Evil Agreement

by Richard L Hatin

  Kelley held the receiver to her left ear. As she waited for her boyfriend, she turned and scanned the plaza’s parking lot. Everything seemed normal.

  “Kelley, say Kelley, is that you?” said a slightly out of breath Paul Lacosse.

  “Yes, Paul.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “Fine, I guess.” She couldn’t find the right words.

  “I haven’t heard from you for a while. I was kind of thinking that maybe you had ...maybe you know, found someone else.”

  “Oh, Paul, I’m so sorry. I just haven’t been able to get away to call you. I have to be careful. Paul, I need your help. I need to talk to you, in person. Do you think you can get away tonight and meet me somewhere?”

  “Sure!”

  “Good, how about meeting behind the town library, say around eleven o’clock.”

  “Okay. Can you tell me what it’s about?”

  “Not now, Paul, but I promise I’ll tell you everything when we meet tonight.”

  “All right, see you then, bye.”

  “Sure, bye.”

  Kelley hung up the phone, turned around and bumped into Mrs. Lawless.

  “Oh, excuse me…I didn’t see,” said Kelley. Her words hung in the air as she recognized whom she had bumped into. As a fellow member of her brother’s coven, Mrs. Lawless was someone Kelley knew and feared. Each and every member of the coven would be aligned with her brother.

  “Well, Miss Porter, what brings you to the plaza today?” she asked in a tone of voice that suggested power and dripped with intimidation.

  Kelley wasn’t sure if Mrs. Lawless had heard any part of her conversation with Paul.

  “I have to get some shampoo. I, um, called home to see if my mom needed anything for supper while I was here.”

  Kelley hoped Mrs. Lawless hadn’t heard her telephone conversation with Paul. If she had, her lying now would just compound the trouble she was in. If she hadn’t, maybe this little lie would allow Kelley to slip away.

  “I see. Well, Miss Porter, it’s Kelley isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Kelley Porter!” she said with a touch of sarcasm.

  “Well, I’ve got to go. It was nice meeting you, too,” said Kelley as she ducked around Mrs. Lawless and headed into the grocery store.

  Once inside the store, Kelley looked out the large windows at the front of the store. She noticed Mrs. Lawless was still standing on the walkway in front of the store. She was facing the window and speaking on a cell phone while she seemed to be looking inside the store. The store’s front windows were heavily tinted, still Kelley felt as if Mrs. Lawless was looking right at her.

  Kelley turned away from the windows and headed over to the cosmetics and sundries aisle, looking for shampoo. She glanced over her shoulder back towards the front windows before she turned down the aisle. Mrs. Lawless was gone.

  Not everyone in Sutton was a member of the church. The people of Sutton mingled everyday. One half of the community had no idea their co-workers, spouses, neighbors or friends were devil worshippers. It had always been that way. The devil worshippers needed Sutton to appear as normal as possible. They didn’t tolerate intruders—they called them “interlopers.” While they accepted living amongst non-believers, they had to be constantly on their guard to not reveal who or what they were. The secret has been well kept for over a hundred years.

  Occasionally, the non-believers treaded on dangerous ground.

  Samuel Porter was shooting baskets alone in his driveway. He was still a young boy and knew he needed to keep up that appearance for the benefit of the non-believers. He could hear the sound of someone running in his direction even before he turned around. He tossed the basketball up towards the rim, which was fifteen feet away. The ball hit the front of the rim and skipped straight up in the air over the rim. He stared intensely at the ball and with his mind he nudged it forward. The ball came back down straight thought the net.

  Nice, thought Samuel.

  “Sammy, Sammy, help me!”

  Samuel Porter turned around and spotted young Bobby Warfield running towards him. Bobby Warfield was ten years old and a nearby neighbor. He lived down the street, only three houses away. He was an only child, small for his age, and wore wire rimmed glasses. His family belonged to Samuel’s Church.

  “What’s wrong, Bobby?”

  Bobby stopped in front of Samuel. He had a couple of cuts and scraps on his face. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. He had a streak of blood running down his nose. He was crying.

  “Those Dulac brothers beat me up and stole my new bicycle,” he said through a series of sniffles. He held his hand out and showed Samuel his broken glasses.

  “They broke my glasses, too.”

  “You’ll be okay.”

  “But...”

  Putting his hand on Bobby’s shoulder, he said, “Come with me.”

  The two of them walked down the street towards the Dulac’s house. Bobby Warfield walked a half-step behind. The Dulac boys were fourteen and fifteen years old. The oldest was Tim. He had stayed back three times in grammar school. He would be returning to the seventh grade next fall. His younger brother was named Kenny, and like Tim, he, too, had a penchant for pausing in his educational advancement. This coming fall, he was going back to the fifth grade. Their father had visited the State Mental Hospital in Waterbury on several occasions. He was also an alcoholic. The Dulac boy’s mother had died eight years ago.

  The Dulac boys were just your basic bullies.

  Samuel stopped at the entrance to the Dulac driveway. Bobby stopped too and stood next to Samuel.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Me, I’m going to do nothing.”

  “But why did we come here?”

  “To get your bike back.”

  “They ain’t going to give it back without a fight, that’s for sure.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  “Huh?”

  “Hey Porter, who’s that with you, your fag friend?” shouted Kenny Dulac. He was standing at the opposite end of the driveway in front of the ramshackle old garage with his hands defiantly set on his hips.

  “Say, Tim, look who’s here. It’s that hot shit Sammy Porter and he’s brought along that puke, Bobby.”

  From out of the garage’s darkness stepped Timmy. He wiped his hands on an old rag and then tossed it back inside the garage.

  Timmy stood there staring at Samuel and Bobby.

  Samuel started down the driveway with Bobby keeping a safer distance, at least four steps behind.

  Seeing Samuel coming towards him, Timmy pulled a screwdriver from his back pocket. He tossed it up into the air much like someone juggling a knife. It slapped back into his hand.

  Samuel stopped about five feet away and looked from one boy to the other.

  “Give him back his bicycle, now!” demanded Samuel.

  “What bicycle?” sneered Kenny.

  “Yeah, what bicycle?” joined Timmy.

  “Timmy, that little snot-faced Bobby has been spreading lies about us,” said Kenny looking at an obviously nervous Bobby.

  “We don’t like people telling lies about us, do we Kenny?”

  Kenny nodded his agreement.

  “And we don’t like some smart ass telling us what to do.”

  “Yeah, smart ass.”

  Fixing his eyes on Kenny, Samuel spoke directly to Kenny.

  “Did you know Timmy killed your cat, Buster, three years ago, by snapping its neck with his bare hands?”

  Kenny shot a glance at Timmy.

  “Don’t listen to him, he’s lying.”

  “Timmy I’ve got some news for you, too.”

  “Oh, yeah, what?”

  “Kenny left those porno magazines on your bureau on purpose, so your father would find them and give you a whipping.”

  “You did that?” said an instantly angry Timmy as he shot an accusatory look at his brother.


  “No, I swear, I didn’t...,” said Kenny in protest.

  Before Kenny could say anything else, Timmy threw the screwdriver on the ground and proceeded to smack his brother across the back of the head causing Kenny to stumble for a moment.

  “Kenny, Timmy diddled your girl friend Connie in the back seat of your old man’s car just two days ago.”

  “That’s a fucking lie,” shouted an angry Timmy.

  “See for yourself Kenny. You can find her panties under the front seat, where Timmy hid them,” said Samuel with growing satisfaction.

  Kenny ran inside of the garage and opened the back door of his father’s beat up, rusted Ford Taurus. He began a search for the evidence.

  Timmy wasn’t so confident anymore. He in fact looked confused, so Samuel moved in closer.

  In almost a whisper, Samuel spoke to Timmy.

  “Kenny’s taken the pictures of your mother from out of your secret place and he’s keeping them with his baseball collection under his bed.”

  There was a moment of hesitation before Timmy bolted to the house and bounded up the back steps flinging open the screen door. Just as he disappeared inside of the house Kenny stepped out of the shadows of the garage holding a pair of girl’s panties in his right hand. His face was twisted in rage. He walked towards Samuel.

  Bobby could see a name embroidered on the panties now in Kenny’s hand. The pink letters spelled out the girl’s name, Connie.

  “Where did he go?” demanded Kenny.

  “He’ll be right back, just you wait right here.”

  From inside of the house, through the opened but screened windows, came the sound of Timmy racing down the stairs. In an instant, he burst out of the back screen door flinging it open with such force that it strained against its spring and slapped against the side of the house. He jumped down to the ground. His face was filled with a red-hot rage.

  Timmy had a small envelope in his left hand. He half ran towards his brother.

  “You bastard!” screamed Timmy.

  “You fucker!” shouted Kenny.

  The Dulac boys dropped the envelope and the panties and flew at one another. In a flash, they were throwing punches at one another with incredible fury. They were soon rolling around in the sand and gravel of the driveway like two snarling dogs.

  “Bobby, go and get your bike,” commanded Samuel.

  “But...” protested Bobby.

  “Do as I say.”

  Moving as fast as his two nervous little legs could carry him, Bobby hurried inside of the garage and spotted his bicycle right away. They hadn’t had anytime to dismantle it. Bobby grabbed it by the handlebars and wheeled it out of the garage. He stopped next to Samuel.

  “Let’s go,” said Samuel as he turned to leave with Bobby.

  Before he left, Samuel kicked the screwdriver over towards the two fighting boys.

  “Who knows, we might get lucky,” said Samuel with a grin.

  Samuel and Bobby left the Dulac boys fighting in their own driveway.

  20

  Aaron and Korie had spent the better part of the day reading the Powell family diary, or “Chronicles,” as Korie had nicknamed it.

  “Shit, look at the time, it’s nearly six o’clock,” said Aaron.

  Korie stood up from the edge of the bed and raised her arms over her head. She stretched herself for a moment.

  “Well, we’re nearly done. There are only about twenty more pages.”

  “I know,” said Aaron. He put the diary down on the bed.

  “I’m really hungry,” said Korie.

  “Me, too,” said Aaron. “What sort of cuisine would you like for dinner?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Look, here’s one of those magazines that tell you all about the restaurants in the area,” said Korie, as she picked up the glossy magazine from the small desk.

  “Good idea. Let’s see what there is to choose from,” said Aaron.

  They were both surprised to see the extensive listings of restaurants for such a small city. The cuisine selections ranged from Southeast Asian, Korean, and Indian, to Vegetarian and Greek. It seemed that there was as complete a dining range as one could normally find in America’s largest cities. There were also a wide range of clubs offering comedy, rock and roll, DJ’s, hypnotists, jazz and of course Aaron’s favorite, blues.

  “What about this place?” said Korie pointing to a particular advertisement for a blues bar and restaurant.

  “We don’t have to always go to blues bars just because of me, you know,” protested Aaron.

  “I know. But I enjoyed myself at the House of Blues. C’mon, let’s check it out.”

  Aaron took the visitor’s guide magazine from Korie and read the club’s ad.

  “Burlington’s Choice for the Finest Blues Music in the Tradition of the Masters. Suds, and Other Spirits, Fine Food Delta and Chicago Cuisine at Mojo’s,

  176 College Street. Cover Charge Waived with this Ad.” “Okay, let’s go for it,” said Aaron as he tore the page with the ad out of the magazine.

  “Don’t you think that you ought to hide the diary?” asked Korie.

  “Yeah, you’re right, but where?”

  They both surveyed their surroundings for a suitable hiding place.

  “I’ve got it,” said Korie. “Follow me, and take your key.”

  “What?”

  She picked up the diary and headed out the door. Aaron followed right behind. Korie headed towards the end of the hall, and turned to the right down another hallway. Halfway down the hall, she turned to her right, into a small alcove where there were three vending machines, one for candy and sundries, another for soft drinks and another for ice. She looked behind the narrow space behind the ice machine and then slipped the diary behind the machine.

  “There, snug as a bug.”

  “Are you sure it won’t slip down, or get snagged by the ice machine’s motor?”

  “Sure, it’s in there solid. See for yourself.”

  Aaron checked it out for himself. It seemed quite secure.

  “I guess, we’re all set then,” said Aaron.

  Korie and Aaron returned to their room. They freshened up and then headed down to the hotel lobby. Aaron checked with the front desk to obtain directions on how to get to Mojo’s.

  “According to the desk clerk it’s just a three blocks from here, maybe a ten minute walk,” said Aaron.

  With that they headed out the front door of the hotel. They took a left down the street, and after a short distance they turned left again, onto College Street. Soon they were standing outside of Mojo’s. The pulsating sound of a Junior Parker tune was rolling out the front door of the club.

  They stepped inside and were greeted by a smiling face. The man had a smile that spread, it seemed, from ear to ear. He walked with a slight limp. He took a step towards Aaron and Korie.

  “C’mon in folks. How many?”

  “Two,” said Aaron, “Oh, and we have this ad coupon.”

  “Keep the coupon. Let me fix you up with a table. Follow me!” said the man as he limped away.

  They followed him to a table, along the wall, on the right side, past the bar. The man set a couple of menus down on the small table, and then stood back to let Aaron and Korie get to their seats. The place was nearly full. There was a small stage to the back of the club and the bar was located to the rear of the right side.

  “First time here at Mojo’s?” asked the man.

  “Yes,” said Aaron.

  “You like the blues?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

  “Like it, he plays in a blues band back home,” bragged Korie.

  The man chuckled at that remark.

  “Damn, I just knew it. I can tell a fellow blues man.”

  Wiping his right hand on his apron he extended his hand to Aaron.

  “Ron’s the name. I own the place. Play a little blues, too. A man’s got to, you know,” he said with a nod to Aaron.

  “Yeah, I hear you,” said Aaron.


  “What do you play, if I might ask?” said Ron.

  “I play a Bass!”

  “No shit! Me, I play the guitar and some harp, too. I’ve got a 57 Fender Stratocaster and a Blues Master Tube amp.

  “That’s great.”

  “Say, tonight’s amateur night you know. Feel free to jump on in.”

  “I don’t have my gear.”

  “No problem, I’ve got enough gear back stage to outfit three bands. Take your pick. Anyway, I talk too much, ask anybody,” he said waving his hand in a sweeping gesture.

  “It sure was nice chatting with you,” said Korie.

  “Me, too, I’ve got to go and play hostess. Your waitress will be along in a minute.” He turned and walked away.

  “He sure is nice,” said Korie.

  “Yeah, I like him.”

  They then took a moment to look around the club. The place was once some kind of old factory. Overhead there were wide, rough, hewn beams. The floor was smooth, with well-worn, wide, wooden, darkly stained planks. The walls were covered with newspapers from Chicago, Memphis, New Orleans, Kansas City and Austin.

  The tables were covered in some kind of plastic, which serve to seal onto the table tops assorted album covers of old time blues albums. Their table had covers from John Lee Hooker, Sonny Boy Williamson and Albert King.

  A young woman approached their table with a large plate in hand. She placed it on their table. She had also brought a couple of smaller empty plates.

  “What’s this?” asked Aaron.

  “Ron sent it over. Its chicken wings cooked with a special sauce, compliments of Mojo’s.”

  “That’s really nice. Tell him thanks.”

  “What’s in this special sauce?” asked Aaron.

  “Ron won’t tell us, except to say, it’s a secret recipe that he picked up from B.B. King.”

  “He knows B.B. King personally?” asked Aaron.

  “Yup. He’s played in several bands. A lot of these guys come here when they are in the area for the City’s Blues Fest. They all know Ron. He’s a good shit. Oops, sorry!”

  “No, no, that’s okay,” said Aaron.

  “By the way, I’d order a beer or something before you get too far into those chicken wings. They can be a bit much,” said the young waitress.