The Saint Louisans

by Steven Clark

Jama tossed back her hair. “Kick ass, Jackal,” she said.

  29

  The Meeting of the Waters

  Kenyatta lounged in the back seat of the car, lost in thought, as Jama and I sat in front. Saul had driven over first, and now I took a deep breath as we approached the mansion.

  “When we’re inside, go to the kitchen. The study. Watch TV. Annoy Rainer. Stay out of the way and don’t go upstairs. You will not see Margot.”

  A sour rumble from Ken. “Why do I want to see the old lady?”

  Jama sighed. “It’s sage advice for me, surprise surprise.”

  Ken grunted. Vess’s Taurus was parked in front, its shiny body guarded by a flunky leaning against the hood. Ken’s sour eyes narrowed.

  “Look,” I said to him as I parked, “no fireworks. We make an appearance, tell Vess to back off. That’s it.”

  “Yeah,” he rolled his neck. “Jiminy Cricket time. I’m cool.”

  Rainer opened the front door just as the conversation’s decibel level rose. Jama slipped in first.

  “You’re Rainer, right? Where’s the food? TV? I’m the wild child. Surely you’ve heard of me.” The gaze from Rainer gave that a cold 10-4. I wanted to make a beeline for Margot, but in the drawing room Vess and Sonia were having it out with Saul. I nodded to Ken, who hung back, then I entered, Saul was on his feet, standing before our adversaries.

  “Look,” he said in mid-attack, “I don’t care what your needs are, historical or for someone’s community. This mansion stays as it is. Upstairs, a woman is—”he turned and saw me, his eyes relieved. “Lee.”

  Vess sat, stone-faced. Sonia rose and flew at me like I was a mouse and she the hawk. “Mrs.Bridger, what right do you have to dig up Corn Mother? Saul told me a body was found here, and I’m furious you would dare do such—”

  “There is no Corn Mother.”

  “That’s what Saul said, but—”

  “Be quiet and sit down.”

  “I will not.”

  Rainer sidled next to Sonia and whispered to her in French. I couldn’t hear what he said, but her eyes flashed and lips twitched. I expected an explosion, but she sat. Vess’s cautious expression waited.

  “Mrs. Bridger,” he said, “if you’re trying to keep an important artifact from being recovered, then you should think twice.”

  “The body isn’t Corn Mother.”

  “Sacrilege!” spat Sonia. All the portraits seemed to wince. “How would you possibly know?”

  “The body we found,” I said, “comes from a cold night in December, 1972. That’s the body Sonia found when she was creeping around. This one involves Marc Anthony Hollis.”

  Vess gripped the armchair rests. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “That was the year of the people,” Ken’s voice boomed as he walked in ahead of his cue. “When the streets were to run with blood unless there was justice.”

  Vess shot up, amazed. “Marc? What? How did they find—”

  Ken grinned. “Yeah, spook sees spook. I didn’t go so easy, like China Doll. When China’s chums wanted me iced, I guess you saw the profit margin and went along.”

  This brought a long stare from Vess. “What are you talking about?”

  Ken plopped into a Louis XIV chair and rested his leg over its side. “You got shot, later. Maybe it was payback. Maybe it was the streets saying they didn’t like you taking their bread. Even if was for the people.” Ken’s smile was sly. “But before the people is the game.”

  Vess stared. “Marc, what’s all this about?”

  “It’s Kenyatta, and I advise you to walk away from Juneteenth, Vess. Let these white breads get on with their cat fight. There’s nothing for you here. I been quiet a long time, got a lot of talking stored up.”

  “Wait a minute. You can’t accuse me of anything. I had nothing to do with that woman getting iced.”

  “So you say. My story’ll be different. And even if it’s B.S., it’s shit you don’t need. ’Course, my story don’t have to be told—”

  Sonia glared. “Who is this man?”

  “Me?” beamed Ken. “I’m Jiminy Cricket.”

  A rustle to the left. Jama entered, munching on a turkey club, setting down to a ringside seat. I ignored her and spoke to Vess.

  “Look, Vess. A lot of things could be said about you, and we know you got enemies, and they haven’t had a scrap tossed to them for a long time. I don’t care what happened then, why it happened, I want you out of this, and take the tomb raider here with you.”

  Sonia’s eyes burned, but Vess cautiously examined Ken, me, Saul, and reluctantly nodded.

  “Marc,” he said quietly, “I’m glad you’re alive. Brother, where you been?”

  Ken snorted. “Oh, man, don’t give me that togetherness jive.” His hands and wiggling fingers made butterflies. “I gotta get back to work. And these folks gotta see the old lady die.”

  A long, solemn look came from Vess as he rose and exited in careful, litigation-free silence. Ken studied a Dresden porcelain on the nearby table. He picked it up.

  “How much is this worth?”

  Rainer frowned. “That is of no concern to you.”

  Saul shrugged. “About five thousand.”

  Ken tossed it in the air. Our eyes darted to its ascent, then capture in his big hands. “How about I keep it? For services rendered?”

  Rainer puffed up. “Impossible.”

  I glanced at Saul, who nodded. “Keep it.”

  Ken dropped the piece into his jacket pocket. “Yeah, party time. Get a new printer, reboot my hard drive, and get some new reeds for the sax.” He prepared to exit. “Maybe soundproof the walls. Make ’em cat proof.”

  When the door closed, Saul and I faced a simmering Sonia. Saul spoke. “You knew Corn Mother was always a long shot.”

  “Mrs. Bridger,” Sonia replied as she pulled on her leather jacket, “you destroyed a serious chance to discover the godhead of Cahokia.”

  “Come on,” said Saul, “you had your chance. You found a body, but it wasn’t your Corn Mother. There’s nothing here for you. Face it, even if there was a Corn Mother, she would have been destroyed years ago. When the mounds were leveled. Let this family finish their business.”

  Sonia straightened, a queen vacating her throne. “So, you have won. But you will not enjoy your victory, Mrs. Bridger. Saul loves this house more than you. He has always been a man for things.”

  Saul pointed at the door. Sonia sneered.

  “There is death in this house. In this city. All of it is a ruin. The St. Louisans are a dead people. Corn Mother would have given them pride. Instead, all they have is that illogical, brown river.”

  Her heels clicked nosily as Rainer went to open the door. It slammed shut like a bad chapter of a dime novel. Saul absently fingered some drapes.

  “It’s always that last sentence. Pronouncements of greatness. A Sonia Sauvage trademark.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed, “cut and print.”

  Rainer returned. “The siblings are arriving.”

  “I have to see Margot. Saul, keep an eye on Jama.”

  He looked around. “Where is she?”

  I scanned the drawing room. The empty plate sat on the cherry sideboard next to Margot’s portrait as Veiled Prophet Queen. I followed Rainer up the stairs.

  Outside of Margot’s bedroom, I smelled the start of death. That scent of human sweat, waste, and old linen. Rainer stood outside Margot’s door, rigid as a grandfather clock in a tie. He glanced at me, his finger going to his lips. I frowned and peeked in.

  My anger pulsed. Jama sat next to Margot. Rainer held me back from entering. His eyes warned me to listen.

  As morning light filtered through the curtains, making them a gauze wall, Jama talked in her fairy tale voice; the voice of pitching. “So, we’d been in Sumatra a week, doing local shots for Lost Jungle Vixens. Good thing it was by Wallendorf, because he got the budget for location. Sumatra is … look, Sumatra is green like you dream of. We did
beach shots the first day, and caught sunsets. Like kaleidoscopes. That bright.”

  Margot sighed deeply. “You must have loved it. I wanted to see the tropics. Only made it as far as. Hawaii.”

  Jama offered an impish smile. “Hawaii is suburbs. Sumatra is downtown.”

  I was stunned. Not at Jama’s spiel to a dying woman, nor Margot’s weak but steady smile, but Jama as she cleaned Margot’s bedpan; how she did it quick and efficiently. Again, I started to enter, but Rainer’s arm blocked my entering. A low sigh came from Margot as Jama turned her over. I frowned at how carefully it was done.

  “So,” Jama continued as she wiped Margot clean, “what really grabbed me was the elephants there. Or elephant. You see, the natives say in the heart of Sumatra is a special elephant. It has long, curved tusks. It lives in a magic cave. It has a hairy body.”

  Margot sighed. “A mastodon?”

  “Yeah, maybe. Like when I was a kid. I loved everything about ’em. So, maybe this mastodon is descended from some that didn’t go extinct. They took a wrong turn to Siberia or something.”

  Jama tucked Margot in. “I really wanted to find that mastodon. But we started shooting, I had a part in Tink … that’s on Showtime … so I had to jet back to L.A.”

  Margot’s frail fingers reached out to Jama’s arm. “You. Didn’t. Find it.”

  Jama bent closer. “Not yet. I’ve got it in the script for Lallah Rookh.”

  Then my mouth dropped. I watched as Jama took Margot’s medications from the plastic box and gave them to her, one after another, then she checked the dosage meter and intently watched its progress.

  “Okay,” Jama’s voice was softer, “I’m raising the dosage. You know that.”

  “Yes, Jama. I know. I hurt.”

  “This’ll take care of it.”

  Margot swallowed pills, then looked up at the ceiling. “The elephant … mastodon. Sounds. Like a movie.”

  “Sure,” Jama smiled. “I’ve got an elephant film. I pitch it. All the time. Drink this.” Margot sipped from the straw stuck in a can of Sprite Jama held to her. In the last two weeks, Margot, like most terminal patients, found one small, last thing to enjoy before she shut down. Sprite.

  “Lallah Rookh,” Margot said in a long sigh.

  Jama continued. “See, it’s about an elephant. It’s the first elephant to walk on a tightrope, and this girl … maybe a woman by now … she’s in the circus, or a cat house, or somewhere. She’s waiting for a bus that ain’t gonna come. She’s always dreamed of that mastodon. So Lallah comes into her life, and she bonds with him. He’s her steamboat going to the Big Easy.” Jama smiled. “Her Sumatra. They’re a team, only these greedheads want more money, so they make Lallah swim the Ohio, and Lallah does, because she can do anything … but the river kills her.”

  “That’s very sad,” Margot said in a weak but kind way.

  “Yeah, but for a moment, the girl—and the mastodon—had her dream. I’m still spitballing the script.” She gave Margot another sip. “Anyway, you can dream, but you got to market it and wire it up to the audience’s subconscious. That’s Hollywood.”

  Margot offered a feather of laughter. I walked in. Jama warily looked up. Margot smiled and offered her hand as my fingers wrapped with hers.

  “Lee, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you. I’m so weak.”

  “I’m here, Mother.”

  “Yes. And Jama. She’s so helpful. She’s so …”

  “Yes,” I said quickly. “She is that.”

  Jama glanced at me. “Her vitals are okay, but you can’t do the dosage any higher. You know it’s time for MSC.”

  Below, the doorbell rang. Oral morphine. It’s time. I was ready to stare and order Jama to leave, but her knowledge of bedside duties astounded me. I bent to Margot. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m here.”

  “You and my granddaughter,” Margot whispered. “I’m so proud of her.”

  Rainer reappeared. “They’re here.”

  I kissed Margot and gripped her hand. There was nothing to do but leave her with Jama, I looked at her and frowned.

  “How do you know about dosage?”

  “Long story. You need to rumble with the sibs. Go on, Mom. Lurch there needs you.”

  Margot frowned. “Lurch?”

  “Addams Family. ‘You rang?’”

  Another weak smile from Margot. “Philip often thought that. Of Rainer. We joked. Rainer. I’m sorry.”

  “Quite all right, Madame. Mrs. Bridger?”

  A last glance at Jama, whose hand fluttered for me to go on. I followed Rainer to the drawing room.

  Saul met me at the foot of the stairs, eyes narrowing as I touched my forehead. “Another headache?”

  “Just the same one, shifting to overdrive. Go upstairs. Stay with Margot. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

  “Sure. What’s wrong?”

  I said nothing, we pecked and he climbed the stairs. What was I going to tell him? I was afraid of Jama? Still surprised at her bedside manner, some dark part of me feared she might try a mercy killing. I despised myself for thinking it, but there was so much coming at me.

  Now it was my turn to come for my half-siblings, and Rainer stood guard as I entered. I hadn’t seen Terri or Pierre since that wondrous restraining order had been clamped around my neck. Pierre looked older, not in his or anyone’s nirvana. Terri’s were eyes direct and unsheathed. Her camel’s hair coat flapped open to reveal glittering accessories, a cross betwixt fashionista and black widow.

  “What do you know about the body?” she demanded.

  I sunk into the corner chair. At this moment, I needed plush and gilt. “Knew about it for years, didn’t you?”

  Pierre advanced. “It was nobody. Some woman. Lucas had all kinds of people. Drugs brings the world to your doorstep.”

  “Lucas told both of you?”

  Terri sighed. “A couple of weeks later. When I mentioned that strange pile of dirt in the yard, he looked like he was having kittens. Rainer told us.”

  A nod from Rainer confirmed this.

  “I thought it best not to tell Mr. Desouche and Madame. It was easy to explain and hide away. Their interest in gardening or upkeep was slight.”

  Terri glared. “So don’t accuse us, Lee. Don’t even go there.”

  “It was the drugs,” Pierre sadly sighed. “They took over his life.”

  “Oh, come on,” Terri waved her hand. “Lucas wanted to get high since he was ten. You and I settled for being the usual trust fund babies. Now,” she sneered at me, “Nurse Lee knows secrets, and she has leverage. The kind, wise, nurse. Whose marriages tanked. Who married a nut.”

  Pierre glowered at Terri. I said nothing, because she was right. My marriages did tank. I was married to a nut, and Jama was right. I am a jackal. “Okay,” I began slowly, “guilty on all counts. Especially the leverage bit. Knowing Lucas buried someone on the grounds and not talking about it won’t do either of you any good.”

  Pierre narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

  “What I’ve wanted from day one. For both of you to help your mother die in peace.”

  A labored sigh from Terri. “Again.”

  “Please, Terri. There’s not much time. She’s going.”

  Terri went to the window, as if the traffic on Grand was some kind of release, her stance a bullet sliding into the chamber. Hatred wafted in the drawing room like malodorous heat. One more word from me, and she might leave.

  “Tell her.”

  All eyes turned to Rainer. His command a cold draft. Terri’s eyes met his in a duel. “Pardon me?”

  “You must tell Mrs. Bridger. This is no time for bitterness to rule. Madame will die soon.”

  Terri pulled her coat closer, ready to exit. Rainer blocked her way.

  “Everyone here is on a power trip,” she said. “I won’t be painted into a corner.”

  I probed her anger, and compared it to mine, and I didn’t like our measuring sticks. They were too neck and
neck. “You’re afraid of Margot. You hate her, don’t you?”

  “Oh, buzz off.”

  “Terri, I have the same problem. I hate my daughter, and she hates me.”

  Pierre leaned closer. “What do you mean?”

  “My daughter is upstairs looking after her grandmother. For a moment, I thought the worst. That Jama was going to hurt her.”

  Terri’s eyes widened. “What? You mean that con artist is upstairs? With my mother?”

  “Lee,” Pierre said as he looked upstairs, “what’s your daughter doing?”

  “I just told you. She’s taking care of her.” I had to admit this still surprised me, but I plowed on. “Jama and I never get along. I saw, see her … well, she says I think she’s a fuck-up, and I do feel that way. I’ve always loved Pierce more than her. Christ, I hate admitting that. Terri, I think hating your mother is connected with Lucas. I wasn’t here, but I know about druggies. About living with and covering up for the irrational, and not seeing what’s there. I was married to it. Talk to me.”

  Pierre and Terri exchanged wary glances. I hoped I broke the ice. If they took off, then I’d failed. Pierre shifted and spoke.

  “I had to get away from the tension here. All of that family recrimination, Mother and Father at Lucas’s throat, then not. He was the oldest, and they had so much invested in him. The Kennedys and their soap opera have nothing on Desouches. I found peace in Buddhism.”

  “Sure,” snorted Terri, “after you’d tried six or seven of the other paths. I went along with all of them.”

  “Come on,” I said quietly, “go with me. Talk.”

  Rainer stared at Terri, nodding, moving closer to block her exit. Her frown made her older, but the tension in her face gave her a strong kind of beauty.

  “Lucas was always on the make for a new high. He went to Mexico. One of many times. On his last trip, he discovered salvia.” She sneered. “Yeah, my brother was a real pharmaceutical Columbus. “Salvia is an herb, related to the mint family. He said Aztec priests made a tea from it and drank it. He wanted a quick high, so he smoked it. He wanted me to join him. I’d done some weed and stuff with him, so I did.”

  “I heard it,” Pierre said, “all that high laughter. Babbling. Words streaking out.” He shrugged. “Now it’s a hot drug.”