Long Shadows: A Mystery Thriller (Winton Chevalier Book 1)

by John Oakes

  “No two ways about it,” Winton said. “He’s in for a process. Fists will be shaken toward the heavens. I can tell you that.” Winton locked eyes with Julius. “But if…”

  “If it’s not for nothing…” Julius pointed a finger down at Lucas. “If it’s a noble sacrifice.”

  Winton nodded. “Righteous victory has a way of turning scars into medals.”

  Julius polished off his beer and stood. “Well, my bother. I’d say it’s time to go get us a possessed baby skeleton.”

  “Yep. Time to dance with the devil. But first, I’m gonna need to steal my big brother’s laptop.”

  Julius grimaced.

  “He’s a bit of a space cadet, along with his wife. They’re always losing their phones. This last Christmas I bought him a little something to solve that problem, and I think it’s just what we need.”

  Winton left Lucas a note, telling him there was food and drinks, medicine if he needed it, and gave the number for the cell phone Winton had pulled off Bill, the American on the drug running crew.

  The clock on the microwave read 9:05pm as they headed for the door.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sergeant Lawrence Elgin pulled into his driveway in the Carleton Estates gated community where he made his home. He turned off his car, opened his door and put his left foot on the driveway. It was a rote, thoughtless motion he made every day. But this time, he stopped cold in his movement, head bent to the side.

  Winton took a step out from the shadows, machine gun leveled. “Hands where I can see ‘em, fuck face.”

  Elgin saw the gun barrel and put his hands up. Then he looked past at who held it. “No.”

  “Surprise, surprise,” Winton sang.

  “How?”

  Winton took a half step forward and put on his most menacing expression. “The only question you need to answer is: ‘will this little guy really pull the trigger?’” He cocked his head to the side. “I’m not on that boat. So, the answer should be obvious.”

  “Like this?” Elgin asked. “In my driveway? With my wife and kids inside?”

  “If I wanted to.” Winton jabbed his head forward. “Yeah. You don’t get to play the wife and kids card with me, motherfucker.”

  “What do you want, then? Payback?”

  Winton motioned with the gun. “My friend is coming through the passenger door and taking that pistol out your waistband,” Winton said. “Keep those hands up.”

  Julius left the shadows and disarmed Elgin, then returned to stand with Winton, out of view of the front window of the house.

  “I want to know why you follow his orders,” Winton said. “Remus.”

  “He’s my boss.”

  “How about the real answer? You’re into this occult shit, too. Why?”

  Elgin tipped his chin down. “I have my reasons.”

  “You a Christian man?” Julius asked.

  “Who are you to—”

  “I ain’t the Spanish Inquisition, asshole. We just wanna know.”

  “I am a Christian. At least I was.”

  “Then what the fuck you doing locking people in trunks and dealing with the devil?” Julius asked.

  “Was he mad?” Winton asked. “When you brought him the baby bone? For the enfador?”

  Elgin’s gaze lifted and he studied Winton curiously. “You know about that?”

  “We’re resourceful.” Winton adjusted his grip. “So, I’m guessing it didn’t come to life and start casting spells.”

  “It’s broken,” Elgin said with a note of frustration. “Missing a piece.”

  The front door opened along with a screen door. A little girl stepped out.

  “Daddy home!”

  “Wait, sweetie.” Elgin waved her back inside, but she came skipping out barefoot in her long nightshirt. Unlike her father, she had light-colored hair and pale complexion. She seemed not to notice Winton and Julius.

  “Sweetie, go back inside,” Elgin chided.

  The girl, maybe nine or ten, gripped the top of his open door and peered over it. She smiled down at her father.

  In the glimmer of the porch light, Winton made out upturned eyes, a short nose and other features caused by Down Syndrome.

  He pulled his weapon behind his back.

  A tense moment stretched out as she bobbed on her toes. “Daddy come inside.”

  Elgin looked to Winton and Julius.

  Winton thrust his jaw upward.

  Elgin got out of the car and closed the door. His daughter clasped him in a hug and pulled him toward the door by the hand.

  “Sweetie, I left something in the car. You run inside and pick out a book to read. Can’t be outside without shoes.”

  She climbed the steps and went inside.

  Elgin turned back, halfway between the car and the door. Winton wasn’t sure if Elgin would bolt for the inside where surely he had more guns.

  He edged the machine gun from behind his back, muzzle down.

  Elgin pressed his lips together and turned back toward them with shoulders hunched. He stepped past the front of his car to stand with them near the shadows.

  Winton looked him in the eyes as best he could. It was all clear to Winton now. Elgin knew it, too. That’s why he was so angry. They’d seen his secret shame.

  “Then what does Rabelais want?” Winton asked.

  Elgin sneered to one side. “The fat prick wants women. Wants all his fat to just disappear without him having to change a thing.”

  “And what you want is so much more dignified.”

  “She’s my kid, man.”

  “That’s right.” Winton’s tone was a knife blade. “She is.”

  Elgin pointed a finger. “Don’t you fucking preach to me. I love my daughter. I been on my knees for years praying for her, taking her to speech therapy.”

  “Oh, I’ve felt your paternal touch, Sarge.” Winton sneered. “I’m sure you’re the best daddy in the whole world.”

  “Is it so bad,” Elgin began, “wanting her to have a normal life? For her to have what other kids have?”

  Winton opened his mouth, but the rarest of things happened. He didn’t have a retort.

  “So, don’t judge me for trying,” Elgin spat. “For believing… in whatever I gotta believe. Don’t judge me just because someone gave up on you.”

  Winton blinked in the dark.

  “Yo man,” Julius interjected. “You really think that baby skeleton’s gonna come to life and grant you three wishes? Start curing Down Syndrome? Get the fuck outta here.”

  Elgin lifted a finger. “Remus has powers. Don’t underestimate him.”

  “You’re a son of a bitch,” Julius said. “Fucking scum bag and a dumb one, too.”

  “Hey.” Winton held up a hand. “Stop.” He produced a small wad of tissue and handed it to Elgin. “Go on.”

  Elgin took it with trepidation, then unfolded it. The end of the broken bone lay inside. He raised it up into the light emanating from his porch. “You’re just giving it to me?” he asked, astonished. He looked from Winton to the gun he held.

  “Because you need to see that Remus is a charlatan with no more excuses. He’s no traiteur or Voodoo King. Just a dime-a-dozen, limp-dicked old man trying to get hard. And he’s a murderous psycho. If that doesn’t bother you any, then the next time you and I meet, it won’t be so cordial.”

  Elgin looked at the bone.

  “I got Lucas back,” Winton said. “But he’s not whole. He’s never gonna be a policeman again.” Winton couldn’t help raising his weapon to point at Elgin. “You do the right thing now, and help stop this. We’ve got lives to get back to. We got people depending on us.” He nodded up at the house. “Looks like you do, too.” Winton backed away. “Something to think about.”

  “He loves the lost ones,” Julius said, retreating. “I think the Bible says that. I’ll leave your gun in the grass across street.”

  Winton and Julius disappeared into the night. They snuck through a couple backyards in the dark, h
id behind the community pool house, and watched as Elgin reversed out his driveway and drove around the bend back toward the gates.

  “Come on,” Winton said.

  They ran to the spot where they’d hopped the metal fence, and Winton stuck his foot in the loop of rope. Julius pulled, and Winton rose, pulling himself up the green metal posts. He rolled over the car mat protecting him from the spikes at the top, and shimmied his way down the other side. They did the same for Julius, Winton giving just enough help to get Julius over the ten foot fence. They ran through thick underbrush, getting slashed by broad-leafed plants until they emerged onto a dead end street.

  Once in the truck, Winton opened up Corbin’s laptop and brought up the phone tracking software he’d installed for him. He could see the location of both Corbin’s and his wife’s phones at their parents’ house, along with a third locator heading north through Metairie. “He’s heading for the lake. You sure you hid that thing well?” Winton referred to the cell phone taken off the Aussie smuggler, Derek.

  “Dropped it between the seat and the center console. Good and stuck. Ringer’s off.”

  They followed Elgin for twenty miles across Lake Pontchartrain and up into the bayou fifteen minutes more.

  “He’s stopped.” Winton pointed to the screen. “Some place in the boonies looks like.”

  They found a dirt road not marked on the map. “But that’s where it says Elgin is. About two hundred yards.”

  They left the truck parked beside the main road and walked down the dirt road. Eventually lights came into view, and they crept up to the parked vehicles off to the side of the cabin. Julius leaned into the open window of Rabelais’ truck and popped a cell phone in his glovebox. When that was done, he crept over to where Winton stood in the moonlit shadow of some trees, watching through the windows with binoculars, as Remus accepted the wad of tissue from Elgin.

  A smile crept across his face, revealing his blockish teeth.

  “We should get closer,” Julius said. “I wanna see more what’s going on.”

  “It’s risky.”

  “Motherfucker, we’re out here doing James Bond shit. Ima get closer.”

  Winton groaned and followed after.

  The closer they crept the harder it was for Winton to see into the house above the window sills.

  “What do you see?” he whispered up at Julius.

  “Remus is standing over a table near the fireplace. He’s throwing stuff in the fire and making it smoke.”

  Something acrid hung on the air, like burning hair. “That’s not pumpkin spice,” Winton said.

  “Something nasty. Now he’s throwing a big sheaf of dry grass or something on the fire.”

  Winton could smell smoke, like a campfire with an effervescent and minty quality.

  Julius narrated the coming events. Remus hovered over the enfador, after putting the last piece in place, then cut himself. “He’s bleeding on the fire. Now he’s bleeding on the enfador.”

  Winton jumped up, trying to get a view of the seminal moment. If on the off chance it did come alive, he couldn’t miss it. But he didn’t get a look. He listened for gasps of amazement to echo out of the cabin, but none came.

  “Why did I do all this shit, then?” Rabelais sounded dejected.

  “It took me years to get the golden child,” Remus growled. “And it took you two clowns five minutes to break it. To hell, the both of you.”

  “You’re telling me that the spiritual realms suddenly have no power because of a broken bone?” Elgin said. “That really how it works?”

  “Yes, Sergeant, that’s how it works. This ain’t Lego blocks.” Remus sounded both defensive and annoyed to be repeating himself. “Humans, we don’t make power, we only bend it. And it’s not that power’s job to cater to us. We must entice it. That is art.”

  “Where can we find more of these baby bones?” Rabelais asked.

  “It’s two hundred years old, you cretin,” Remus said. “You aren’t going to find another.“ Remus ran a hand over his big balding head. “Maybe we can fix it. We can melt the gold enough to fuse the pieces together.”

  “You think that could work?” Rabelais asked.

  “It’s worth trying,” Remus said. “I’ve come so far.”

  “How long?” Elgin asked.

  “Maybe I could get it done tonight, if I work all night. Leave me to it.”

  Rabelais blew out his cheeks with a blank expression and picked up a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He walked out back, where an exposed lightbulb pumped out dim light. Winton pressed himself close to the house around the corner from where Rabelais stood. A second pair of footsteps sounded on the old boards.

  “You think he’s full of shit, Rab?” Elgin asked, beneath his breath. The depth of his gravelly voice helped carry around the corner.

  “What?” Rabelais stopped mid-pour. “How can you even ask that?”

  “We seen him light things on fire and make circles of salt and blood. I can’t tell what I’m looking at.”

  “You can feel it, can’t you?” Rabelais said. “I feel stronger than ever. I lost five pounds already. I swear I’ve been getting more looks from women. He gave you the talisman, and you said it helped.”

  “I’m just not sure. Might have been that I just wanted it to work so bad, I started convincing myself…”

  “Well, buck up, Sarge. We came this far.” Rabelais saluted him with the glass, then offered the bottle.

  Elgin waved him off. “I’m gonna head home.” Elgin passed back through the house. “I’ll see you tomorrow, boss.”

  Remus gave no reply. He stooped over a table in the corner covered with papers and books.

  Elgin’s car started and rolled out down the dirt road.

  Rabelais drank down his glass, looking out into the moonlit night, mist hanging over the bayou. He sat himself on an old bench seat that groaned with his weight, and poured himself another glass. “Sure I can’t help out?” he called back into the cabin.

  “Do you read Latin?” Remus asked from inside the house.

  “I barely read English,” Rabelais laughed to himself. “Good thing they got them Harry Potter books on CD, though. I tore through them sons a guns.”

  Remus didn’t answer.

  “Hey, Cap, you ever read Harry Po—”

  The screen door swung open and slapped against the back wall. “Shut the hell up, Rab.” Remus picked up the bottle of whiskey. “Why don’t you go drink someplace else. Leave me to my work.”

  “You got it,” Rabelais said in an appeasing tone. “I know when I’m not wanted.” He stood, adjusted his waist band over his large buttocks and under his sagging gut. He drained his glass and passed through the rear door held open by Remus, who scowled after him.

  When Rabelais got in his truck, Julius jerked Winton by the collar across the dirt and weeds. Winton’s feet scrabbled at the ground, as Julius dragged him.

  Julius flopped down next to him as the truck rumbled to life and the headlights turned on, shining against the side of the cabin, illuminating where they’d been crouching.

  They lay there in the dirt, just breathing.

  The sudden manhandling now made sense. “Shit, thanks. Quick thinking.”

  “Yeah,” Julius said.

  They listened to the sounds of the bayou at night. The occasional chirp of a bird, buzzing of an insect. In the summer it’d be a louder symphony of ecology, but now the night was almost still.

  “Just us and him,” Julius whispered. “We could end this right here. Right now. Like you said. Don’t blink.”

  “As much as I stand by that, we can’t become gun people. Guns are the high fructose corn syrup of problem solving. They get into everything.” Winton breathed in and out of his mouth, jutting his jaw forward. “What’s that saying? The man with only a hammer for a tool begins to see all the world’s problems as nails.”

  “Kinda philosophical for a midget in the dirt, aren’t you?” Julius said. “You said we had the ad
vantage of surprise, and here we are, outside the house of the man that wants you and your family dead.”

  Winton rolled his eyes. “Sure, Julius. It’d be real simple to go in there and pop him. We gonna go pop Rabelais and Elgin, too? It’s a package deal, right now.”

  “Then won’t it be with any method?”

  Rain began to fall upon them, in pitter-patters then fat drops.

  “Not if we break them up.” Winton said, after a moment’s thought. “It’s already starting to work on Elgin. Couldn’t you hear?”

  “How do we get Rabelais? He’s pretty bought in.”

  “Then let’s get him even more bought in,” Winton said, wiping his face. “Let’s get him so bought in, he can’t stand it.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Winton and Julius moved as fast as they could in the dark and got back on the county road. They caught up to Rabelais’ truck on the bridge and followed him back to town, as far as they could without arousing suspicion. They hung back and tracked him the rest of the way to his home on a French style long lot backed up on a stream. Once they knew where he lived, they rolled on by and headed to a store to buy supplies, then sat in the truck staying dry.

  “Hold on,” Julius said. He ripped off another strip of duct tape and laid it down on white linen. “That oughta do it.” Julius flipped the white shroud inside out. “Here. Try it on.”

  Winton stepped closer and let Julius drape it all over him. Julius got it all adjusted, but Winton was more or less blind.

  “How do I look?” Winton asked under the fabric.

  “Like the tiniest Klan member ever.”

  “Shut it.”

  “You look like you’re about to burn a tiny cross on my lawn.”

  Winton made an unwilling titter.

  “Like they started Ku Klux Junior,” Julius said.

  “Maybe Ku Klux Kidz, with a z at the end,” Winton offered.

  Now Julius was laughing. “All right. Let’s get that off you and cut some eye holes.”

  Winton liked that about him, that he could laugh even in dark circumstances. Not many people could. “You think this’ll work?” Winton said. “With the rain and the thunder, I just got to thinking. Maybe I went too far.”