by Judith Lucci
***
The three men who had dined at Tujague’s Friday night met for an early lunch at Bocco's on Tuesday at noon. Frederico, the mafia boss, glared at the evil-faced, ponytailed man and asked, "Things set for tomorrow, Salvadal?"
The ponytailed man stroked his leather strap, shifted in his seat, and replied softly, "All set."
Frederico turned his attention to the third man, the ordinary man, and asked roughly, "What do you know? Are things in place?"
The ordinary man nodded.
"No mistakes, you hear, none. People who work for me don't make mistakes or if they do, they don’t live to make another one." Frederico glared at the man, his intent clear.
The ordinary man looked subdued. "Don't worry, Rico. Landry's a shoe in. He’s weak. I have known him forever and he owes me. I have a meeting over there as soon as we eat."
Monte Salvadal fingered his ponytail, looked bored, and wondered just how stupid his companions were. How'd he ever get hooked up with such bozos? His employer sure called this one wrong. Proved business people didn't know shit about crime or how to get things done. 'Course, the bozos were supposed to provide for his cover, keep the heat off him. Maybe it'd work. Who knows? But, in reality, he never depended on anybody. He always took care of things himself. Long as he had his friend here, he'd be okay. Salvadal smiled as he caressed the strap in his lap. His friend had never deserted him.
"Hey, asshole, you talking? Eating's supposed to be social." Frederico glared across the table at him, forking food in his mouth.
"Yeah, man. Talk. I'll listen." Salvadal started eating and wished that lunch were history.
Suddenly, the ordinary man got up and looked around frantically. "Got to go, got a meeting." The ordinary man threw his napkin and a fifty-dollar bill on the table. He ran out of Bocco’s, not looking back at his companions.
"What's with the choir boy?"
Salvadal shrugged his shoulders, gave his plate his full attention, and said, “Don’t know, and don’t give a shit.”
***
At one o'clock, the board of trustees of Crescent City Medical Center convened in the main conference room. As Alex entered, she noticed two faces she didn't recognize. She seated herself between Elizabeth and John Ashley, and asked Dr. Ashley who they were.
"The man seated next to Don is Andre Renou, the chief aide for Governor Raccine. The other gentleman is a new member of the board. I'm not sure of his name, but I believe he's originally from the east coast but has lived in Texas until recently. He has tons of money in oil. Anyway, his strength on the board is supposedly his business acumen."
Alex studied the man, noting that he was young, mid-to-late thirties and pretty ordinary in appearance. Somehow, he seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn't seem to place him.
The tension in the well-appointed conference room was palpable as board members twisted and turned in their seats, uncertain of why they had been called in. Several members were at the coffee bar. They spoke to each other in low voices. They were not talking with the staff or administrators, which seemed strange to Alex. Alex was always impressed by the collective power and wisdom represented by the trustees. They were pillars of the community and well acquainted with the nuances of New Orleans. She had appreciated their wisdom and their open discussions in previous meetings on how to best prepare for Obamacare.
Alex turned to John Ashley, "Is Don able to run this meeting?"
John shook his head and said, "Don't know, but I am if he isn't. He's taking this rather poorly, particularly the media fallout. Of course, we all are."
Alex thought John was merely being kind. Don was incoherent, and seemed unable to speak. It seemed to take an eternity for the next few minutes to pass. Alex glanced up and saw Dr. Bonnet enter. She was startled by the look of hatred and disgust that crossed the new board member's face. She could see the muscles tighten in his jaw as he clenched the table with his hands. It made her distinctly uncomfortable and even chilled her. She shrugged off a shiver. "John, maybe you'd better get started. Doesn't look like Don's going to."
Dr. Ashley stood up. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. We've a difficult situation here, wanted to update you, and get your insight and help. Before we begin, let's introduce ourselves since we have several new people. I'm John Ashley, the Chief of Medicine here at CCMC."
Alex and the other board members re-introduced themselves. Alex noted that the new board member’s name was Kevin Anderson. She also observed the rapt look that Robert Bonnet gave him. The look was first confusion, followed by recognition, fear, and uncertainty.
Andre Renou seemed pleasant enough and expressed his concerns, on behalf of Governor Raccine, related to the First Lady's condition. "The Governor is anguished and grieved over this situation. He's authorized me to offer any and all of his resources, including the State Bureau of Investigation and the State Police, to find out and explain what is happening here as soon as possible."
Mr. Gottfried LaSalle, an older member of the board of trustees spoke directly to Don Montgomery. "Mr. Montgomery, I don't know what has happened here. My secretary was told that there was a crisis over here and to come. Can you fill me in?"
Don seemed unable to speak and looked helplessly at John Ashley. Picking up on Don’s cue, Dr. Ashley turned to Mr. LaSalle and said, "Sorry, Mr. LaSalle. I wasn't aware that you hadn't been briefed. Let me tell you what we know at this point in time. Later, Captain Francoise will be updating us on his investigation."
Dr. Ashley, his gentle face tense, took a deep breath and began describing the bloody scene hoping he wouldn’t traumatize the older members of the board. He shuddered inwardly, his stomach knotting as he began the gory tale. "At five-fifteen this morning, the night nurse on Six North was making rounds on her patients. When she entered Mrs. Raccine's room, she found the first lady covered in blood and unresponsive. After examining her, the nurse rang for help. Mrs. Raccine did not appear to be injured. Her room was in a shambles, almost completely destroyed. The nurse immediately called hospital security and Bette Farve, the administrator on call, who notified me. I called the others as well as Dr. Bonnet, Mrs. Raccine's physician. We all arrived here at six. Someone, we don’t know, notified the press and they arrived shortly after we did." As John stopped for a breath, the board members looked at each other in confusion.
Alex detected bewilderment on several board members’ faces.
Lena Marquette said, "Dr. Ashley, I don't understand. If Mrs. Raccine wasn't injured, where'd the blood come from?"
Dr. Ashley took another deep breath. "There was a dead rooster in the room lying on Mrs. Raccine’s chest. We found a mutilated snake under her bed and a black candle on her bedside table. Her windows had been shrouded with black cloth."
Alex looked around the room. Mr. LaSalle looked confused, and then dismayed, the emotions playing across his face. His knuckles whitened, clutching the conference table as the implications became clear to him. Ms. Marquette looked absolutely terrified. Kevin Anderson appeared incredulous, and Christina Baptiste, a younger board member, gasped for breath and ran from the room. Elizabeth, shocked by the behavior followed Mrs. Baptiste. After his initial response, Kevin Anderson’s next actions were even more perplexing. He actually clasped his hands, gave a brief smile, and looked away. Alex was puzzled and thought he looked pleased at the story and then immediately chastised herself for her negative impression. I don't even know the man, she thought, but still, this was really weird.
Several moments of silence followed John Ashley's revelation. As Alex continued to reflect on the responses to Dr. Ashley's announcement, she became uncomfortable, and then aware that a feeling of fear was permeating the room.
Kevin Anderson still seemed the least affected. He spoke first, and appeared confused. "I don't know a great deal about Louisiana, since I came here from Texas several years ago. Anybody hear anything or see anyone entering Mrs. Raccine's room?"
Alex intervened, “No, once again, Mr.
Anderson, our information is still sketchy, but the nursing staff reports no unusual activity around Mrs. Raccine's room during the late night or early morning hours. Hospital security didn't report anything either."
Mr. LaSalle spoke up, his voice impatient. "Certainly someone was in her room, at some time, during the night. Don't you all write things down... you know things about how patients are doing?"
Alex quickly responded, "Of course we do. We document status and vital signs. Unfortunately, the Six North nursing unit was very busy last night. The RNs were tied up with a heart attack at the far end of the hall between one-forty-five and four-thirty. A nursing assistant, Bessie Comstock, charted at two a.m. that Mrs. Raccine was resting. The charge nurse reported that Bessie left sick shortly after four a.m. The charge nurse said Ms. Comstock was ashen and appeared very ill. The charge nurse asked about her patients, and Bessie reported that she had just made her four o'clock rounds, and that all the patients were sleeping. At that point, Bessie left.”
“What did this staff member chart about Mrs. Raccine?” Mr. LaSalle asked.
Alex continued, hating to say the words, “Unfortunately, Bessie did her four a.m. charting on her patients up to Mrs. Raccine. Bessie made no 4 a.m. chart entry in Mrs. Raccine's medical record and there are no entries between two and five-fifteen." As she finished talking, Alex noted that Andre Renou was taking notes.
Elizabeth Tippett returned to the room, her face reflecting surprise. "Mrs. Baptiste has left the meeting. She said she can be of no use in this situation, and she'd see us at the April meeting."
Alex immediately thought that Mrs. Baptiste's behavior was unusual, odd even, but re-considered when she remembered her family was good friends with Grace Raccine.
Mr. Anderson spoke again, "How's Mrs. Raccine doing?"
Robert glanced nervously at Kevin Anderson and said, "Mrs. Raccine's stable, but unresponsive."
The group was startled when the door opened and Captain Francoise entered the boardroom without knocking.
Dr. Ashley suggested a short break prior to the Captain's report.
Alex turned to John Marigny. "John, should we let all these people stay for Francoise's report? He struck me as a little hostile, and I don't expect him to be supportive of the hospital."
"Alex, you'd best let them stay. These are the major decision-makers and public relations media for the hospital. They are well connected, and the general population will listen to what they say. It’s better that they hear Francoise's report directly." John paused while Alex digested his advice. Then he continued, "We need their support and understanding. Francoise can be difficult, but basically he's honest, thorough, and knows his stuff."
Alex nodded. She knew John was right. It would be foolish to keep any secrets or pertinent information from the board members.
Francoise ambled to the podium in the front of the room, his stocky frame and demeanor paralyzing the trustees. He stared at the group members individually for several seconds as if checking them out to see if any of them were the perp. The man's behavior was incredible. Francoise addressed the board of trustees without a shred of dignity for the collective knowledge that was present in the room. He began his report in typical police fashion, his voice clipped and terse.
"You people are in for some bad luck now,” he smirked. “You’ve really pissed off somebody in the worse kinds of way. Among other things, what we've got here is a case of criminal violence. The forensic people are still working the scene, but we have found no fingerprints or easy evidence. I'm pretty sure we aren't going to find anything else. What’s interesting is that no one on the staff reports hearing or seeing anything unusual. I find that difficult to believe, as these things are usually pretty noisy."
Alex was struck at how well the police Captain had been able to clean up his language. The gutter dialect she'd heard only several hours before was completely missing from his speech. She also studied his appearance in greater detail. His white shirt was clean and pressed, and his tie was in place. He could be attractive if he wasn't such an egotistical idiot, Alex thought. Perhaps under all the tough man police stuff was a nice man. She gave him her full attention.
John Marigny said, "What about the staff member that left sick? Has anyone from your department talked with her?"
Francoise stared at him. "Nope. Sent a unit to her house around eight this morning. She never came home last night. We're watching her house but don't expect she'll be around for a while."
Kevin Anderson ventured another question. "Captain Francoise, please, I'm new here. What does this stuff mean? I don’t understand the rooster and snake stuff. What does it mean?"
The Captain eyed Anderson as if he were from another world. He said, "Where're you from?"
Francoise hesitated, waiting for a reply. He grunted at Anderson’s silence and then looked around the room, his eyes resting carefully on each board member. He continued sarcastically, "How many of you aren't from here, aren’t Louisiana natives?"
Alex, John Ashley, Elizabeth, and Don gave each other a perplexed look and raised their hands.
The Captain gave a short derisive laugh. "Well, folks, welcome to New Orleans. We've a little of everything here, you know, art, history, culture." Francoise grinned wickedly.
Dr. Ashley was getting impatient. "Do you have any theories, any idea who these people are? Who would do this? Do you have any other reports like this? We're looking for answers, not a culture lesson. Please stay focused." Dr. Ashley was pretty angry with the Captain and his laissez faire attitude.
Captain Francoise looked lazily at Ashley. "Yeah, Doc, I got some theories. Want to hear 'em?"
Dr. Ashley was frustrated and asked angrily, "I'd just like to know if you have any idea about who did this or why."
Captain Francoise gave Dr. Ashley a rude look. "It's simple. I'll give it to you straight." Francoise straightened his posture and announced, his voice grim, "Grace Raccine's been 'fixed'. She's been voodooed, hoodooed, if you like, and so have all of you. Someone has placed a curse and hexed Crescent City Medical Center." With that, he turned and looked at the group.
The meeting broke into chaos, everyone talked at once. Alex was shocked by the Captain's disclosure. It was totally ridiculous that in 2012 someone could curse a world-class medical center.
Finally, Dr. Ashley called for order.
Don Montgomery spoke for the first time, finally shocked out of his unresponsiveness. "This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Voodoo, black magic. This is one of the greatest technological and research-focused facilities in the country, in the world. Captain Francoise, you are an idiot! How in the hell can you possibly suggest that the Governor's wife has been voodooed at Crescent City Medical Center?" Don's voice was an octave higher than usual, and seethed with disgust. "It's unthinkable that authorities could even suggest such a thing. This is total bullshit. Get the fuck out of my conference room."
Captain Francoise stiffened. "You asked for my theory and I gave it to you." He walked straight toward the door of the conference room, parting the crowd as he left.
Dr. Ashley and Elizabeth were shocked by Don’s outburst but also doubted the possibility of voodoo.
Alex was in a state of disbelief that the accusation had even been made. Maybe the police Captain was an idiot.
Montgomery spoke again, “This has to be an act of corporate sabotage. Someone is trying to ruin us, shut us down. We are a world-class hospital and people are jealous. Between voodoo and the fucking Health Care Portability Act, aka Obamacare, they probably will destroy us."
Alex was stunned by Don’s profanity and jabbed him in the side. She finally spoke, "I can't accept voodoo or black magic as the basis for what's happened."
Alex was attempting to sound reasonable when she realized that no one on the board of trustees from New Orleans had said anything or seemed to question or doubt what Francoise had said. She looked around and said, "What do those of you from here think?"
A silenc
e that seemed like an eternity followed.
Finally, John Marigny spoke. "Alex, Don, those of you who aren't from New Orleans. Here, like it or not, voodoo is a reality. There are plenty of people who practice voodoo as a religion, just like we practice Catholicism. Whether we choose to believe in it or not, it's a large part of our culture. We've got to consider it."
There were still skeptical looks from board members who were not native New Orleanians, but they were pondering John Marigny’s words.
Robert Bonnet spoke, "I have to agree with John. Before Katrina and the destruction of the medical archives at Charity Hospital, you could read full reports about patients who've been voodooed, or "hoodooed" as they call it. Nurses and physicians have been treating patients with these claims for years. Lots of patients would bring their gris-gris, or good luck charms, to the hospital with them for protection and keep it with them while they were hospitalized. It’s the same all over the city. I’ve seen patients at Tulane, East Jefferson, and LSU Health Sciences Center who have gris-gris, or charms, at their bedside or in their bedside tables. We’ve even had nurses in the OR remove gris-gris from patient’s clenched fists after their general anesthesia. Hell, I have given permission for patient’s to keep their gris-gris with them during surgery."
Alex was incredulous at Robert’s admission and flabbergasted to think that physicians in a world-class hospital would give credence to voodoo. It was unthinkable to her, and she bristled at the thought of it. She glared angrily at Robert and attempted to interrupt him, but he silenced her with his hand.
Robert looked around and, noting the rapt attention of the Board members and continued, "There used to be tons of information, before Katrina, on metals, charms, coins, strings, and stones that patients would insist on keeping with them when they were sick and hospitalized. There are also reports that support patients’ claims that if their gris-gris was taken away from them, they’d die, and there are reports of patients actually dying when the charms were removed. I don’t know if any of those archives have survived, but I reviewed them as a medical student and actually completed some research that validated many of the reports."
