by C. R. Daems
"Arrange it. When you've arranged the contract, tell Tony, and he'll see you get the money you need. If this works, there will be a generous bonus for you." He sat quietly for several minutes before speaking. "Tell Ken I want him to find her mother. She's an addict and can be made to tell him everything about her daughter. Tell him I'm sending you to her old college to track down anyone she was close to."
"The mother sounds like a good idea."
"It isn't. I contacted her over a year ago. She's a true addict. She birthed Renee and gave her over to her mother to care for. I doubt she's seen her daughter more than two months in the past twenty years. She'd be lucky to remember the color of her daughter's eyes or hair."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
An anonymous tip
The next day, I called the number Grace had on her agent's card.
"Agent Casey, speaking." A confident soprano voice answered.
"Good morning, Grace. This is Renee, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"No, we’re just sitting around drinking coffee hoping someone will call and give us something to do." She laughed. "Sorry, Renee, I couldn't resist, although we are sitting here drinking coffee. And we're discussing the situation in the French Quarter, hoping someone will give us a lead." She laughed again. "I think I've had too much coffee. What can I do for you?"
"Then I may be able to help. I have some information. Could y’all come down and see me?"
"Right away. Are you at your shop?"
"Yes, I'll be here all day. I'm sitting here hoping customers will come and buy something so I can afford to buy food." I laughed.
"Be there in an hour," she said and hung up. Several customers did come in, and a couple bought some small souvenirs. I was in the process of talking to one older man about herbs for headaches when Grace arrived with Mike. She nodded towards me and then began walking around looking at the merchandise. Mike stood looking at the books on Voodoo and herbs.
"Sir, I can mix up some herbs that will help, and they aren't addictive."
"How much," he asked, looking suspicious. I didn't take it personally. There were enough scams even from respectable firms to justify people's paranoia.
"Ten dollars. A spoon full in a cup of hot tea is best, but you can mix it with water. There will be about thirty or so spoon fills in the bag."
"That's a lot cheaper than the pharmacy. Does it work? Hell, at that price, what do I have to lose? If it works, you’re my new druggist. I assume you have a website?" He smiled.
"No, sir. I don't, but that is an excellent idea. I'll give you my card. If you want more, drop me a line. Just ask for headache herbs and enclose a check."
He nodded, took his bag, and left. When he did Mike was first to the counter.
"I'll take some of that, given it's not illegal," he said with a lopsided grin as Grace joined us.
"No, just old fashioned remedies before the pharmaceutical companies turned them into pills and added chemicals to ruin your liver, kidneys, and stomach." I grinned back. "Give me a minute," I said as I went to the door and turned the sign to Closed. "Come in the back. Have some sweet tea or a Coke while we talk." They nodded, so I got the tea pitcher out as they surveyed the room.
"I don't know if it's an advantage or disadvantage to have your work and living space together. Hard to get away from work," Mike said, looking around the room. "And it is small...and cozy," he quickly added.
"How much rent or mortgage do you pay, Mike?"
"There is that. Probably more than you pay for this building." He laughed. After I placed the tea and glasses of ice and lemon slices on the table, I sat. "I have information collected from several sources that indicates Mambo Monique's place will be firebombed later this week," I began.
"From whom?" Mike asked, while Grace studied me. "We need to talk to them."
"They don't want to be directly involved. Too many times people get involved and it results in them being hurt. Not your fault," I added quickly. "The law is complex, and the guilty are not always punished, and the government can't protect everyone they should forever. I'd like to ask you to trust me, but I know you don't know me well enough." I shrugged, waiting for some feedback from Grace, as she was the senior agent and would be responsible. She said nothing for a while.
"What have you learned," Grace asked with a slight frown.
"Most people ignore the 'help' like they don't exist and are not careful around them. And even in a restaurant, everyone is talking so no one is listening, unless you mention the word mambo or houngan. We have a large population who practice Vodou and anything concerning a priest or priestess is worth hearing. When it's someone like Mambo Asogwe Monique, everyone listens." I stopped to take a sip of tea, waiting to see her reaction as I built up a plausible explanation for what I was about to tell them. "Collectively, it indicates someone is going to firebomb Mambo Monique's shop after she closes. Most likely towards the weekend, and most likely on motorcycles."
"Do you have their names and addresses," Mike blurted out and gave a sheepish smile.
"That is a lot of information and highly specific from overhearing conversations. We would obviously like to talk to the same people and see if we draw the same conclusions," Grace said, giving me a hard look. "But you say that's impossible?"
"Yes."
"Why not contact the police?"
"I suspect they would patrol the area, which would be relying on luck. I don't want to trust Mambo Monique's life to luck."
"If it's after hours, Mambo Monique's life shouldn't be in danger," Mike said.
"Like me, she lives in the back of her shop. Where will the Molotov cocktail land? Where will she be at that time? How fast will fire spread?"
"So, you’re suggesting a stakeout that is capable of stopping the incident," Grace said.
"Do you have a better idea?"
"No, I don't, but committing resources on vague rumors..."
"Well, I'd wager my store on that vague rumor rather than chance Mambo Monique losing her home and maybe her life," I said in frustration, tears clouding my eyes.
"I'll talk to the area director and see if he'll approve it."
* * *
I felt relieved after they left. Maybe if they caught the paid help, it might lead to information that would get the FBI closer to the people responsible. Probably not, I conceded in frustration. The rest of the day dragged by as I waited to close my shop and go see Monique to see if her future had changed. I closed on time, washed, and hurried out the door towards the Serpent House of Voodoo. It seemed to take forever, longer because Harry Bishop stopped me to tell me that Ms. Jeffery had thanked him for recommending me. Jeffery, judging by Bishop's remarks, had been extremely discreet, in fact, had lied, saying she had been concerned about a friend.
When I reached Monique's shop, it was still open with two customers talking with her. I walked around the shop while I waited for them to leave. The most notable thing was the absence of things "made in China" and abundance of hand-made and Haitian items. When they left, I couldn't wait. I walked over to her and held out my hands. As she held mine, her new future scrolled by.
"Damn. Damn," I growled, my face twisting in anger.
"What's wrong, Renee? Not the result you hoped for?" She took me by the shoulder and walked me into the back room, sat me down, and then went about heating up something. I was too upset to care.
"I talked to the FBI agent investigating the incident with Houngan Bolade. She's the wife of an old friend of mine, and we've had dinner together, so she knows me. I made up a plausible story about how I obtained information about a possible firebombing here. She said she'd talk to her director about a stakeout. She obviously did." I shook my head, still angry.
"That's good, isn't it?"
"No. Whoever she told or they told has gotten back to the people responsible, and the firebombing has been called off. They are going to bomb the House of Eshe."
"How do you know? I thought you told me you couldn't see your futu
re."
"I can't. I saw you standing in front of my burnt out shop, crying."
"Oh, no! You've shifted the danger from me to you." She patted my hand, clearly distressed. "Were you killed?"
I didn't say anything. I pulled out my cell and dialed the number Grace had given me for their home. After a few rings, Grace answered. "Yes?"
"Grace, it's Renee."
"Good, I was just about to call you, the director—"
"I know," I interrupted. "And whoever he talked to has called off the attack on Mambo Monique. They have a new target." No sense saying it was me. She had gone out on a limb for me, and it had backfired in her face. Even if she believed me, the people responsible had a strong connection to the FBI bureau here in New Orleans. There was a long silence.
"How do you know—so quickly?"
"I'm sorry I got you involved, Grace. You tried to help, and you will suffer for it. You can't trust me anymore, and I can't trust the bureau. I'm sorry and hope in time you'll forgive me." I hung up.
"What do you plan to do now?" Monique asked.
"I don't know. Buy a darned good fire extinguisher." I laughed. Changing the future wasn't as simple as it sounded. But I had saved Monique's life, and it was worth it no matter what happened. Monique fed me and although concerned couldn't really do or say anything to help. On the way home, I walked slowly trying to think but unable. My mind felt numb. I passed two Locos, who looked my way but said nothing. Normally, they would have at the very least made all sorts of vulgar remarks and might even have approached and groped me. I seemed to be in a cycle of solving one problem and getting a new one in exchange. I wished I could take the million dollars, if the offer was real, and leave. No, I don't, I quickly conceded. I love New Orleans, being a mambo, helping people, and living in the home where I grew up. Young or old, I knew I would die here.
* * *
I had two days until the firebomb incident would occur, so I kept the shop closed the next day, and went shopping. Thank the Loa for the money Jeffery had given me. I purchased three, ten pound, ABC fire extinguishers, five rolls of fiberglass insulation, and rented something close to a fireman's outfit. I brought my purchases in the back door to avoid any talk. The next day I opened for business as usual, with slightly less inventory. I had moved half of my more expensive inventory to the back room. The rest I would move when I closed, which would be two hours early. I had determined the approximate time of the attack by watching Monique's future and observing the gathered people as she stood in front of the broken window of my shop. I estimated it was an hour or so from the time I normally closed—around six, so I'd close around four to give me extra time to setup.
It was a slow day, so around two I began moving some stuff to the back and storing them in the cardboard boxes I had purchased. Last night I had packed Granny's books and notes, and anything I considered irreplaceable into two boxes, which if necessary I could drag out the back door to safety.
Around three thirty, Grace walked into the shop, without Mike.
"Hello, Renee. I informed the director that my informant had heard the attack would be called off. He didn't blame me, so you didn't get me in any sort of trouble, and I'm not upset with you. Mambo Monique is an important person in your life. How did you find out...what are you doing? Are you going somewhere?" she said, looking into the backroom through the half open door.
"No, just rearranging things," I replied, trying to sound casual. She strode to the door and opened it. The shock on her face was priceless. I guess it was the fire extinguishers or the fireman-like suit.
"What's going on, Renee? It looks like... You think...know... They’ve switched targets from Monique to you. How? Why didn't you tell me?" She shook her head like a dog out of water. "Of course, you couldn't. You knew I wouldn't take you seriously, and even if I did, you feel there is a leak in the bureau."
I nodded agreement. "Sorry. You did what you could, and it's saved Monique. That's what was important."
"But you? How can you be so certain?" she asked, sticking her head into the room.
"Grace, you trusted me and did everything you could to help, so I wish I could tell you, but I can't. I'm sorry." I liked Grace and was truly sorry I had pulled her into this mess. I might be able to change the future, but I couldn't change the past.
"I can't call the bureau." She laughed. "They can't respond this fast even if I had the authority, and if you are right. It would negate all your careful planning. I'm staying. If for no other reason than curiosity and to help if I can."
"Please, no. I'll never forgive myself if you were injured. You don't have the proper clothing."
"I'll help you prepare, and I'll stay out of the way. Promise."
"All right." What else could I say? It might help in the future if she saw the threat was real, and she could trust my rumors.
Around four, I hung a sign on the window "closed for inventory." And with Grace's help, began moving merchandise to the back and packing them in boxes. By five we had all the valuables removed from the shelves, and I began laying fiberglass along the walls, thinking to keep any gasoline that splashed from igniting the cabinets or walls. Then I covered the floor.
"Why the floor?" Grace asked after we had finished, and I had warmed up some leftover chicken gumbo.
"Maybe, if I'm lucky, the bottle won't break. If it does, the gas won't spread as much, and it should reduce the intensity of the flames." I carried the food into the shop, and we ate off the counter. I wanted to be prepared, since I didn't know the exact time. Grace was discussing how she decided to join the FBI, and her initial training at Quantico, when the window shattered, and seconds later a bottle with a flaming rag flew through the window, hit the floor, and burst into flames. I already had my fire extinguisher spraying the area.
"Grace, get in the back," I yelled. She didn't. Instead, she grabbed the other extinguisher and began spraying. With the two of us, it was out in less than a minute and, except for the floor and the window, with no other damage.
"I didn’t honestly believe you, Renee. I stayed for support." She put her arm around me, and I could see her future. Since the last ceremony, my gift had gotten stronger, and I could see Grace in charge of a taskforce. I had zoomed past her time at home—the bedroom activity and such.
"Quick, let's get this fiberglass insulation in the back room. The police are going to be here soon, and I don't want anyone to know I was prepared for this. It was fortunate you were here to interview me when the firebomb came through the window. Thanks to you, there is little damage, and I didn’t get hurt."
"You want me to take credit—"
"Yes, please. I'll explain later." I grabbed several pieces of the fiberglass cloth as I fled into the back to change out of my outfit and help clear the rest. Sirens were wailing in the distance as we finished removing the fiberglass, and not long afterward, people began collecting in front of the broken window.
"Anyone hurt in there," a man's voice called. Before I could answer the door opened, and two firemen followed by a policeman rushed in.
"Y’all all right?" the oldest fireman, asked looking around. "Looks like we're too late. You seem to have everything under control. Lucky, judging by the broken bottle on the floor."
"Someone threw that through your window?" the policeman asked. Two others were peering through the door.
"Yes, I was fortunate. FBI Agent Casey had stopped by to ask me some questions. Her quick thinking saved my life and my shop."
"FBI?"
"Yes, I believe the FBI will be taking over this case as this appears to be an organized operation against shop owners in the French Quarter." Grace did most of the talking to the policemen, and it didn't take long to get rid of them. She called her director to tell him what happened, reluctantly taking credit for saving me. By then Monique entered through the back entrance. Grace then called her husband.
"Ron, we're having a party at Renee's shop. A working party. Put on some work clothes, pick up a thick four-by-
eight plywood board, po-boys, beignets, and coffee for four, and come on down." She laughed and hung up. "I'm terrible."
Ron showed up about an hour later with everything Grace had asked for. She spent an hour assuring him she was all right and that it was her idea to stay, not mine. I think it was the first time Ron had come to grips with the realization that his wife, unlike him, whose most confrontational day would be a heated discussion, would have confrontations with criminals who used guns. We finished around three a.m. I went to bed knowing I had made the right decisions.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Committee
Willis sat watching his monitor screen as the boxes slowly appeared. Black was last.
"Good evening. I'm sure most if not all of you have heard the latest news. If not, the group who is attempting to remove the Voodoo shops, mambos, and houngans from New Orleans almost killed your golden goose." Willis took a long inhale of his cigar as he waited for a response. Red's smiley face was first to respond.
"She wasn't hurt. Even her shop looked to have sustained only minor damage."
"That is true, Mr. Red. But what would have happened if another person hadn't been there to help, or if she hadn't happened to have fire extinguishers in her shop and home, or if the bottle had exploded at her feet, or if it had landed behind her and she couldn't reach her back door, or if she decides to leave town and doesn't leave a forwarding address?" Willis sat back and took a satisfying drag on his cigar.
"This project is far more important than the local yokels' petty concerns. Black can you correct the problem—quickly?" Blue's smiley face said, sounding angry.
"Consider it done," Black's smiley face responded.
"Wait. I might be able to stop any further action until...it's safe to proceed," Red said. "But you may already have your proof. Didn’t she contact the FBI about an attack on that Monique woman. And she was prepared for the attack on her own shop? Isn't that proof enough to take her into custody...for safekeeping?
