“Alright Mr. Fade, who says this? I’ll bear that in mind, but I tend to fall in line with Captain O’Rourke’s thinking. Magic in this day and age is absurd.” He paused for several seconds. “Let me review the matter for the evening and if I come to the same conclusion as you, would you be willing to undertake an attempt to discover who’s behind it all?”
O’Rourke looked at Brooks and spoke. “Great! Magic, a little doll, Baron what’s his name, I’m headed back to my office.” He turned and headed for the door.
“Thank you for your time Mr. Fade, I’ll be in touch. Miss Stevens,” said Brooks, turning to Din, “I would appreciate you keeping this out of the evening paper.”
Din’s lips parted in a gentle smile. “No problem. I’m on vacation or at least I’m supposed to be.”
As a reply, Brooks did a slight bow to both of them and said, “I believe I can find my own way out.” He then walked to the door, leaving Fade and Din looking after him.
“Alright Fade,” Din said, grinning, “you know more than you’re letting on. And you promised to spill it to me, so cough it up. If I don’t get a vacation, I’d better get a good column out of it. I can see the lead line now, ‘The Crime Spectacularist’ Does Magic Again! Solves the Train Station Murder!”
Fade laughed slightly. “Din, you almost have it, but the magic isn’t mine. Someone killed Wilmer Guttman using what he was convinced was magic. The last thing he said as he died was that he could hear the drums and that the Baron was claiming his soul.”
Din shivered as a chill ran up her spine. “Brrrrr! It felt like a goose stepped on my grave just then.”
“Din, I’ve got a few things I need to put together from my lab. Why don’t you read the chapter on voodoo in the book while I do that.”
For the next hour Fade rummaged in his lab. Din finished the chapter in the book and looked on the shelves for anything else that might give her a clue, but to no avail. She saw books on everything from chemistry to aeronautics, but nothing on murder by magic. She then spent twenty or so minutes flipping through the pages of her magazine without really seeing them. The last fifteen minutes she had been doodling in her notebook drawing little dolls with evil grins.
“Fade….” Din began but the ringing of the phone interrupted her.
“Well answer it, Brat,” came from the other room as Din stood to snatch the phone.
“Foster Fade’s office,’ she said, putting the receiver to her ear. “Just a moment, Mr. Brooks. He’s in the other part of the office.” Din then called out, “Fade, it’s Brooks for you!”
Fade entered the room and took the phone from her.
“Yes, Mr. Brooks,” he said holding the receiver so that Din might hear as well.
“Fade, you have got to help me!” John Brooks spoke as if he was about to panic. “I’m calling from a phone booth near my club. It’s for real. I left my office early and was walking to my club just down the block, when I was bumped into by a man and found something pushed into my hand. I looked and there was a folded note. I turned to see who had given it to me, but the man had disappeared in the early evening crowd.”
Fade spoke in a calming voice. “What did the note say?”
Brooks continued in a more sedate tone. “You are marked, John Brooks. Baron Samedi will take your soul unless you change your ways. Don’t help the evil ones that are stealing the lifeblood of the Haitian people. You have two days to make amends. Look to your soul. The Baron is watching you.”
“It’s not too different from the threat Guttman received and does give you a time limit,” said Fade.
“But Fade, you don’t understand. When I finished reading and looked for the man, I could have sworn that I heard drums. Then I looked all around and I saw something move in a dark alley next to me. My God, Fade, I looked and it was the figure of a man. I took a couple of steps toward him and noticed that he was wearing a top hat. At that very second, he looked up from the shadows at me and he had the face of a skull. It was like someone had struck me. I was dizzy for several seconds and when I looked back at the alley he was gone. You must help me!”
“I shall,” Fade answered quickly, “but you must do exactly as I say.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Fade,” Brooks replied hurriedly.
“First, call Captain O’Rourke and have him send a squad car to your location. Let the officers take you home and if you can, talk O’Rourke into having one of the officers stay with you for the night. Do your best not to worry. I have some ideas and will contact you as soon as I known more.”
“Thank you Mr. Fade. I shall do so now.” Brooks hung up.
“Wow,” said Din as Fade returned the receiver to its cradle.
“Things seem to have heated up quickly,” agreed Fade. “I do have some ideas and a partial plan. Din, I want you to go home and get yourself ready for a night on the town. I’ll be by to pick you up at eight. Dress in your high society evening wear.”
Fade picked the phone up and pushed a button on it. He waited until the doorman of his building answered.
“Henry, Mr. Fade here. Miss Stevens will be coming down shortly. I would greatly appreciate you having a taxi waiting for her.” Fade listened for a moment to the voice on the other end, then put the receiver back in its cradle. “Henry will have a cab for you, head on down.”
Din crossed to the door. She turned back to Fade and said, “I hope you know what you’re getting us into. This thing is giving me the willies.”
Fade watched as she walked out the door into the hallway. He turned and walked back through the office and out to the living area of his apartment crossing into the bedroom. He went to the closet and removed his eveningwear, placing it on the bed. He stared at it and spoke to himself. “I wonder if I should wear a top hat?” His laugh over this echoed slightly as he headed to his bath.
Chapter 3
OUT FOR THE EVENING
Fade pocketed the last of his gadgets in his suit pockets, glanced again at his top hat and shook his head slightly. He did reach for the stout blackthorn walking cane just inside the closet door. He twirled it once and, satisfied with his choices, he checked himself in the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. He decided that he was correct for the evening and opened the door and walked through it to his office. He quickly called the doorman to flag a cab for him in five minutes. He passed into the outer office, through the door, setting his special electric alarm as he did so. He turned to the right and walked to the express elevator, entered it and shortly was in the lobby of the building. George, the night doorman, had a cab pulled up to the curb waiting for him.
He stepped into the cab and said Din’s address aloud. The driver slid smoothly away from the curb. Fifteen minutes later, the cab arrived at her apartment building. Fade told the driver to wait, and then walked up the steps to the call box. He pressed the button below Din’s name. A few seconds later her voice came through the speaker.
“Yes?”
“Hello beautiful, it’s your urban knight in cloth armor come to whisk you away to an enchanted evening under the starry New York sky,” Fade said with a sarcastic lift in his voice.
“I’ll be right down,” replied Din laughing.
Within three minutes the door opened and Din came out. A slinky, black silk dress clung tightly to her very pleasing form. In the circle of light at the building’s door, she bore a resemblance to Jean Harlow. Though her hair was a darker blond, her face had the same fine features. The low cut neckline made it very clear that she was a well-formed woman and drew admiring glances from the few men passing by as well as the cabbie.
“Wow! I see why the riot started,” said Fade. “Your chariot awaits.” Fade took her arm and they both went to the taxi and entered. As they sat, Fade said to the driver, “Connie’s Inn, please.” The driver glanced at Fade in the rearview mirror, but put the cab into gear, shifted into first and headed to Harlem. Night descended fully as the cab crept though the streets working its way between the mass
of people headed to the evening attractions. As they crossed over into Harlem, the traffic grew lighter and remained that way until they reached the block where the club was located.
The cab pulled to the curb and a doorman open the rear door to allow Fade and Din to exit. Fade turned back briefly to pay the driver. He then took Din’s arm and entered the club through the open door giving the doorman a nod of thanks as they passed him.
Standing in the club proper, Fade and Din surveyed the twenty five or so tables, mostly occupied, around them. They were placed in a U shape around a dance floor and a middle size stage squatted on the far side. The jazz poured from the stage to flood their ears.
The Maître ‘de came to them as they were looking over the crowd. Fade introduced him to a picture of Andrew Jackson held in the palm of his hand and quickly found that they were shown to an empty table midway to the stage. Fade and Din took their seats. Din peered into the shadows attempting to discover who was enjoying the show. Looking closely at a table in the corner by the stage, she turned to Fade and said, “Fade,” drawing his attention to the man at the corner table, “Is that really Dutch Schultz?”
“Yes and that’s really Babe Ruth at the table just to the right of him. Look on the other side of the stage floor and you’ll see John Barrymore and his wife.” Their attention was soon drawn to the stage. They had entered during the first half of the floorshow and the performance was warming up. The latest performer had just begun. He had a round shaped face and wore a large grin as he put down the trumpet and began to sing in a raspy baritone voice. As he finished his song, he caught sight of Fade in the crowd and looked directly at him and gave a brief nod and a wink. Seeing that he had been recognized, Fade sat back and began observing the crowd. Soon a waiter appeared at his side and after consulting with Din, he placed an order for a light meal and drinks for them both.
Din was fascinated with the floorshow and paid little attention to the meal. After the first act drew to a close, a small band took the stage and began to play dance music. Several couples moved to the floor and began to swing to the music. Out of the shadows the trumpet player moved into one of the empty seats at their table.
“Hiya, Pops,” he said to Fade. “I got your message.”
“Din, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Louis Armstrong,” spoke Fade.
“Oh, no mister please, such a lovely lady must call me Satchmo,” he said beaming.
“Alright,” said Fade, “down to business. Din, I met him a few years ago when some of our local hoods attempted to blackmail some of his band members. Afterward when we were having a couple of drinks he told me a few stories about Marie Laveau and weird happenings when people use of her Vaudoux in New Orleans. So, I called Louis in the hopes that he might know someone that could fill us in better about this vou dou stuff.”
“Well I don’t know about hope, but I ain’t happy about telling you what I do know,” Armstrong said frowning, “I used to hear all kinds of rumors in Naw ’leens. A lot of it not good things. But I don’t know enough to tell you much, so I kinda asked around and got a name for you. A friend called the guy and he’s willing to meet you tonight.”
“Excellent!” said Fade.
“You really should think about taking the lady home before you meet him,” Armstrong replied frowning.
“Satchmo, the lady can take care of herself,” said Din.
Satchmo held his strong hands up in a surrender gesture. “Ok toots, it’s your call. Ya’ll see the drummer.” Fade and Din looked to the stage. “His name is Willie and right after the second half of the show, he’ll take you to the meeting.” His face breaking out into a big grin, Armstrong reached across the table and shook Fade’s hand as he stood to leave. “Well back to the gig, you take care, toots, and you keep an eye on her.” He walked to the side curtain of the stage and disappeared from view behind it.
“You have the most interesting friends. But he seems like a very nice man,” said Din.
“He is. I liked him when we first met a few years ago in Chicago.” Fade and Din settled back to watch the rest of the performance.
An hour later the drummer called Willie glided up to the table.
“Mr. Fade?” he said.
“That’s me,” said Fade, “and you’re Mr. …?”
“Willie, just Willie,” replied the drummer. “I’m your guide for a short trip.”
“Off we go then,’ said Fade. With that the couple got up and followed the thin, nervous young black man. He led them out the door of the club and into the streets of Harlem.
Chapter 4
INTO THE DARK
Willie led them past apartment buildings, clubs, and sometimes a combination of the two. After traveling several blocks he reached the one he was searching for and turned down an alley in the center of it. They continued down the alley until they stood before a narrow door with a dim light above it. Willie spoke softly. “This is the place. It’s a private club called The Dungeon. I’ll get you past the door, but you’ll have to pass a little lettuce to the woman that answers. Ask her for a man named Duvalier and as a favor forget that I exist.”
“What was your name again?” said Fade with a smile. Willie gave a slight laugh, turned, and knocked on the door. It opened a crack and he spoke a few words, nodded once. He then walked off down the alley disappearing into the dark of the night. The door opened all the way and a hand with long, thin fingers beckoned them enter. They did so. Fade turned to discover that the hand was attached to a woman’s arm. He placed a twenty dollar bill in the open palm. Fade asked for Mr. Duvalier. The woman didn’t speak but led them further into the room. As their eyes adjusted, they saw the décor of the “club.”
The basic color was black with areas of blood red. The club’s name became very easily understood. The booths with their tables were designed as small cells with shackles and chains on the walls. The woman silently brought them to a table in the shadows near a small stage. Sitting there was an elegantly dressed black man with a look of superiority.
Fade said, “Mr. Duvalier?”
“Francois Duvalier at your service,” the man said as he rose to his feet. He extended a hand to Din, inviting her to take a seat. “But please call me Doc. I’ve been in the Midwest taking some advanced classes. I learned there that doctors are often referred to by that nick name by their friends and I do wish us to be friends.” As he spoke they noticed that he had an accent with elements of both French and English, yet was neither and had an overlay of something else.
“Doc it’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Fade.
Din smiled and passed on the same sentiments.
Fade inquired, “You have an interesting accent. May I ask what it is?”
Doc spoke, “I’m Haitian. I should have told your friend Louis to tell you why he was sending you to me. In Haiti I’ve had experience with Vou Dou. So if you tell me your worries, perhaps I can help you.”
Fade quickly gave him the background information leaving out some of the names of the people involved. As he finished he looked to Doc to see his reaction and hopefully find some help. Doc sat motionless intently thinking. At last he said, “There are many in Haiti that do not care for your country being involved with mine. One of these people with power has engaged a bokor, a worker of Vou Dou who cast spells. A man who would use its power for evil, a bad man, one of those that you have heard the stories about making zonbi.” He cleared his throat. “Zombies.”
“This man Brooks,” Duvalier continued, “that you spoke of is in great danger. The Wilmer person…there’s a danger he may come back as a zombie. The bokor has called on Baron Samedi to destroy Brooks and claim his soul. And you said he saw Baron Samedi. If he has, the Baron will visit him tonight. I am afraid you may not believe me but I assure you that there are zombies. I have seen them in Haiti. I have watched the making of the zombie dust.” His accent grew thicker the longer he spoke. “Mon dieu! Il doit être Le Colonel Gast.”
“Easy there, Doc, English plea
se,” said Fade quickly
Doc continued, “I have just realized who may be doing these things. When I arrived at the train station earlier in the week I thought I saw somebody that I recognized from Haiti. But I convinced myself that I had to be wrong and it was just a man with a passing resemblance. There is a man called Paul Gast that mothers tell stories to scare their children with to get them to behave. Telling them that the Gast man will come and take their heads.”
“Gast was a private in the Caco army during the rebellion. When the United States Marines were sent to Haiti, he fled to the mountains and over a period of years gained some followers. After the revolt failed and the occupation was put in place, he became a bandit leader and began practicing Vou Dou. He was known for taking the heads of men that opposed him and he could make zombies. There was a young Marine named Puller that was made a lieutenant in the Gendarmerie d'Haiti, the national police, who put a price on his head. It was then that he began calling himself Colonel Gast to outrank his foe. He sent three men to Puller and the story is that they ambushed him and charged at him waving machetes. Puller stood his ground, drew his pistol and calmly shot three times, dropping a man with each shot. They were the enforcement squad for the “Colonel.” It gave him a hatred for all Americans and he has sworn revenge on any that interfere with his plans for Haiti.
“You think you saw him here in New York?” asked Fade.
“I’m almost certain I did. The man will stop at nothing. If he wants your Mr. Brooks dead, he will die.” The more Doc spoke, the more nervous he became. “Mr. Fade, I …I think I must leave you now. I have family I must think of and this man would not stop for a moment in killing them if he finds out I’ve helped you.” He stood up to leave. “Be very careful if you attempt to stop him and take the young lady home. Good night.” He turned and walked quickly away before Fade or Din could say another word.
The New Adventures of Foster Fade, The Crime Spectacularist Page 9
