by Dijorn Moss
“So Pastor Bryant is a part of the Cloth?”
I know the answer, but I like seeing the unflinching Pastor Jackson squirm, searching for an answer.
“Don’t get cute with me, Nic. I know he asked you to look into Cole’s death, but I know he didn’t ask you to look into our organization. I’m going to say this, and I’m going to say this once, Nic. You don’t want the Cloth as your enemy.”
I could fill the Empire State Building full of nickels if I had one for every time someone threatens me. Pastor Jackson’s threat may have teeth, but they’re not sharp teeth.
“Listen, we can agree to disagree, but I’m trying to find out who would want to kill Cole,” I say.
“Are you asking at Bryant’s bidding or your owe curiosity?”
I’m starting to get annoyed by how much Pastor Jackson knows and why he is not inclined to share.
“Does it matter?”
My question causes Jackson to take another hard swallow of his drink. His eyes don’t flinch as he looks at me.
“That’s not going to happen,” he says.
“I know you to be a man of faith, but how can you be so sure?”
“I just know,” Jackson says.
“What was he involved in?”
“Not what, but whom,” Pastor Jackson says with a smile.
“Randall Knott,” I say.
“Randall Knott is just a businessman. Yeah, he and Cole had a falling out, but that was just business. Cole would have eventually come around and saw Knott’s vision. I’m afraid my boy was caught up in some other stuff and messed around with a dark force.”
Now I’m confused, and it’s obvious that my facial expression conveys that confusion.
“My boy was dealing with Satan himself, in the form of a tantalizing woman,” Pastor Jackson continues.
“Wait a minute. Hold on, are you telling me a woman might have killed Pastor Cole?”
“That’s one way of putting it. Janae Hargrove. She is a local legend, a master of Obeah.”
All Pastor Jackson had to say was the name Janae Hargrove. In the short time I’ve been on the island, I have become familiar with this woman by her reputation. She is a practitioner in black magic, and is otherwise known as a voodoo priestess.
Chapter Thirteen
I have graduated from stupid to crazy. That is the only way to describe the fact that I am on the boat at ten o’clock at night with Sammy Moses, heading to some voodoo queen’s house. On any other night, this would be an exotic evening boat ride on warm Caribbean waters. Most advertisements for the Bahamas focus on the day and the beauty that exists on the island, but the night is a wonder to behold. This is an area of the world that isn’t destroyed by smog, and where the moon and stars take center stage and reflect off the ocean. I wish that tonight I was on Sammy’s boat with Victory, and we were on an aimless boat ride . . . but not this night.
The boat starts to slow down, and I begin to see a house that looks more like a hut in the corner of the island all by itself.
“There’s the house you’re looking for,” Sammy says.
As the boat starts to slow down and the house starts to come into view, I start to second-guess my decision. The house looks like it shouldn’t even be standing, let alone be a place of occupancy. There is no electrical power, at least none that I can see. There is only a glow from a fire, I presume from candles being lit which makes the house look like a jack-o’-lantern from a distance. Then the boat comes to a sudden stop.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask.
“No sir, there is nothing wrong,” Sammy says.
“Well, then, why are we stopping?”
“We’re stopped because this is as far as I will go. I can’t go no farther,” Sammy says.
I look at Sammy as if he has just cursed out my momma. I then look at the dock for the witch doctor’s house, which is at least twenty feet away.
“You must have me mistaken for Carl Lewis, because there’s no way I can jump from here,” I point down at the boat, “to there,” I point up to the dock.
“I reckon you’re going to have to swim.”
I know I am hearing what Sammy is saying. After all, he’s saying it in plain English, but where I’m having a problem comprehending what Sammy is saying is the fact that he expects me to swim—fully clothed—to shore. The absurdity of the idea causes me to laugh.
“Look, Sammy, we talked about this back at Adele’s house. You agreed to give me a ride to Janae’s place, and we would go over there together. We agreed.”
“You told me the plan, but I don’t believe I actually agreed to anything. I agreed to give you a ride, but I didn’t say anything about getting out of my boat.”
“Sammy Moses! I know that’s you out there!” a voice suddenly yells from the house.
I’m assuming that the woman yelling is Janae Hargrove. Now that she knows I’m here, I wonder how she knows Sammy Moses. I turn to Sam, and he is visibly shaken. He starts to power up his boat. At this rate, I may not even have a ride home.
“Sammy, how does she know you?”
Sammy puts his head down in shame, and I know that whatever he is about to tell me, this can’t be good.
“Well, now, you see, Nic, when I first came out here to the island, I was alone and you know the Bible says that it’s not good for a man to be alone. So . . . well . . . I met Janae, and that was before I knew about all this crazy stuff she’s into and we-we . . .”
I give Sammy a dismissive wave; I don’t need to hear anymore. Sammy’s promiscuous transgressions have made an already nerve-racking situation worse. And so, with no real choice in the matter, I take off my sports coat, along with my shoes and socks, and dive into the water. I start swimming. The water is warm, and it feels good to cut through the ocean, even with wearing a cotton T-shirt and a pair of khakis. Since I’m used to swimming at least a mile a day, it takes me no time to arrive at shore. I look back at the boat, and even though it’s dark, I see Sammy Moses waving me on like he’s a coach whose been encouraging me this whole time. I look ahead to the house that is even more terrifying up close and begin to feel a little trepidation.
“God has not given me the spirit of fear or timidity, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” I conclude my prayer and start to walk inside the house. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sammy’s boat. I pray that it’s still here when I come out.
Darkness can play with a man’s mind. The door is open so I walk into Janae’s house and that’s all I see . . . darkness in a room only illuminated by a combination of red, black, green, and white candles. The candles are assembled in a triangle. I see wooden dolls positioned around the room as well. Some of the dolls are also candles. While I am somewhat spooked, I still trust in the power and authority I walk in with Jesus Christ. Lord knows I need Him right now.
Out of the darkness I see a white object being tossed toward me. It lands on the floor, and I see that it’s a white towel.
“Don’t track water on me floor, boy,” a voice emanates out of the darkness.
I turn my head in search to where that voice originates. Out of the corner of the room is a woman with silver hair and a heart-shaped face sitting in a rocking chair. When she rocks forward, her face comes into view, and then fades into darkness. It’s safe to presume that the woman in the chair is Janae. Now I’m starting to get even more spooked. Lord, protect me from evil.
“Well?” Janae motions to the towel.
I pick up the towel and start to dry off and wipe up the water on the floor.
“You have a lowlife for a friend,” Janae says.
“I wouldn’t say lowlife. Sammy doesn’t always make sound decisions, but he’s a good guy.”
“You have a shaky definition of good, seeing that you had to swim here.”
“I guess you’re right about that. The Bible says there is no one who’s righteous. I find there to be truth in that statement. I haven’t met a single righteous man or woman in my lifetime. So w
e are all in need of grace, and we all are saved by grace as well.
“My name is Minister Dungy.”
My name causes the woman to spring from her rocking chair and walk toward me. This woman couldn’t be any more than four feet eleven inches tall, and yet, she has a very imposing aura about her.
“I’ll tell you one thing like I told that other preacher. I ain’t selling so you can leave my home if you know what’s best for you.”
The plot thickens. If Pastor Cole was the person that visited Janae, then he wasn’t just out here for evangelism. Things still don’t add up.
“I’m not here to buy. I mean, this is a lovely home and all, but that’s not why I’m here.”
Janae starts to laugh, and maybe it is a bit of an exaggeration on my part, but her laugh resembles that of a witch. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought. You took a big risk, and for what?”
“Information.”
Janae starts to laugh all over again. I realize that I may know more than she does, and I can use that to my advantage. Surprisingly, this island has gotten the better of me. It feels good to know something that the other person in the room doesn’t know.
“I’m not buying, but I know who is, and I’m sure that Mr. Knott would make you a generous offer.”
“Ain’t enough money in the world he could offer me that would get me to sell. This is my family’s legacy. We bled to make this ground fertile and beautiful and not for no man to come in with money and tell us to leave.”
“Is that what you told my friend who came by with the same offer?” I ask.
“I told him I wasn’t selling, and he went and told Mr. Knott. Now you are here.”
Janae gives me a look of curiosity, and I am no longer intimidated by her aura. I see her as a woman clinging to her practice, hoping that it will be enough to scare people off.
“That preacher came up dead; do you know anything about it?”
The sudden shift in her posture is all I need to conclude a working theory I have: she doesn’t know what happened to Pastor Cole. That’s discouraging because here I am, standing in a witch doctor’s house in wet clothes, and I’m still no closer to finding who killed Pastor Cole then I was before I jumped out of Sammy’s boat.
“He couldn’t have died. The cards didn’t show death, only misfortune.”
“The cards?” I immediately hate the fact that I ask that question.
Janae reaches to her right and pulls out a deck of cards. I know those are tarot cards, and I don’t want any part of her practice. She starts to lay the cards out one by one.
“You know the practice of Obeah is illegal in the Bahamas?” I say.
“Just because it’s legal don’t make it right. Just because it’s illegal don’t make it wrong neither. Would you stop worshipping your God if it became illegal?”
Good point. Regardless of what my government mandates, I would still believe that Jesus died on the cross for my sins.
“So you still believe in your god, Satan?” I ask.
“Ignorant child, me don’t believe in no devil. Me believe in nature and the ability to control and bend it.”
“Well, you go ahead on believing that you can bend nature,” I say.
If it’s not for Christ, then it’s for the ruler of this world which is Satan. But that’s neither here nor there. I didn’t come for a theological debate. I glance at the cards. Even in a poorly lit room, I can make out what each card represents. The first card is a picture of a fool. The next card is a picture of justice, but the final card is interesting. The final card is a picture of judgment.
“This is what you showed my friend?”
“The cards don’t always reveal the future. Sometimes they reveal what’s within,” Janae says.
I believe that there isn’t a force on this earth that can trump the power of God. If Pastor Cole was half the man that I think he was, he was powerful enough to pray off any hex or voodoo. Plus, I’m starting to doubt the legitimacy of Janae’s craft.
“It would be wise to watch yourself. I see death in your future.” Janae places the card of death on the table. “A whole lot of death.”
“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. You can keep your cards, my trust is in God.”
Janae starts to laugh again; I guess she finds my scripture more amusing than reassuring. It doesn’t matter; I know that those cards don’t carry any more power than what I give them.
“Your friend said the same thing. Look what happened to him. God doesn’t hear you. God exists in signs.” Janae looks down at the cards.
She may see power written on those cards, but all I see is a bunch of spooky cards that should only be brought out during Halloween, if that.
“He hears me, and He’ll see me through whatever comes my way.”
Janae shrugs her shoulders. “I hope so, but tell your Mr. Knott that Janae Hargrove is not selling.”
I turn to head toward the exit. I don’t know why, but a picture from out of the corner of the room catches my eyes. It is a picture of a family of four. The picture is about the only normal thing in the entire room. Lord knows what happened to the father and the two boys with dreads. Lord only knows.
I walk out of Janae’s house, and there is Sammy in the same spot. I don’t want to go for a swim, but I really don’t have much of a choice. One thing for sure. I don’t plan on spending a night here with Janae.
Chapter Fourteen
“Nic!”
Hearing my name wakes me out of my sleep. Lord knows that last night was overwhelming, to say the least. Not to mention I have Randall Knott on one end and Demetrius on the other end. Pastor Cole is in between Knott and Demetrius, and I can’t seem to figure out this puzzle.
“Nic, get your butt down here!” Adele yells from downstairs.
I can only imagine what I have done to warrant such a response. I hop out of bed and throw on a T-shirt and a pair of pants. A quick stretch after I slip on my shoes and I head down the steps before Adele calls again.
When I get downstairs, the front door is open and Adele is standing in the doorway blocking a large individual from entering. By the time I reach the bottom of the steps, I see that it’s none other than Demetrius outside of the front door. Coincidence? I think not.
“This fool right here says he has an appointment with you.” Adele doesn’t take her eyes off Demetrius.
I don’t think it matters if I have an appointment or not. Demetrius showed up at my door for a reason, and if I don’t leave with him, things are going to get even more complicated.
“Yeah, I have an appointment.”
“Hmm,” is all Adele can say.
I start for the door but out of my peripheral I see Victory and the look is that of yet another day in which I am stepping out of the door. If this meeting with Demetrius goes south, then I feel even worse that this will be the last image I have of Victory. Her disappointment, her regrets, and there is no one to blame but myself.
“Let’s go for a drive,” Demetrius says.
That’s the last thing a person would want a gangster to say to them because chances are . . . only one is going to return.
We drive to the marketplace on the island. Normally, I love coming here, but today, it seems solemn, like everything else. The marketplace has everything for trade or sell on the island from mangos to clothes to beads. Everything is available, and unlike back home, there’s not a sense of competition, but rather a sense of community. Vendors are happy to recommend other places to go if they are out of stock.
There are no official parking spaces, so Demetrius pulls his black SUV in and parks on top of the hill. From the car, there is a dirt path we can walk down.
“Let’s go and see what the market has to offer.” Demetrius gets out of the car and closes the door.
After some hesitation I get out of the car as well. I walk alongside Demetrius, though I’m unsure why I’m here and what this is all about. Demetrius sees pe
ople and waves at them as if they are his longtime friends. He’ll stop and talk with mothers and play with their children like a real pillar of his community.
“I’ve been to your California,” Demetrius says.
How does he know I’m from California? Could there be a spy in my midst? Then again, through his associations, Demetrius has connections and can find out anything he wants.
“Oh yeah, how did you like it?” I ask.
“I didn’t. The place is too crowded, no sense of community. Look at this,” Demetrius pans around the crowd and businesses.
There is laughter and conversations going on. I understand why someone from the islands would come to the States and be put off by the cutthroat world of commerce. We walk through the crowd that has already gathered and stopped by a fruit stand.
“Good morning, Katherine, how are you?” Demetrius asks.
Katherine doesn’t respond to Demetrius; she doesn’t even smile. She just stops preparing her display of various passion fruits, turns around, and goes into the back of her stand. Demetrius does not take his eyes off of her as she bends down.
“She has a nice boom-boom, doesn’t she?” Demetrius elbows me with a perverted smile on his face.
Moments later she returns with a vanilla envelope.
“Much appreciated,” Demetrius says. He smiles as he takes the envelope and a piece of fruit and walks away.
I know for a fact that it doesn’t take much capital to start a fruit stand. So the payment Katherine just made to Demetrius is more for the pleasure to operate in his territory. We walk down a few more stands to a jewelry stand. Everything is handmade and beautiful. I think Victory likes this kind of jewelry. It will help to smooth over the fact that once again, I’m not around to spend time with her.
“Hello, Laura. How are you?” Demetrius says to the jewelry shop owner.
Laura doesn’t even bother to use English, but it’s safe to assume that she and I have the same sentiments toward Demetrius. My Creole is a bit rusty, but I can recognize some of the words she uses. Laura goes to the corner of her stand and produces an envelope. She doesn’t hand it to Demetrius; she throws it at him and gives him some more hot Creole to go along with it.
