Gunsmoke Blues

by Balogun Ojetade

  Mr. Pierre, the sports teacher, lumbered into view. Keith grabbed him. “What the hell’s going on?”

  The teacher looked as terrified as the children. He tried to pull away but Keith held him firm. “Pull yourself together! You have a duty to care for these children.”

  Mr. Pierre shook his head. “The Principal’s gone mad. He’s on a rampage. Now let me go!” He struggled in Keith’s grip, but Keith clung on.

  “You’ve got to stay and help,” he shouted at the Mr. Pierre.

  Mr. Pierre shook his head again. He swore at Keith and aimed a sharp kick at his shin.

  “Ow!” Keith released him. “You coward!” he shouted as the teacher disappeared down the corridor.

  Another teacher pushed his way through the crowd toward him. It was Grant Fitzhugh, who taught English. “Keith, what on earth’s happening?”

  “It’s Mr. Howard. I think he’s attacked some children.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Come on,” Keith said. “Let’s go find him.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jardins de Fraises, Decatur Street and Ursulines Avenue, the French Quarter.

  Freda Brigitte showed the ill-gotten proceeds of her day’s work to her sister, Erica.

  “Nice,” Erica said, running the thread of diamonds through her fingers and watching how the stones split the white light of the sun into rainbows. “What was this one like?”

  “The guy?” Freda said. “Married, white Creole and kind of cute. You won’t believe what happened though. He came running after me with no clothes on.”

  “Where?”

  “In the hotel lobby.”

  “Without a stitch on? You’re right. I hardly believe anything you tell me.”

  Freda stuck her tongue out at her sister. “I swear it’s true. He came this close to catching me.” She held up her thumb and forefinger to show how close. “On days like this I think that you have the easy job.”

  “Not easy,” Erica said. “But safe. You should lie low for a week. You got a good haul. There’s no point taking unnecessary risks. The constables would lynch a Negro, no matter how good she pass, for robbing a white man.”

  “You know I can’t help myself. Unnecessary risks are what I live for. And for you and Pépé, of course.” She hugged her sister. “How has he been today?”

  “Granddaddy’s the same. I don’t think he knows who I am anymore.”

  “Let’s go and see him.”

  “He’s asleep.”

  “I want to see him anyway.”

  Erica led the way down the hallway to Pépé’s room. The house was an old Georgian terrace, big enough for a large family. When they were little, it had been bursting with noise and life. Now just the three of them lived there.

  Pépé had lived in the same house for most of his adult life, watching his children and grandchildren grow up around him. Now the old man was bed-ridden, and never left the one room. His mind was trapped in a single room too, a prisoner of Dementia. The deterioration of his mind had advanced slowly, slamming shut first one door, then another, until only a tiny corner of his original self remained to him. Where the rest had gone, no one could say.

  He lay just as Freda had seen him that morning, snoring gently, a serene look on his crumpled face. The fear would grip him when he woke.

  “Has he eaten today?” Freda asked her sister.

  “A little. I made some vegetable soup for lunch, and he managed a bowl of that.”

  “He’s getting weaker, though, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. He sleeps more and more. But I think that’s for the best.”

  Freda gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. They were twins, but not alike, neither in looks nor in temperament. Sometimes they fought bitterly, like any sisters. But they were still a team.

  The old man’s eyelids flickered gently and his left hand stirred.

  Freda leaned closer to him. “Pépé? Are you awake?”

  The age-mottled hand began to shake and move in agitation. His lips formed soundless words.

  “Can you hear me, Pépé? It’s me, Freda.”

  He opened his eyes, and they were filled with terror and confusion. The shake in his hand spread up his arm, and he began to blabber.

  She rubbed his arm soothingly with her fingers. “It’s Freda, Pépé. Freda and Erica.”

  “Darlene?” he asked. “Is Darlene here?”

  “No, just Freda and Erica.”

  “Darlene,” repeated the old man. He seemed to stare right through her. Darlene had been dead for twenty years, but perhaps she lived still, in some walled-off compartment of his mind.

  He fell quiet as she stroked his arm, breathing deeply and calmly, his eyes still fixed on some distant vision. His left hand continued to move, as if it had its own private life to lead.

  “Are you sure you can manage him on your own?” Freda asked Erica. “I honestly don’t know how you do it, day after day.”

  Erica shrugged. “And I don’t know how you do your job.”

  “One of us needs to earn some money,” Freda said. “Besides, what else could I do? Become a nurse, or a teacher? Perhaps a tinkerer and go to work for Baas Bello?”

  “You’ll have to find something else to do eventually. Looks don’t last forever.”

  “Thanks for reminding me, mon cher. But by then, I intend to retire on a beach somewhere off the coast of Sénégal.”

  “You’d be better off settling down with someone nice. I don’t know what you see in some of these men.”

  “I see their coin, Erica,” Freda snapped. They had talked this over a thousand times. Her sister had never approved of Freda’s way of earning a living. “What’s so hard to understand? I do it for you, you know that. For you and Pépé. You might show some gratitude.”

  Her sister winced. “You’re better than this, Freda. You could have any man you wanted. You ought to have stuck with that nice teacher you dated. What was his name?”

  “Keith. Keith Gaston,” Freda said reluctantly. That was all in the past, though. Freda had been horrible to him, something he’d hardly deserved.

  “He was cute, wasn’t he?”

  One of the nicest men she’d known, but Freda was hardly going to admit that to her sister now. “Cute doesn’t pay the bills, Erica. He was a Life Sciences teacher at a run-down school in the Tremé. What kind of future would we have had together?”

  “He really liked you. I liked him too, or at least what you told me about him.”

  “You never even met him, Erica. I wanted to bring him here, but you said no. You never see anyone these days, apart from me and Pépé. All you know about the outside world is what I tell you. When was the last time you even went out of the house?” It seemed that turning the argument against Erica was easier than facing up to any hard truths herself. Freda knew she could be a real bitch at times. She didn’t deserve a sister like Erica, and she hadn’t deserved Keith Gaston either.

  Her sister looked startled by the question. She began to fidget with her fingers. “I don’t need to go outside,” she protested. “I manage perfectly well paying the neighborhood children to bring groceries and things to the house. Anyway, I couldn’t possibly go out and leave Pépé alone. Anything might happen.”

  “You know that’s just an excuse.” The truth was that Erica had become too frightened of other people to go outside. It was more than fear, it was full-blown lunacy. She hadn’t left the house in months. She refused to let anyone visit. She no longer had any friends. Freda pointed a finger at her. “You need to face up to your problem before you start preaching to me about how to live my life.”

  “Stop it,” Erica pleaded. “Don’t be so mean. You know how strangers scare me.”

  Freda knew she should stop, but she just couldn’t help herself. “Well it’s just as well I don’t bring any of my men home, then. Some of them are quite appalling. Even that nice teacher, Keith Gaston would terrify you.”

  Erica said nothing to that, just loo
ked upset. That was how Erica was. She never fought back.

  “I’m sorry,” Freda said. She hated herself when she picked on her sister. Just as she’d been a bitch to Keith, she always seemed to hurt the people she loved most. Perhaps that was why she spent so much time with people she didn’t love at all.

  “It’s all right,” Erica said. “And you’re right. I should try to get out.” She nodded her head. “I’ll try,” she promised. “It’s just that—”

  “What?” Freda could tell something else was bothering her sister. She always could. “What’s wrong?” she asked, more gently. “What’s this all about, really?”

  “The constables found another body. The children told me when they came by to tell me what’s going on in New Orleans.”

  “Your own personal crew of reporters,” Freda said. “Another one, though?”

  “Oui,” Erica said with a nod. “It’s all everyone’s talking about. It was down by the river. Half-eaten, like the others.” Erica looked Freda directly in the eyes. “It’s too dangerous for you to carry on. The Ripper’s still out there, Freda. Or a copycat, some kind of monster. You put yourself at too much risk.”

  Freda laughed it off. “There are lots of risks in my job, but being eaten by a monster isn’t one of them. There’s more chance I’ll be beaten to death by a jealous wife’s designer handbag in a crime passionnel, or choke to death on some rich Negro’s big—”

  Erica raised her hand, interrupting Freda. “Don’t.”

  Freda chuckled. “Look, I’ll be careful, all right? But don’t tell me not to take risks. Taking risks is what lets me know I’m still alive.”

  She dropped her gaze again to Pépé’s wasted body. He seemed to have retreated into a world of sleep and memories once more. One thing Freda knew for certain was that she would never allow herself to live like that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Audubon High School.

  Together, Keith Gaston and Grant Fitzhugh strode purposefully down the school corridor toward the Principal’s office. The crowd of panicked children had dwindled to a few stragglers now and they made good progress.

  “What are we going to do when we find him?” Mr. Fitzhugh asked. “Do you have a weapon?”

  “Of course not,” Keith replied.

  “Then if talking doesn’t work, I guess we’re going to have to use our hands.”

  They turned down the side corridor that led to Mr. Howard’s office. Questions raced through Keith’s mind. He didn’t like any of the answers that presented themselves.

  As soon as they rounded the corner, it was obvious that talking wasn’t going to be the answer. A pool of blood stained the floor of the corridor scarlet. Bloody footprints and a trail of red led from there to the end of the corridor, where the Principal crouched outside the door to his office, more blood smeared over his face and hands and dripping from his chin. Keith had never seen so much blood in his life. No one could lose so much and still live.

  The body of a girl lay prostrate on the floor beside the Principal. There was no doubt in Keith’s mind that the girl was dead. Mr. Howard was chewing something, and Keith had a horrible idea what it might be.

  “Good God,” Grant said. He looked like he was going to be sick.

  Keith stared at the scene in horror. Mad didn’t even begin to describe Mr. Howard’s behavior. Somehow an ordinary day at school had transitioned into a nightmare.

  The Principal continued to chew on his grisly meal, staring coldly back at the two men with eyes that burned with a strange golden gleam. He made no attempt to flee or otherwise react to their arrival. Instead, he behaved like a man whose mid-morning coffee break had been rudely interrupted by subordinates.

  Keith tried to make himself think straight. He couldn’t be certain about the identity of the girl. She wasn’t one of the girls Keith taught. She was a Junior, perhaps—Lavelle or Lorraine, or something like that. They were too late to save her, but they had to do something.

  Mr. Howard was middle-aged and pot-bellied, and Keith had never thought of him as remotely dangerous. But he’d been a keen sportsman when he first came to the school, and there was a madness in his eyes. It would be folly to underestimate him, especially considering that he’d just murdered that poor girl.

  Keith was taller than Mr. Howard and much fitter. He exercised regularly, and sometimes competed in running competitions, too. He felt confident that he could handle himself in a fight, although he’d never had to test that hypothesis. Grant Fitzhugh was short, but taught wrestling classes after school and looked fit enough.

  Together, we ought to be able to handle the Principal if we have to, Keith thought. Grant looked queasy though, and the Principal had an air of calm about him that made Keith nervous. Since the girl was already dead, containment seemed the wisest approach.

  “Let’s play this quietly,” Keith said. “We don’t want to provoke him.”

  Grant nodded in agreement. They separated, blocking the only two exits. Keith moved in front of an outside door, and Grant blocked the way back to the main corridor.

  Mr. Howard watched them calmly. He seemed to understand what they were doing, but he made no attempt to push past them to escape. Instead he stood up, blood dribbling down his white shirt, and shuffled backward through the open doorway of his office, leaving the mutilated body of the girl in the hallway.

  Keith breathed a sigh of relief. If they could just avoid a confrontation until the constables arrived, there would be no need for any further violence. And surely even that idiot sports teacher, Mr. Pierre, would have thought of sending a telegraph to the constables by now.

  His hopes were dashed by a girl’s scream.

  The Principal emerged from his office again, this time with a second girl. Keith recognized her reddish-brown hair and freckled face immediately—Ava L’Esperance, from the class he had just taught that afternoon. Her face was ashen, her hazel eyes wide and staring, but she seemed to be uninjured, as far as he could tell. Mr. Howard gripped the girl’s slim neck with one arm, wrapping the other firmly around her middle. Ava walked like she was in a trance. The Principal guided her out into the middle of the corridor, then stopped. “Looks like I’ve been caught at last,” he said. “And I haven’t even finished eating my dinner.”

  The words shocked Keith. The Principal had become so monstrous through his actions that he had seemed beyond human speech. The fact that he could speak about his actions in such a casual way seemed utterly chilling. And what did he mean caught at last? Keith pushed that thought aside.

  “It’s very bad manners to watch other people eating,” the Principal continued. “Go away and leave me to finish with Ava. You can come back in a bit.”

  Keith opened his mouth to speak, but his throat had dried and he had to swallow before he could form words. “Let her go, Mr. Howard,” he said. “You can’t hope to escape.”

  Mr. Howard squeezed Ava tighter around the neck and she gasped. “Escape? That wasn’t my plan at all. The time for that seems to be well past. No, I had merely hoped to finish my meal in peace, but you have interrupted me most rudely. Why don’t you and Mr. Fitzhugh just go back to your classrooms and let me finish what I started?”

  Keith shook his head in disbelief. “Let her go,” he repeated.

  “Or what?” the Principal demanded. “If you come any closer, I’ll kill her.” He tightened his grip around Ava’s neck again. “I’ll kill her anyway,” he laughed. “Like I killed the others. You can’t stop me.”

  Others. The word hung sickeningly in the air between them.

  Keith measured the distance between himself and Mr. Howard. They were at least a dozen paces apart. He took a step forward and saw the Principal jerk Ava’s neck to one side in response. The girl cried out and Keith stepped back.

  “Release the girl now,” Mr. Fitzhugh said. “Unharmed.”

  Mr. Howard laughed contemptuously. “Not much of a negotiator, are you, Mr. Fitzhugh?” he sneered. “What do you offer me in her plac
e? She’s such a pretty little thing.”

  Keith took another step forward before he even realized what he was doing. “Take me instead,” he said. He raised his hands to show that they were empty.

  “Hmm,” Mr. Howard crooned. “You don’t look half as tasty as young Ava here.” He bared his teeth and pressed them against her neck.

  “No!” Keith stepped forward again, his hands raised high over his head. “Leave her alone. If you try to hurt her, Mr. Fitzhugh and I will take you down. But if you release Ava, you can have me.”

  Mr. Howard paused, his teeth nuzzling against Ava’s slender neck. “To eat?” he inquired.

  Keith swallowed hard. “If that’s what it takes.”

  “Well, well, aren’t you the hero, all of a sudden?” the Principal said, sneering. “Keith Gaston, hero of Audubon High School. Won’t all the ladies be impressed! What a shame he had to die so horribly.”

  “No, Keith,” Grant said, putting an arm on his elbow.

  Keith put out a hand to silence him. He took another step forward. “Let her go. I’ll give myself up.”

  Mr. Howard looked at him thoughtfully. “How can I trust you, though? You’ll need to tie yourself up. Or better yet, get Mr. Fitzhugh to do it for you. There’s some rope in my office. Wait a moment.” He disappeared back through the doorway, shuffling slowly backward, taking Ava with him.

  “You’ve gone mad, too,” Grant hissed. “You can’t allow him to take you. It’s monstrous.”

  “I can’t allow him to harm that girl.”

  “What if it’s a trick?”

  “I have to take that risk.”

  Mr. Howard emerged from his office with Ava once more, kicking a short length of rope in front of him. He slid it across the smooth floor toward Grant. “There you go. Tie him up. And make it secure. I’ll be watching carefully.” He twisted Ava’s neck and the girl cried out again. “Do it now,” he said.

  “Go on,” Keith said, turning his back to Grant, his hands crossed over each other behind him.

  Grant picked up the rope hesitantly. Slowly he wrapped it around Keith’s wrists and tied the ends into a knot.