Rock and Roll Voodoo

by Mark Paul Smith

  The elevator only had room for four people. It was Butch, Johnny, Dale and Jesse in the cramped space with their suitcases stacked on top of each other.

  Johnny continued guiding the tour. “The only problem area is between the fourth and fifth floors.”

  “Problem area?” Dale asked.

  Johnny laughed like a bartender at a lame joke. “Just kidding. I’ve only been stuck a couple times.”

  Now it was Butch’s turn. “That’s two times too many. Maybe we should start taking the stairs.”

  “Not a good idea,” Johnny said. “The stairs get a little creaky.”

  The ride was bumpy until it mercifully jolted to a stop at the fifth floor. Johnny opened the sliding door. The elevator was six inches lower than level with the floor.

  “Watch your step,” he said, leading the way.

  The halls were narrow and covered with purple carpet that looked black in the dim light. Johnny walked them to a window at the end of the hall. “See out there? That’s a fire escape that goes almost all the way down.”

  Butch tried to look out the window. “Almost all the way down?”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said. “You’d have to hang on to the bottom rung and drop about five feet to the alley. Don’t worry, there’s never been a fire.”

  Jesse went to the window and looked up. “It looks like it goes up to the roof.”

  Johnny nudged Jesse and winked. “All the way to the coolest roof you ever saw. Whatever you do, don’t go up and party on the roof.”

  Tim and Rene and Rick got out of the elevator and joined Johnny and the rest of the band in the hall.

  Dale greeted them like a punchdrunk carny. “Enjoy the ride?”

  Tim and Rick laughed at the question. Rene looked pale and seemed genuinely shaken by the experience. “That death trap is definitely not up to code.”

  Johnny shook his finger at Rene. “Don’t tell anyone, or you’ll be sleeping in the club. So, come on, guys, the rooms are clean and the beds are good.”

  Each room was comfortably large with one double bed and its own modernized bathroom. Quite nice, actually, except for the fact that everything was purple. Purple drapes, purple carpet, purple bedspreads, purple chairs and even purple shower curtains. No doubt, the purple was meant to hammer home the “royal” theme of the hotel.

  Johnny threw open the curtain of a tall, Queen Anne window. “Look at her. There she is, in all her glory … downtown Shreveport. Look, right down there is the courthouse and right behind that is the new Parrish jail. Do not end up there.”

  “Nice view of the jail,” Dale said with a wide-eyed, side look at the band.

  “We’re not troublemakers,” Butch said. “But if we did get into trouble, you could help us out, right?”

  Johnny put his arm around Butch. “Provided I’m not in jail with you.”

  The band laughed a little nervously. Jesse wondered what he had gotten into here. The hotel felt like a cross between a haunted house and a nursing home.

  “I’m only kidding. I know every cop in this town. You’ll be fine as long as you don’t kill somebody.”

  “So far, so good,” Tim said.

  Johnny prepared to make his exit. “Okay, then. You’re in your rooms. Relax. I’ve got to get back to the club. We’re going to have a big night tonight. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Once Johnny left, they had a field day making fun of their new accommodations. Dale was the first. “You should see our room. It looks like somebody gets murdered in there every night.”

  Butch was next. “This place is like a purple people eater.”

  Tim tried to be positive. “The bed feels pretty good. Which side do you like to sleep on, Rick?”

  “I’ll take the floor if that’s okay with you,” Rick said.

  Rene couldn’t get over their host. “What about Johnny? Is he a combination of John Wayne and Ed Sullivan or what?”

  “Let’s see what kind of crowd he draws tonight,” Jesse said.

  “And let’s get something to eat,” Butch said. “I thought I saw a cool, little diner between here and the club.”

  Johnny’s was packed by the time The Divebomberz showed up at 8 p.m. People were lined up on the sidewalk. Johnny had hung posters all over town and done a lot of radio advertising. The crowd inside parted to allow the band access to the stage in the back. Butch asked Jesse a question as they squeezed their way along the bar. “How do these people even know who we are?”

  Jesse excused himself through the crowd as he responded to Butch. “They don’t need to know us. They love us because we’re the hottest band on the bayou.”

  Butch grabbed his arm. “Since when?”

  “Since Johnny said so.”

  The crowd was rowdy and diverse. Bikers and their babes in leather were partying with college boys and their dates in short skirts. Johnny’s bartenders and waitresses were serving drinks at a record-breaking pace. The air was dense with cigarette smoke and the unmistakable aroma of marijuana.

  Johnny welcomed the band from behind the bar like they were celebrities. “What do you think of my club now?” he shouted over the pounding, jukebox music. “I’m going to make you guys stars by the end of the week.”

  He had six frosty mugs of Heineken beer set up at the end of the bar. “Grab them while they’re cold. You might as well start a little early. Everybody’s ready.”

  People started chanting, “Divebomberz, Divebomberz,” as soon as Rene sat on his stool to fine-tune the drums. He looked at Tim and smiled like a kid who just got his favorite toy for Christmas. “Looks like all we can do is shatter the myth.”

  Dale was more than ready to rock. “We’re going to knock them dead. Look at this place. There must be two hundred and fifty people in here, with more waiting outside. People are standing on chairs in the back. Look at them. They’re waving at us.”

  Even Rick was impressed. “I take back every bad thing I ever said about Shreveport and the Royal Royce. This place is a blast.”

  Johnny watched to see when the band was ready to start. When Butch gave the sign, the club owner took over the lead microphone to welcome the crowd and introduce the band. He was the consummate professional.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Johnny’s Cimarron, the hottest music club in the south.”

  People cheered mightily. Johnny waited for them to settle down.

  “And I’m Johnny.”

  The crowd screamed their approval. Johnny waited again for them to settle.

  “Tonight, we have a special treat for you. We have the band that saved its crowd from the fire at the Safari Club down on the bayou. We have the band that survives hurricanes, the band you’ll soon be hearing on the radio. Ladies and gentlemen, we have, right here in Shreveport, Louisiana, all the way from New Orleans, the hottest band on the bayou, The Divebomberz.”

  The band drowned out the roar of the crowd by kicking off the night with their standard opening song.

  The music sounded so good the band looked at each other in wonderment. Yes, it was big and powerful and in tune and unique. But something else was happening. It was the acoustics of the long room with twelve-foot ceilings, packed with people. The music was perfect for the crowd, the crowd was perfect for the room, and the room was perfect for the music. It was the circle of life for rock and roll with a country fiddle and a gospel-soul organ. People actually backed up, at first, from the power coming off the stage. It didn’t take long for them to recover and rush the dance floor to get closer to the band. Fortunately, they didn’t mob the stage.

  Jesse and Dale were on a one-foot riser in front, Butch and Tim on a two-foot riser behind them and Rick and Rene on the three-foot riser in the back. The band stacked up like a tower of power. Dancers took over the floor in front of the band. One group of eight dancers seemed to have some kind of choreography going on. Jesse was delighted. It was the first time he had seen line dancing.

  It was square dancing without partners. They moved
in unison. Two steps to the front, slide to the right, spin around and take two steps to the left. They kept it going for a couple songs. Then, individual dancers overwhelmed them.

  The band kept the tempo cranked until the middle of the set when they slowed things down with “Can’t You See” by the Marshall Tucker Band. As the crowd began singing along, Jesse made eye contact with a beautiful Italian woman. She had big eyes with just the right amount of makeup and long, black hair. Jesse smiled at her and she smiled back. It was one of those moments when the rest of the world stands still. Jesse knew he was in trouble right away. He tried to look away but every time he looked back she was right there, waiting for him with a sly smile. She had a wholesome look, but her dress was short, black and low cut. It showed off plenty of fair-skinned cleavage when she bent forward to shimmy.

  The band finished off the first set with a couple original songs and a rhythm and blues version of “I’ve Just Seen A Face.” Beatles songs were always crowd pleasers and excellent set closers. When Tim and Dale and Butch and Jesse sang together, they could make a chorus sound almost as big and rich as the fab four. Then again, nobody ever sounded as good as the Beatles, not even The Beatles.

  The Divebomberz took a break in the small area behind the stage by the restrooms. It was impossible to make it up to the bar. Johnny had way too many people in the club. He came back to congratulate the band on their set and made sure they had chairs to sit on and a small table. “You guys got it going on. This place is rockin’ tonight. Keep up the good work. And remember, fifteen minutes for the break. Looks like you’ll be getting a bonus tonight.”

  Johnny rushed off to try and manage his bar just as the young, Italian woman with Jesse in her sights walked by to go into the ladies room.

  Dale saw Jesse following her with his eyes. “Who is that? Not only is she gorgeous but I saw her looking at you, Jesse, like she wants to eat you for dinner.”

  Rene saw the woman looking at Jesse as she passed. “Maybe you should go in and see if she needs any help, Jesse.”

  In a short time, a long line formed to get into the women’s rest room. They all wanted to talk to the band while they waited.

  “Who’s that drummer?” one woman asked another, loud enough for all to hear. “I hear he’s Cajun.”

  “He’s Cajun cute is what he is,” the second woman teased.

  Rene loved it. “Now, ladies. You know I can hear you talking. And I’m liking what I hear.”

  The line into the restroom began to morph into a rush on the band. In a flash of pulchritude, the band members were completely enveloped by the sweet smell of female adoration. Johnny came over to save them after only ten minutes. He could see the scene had become unmanageable. “Time to get back to work.”

  “See that door in the corner,” he said to Tim. “Go through that door after the next set and lock it behind you. There’s an office upstairs you can use for breaks. It’s the only place for privacy. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.”

  Jesse was strapping on his bass for the second set when he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned around to find himself looking down into the face of the Italian girl. She was even more striking up close, her touch more captivating than her smile.

  “I’m Rose,” she said. “Sorry about my crazy friends and the groupie crush. You guys are fantastic. Best band we’ve had here.”

  “Thank you Rose,” Jesse said. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jesse. Thanks for coming out tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t miss you for the world,” she said as she disappeared into the crowd.

  Dale took a couple steps to Jesse and whispered in his ear. “I wouldn’t miss you for the world.”

  The Divebomberz kicked off the second set with the traditional New Orleans song, “Iko, Iko.” People got so excited they started jumping up on the bar and chairs and tables to sing along. Johnny and his staff managed to clear the bar but there was nothing they could do about the tables. Three guys fell off one table but the crowd caught them. There was simply no place to fall.

  Jesse kept looking for Rose but he couldn’t find her in the melee.

  The band played on through the end of an hour-and-a-half second set and took a much-needed break. They were exhausted and drenched in sweat from the intensity of the performance. Tim showed them Johnny’s door and they took refuge in his upstairs office.

  Butch was the first to recognize their situation. “Okay. Does anybody see the problem we are facing?”

  Dale shrugged his shoulders. “What? Too many crazy, drunk people?”

  “No,” Rene said. “That’s not what he’s talking about. He’s talking about we can’t get drinks up here.”

  Tim slapped his head. “Oh, shit. We should have thought about that.”

  While the band debated what to do, someone started knocking on the window. It startled everyone. How could anyone be able to knock on a second-story window?

  Rick moved cautiously to the window. “There’s a fire escape. It goes all the way down to the alley. That makes this building more safe than the Royal Royce Hotel. Here, I’ll open the window.”

  Sure enough, Johnny had sent a waitress up the back fire escape with a round of beer and Tequila.

  The waitress handed the heavily loaded tray through the window. “Johnny said to tell you this isn’t his first rodeo. Enjoy. I’ll be back in seven and a half minutes to see if you need anything else. Johnny says remember the fifteen-minute rule. Does anybody need anything before I go back down?”

  Rene helped Rick with the drinks. “Tell Johnny thanks. The only other thing we’ll be needing is a couple joints if you’ve got them.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said as she closed the window and disappeared down the fire escape.

  “How does she get out of the front door of the club and through all those people with those drinks?” Tim asked.

  “There must be some kind of back door to the alley,” Dale guessed. “This old building is full of surprises.”

  Butch saw the full potential of the fire escape. “You know, we could use it to go get what we need.”

  “Let’s wait,” Dale said. “Let’s see if she comes back with any weed.”

  Rick raised his mug. “We should’ve asked her to bring up a couple bottles of champagne. Now, that would be delivery to write home about.”

  Rene took a seat in Johnny’s chair behind the desk, which was four inches deep in paperwork. He put his feet up on a corner of the desk. “So, this is what it feels like to be a big-time club owner. Looks like somebody’s a little behind in his bookkeeping.”

  Tim pretended to be taking his picture. “All you need is a cowboy hat and a couple cans of mace.”

  Butch checked out the scene. “Look behind you, Rene. Isn’t that a safe under the back table?”

  Dale got excited. “Yes, it is. Look in the desk. Maybe we can find the combination.”

  “Dale,” Butch warned.

  “Just kidding,” Dale said. “You know I would never do anything like that.”

  Rene took his feet off the desk. “You know what we need to do? We need to open up our own club. We could be the house band and invite big name acts to come play with us.”

  “And then we could start our own radio station and open up a record company with a state-of-the-art studio,” Butch joked.

  The band clowned around in Johnny’s office for a few more minutes until they heard knocking on the window again. It was a bartender this time.

  “Come on in,” the band said in unison.

  The bartender opened the window. “I can’t come in. I just came up to give you this and to remind you that you’re on again in five minutes.”

  He handed a large joint through the window and left without saying goodbye.

  Tim grabbed the joint and lit it up without further adieu. “Unbelievable. This club keeps getting better and better.”

  The band smoked the joint, which turned out to be incredible weed, and went down to play an
other set. People were not going home even though it was approaching midnight on a Wednesday night.

  Jesse noticed Rose sitting on a barstool not far from the bandstand. She waved and shook her silky hair back over her mostly bare shoulders.

  The band kicked off the set with “Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones. Butch had the Keith Richards lick down perfectly and Dale sounded surprisingly good on the lead vocal. Halfway through the song, Jesse closed his eyes to concentrate on the feel of the song. Instead of floating away on the beat, he got a shocking, bright-white, flashing image of the Voodoo cow skull. He hadn’t had such a powerful vision of the skull since the lights went out at Fritzel’s on Bourbon Street. When he opened his eyes, the after-image outline of the skull was filled with the eyes of Rose. She was smiling at him like she knew what he had just seen inside his head.

  He closed his eyes again and waited. He could feel the Voodoo voice tingling up his spine before he heard it speak in his mind.

  “Do not be tempted,” the voice said.

  It was after three in the morning when the band finished their first night at Johnny’s Cimarron. People were drunk and didn’t want to leave. Johnny raised his voice firmly. “It’s time to go. You don’t have to go home, but you have to go somewhere. You can’t stay here.”

  He and his staff eased everyone out of the club. Rene and Tim and Rick said goodnight and went off in a large van, filled with very intoxicated women. Dale disappeared into the night.

  Rose was nowhere to be found. Jesse was beginning to think she might have been a vision from the dark side of his Voodoo dreams. But everybody had seen her, not just him.

  Johnny gathered up Butch and Jesse. “Let’s go get breakfast. I’ve got a table reserved at my favorite late-night hangout.”

  Butch was ready to go. “Sounds good to me. I’m starving.”

  Jesse agreed and Johnny led them out his secret exit. At the end of the bar, there was a walk-in cooler the size of a moving van. The back wall of the cooler was covered in plastic aprons. Behind the aprons was a narrow, metal door that led to the alley behind the club.

  Butch followed Johnny through the door. “So this is how she got all those drinks out. Man, you’ve got secret passages everywhere.”