by Judith Lucci
“I don’t need anything you SOB. I have everything I want.”
The dark stranger just stared at him and said, “I understand you have some rather unique tastes. For young people, isn't it?" The ponytailed stranger smiled broadly at the Governor's discomfort.
As the evil one's insinuations sunk in, the Governor paled. "You son of a bitch. You’re a dead man. I can have you killed."
"Ah, but you won't, you can't. Your taste runs a little toward Latina young people, doesn't it? Pubescent, I believe. You and I both know about your 'specials needs'. We both have special ways of getting what we need."
Governor Raccine listened helplessly as the stranger caressed the leather strap at an accelerated pace.
The stranger's voice became stronger. “Governor, as a matter of fact, I know lots of people who would stand in line to kill you... people you have lied to and deceived over the years."
The Governor, his fear mounting, continued to listen to him.
“I want Crescent City Medical Center, tomorrow. I want a write up in The Times Picayune on Sunday explaining why it is necessary for CCMC to join the HealthTrust network. Think of it as sort of a Mardi Gras gift to the group who've financed you in the past, and, who may finance you in the future if you give us what we want. Of course, they may kill you as well. Besides, if you do what we say, we won't tell the good people of Louisiana about your sexual proclivities."
"I don't want a dammed thing your group has to offer. I was dealing with a reputable group, or so I thought. Get the hell out of here." Raccine was strong, but not nearly as strong as he needed to be to overpower the stranger. He could feel himself shaking as he realized what the stakes were.
"It's not going to happen, Governor. You see, my people control CCMC now. We could control East Jefferson if we wanted to, maybe we will. By the way, how's Grace?" The evil one's voice remained soft as he continued to look up at the Governor. "Haven't seen her for a few days."
The impact of the stranger's words hit the Governor like a wave of cold water. "Get the fuck out of here. I'll expose you as you are - a band of thugs!"
The ponytailed stranger stood up, facing the Governor. "Go ahead, do it, but I can guarantee that your betrayal of the people of Louisiana will be a bigger story. You’d be history, rotting in jail while the cops look for us forever. They’ll never find us.”
Raccine continued to stare at the stranger, unable to speak.
The ponytailed man continued, “Governor, where is your political reason? Your astuteness?” Salvadal egged him on, his voice terrifying the chief executive. “You have no bargaining power, nothing. You failed with the paroles. You failed with the prisons; you failed with everything we asked you to do. I am not sure why you’re still alive. Each day, sometimes each hour, I sit and wait for the order to kill you. “
Raccine said nothing, his eyes wide open. He was paralyzed with fear.
The stranger continued, “Some of our best people are still in prison because you screwed us. Didn't you also fail some Latin children? One young girl, in particular, as I remember? She’s grown up now but remembers everything you did to her, and she’s ready to talk."
The color began to drain from the Governor's face.
The ponytail man continued. "We want CCMC tomorrow. You understand? You disgust me... raping children on a missionary trip. What kind of low life bastard are you? I should kill you now. "
With that, the ponytailed stranger lunged at the Governor. He moved behind him in an instant, wrapping the leather strap around his neck and making him gasp for breath.
The Governor’s eyes bulged wildly, as he anticipated his death.
The stranger held the strap for just the right amount of time, and then released it just seconds before the Governor lost consciousness. He said, "CCMC tomorrow. No excuses or Grace dies. It won't be a painless death, and neither will yours."
The evil one left quietly through the terrace door of the library and headed toward the French Quarter.
Chapter 22
Robert and Alex stood gaping at each other in her kitchen.
"Robert, you scared the hell out of me. I thought you were an intruder, someone coming to kill me. Why didn't you call?" Alex was so frightened her voice was shaking, and her breath was little gasps. She thought her lungs would burst.
"We've got to get out of here. You're in danger. Right now. Hurry, my car's out front!"
"I have on my nightgown. Besides, there's a New Orleans cop guarding my house." Alex hesitated for a second, and then added, "He’s obviously not doing a good job since you got in."
Robert shook his head and said in a terse voice, "He's dead. Check out the bullet hole in his head. Grab a coat, we're leaving!"
"Call Francoise while I get dressed. His numbers are on the table by the phone. Tell him we're coming to the station, to meet us there." Robert nodded, and Alex ran into her bedroom to grab some clothes.
Robert had just dialed Francoise's cell when he heard Alex scream. Robert dropped the phone and ran into Alex's bedroom where a tall, ponytailed man was attempting to break through the glass doors. The double dead bolt was the only reason he hadn't entered.
"Hurry, Alex." Robert grabbed her and pulled her out of the bedroom. They were leaving through the front when they heard the sounds of breaking glass.
The two made a dash for Robert's Mercedes parked in front of the NOPD police car. Alex heard several dogs barking as Robert tried repeatedly to start the car.
"Damn, it won't start. He must've pulled the coil wire."
"We've got to run, Robert! It's the only way!"
They ran down the street, aware the stranger was following. Alex thought he was gaining on them. She could almost feel his hot breath on her neck. At any moment, she expected to be shot in the back. Why doesn't he kill us, she wondered. Alex’s muscles were burning in her legs, and she was weak and tiring. Her heart felt like it would burst in her chest. The pain in her shoulder was excruciating. She knew they were losing the battle, when suddenly luck intervened. Alex heard a loud snarl and a curse. She looked back and saw two Siberian Huskies attacking the ponytailed man. Thank goodness for those dogs, she thought. They belonged to her neighbor down the street, a sculptor who stayed up at night working.
The dogfight gave Alex and Robert an edge. They crossed Saint Charles and headed toward the Vieux Carre where they lost themselves in the thinning crowds of the French Quarter. They sat on a bench in Jackson Square for a moment to catch their breath. All around them drunks, street people, and masked tourists looked at them strangely.
At any other time, Alex would have been petrified to be in the Quarter at two in the morning, much less in her nightgown. But now, this motley group was friendlier than the ponytailed stranger. A slightly worn, weary clown sat down beside them and asked if they were okay.
Robert answered quickly. "No, we're not. A tall man with a ponytail is chasing us. We've got to go somewhere and hide, at least until we can get the police. Uh-oh. Got to go, Alex!" Robert gestured toward the man two hundred feet away at the corner. Alex and Robert ran up Saint Peter's to Bourbon Street, hoping to get lost in the crowd.
The evil one saw them take off. He figured they'd head toward Bourbon, so he cut through some alleys and courtyards to meet them. He wasn't even winded from the dog attack or the run. One of the dogs had bitten him, although it didn't hurt at all.
Alex's breath was again coming in short, small gasps as she and Robert approached Bourbon Street, and she had a terrible pain in her shoulder. She knew that she couldn't go much further.
Suddenly, they were face to face with the ponytailed man. She was paralyzed with fear. He looked at them both and smiled. As he reached toward Alex, he grimaced then crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Behind him stood the clown, wielding a large pink club in his hand. On the side of the club was printed the word "BONK" in large green letters.
"Call Alex at CCMC next week. I'll reward you. You saved our lives,” Alex, breathing heavily, managed
to say.
The clown smiled broadly, his make-up thin and running. "Mind if I hit him again when he wakes up?"
"Be my guest. Do what you want, but call Captain Francoise at the NOPD before he gets away. Thanks. You saved our lives." Robert shook the clown's hand before he and Alex moved off.
Alex wanted to hug him but there was no time.
They ducked into the Maison Bourbon where Robert's friend, Steve, the owner, was stacking chairs on tables. Several of the jazz musicians drank coffee as they sat in the corner of the bar. They looked startled when the tall man and beautiful woman in her nightgown entered the bar after hours.
"Steve, you've got to hide us. There's a man down the street trying to kill us. Can we go upstairs?"
One look at Robert and Steve didn’t hesitate. "Sure. Want me to call the police?"
Steve looked nonplussed, calm, and collected as if half-dressed women entered his bar after hours every evening. Of course, this is New Orleans, so they probably do, Alex thought.
"Take us up and we'll talk. No police. They'll lead him to us." Robert knew he wasn't making sense.
Steve looked at Robert strangely. "This way."
Taking a circuitous route, the three of them headed through the kitchen and passed cases of wine and kegs of beer. They headed toward the back room where Steve summoned an ancient brass elevator. With considerable grunting and groaning, squeaking and screaming, the monstrosity pulled to a screeching halt and the three got in.
In a normal situation, Alex would never have boarded the old brass elevator but at this point, there was no choice. Her uncertainty showed on her face and Steve noted it.
"Here goes. Cross your fingers." Steve pressed the big black button marked three. "It usually makes it."
Steve's nonchalance was relaxing to Alex as he looked at her with a smile.
Steve said, “I promise!”
Alex gaped back at him, her blue eyes huge as she viewed her new brass prison.
“So... Robert, what’cha been up to,” Steve bantered and grinned at the bewildered couple as the elevator attempted to climb upwards.
Alex decided she really liked Steve and admired his casualness and insouciance.
Robert picked up Steve’s cue and responded dispassionately, “Not much really, just fighting voodoo, hexes, curses, and running away from ponytailed strangers who are trying to kill us.”
Steve nodded, “Yeah, I see that. Hang loose, we’re almost there.” The ancient elevator finally reached its destination and opened into a studio apartment with a window wall that offered a panoramic view of the Quarter. The furnishings were art nouveau with Italian leather sofas. Antique jukeboxes and pinball machines lined the walls. From the exposed rafters hung numerous Tiffany light fixtures that colored the room with a romantic light.
"What a cool place," Alex stammered. She was stunned as she looked around the old building.
Steve gave her a crafty smile as he walked toward an antique walnut cabinet and removed a stainless Smith and Wesson 45 semi-automatic from the drawer. After making sure it was loaded, he handed it to Robert and took a 357 revolver for himself.
Alex watched him with bewilderment, a dazed expression on her face.
"Yeah, most people expect a warehouse with large rats and cockroaches. Now, what in the hell's going on with you two? By the way, who in the hell are you?" Steve asked, looking at Alex.
"It's crazy and tied together with the problems at CCMC," Robert began to explain.
Alex was shocked back into reality and interrupted. "I’m Alex. I must have lost my cell while we were running. Can I use your phone? I need to call Captain Francoise at the NOPD." Alex was searching the apartment for a phone.
Steve handed her his black iPhone.
Alex looked at Robert. "Do you remember the numbers?" Robert shook his head.
"I don't want to call 911 because they'll send a bunch of units here, and if the ponytail got away, you can bet he's looking for us." Robert said.
"Would you guys speak English? What ponytail?" Steve's voice was insistent as he became aggravated.
Alex tried to explain. "A man with a ponytail was chasing us. He broke into my home and was going to kill me. He killed the police officer who was guarding my house. He chased us into the Quarter and had just caught us when he was hit in the head with a club by a clown." Alex finished breathlessly and realized how ridiculous her story sounded.
Steve started laughing. "I feel like I’m on an acid trip back in the seventies. You must mean old Frank."
"Who?" Robert and Alex said together.
"Old Frank. He's sort of a self-prescribed one-man vigilante who spends his evenings and nights protecting unassuming tourists from danger in the Quarter. Usually he dresses as a clown although he has other disguises, too. Next favorite costume is a pirate. He hangs around Jackson Square and tells tourists about the safe boundaries of the Quarter. You know, don't go north of Bourbon, east and west of whatever. He's a good man." Steve looked particularly pleased at Frank's latest triumph since he had saved his old friend, Robert.
"He sure saved us. Do you have a phonebook, Steve?"
“I haven’t had a phonebook for ten years but I do have the internet. Be my guest.” Steve directed Robert toward a computer where he quickly located the number for the NOPD. He left his name and an emergency message for Francoise.
“Might as well have a nightcap,” Steve said and handed them each an Irish coffee with lots of whipped cream.
***
Jack Francoise was wild with worry. He'd recognized Alex's number on his cell but hadn't gotten an answer when he'd called. When he had arrived at her house, he found his officer dead and knew immediately that Alex was on the run. He'd become even more concerned when her neighbor, Peter, verified Alex had been running down the street with one man, and another man in pursuit. Peter admitted setting his dogs loose to help protect Alex. He sobbed uncontrollably when Francoise told him that both of his huskies were dead.
The death of the dogs disturbed Francoise the most. Both dogs had been strangled, simultaneously. Francoise couldn't imagine what kind of man had the strength to strangle two Siberian huskies at the same time. It was inhuman that one man could have overcome two such powerful dogs at the same time. His thoughts returned to the man he'd tussled with at the voodoo gathering. He was convinced it was the man with the ponytail. But, that was all he knew. He had no idea who the stranger was, or how he was involved with Alex and CCMC. Francoise still hadn't been able to locate Mitch, but he didn't think Landry was dead - just well hidden. As he sat in his car, he was wondering where to look next when his phone rang. It was the watch officer at the precinct.
"I got a man here calling from a pay phone in Jackson Square. Says he helped a man and a woman get away from a man with a ponytail. You want to talk?" The watch officer added, "The man said the couple asked him to call you."
"Hell, yes, get his location."
"He's at Café du Monde. Says you can recognize him easily. He's a clown."
"A what?" Francoise's voice was incredulous.
"A clown, sir." The watch commander's voice was deferential, without emotion.
"What the fuck. Tell him I'll be there in ten minutes. Tell him not to leave."
"Done. Ten-four."
Francoise pulled out his siren and raced toward Jackson Square. He made it in record time and soon pulled up to the curb next to the café. The clown was there all right. He sat at a table as he drank café au lait and ate a beignet.
"Who the hell are you?" Francoise demanded after sitting down at the clown's table.
"Who are you?" the clown mimicked. "Got any ID?"
Francoise felt a grudging respect and pulled out his badge and ID. The clown read it carefully and matched the picture ID with the Captain's face. He seemed satisfied and said, "They told me to call you. So I did. I hit the man in the head."
"Wait a minute, one thing at a time. Who are 'they'? Let's take this nice and slow so I understand." Franco
ise's heart was beating fast.
"Alex and her man friend. She said her name was Alex and told me to come to CCMC next week so she could reward me for saving her. The man was nice too. He shook my hand."
"What'd the man look like?"
"Oh, sort of tall, slender, had light colored hair. Talked like a native."
"What did the other man look like, the bad one?" Even though Francoise was pretty sure who it was, he wanted confirmation.
"Tall, real big, and powerful. Dark hair with a ponytail. Mean face, real cold looking. I hit him in the head with the club I usually carry. He was lying in the gutter, and I was going to hit him again before I called you. He must've come to without me knowing it. I turned my head, just for a second to see if I could see Alex, and he kicked me in my privates. Knocked me over with pain. Bastard. That's when he took off."
"Where'd Alex and her friend go?"
"Don't know, just headed down Bourbon. Must've gone in somewhere, 'cause when I looked up they were gone."
Francoise sat for a few minutes and looked at the clown. "What's your name?" Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Francoise could remember stories about a man who roamed the French Quarter. He was dressed as a clown or a pirate, a good Samaritan of sorts. He wondered if this could be the man. "I asked your name." Francoise's voice was brusque.
"I'm Frank. I live over on Dauphine."
"Have a last name?"
"Nope. Never have. Wouldn’t tell you if I did. You can find me through Steve at the Maison Bourbon."
"Okay, Frank. Listen, here's my card. If you see this man again, call me. You'll be able to recognize him, right?"
"Sure. Nice to meet an honest New Orleans cop. Thanks for coming."
Francoise smiled at the weary clown, "Thanks, Frank. This man with the ponytail is really bad. Better go home and change to your pirate's outfit. I don’t doubt he’d come back for you. He'd love to kill you. I’d lay low for a while."
"Yeah, okay. Thanks for the tip. I'll do just that." The men shook hands as they parted.
