Carmen backed out of the hug and got serious right away. “Yes, you are in trouble and, yes, you need to see me. Here, special Gris-gris for each of you. No charge. These are on the house. A gift from your number one Voodoo fan.”
Jesse and Tim studied the cloth-covered amulets that were filled with what felt like beads and sawdust. They smelled of lavender and mint. Carmen helped each man put on her gift. “There, around your neck. Tuck it under your shirt. No one needs to know but you. Now come with me. We must speak in private.”
Jesse and Tim followed her through the beaded curtains and into her office. She sat them down in the chairs on either side of her desk and leaned over them like a stern teacher addressing two misbehaving students.
“Who is this Pete man?” she demanded. “And who is this Dupre?”
Jesse began to explain but she cut him off. “I know who they are. But do you know what they are? Do you realize the black magic they are throwing on you?”
Jesse said nothing. It hurt him to think of his friend Dupre as a negative influence. He had always thought of Dupre as a protector of the band, not somebody who would bring trouble to them.
Tim spoke up shyly. “The voice told me that Pete is a slave owner.”
Carmen looked at Tim in surprise. “So the voice has come to you?”
Before Tim could answer, she turned to Jesse. “I see why you brought him along.”
Jesse got to the point. “Rod said federal investigators have been asking questions about the band.”
Carmen’s nose began its inquisitive twitching. “Yes, I can taste your fear. You know the danger you’re in, although you have yet to admit it. That’s because you’ve put yourself in the middle of a major drug-dealing operation. Dupre’s connections are now Columbian and Pete is part of a pipeline that will soon connect to New York City. Dupre is in jail and he will talk eventually. Pete is snorting so much of his inventory he’ll kill himself soon.”
“How do you know all this?” Jesse asked.
Carmen was not quite ready to reveal her sources. She offered a limited explanation. “The eyes of Voodoo are everywhere. There are spirits who take human form and there are spirits who take no shape at all.”
“We’re not selling drugs,” Tim said, looking at Jesse for backup.
Carmen’s nose twitched again. “When you hang out with drug dealers, you are a drug dealer. Jesse helped negotiate the truce between the motorcycle gangs that turned the bayou into a cocaine highway. Dupre was arrested at your New Year’s performance. Do you not realize they are watching you? Pete still has no idea what he’s getting himself into.”
“How can Pete not know?” Jesse asked.
“He knows the players. He doesn’t know how big they are becoming. Soon, he’ll be needing trucks for the deliveries they have in mind.”
Jesse felt confused. “Why do they need Pete?”
“Pete is a link in the chain, a link with a respectable business cover. He has friends in banking and mortgage who can launder larger sums of money.”
“Have you talked to Pete?” Jesse asked.
Carmen took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. “I don’t need to talk to Pete. The spirit world is abuzz with all this. The darkness is spreading like cancer through our lands. Your band is being used. Deliveries and payments are made when dealers meet at your shows.”
Jesse was feeling sick to his stomach. He had looked the other way too many times. “Is that why Dupre was arrested at our New Year’s Eve show at Raceland Music Hall?”
“They knew he’d be there,” Carmen said.
“We pretty much know what the bikers are up to.” Tim said.
Carmen stood up tall and spread her arms wide to make her point. “You have surrounded yourselves with greed and violence and narcotics. It’s soiling your souls. Can’t you smell it? You can’t wash it off. The only thing to do is run from it. You will be killed or jailed for a long time if you do not immediately extricate yourselves from the middle of this growing criminal enterprise.”
Jesse knew, instinctively, that everything she said was true. Amy had been telling him the same thing since Dupre’s arrest.
“The killing between the Wheelers and the Gypsies is about to begin again, worse than ever,” she said.
“Is the voice telling you all this?” Jesse asked.
Carmen placed her hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “The Voodoo has shown me I need to intervene on your behalf. But that is not where I get my information. My main source is the man you call the mystery man. He is with the Gypsies. They are preparing for war because they know the Wheelers will blame them for Dupre’s arrest. Also, Ruthie the duck lady knows a federal agent who told her that informants have infiltrated each gang. Every meeting they have is being recorded and has been for some time. The evidence against them is piling up so high they have to store it in a warehouse. The feds arrested Dupre to confront him with the evidence and see how loud he’ll sing.”
“What should we do?” Tim asked.
“You must take your music out of this region. You must leave New Orleans and Bayou Lafourche.” Carmen spoke with such conviction that neither Tim nor Jesse considered challenging her conclusion. They knew she was right.
“Where should we go?” Jesse asked.
Carmen looked at them both for a long pause to make sure she had their undivided attention. “An opportunity will soon arise to show you which way to go.”
Jesse and Tim looked at each other. They knew what they had to do. As they stood up to leave, Carmen said, “Wait. Before you go. You must understand what is really going on here. This isn’t about motorcycle gangs and drug dealers. This is about light versus darkness. You have been traveling down a road of darkness. The darkness of the soul seeks riches and fame and pleasure. This road leads only to sorrow and betrayal. Each of you must change your course to seek the light within, the light which connects us all.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” Tim asked. “If you can see the future, I’d like to know how this is all going to turn out. I don’t know what’s light and what’s dark. I just want to know what’s going to happen.”
Carmen had to chuckle at his desperation. “The darkness makes you selfish. It makes you think fame and fortune are all you need to be happy and satisfied.”
“What about the light?” Jesse asked.
“The light shows us the path out of self centeredness,” Carmen explained. “It will show you that trying to be famous is much less important than making music to bring peace and joy to the world.”
Tim held his hands up over his shoulders. “I’ve always felt that way.”
Jesse raised his head. “I’m trying to get there.”
Carmen bent down to kiss Jesse on the forehead. “Jesse, you still have no idea where you’re going. You know I love you but you must also know that I understand the struggle going on inside your soul.”
Jesse didn’t comment. He knew she was talking about the band and marriage to Amy and his fear that he would end up being an attorney in Indiana at his father’s firm.
“So, where should we be going?” Tim asked.
Carmen kissed Tim on the forehead so as not to show favoritism. “I’ve told you all I know. I’ve told you all you need to know. But I will tell you one more thing.”
“What’s that?” Tim asked.
“A powerful force is coming to the band from our night at Tipitina’s. You will be pleased once it gets here.”
“What is it?” Jesse asked.
“I cannot say. To predict the future is to interfere. Contrary to popular opinion, my Voodoo has nothing to do with fortune telling.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RICK
Less than two weeks after Tim and Jesse’s warning from Carmen, The Divebomberz were scheduled to play Johnny’s Cimarron, a huge club in Shreveport, Louisiana, three hundred miles northwest of New Orleans. Jesse was amazed at the rapid turn of events. He hadn’t seen any way out of New Orleans until the door to th
eir exit opened like a magic stone gate to a secret, mountain passage.
Rene’s parents had moved north and realized the clubs in that region would love the band’s country-rock sound. Rene’s father booked the job in Shreveport, which paid eighteen hundred for Wednesday through Saturday. The band would be filling in for another group that had to cancel.
Jesse was beginning to see that many of their opportunities happened because someone else couldn’t make it. Even more amazing than the miracle booking was that The Divebomberz became a six-man band shortly after New Year’s Eve.
Jesse answered the phone one morning and heard a man with a smooth New Orleans drawl speaking softly. “Hey, man. It’s Rick. Madame Carmen says you need me playing keyboard for your band.”
Jesse immediately wondered if Rick was the powerful force Carmen had predicted would come to them from Tipitina’s. It shocked him that a keyboard player would come into his life so soon after he first realized he needed one. He entertained the notion he had dreamed him up, but that’s not what happened. Rick did appear as if by magic. He had seen Professor Longhair sitting in with the band at Tipitina’s and realized how much The Divebomberz needed a keyboard player. He got Jesse’s phone number that night from Pete and called Jesse after the holidays.
Jesse was cautious at first. “How do you know Carmen?”
The man chuckled at Jesse’s reaction and introduced himself. “Sorry for calling out of the blue like this. Like I said, my name is Rick. I’ve been playing around New Orleans most of my life. Sooner or later, we all get to know Madame Carmen and Ruthie the duck lady.”
“You say that like they’re one and the same person,” Jesse said.
“They may well be. The two of them have serious Voodoo connections. Dr. John introduced me.”
Jesse was stunned. “You’re a friend of Dr. John’s?”
Rick paused long enough for Jesse to think he might be telling the truth. “We know each other pretty well. I love the cat. He’s helped me out a lot. But I learned most of what I know from Professor Longhair.”
That was all Jesse needed to hear. “That’s way good enough for me. Can you come to the Fae Do Do Club on Magazine Street on Saturday around noon? That’s tomorrow. We’re trying to get a rehearsal in the afternoon before our gig at nine.”
“I’ll bring my organ down if you’ll help me get it off the truck.”
Jesse had to laugh, thinking Rick was joking. “How big is it?”
Rick was serious. “It’s a Hammond B-3 with a Leslie. It’s big and it’s heavy.”
Jesse had no idea what he was talking about, but he wasn’t ready to admit his ignorance. “We’ll take care of it. We’re used to hauling gear.”
Rick didn’t arrive at the club until two. He was five-foot-eight with shoulder length blond hair and a goatee to match. He looked and sounded like the rock and roll keyboard star, Edgar Winter. Rick had played with everybody, including the Dixie Cups on their big hit, “Going to the Chapel.” He was twenty-eight years old.
“Sorry I’m late, man. I had to borrow this pickup truck and the guy was late.”
The band gathered round to behold the B-3. It was five feet long, four feet tall and three feet wide. It was made of beautifully carved wood and looked like it belonged in a cathedral. Jesse thought it was the coolest thing ever, never thinking ahead to what it would be like to haul it from gig to gig. It took four guys to lift the thing out of the truck. Rick had heavy-handled hauling devices that strapped to either end of the organ. Jesse, Rene, Butch, and Tim hoisted it into the club and up on the stage like slaves building an Egyptian pyramid.
Rene wasn’t pleased with the possible addition of another musician. “So, what? You just invite somebody to join the band without even telling us?”
Jesse was amazed at what a pain in the ass Rene was becoming. “He just called yesterday. He knows Dr. John and Professor Longhair. I thought you’d be thrilled. I didn’t invite him to join the band. He’s just sitting in. If you don’t like him, we’ll send him on his way.”
The moment he started playing, Rick became a member of The Divebomberz. He was classically trained but incredibly funky. The B-3 through the Leslie was so rich and full it turned the band’s chicken-vegetable soup into Gumbo Ya Ya. The Leslie amp spins around in its cabinet, giving the organ an expansive, well-rounded tone. Rick could make it moan and he could make it scream, like he was making love to a gypsy queen.
The first song the band played with their new keyboard man was “Jambalaya.” The Hank Williams song only has two major chords, C and G. Rick made it sound like Beethoven had gone wild in the bayou with Buckwheat Zydeco. He took a lead and held onto one high note so long it felt like an invasion of the body snatchers. Jesse looked over his shoulder to see Rick with one arm held high over his head as he dragged out the one-note wail. Butch caught it too. Rick was a showman.
When the five-minute jam finally came to a perfect, crunching end, all six members of the new and improved Divebomberz could only stare at each other in amazement. Jesse thought the band sounded better than anything he’d ever heard. Now, he was certain that Rick and his B-3 were exactly what Carmen had predicted.
Rene got off his drum stool and reached over the organ to shake Rick’s hand. “Welcome to The Divebomberz.”
“Does this mean I’m playing tonight?” Rick asked.
“You’re in for an equal share,” said Butch.
“How much is that?”
Butch looked at the rest of the band for confirmation. “Fifty bucks. We’re only making three hundred tonight but we’ll do a lot better, I promise.”
The Divebomberz’ silent vote was unanimous. Each member shook his head affirmatively and they were, suddenly, a six-man band.
“I don’t doubt we’ll make more money,” Rick said. “This band sounds big-time good. Count me in.”
Jesse realized that Rick had no idea he was joining a band that was leaving town to escape a drug war and possible federal arrest. He decided not to mention it. Why spoil the moment?
The new and improved band spent the rest of the afternoon rocking the empty club. During breaks, they had a few beers and joints and got to know each other. Rick told war stories about playing with the music legends of New Orleans and getting addicted to heroin along the way. “I kicked thirteen months ago. Don’t worry, I’m never going back to that nightmare.”
“Good to hear,” Butch said. “We’ve all done our share of too much cocaine.”
Rick was not amused. “Don’t bring that shit around me. I don’t even want to see it. That’s how I got started.”
Tim raised his glass of beer. “We’re back to booze and pot.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Rick said as the band got back to introducing him to the set list.
The band’s first rehearsal impressed the staff at the club. They applauded after every song for the entire session. By 6 p.m., they had called everyone they knew to come hear the new band they had discovered.
That night, The Divebomberz played like demons at the Fae Do Do. Jesse couldn’t believe how full they sounded with Rick. It was like playing with Professor Longhair, only even better. Rick was more rock and roll.
The packed club cheered them on like musical history was being made. The crowd kept getting bigger as the hour got later, always a good sign for a band. Rick didn’t know half of the songs but it never took him more than a verse and a chorus to find his part. He knew when to fade out and when to come on strong. His dramatic sense of timing gave the band new dynamics.
After the show, the club manager tried to book the band for more money and the first weekend of every month. Jesse had to turn down the offer. The band had to get out of New Orleans.
A few nights after their first performance as a six-piece band, The Divebomberz had a meeting at Dale’s apartment in the French Quarter.
“So, who gets to sleep with Dale?” Rene joked about the three hotel rooms booked at the Royal Royce Hotel in Shreveport, Louisiana. The clu
b owner was providing the rooms.
“I’ll take that spot,” said Butch, who was always very protective when anyone teased Dale about his sexual preference.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for a place named the Royal Royce,” Dale said. “It sounds like a whore house in London.”
Jesse was quick on his pick. “I’ll bunk with Tim. That way Rene and Rick can get to know each other.”
Rene hung his head slightly and turned away. Jesse saw he wasn’t happy with the roommate selections, nor was he agreeable to Jesse making the decisions. He needed to pay more attention to Rene.
“Okay, then,” Jesse said. “I can feel the presence of an unhappy drummer. So how about this? It’s me and Rene in the honeymoon suite, Tim and Rick in the Hollywood double, Butch and Dale in the whatever-you-want-to-call-it room.”
Rene shrugged his shoulders, somewhat appeased by the new pairings. With the rooming situation resolved, the band retired to its favorite hangout, Tortilla Flats, for a couple rounds of Sangria and the chance to jump a passing train. Jesse was excited to initiate Rick.
The band was starting to get a little loud and loaded when Dale quieted them down. “Listen. Do you hear that?”
Everybody fell silent and listened. The restaurant crowd turned to see what was wrong.
Tim shouted for joy as he jumped up out of his seat. “I hear the train a comin’. I think it’s time we took Rick for his first ride.”
Rene got up from the table and headed for the door without looking back. “Follow me, men.”
“Put us on the tab, Bobby!” Butch yelled as the entire band stampeded out the door and headed for the railroad tracks by the Mississippi River.
Rick tried to finish his sangria and then had to run to keep up. “You guys can’t be serious. I’ve never jumped a train. I don’t know how to do it. I can’t believe I’m even doing this. People lose their legs playing around trains.”
Jesse waited for him to catch up. “Don’t worry. We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
The band reached the tracks and hid behind a shed as the lead locomotive rumbled past them. It shook the ground with its rolling weight. The headlight was so bright it split the night in two. It smelled like a steel mill and looked like a fire-breathing dragon.
Rock and Roll Voodoo Page 19
