superior Sugar.”
“I’ll be there,” I said. I probably would have agreed to anything to get us away from that place. It had unnerved me to see the ritualistic chanting to whatever the hell they were worshiping; it seemed dark and evil. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew I didn’t want anything to do with it.
“That was so badass,” Piper said longingly. “I wish we could have stayed and watched them for a while. What were they doing?”
“I’m not sure. But I don’t think it was anything we should get involved with. Jess Johnson told me Mandy was involved in some type of cult. No telling what they are into. Evil isn’t badass, Piper, at least not in a good way. Oh shit, you know what I mean.”
“Hmmm,” Piper said.
I didn’t want to make too big a deal out of her staying away from Mandy and her group. Sometimes forbidding a teenager from doing something guarantees she’ll do it. I hoped she was turned off by them or by the idea of a cult. Piper knew evil—she’d seen it firsthand. I should trust she’d recognize it, even if it did look cool and trendy. But we all make mistakes, and some you can’t recover from.
I needed to focus on staying away from Mandy myself. That was easier said than done, especially i
f Charlotte and my stevia business needed funds. The extra income from helping Superior would come in handy with the renovations. Oh crap, I just remembered that I needed to call Charlotte.
Where had the day gone? Piper and I drove to my old condo to meet Tom. He suggested I call Charlotte to invite her to eat with us, because he felt she seemed exceptionally lonely at the crawfish boil. It was a smashing idea, as the British say. She and I needed to talk about any leads she’d gotten for the help wanted ad she’d run. Plus, she was a normal person, not crazy. I needed a little of that for a change.
Charlotte arrived with a bottle of red wine. Hot damn, that would make the night perfect. Piper and Tom got online and played video games while Charlotte and I went to the bedroom to talk.
“Alexandra, I feel so lost without Mr. Morris. How do you get over someone who was such a huge part of your life?” she asked.
“Time, Charlotte. Time heals all wounds. Not completely—you’ll always miss him—but time will allow you to put his memory in the past where it belongs. I’ve lost most of the important people in my life. I felt so empty when they passed, and I thought I’d never get over it. Then, new people came along to create a new world for me. I have Tom and Piper, andI never would have predicted that. I have you too, Charlotte. You’ll move on, and good people will join you in your life, too—I promise. But I don’t understand why you call him Mr. Morris,” I said.
“We agreed I’d call him that so I wouldn’t slip at work and call him by a pet name. I liked doing it too. Sometimes I’d say it like Marilyn Monroe did when she sang ‘Happy Birthday, Mr. President’ to John Kennedy. It sounded sexy.” I smiled. I could just imagine her doing a breathy Marilyn impression. She continued, “Thank you for reminding me to go on living. You know the right things to say to cheer me up, Alexandra. Let me tell you about the candidates who’ve applied for the manager’s job in our stevia company.”
