by Karl Tutt
When my head began to clear, I was sitting in a wooden chair in a dark place. There were three men, but I couldn’t see their faces. Two of them stood very close on either side of me, ready to grab me if I moved. I could see an outline of the one in front of me against the dim light of an open door. He was tall and needle thin. When he turned his head, I caught a glimpse of something small and blood red in his face. A flash of silver bolted from one ear.
“Dr. Fleming, you may have a small headache when the ether wears off, but I assure you that you are in no danger from us. We need to talk, but it must be a private conversation. I fear you suffer from some misconceptions that will trouble you and perhaps bring you to harm.”
“Who are you?”
“I think you will know very soon. Yes, I am Obi Man, but not the one you seek. My people are small in number, but we are strong. We are fighters. Our enemy is as old as time and as deadly. It will never be eradicated, but it can be driven deeper into the darkness where it can feast on its own demons. Your quest must continue, but you can trust no one. Not even me. You must step cautiously. If you do not, their power will overcome you and you will become raw meat for the Jumbie. That you will find very unpleasant. Remember this. Follow the one who shines. I will not contact you again unless it is absolutely imperative. Go with God.”
Which God, I wondered. I had other questions, but I didn’t think they would be answered tonight. His voice was deep and ominous. It sliced into me. I must have shivered. A hand went to my shoulder as if to comfort, to reassure that I had nothing to fear from these people. I wanted to believe it, but I was cold and helpless. They had me now. They could have me again. Nothing would work until I was back in the warmth of KAMALA.
The silhouette raised his hand. The men turned almost in unison and exited the open door. I sat for a minute more, tried a deep breath, then raised myself from the chair. I stumbled, but caught my balance and headed for the light. It hit my eyes like an icepick, but there was no way I would retreat back into that darkness. The walk back to the boat was uneventful, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being followed.
When I got to KAMALA, the lamp was on below.
Chapter 10
I stepped gingerly into the cockpit. I lifted the boards to the companionway and peered below. Sunny smiled and offered her hand as I went down the ladder. She put her arms around me and laid her head on my chest.
“You look like shit,” she said. “Things were quiet at the Parrot. Jack let me off early. Looks like it’s a good thing I’m here. You need a drink.”
She poured a shot of Jameson into one of the rum cups. I downed it and held the tin out for more.
The drug had left me slightly nauseous, but the whiskey helped.
I sat across from her on the settee and placed my hand to my forehead.
“I guess I was kidnapped,” I said. “Don’t know who, not even sure why. They didn’t hurt me, but I was sure scared shitless.”
I went through the whole day’s events. My conversation with Frank, the meeting with Maleeva, the trip to the Haitian Village, the dialogue and the warning from the man with the red in his face. She listened and checked my expression from time to time, looking for something that I didn’t know I felt. A hole somewhere in my narrative, something I’d left out. When she was satisfied, she spoke.
“Well, if you’re not afraid, I damned sure am. Hallemina is gone. Mysterious symbols painted on her door? The disappearing widow whose husband had gunpowder in his blood? The sudden appearance of the Obi Man and two gorillas ready to do his bidding? Yeah, this is a pretty picture. Time to move to Montana.”
Somehow that wasn’t funny, but she sounded half-serious.
“All right Miss Master’s Degree in Psychology. Give me your take. What the hell did he mean by follow the one who shines?”
“That I don’t know, but I think you just met the Ange Noir. You mentioned the red in his face. The silver dangling from his ear. Didn’t Hallemina say that the man who came to meet with Alain was tall and thin and had blood red piercings on either side of his nose? A silver skull earring? They spoke of sharp blades. Just the thing to remove a man’s liver. His message was confusing, probably deliberately deceitful. I think he was trying to lead you away from the truth. Still, it was a warning. A deadly one. Time to pack up your six-guns, Cowboy, and ride off into the sunset while you are still in the saddle. Your marker won’t mean much if it’s at the top of Boot Hill.”
It made sense. Let the Twins work it out. I didn’t have a dog in this fight. I didn’t want Sunny, Maleeva, or anyone else involved in this debacle. Someone could get hurt and it might not even be me.
Sunny took a deep breath. She stared at the floor for a minute, then drilled me with eyes that harbored an agony tinged with challenge.
“I love you, T.K. I don’t want to leave you. Forgive me for laying this on you now. I know your head must be exploding, but I’ve got to tell you. Jack grabbed my ass tonight. He grinned and asked if I wanted to leave a little early. I’ve seen it before. It’s Screw Your Boss Time. You can keep your job, have a little fun in the sack and things only get better from there.”
I guess I was shocked. Sunny had always pulled her weight at the Parrot. Jack had been respectful, even grateful, for the crowds that she pulled in. I knew that bar owners often had their choice of willing young ladies, some that just wanted a job and others who figured if they slept with the right people, it was a ticket to a hollow type of stardom.
“I made it clear that I was not on the menu. He seemed okay with it, but who knows? The next chick he targets might be more than happy to provide some extracurricular activities to keep the boy in him hard and slick. That could put me on the street.”
“Hell, Sunny. There are a dozen places in Key West that would love to have you on the payroll. You’d have a job before you cleared the door.”
“I would. I’d have a job and I could go back to doing the same routine I do every night. Talking up the drunks and shaking my ass for a few filthy dollars in a jar. It just doesn’t work anymore, T.K.”
I didn’t know what to say. She was right. I just didn’t want to admit it. Then the hammer came down.
“I have a job offer in South Carolina, one of the branches of the state university. They want me to teach psychology. It’s near Beaufort.”
I’d been in Beaufort several times by boat. It’s a lovely little town full of history, charm, friendly people, and the host of delights the southern waterfront is known for. I had stayed at Port Royal on the ICW with Fritz for a couple of weeks on the way down to Key West. The memories held things that make you feel warm inside.
Still, Key West had become my home. . . KAMALA reliably lolling in her slip. The sounds of the music floating over the water from Turtle Kraals. Buffett’s Roundtable with its weird assortment of characters from a Steinbeck novel. Captain Sal, Chris, Fritz, Frank, Tracy. All people who trusted me and valued me, made me whole in a way I had never experienced before. But what would it be without Sunny? A gray half-life? I didn’t know.
She hadn’t asked me to go with her and I didn’t know that I would. If I pleaded with her to stay, would she feel violated? Would she think that I didn’t love her when, in fact, I did with my heart and my soul? Would the resentment build when she was denied something that was crucially important to her, to her fulfillment as a woman. A woman so beautiful and perceptive who had made me whole.
“So you’ll go?” I said quietly.
No expression on her face.
“Will you?” she said. She put down her glass and headed up the companionway.
I heard her footsteps as she walked down the dock. It was a hollow sound.
Chapter 11
The thing with Sunny was a knock-out punch, but if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with the old man, I could have seen it coming. She’d been a bit moody lately, not as many smiles, not quite as much laughter. Sometimes I felt she was backing away. A sort of malaise I noticed, but I d
ismissed like a man can do. I quietly screamed at myself in silence. Could I have headed it off in some way? I also wondered if I should have.
She was a beautiful and intelligent woman. I knew that better than anyone. Educated and perceptive. A source of strength to all she came in contact with, especially me. In my heart and my mind, I knew she deserved more.
The paradigm was there. Psychology, literature. I thought of Henrik Ibsen’s “The Doll’s House.” There were riots when it was first performed at the Royal Theater in Copenhagen in 1869 long before there was a word for feminism. Nora was a woman with all of the advantages, a home, a family, security. But she was frustrated by a husband who smothered her, trapped by culture’s expectations, cut off from others, but mostly from herself. Her growth, her independence, her very identity stifled and constrained by what society said she was supposed to be. It demanded that she be happy and grateful, but her soul begged to be free. Ibsen believed it was a statement about man in general. Perhaps so, but posing the main character as a woman was what had driven its impact. And Sunny was a woman, magnificent in her creation and her strength.
What did the rest of her life have to offer? A few more years in a bar as a servant dependent on ‘the kindness of gentlemen’, a sex symbol, a woman who swayed and bent to the whims of a bunch of drunks? And what about me? What did I have to offer? A washed up English professor, an ageing boat bum, a pseudo Ghostcatcher with little more than promises. I loved her, but that’s all there was. I knew it just wasn’t enough.
She had to go. But did I? Could I?
It had taken me a lot of searching and a lot false starts to get to a place where I had found a modicum of peace and acceptance. I had the sun, the water, and the wind. I didn’t need to know exactly what tomorrow would bring, but a big part of that was the comfort that Sunny was there. The fact that she listened to me and held me with a warmth I hadn’t known before.
It was the hell I could have predicted and should have feared. It was here. What would I do?
Chapter 12
I hadn’t slept. The package Sunny had delivered was leaden on my breast. I was breathing in stacattoed bursts. It was early and I’d already had one cup of coffee spiked with a shot of Jameson. A part of me didn’t want to do it, but I had to call Frank. He had to know about my abduction and I needed him in more ways than one.
“Hello, good Professor,” he said with false cheer as he picked up the phone, “It better be some good news, because I’m up to my eyeballs in alligators and nobody drained the swamp.”
“I guess I was kidnapped.” It built for a moment. Then he burst.
“What the hell? You guess? I don’t know how you define kidnapping, but for us it’s being taken against your will.”
I told him about my capture and the warnings I’d received from the Ange Noir.
“They didn’t hurt me. I thought they’d rough me up at least. Try to hammer the info in with some sort of physical intimidation. It didn’t happen. I wasn’t even sure who they were until Sunny helped me sort it out. A neat deception, but the intent is clear. It worked. They scared the shit out of me. If they can grab me right off of Mallory Square, I’m vulnerable damned near anywhere.”
“So tell me everything you can about the perps. Don’t leave anything out. It might help me pick them up.”
I described the Ange Noir as best I could. The little collection of physical impressions. I told him about the red and silver reflections. Reminded him of the details I got from Hallemina. I also mentioned that one of the voices sounded remotely familiar. The hand on the shoulder that seemed to almost be an attempt to comfort or reassure me. The interpretations from Sunny. I knew he was taking notes. The Key West Bulldog was grinding his teeth, trying to find a way to sink them into the bone.
“Okay,” he said, “nothing like a good kidnapping to put some of the rest of this silly shit on hold. I’m clearing my desk. Let me get to work.”
He almost sounded relieved.
Sunny was working. It was a good thing. Maybe I’d have a chance to sort out some of the madness in my mind before I saw her again. In the meantime, I needed a diversion. I wondered if I had gotten all the information I could from Marcuse Durant.
Joseph answered the phone. He asked who was calling. Then he proceeded to tell me that the Reverend was not available. I heard him cover the phone and speak some muffled words. The next voice was deep and immediately recognizable.
“Forgive me Dr. Fleming. Joseph is very judicious in screening my calls. I hope all is well with you.”
“Thank you for taking my call, Reverend. I am still trying to get some insight into the death of the old man. Do you know of any connections between the Obeah and any particular potions or poisons they use?”
“I do. The Obeah have a well-deserved reputation for being highly skilled in the use of toxic concoctions of many sorts.”
“What about gunpowder? I became aware of an old case in which a man died of an apparent heart attack. The blood test revealed a trace of common gunpowder in his blood, not enough to kill him, but a curious thing, nevertheless.”
“Indeed. The Obeah often use a combination of gunpowder, human blood, and grave dirt for a number of applications. Sometimes they add a bit of liquid distilled from the puffer fish. It makes a very deadly poison, can cause cardiac arrest. Easy to disguise, hard to detect. Death comes quickly and it appears to be quite natural.”
“That is exactly what I needed to know. Thank you and pardon the disturbance.”
“You may disturb me anytime, Dr. Fleming. After all, we are in the same business. Call it a professional courtesy.”
“Steal my shadow.” That was what the victim had written on the mirror. And now I was sure he was a victim. Poisoned by his wife? Perhaps. Or maybe targeted by the Obi Man for some unknown reason.
I opened a cold Ice House and went up into the cockpit. The day was perfect. Low 80’s, a light breeze from the southwest. The sun eased into my back and shoulders, but the tightness remained. The ache wouldn’t go away and I knew its source. It was coming from the heart. Sunny, the old man. Peace would be slow in coming, if it came at all.
Chapter 13
I had to write some things down. I grabbed my tattered ring binder and a pen. The old man first.
1.Old man dead. Missing liver.
2.Steal my shadow comes up again and again. Obeah expression.
3.Husband probably poisoned. Maybe old man as well.
4.Jumbie is real presence to practitioners of Obeah.
5.Twins seem to exist.
6.I was kidnapped by the Ange Noir. Physical description fits Hallemina’s tale of the mysterious visitor.
I was sure there was more, but the details were a huge jigsaw puzzle. It was all on the table, but I couldn’t make it fit. I felt the answers were in the Twins, but I didn’t know who they were or where they were. There was no next step I could take to make the image come into focus.
I did some cleaning below and considered a quick trip to the grocery. Beer and peanuts, the essentials. I was running low on both. I saw Chris in the cockpit of his old Ericson on down the dock. I started to stop in to get his take, but a blond with disheveled hair and a sheet wrapped around her popped up in the companionway. She smiled and cooed something. He waved, smiled, and disappeared below quickly.
Maybe I needed a trip to the Raw Bar. Louis was probably working. He would grin, give me some of that phony island lingo, and mix me a good stiff drink. Anyway, I was hungry and they served a hot dog and fries at the bar that would make a grown man drool on his shirt.
Louis waved and smiled when I walked in. He was mixing one of his sumptuous island delights for a couple of sweating fishermen. I sat on a wooden stool and looked around. Not a lot of customers, but enough to make Louis’s tip jar jingle. I stared at the pirate paraphernalia on the walls. I’d always been fascinated with the history of the wreckers and other thieves and thugs that had settled Key West and began its reputation
as an “anything goes” kind of town. It was a thing worth missing if I decided to make the trek to South Carolina.
Two gleaming cutlasses hung above the bar ready to be grasped by any pirate worth his salt. A pair of double barreled flintlocks poised beneath then, the hammers cocked. I heard the roar of Blackbeard and Captain Kidd exhorting their ruthless crews to take no prisoners. Suddenly Louis was face to face across the bar.
“Nice weapons, Mon. Maybe still good for something other dan decoration. You don look so good. You got trouble? I fix you double, make your day better.”
I nodded and tried to smile. The phony island accent he affected at the bar always amused me. “For the tips,” I’d heard him say many times. I’d also heard the perfect English he’d learned at LSU, especially when he joined us at Roundtable with one of those Caribbean knockouts on his arm. He was a proud man and his education was important to him. But like all of us, he did what he must to get by.
He put a frosty mug in front of me.
“Dat put lead in your pencil,” he said and laughed.
I looked at him. Charming, handsome, clever. Then something stuck. I didn’t know what it was. Later, it hit me like a load of bricks.
The rest of the day dragged on. I was confused. I wanted a direction or, at least a distraction, but nothing came. I went to bed early. I dreamed of Sunny. She was standing on the dock waving as I pulled away. The tears in her eyes were brilliant in the sunset. It made no sense. She was the one leaving. But I had to face an ugly fact. Maybe I was the one who was abandoning her. The tightness compressed in my chest and wanted to explode. My breath heaved in and out frantically. I didn’t know where I was going and I didn’t know why. I woke up in a sweat, the pillow damp and stinking of loneliness.
Chapter 14
The phone jostled me from a deep sleep. I glanced at the clock. 10:30. Very late for me.
I heard Frank’s voice on the other end of the line.
“We picked up the perp. Got an anonymous tip. It was a woman. Muffled voice. Probably had a handkerchief over the receiver. She asked for me. I guess she knew who I was. I tried to get her name. No luck. She said the man we were after was at Toussaint’s house. Me and a uniform were in the car within minutes. He had smashed a back window. Got him red-handed. Had the piercings you described. Tall, gaunt just like you said. Real name is Michael La Tour. No driver’s license. No job. No permanent address. He’s in a cell, but I don’t think we’ll be able to hold him long. We got him on a B and E, but it may not stick. Gave him his call. The lawyer’s on his way. I’m sending a car to pick you up. Let’s have a look at him.”
