Desperate Souls (17 page)

“Weapons?” Maria said.

Manelli gestured at a baseball bat. “Looks like they put up a fight. They weren’t shot first; they were just hacked to pieces.”

“Any drugs?”

“No. The lady was a churchgoer. The boy stayed out of trouble.”

Edgar and Maria exchanged knowing glances, reading each other’s mind.

“Yeah, we know,” Manelli said. “Your Machete Massacres have only involved drug gangs, and these were civilians. But there’s
another
grandson—Louis. Fifteen, sixteen years old. Corner boy. Landlord downstairs says the boy moved out a month ago, but he’s seen him over on Flatbush Avenue slinging Black Magic.”

Edgar stepped deeper into the apartment. A heavyset woman lay on the floor, her flabby arms and bifurcated head scattered around her corpse. The corpse of a young boy in pajamas lay a few feet behind her. His torso was riddled with cut wounds, and his head and arms had also been chopped off. The rugs had soaked up blood like a giant tampon.

Edgar pointed at several fingers on the floor. “The grandmother took a machete in the head and went right down. She must have had the bat, because the boy put up a fight with his bare hands.” Dozens of bloody footprints marred the floor. “Only one set of prints with sneakers. A single perp.”

“The grandson?” Chang said.

“I’d look there first.”

“Then that’s what you should do,” Manelli said.

Edgar cocked one eyebrow.

“No disrespect, but we were told to hand this over to you if it looked like your case.”

“We’re not going to get into jurisdictional shit, are we?”

“Not at all. Our captain said to give you any assistance we can. Just tell us what you need.”

“Run this investigation as you would any other. Just keep us in the loop. If not me and Vasquez, then any of the other members of our task force. Go ahead and bring the other grandson in. We don’t care who gets that collar. We’re after whoever gave the order, not the button man.”

“I’ll call it in,” Chang said, heading for the door.

“Hang on. I’ll go with you,” Manelli said. “I could use a cigarette.”

With the DATF detectives gone, Maria started snooping around the apartment. “Think they already called it in before we got here?”

“Sure,” Edgar said. “Wouldn’t you?”

“You bet.”

Edgar stared at the dead boy’s head: eyes open and spattered with blood.
Almost the same age as Martin. What kind of monster would
—
?
He closed down the thought. Drug dealers committed some of the most heinous murders in the city. Entire families were massacred as payback for theft. The second grandson had probably not committed these murders but had more likely pissed off whoever did.

“Edgar?”

He turned toward Maria, who had moved into the living room and stood on the far side of a round coffee table. She held something in her right hand, and her face showed concern.

Stepping around the blood on the floor, he joined her and looked at the business card in her hand. He had seen it before.
Helman Investigations and Security.

The taxi pulled over to the curb before Jake’s building, and he spilled out of the vehicle, feeling very much like a flesh sack containing bones that no longer fit together. Crying out, he staggered in a half circle. Pedestrians on the sidewalk moved out of his way but continued walking, making no move to help him. Limping toward the front glass doors, he feared he would topple to the sidewalk and be unable to stand again.

After glancing at the entrance to Laurel Doniger’s parlor, he found himself changing course. He grabbed the brass door handle, then leaned into the door with too much force. The door swung open, and he fell inside, tumbling down the steps. The bells on the door jingled, and a shadow glided into the room.

“Are you all right?” Laurel said, crossing the parlor.

He rocked back and forth. “No.”

She knelt beside him and grasped his left wrist in her right hand. Staring into her bright blue eyes, he couldn’t help but think that she sensed everything he felt at this moment, that she really
understood him.

“Take my arm,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

Getting to her feet, she helped him to his. Then she led him to the archway in the rear of her parlor. Through it he glimpsed a living room, a kitchen, and a bedroom, but she guided him into a wide bathroom. Hunched over like a cripple, he clutched the sink for support.

“Take off your clothes,” Laurel said.

He reached for his shirt button, fumbled with it, then gave up, shaking his head.

So she undressed him, and minutes later, he stood naked before her, feeling no shame except for the way his spine wrapped around itself. She eased him onto the toilet lid, ran hot water in the tub, then took colored bottles from a shelf and poured oils into the steaming water. Finally, she helped him into the tub, and he gasped as the water scorched his flesh. Crouching beside the tub, she scooped water in her cupped hands and tossed it on his chest. The intense heat distracted him from the pain in his back. He didn’t know why she was helping him, and he didn’t care.

“This won’t solve your problem,” she said. “But it will relax your muscles, so I can go to work on them. Stay here while I wash these clothes. Meditate, if you know how. Put your mind at ease. You’re safe here.”

And then she was gone, and so were his clothes. He took several deep breaths. Even that hurt. When the water filled the tub to capacity, he used his feet to twist the knobs controlling the water flow. Sweat beaded his forehead. Steam cleansed his pores. His mind wandered.

Sheryl…

Laurel helped him, still naked, to the massage table in a side room. Jake needed her help to climb onto the towel-draped table mat. Hot oils splashed his back, and he felt the sensation of her hands working the liquid into his flesh. She kneaded his muscles like dough, and it felt good.

“You’ve been to a doctor,” she said.

His eyes widened, and he stared at the cabinet before him.
Don’t stop.

“He found nothing wrong with you. In the strictest medical sense, this is understandable. In that respect, you’re fine.”

She didn’t seem to require him to say anything, so he allowed her to continue.

“You’re cursed. I feel it. Someone has put a hex on you. When I’m finished, you’ll be fine, as if nothing had ever been wrong. It doesn’t matter if you believe me now. You will when I’m done.”

I
want to believe you. Just make this pain go away!

Her fingers dug deep into his muscles. He imagined them piercing his body, as if his skin were nothing but hot water, and applying pressure directly to his muscles. He inhaled her perfume, felt her body heat. Before he knew it, his penis became erect, its head pressing against his stomach. No woman had touched him since Sheryl’s murder. He didn’t want to be touched now, but he needed it. She grasped his buttocks, then rubbed his thighs. He felt his testicles constrict. Then she returned her attention to the small of his back, where he felt her fist pressing into his discs.

“Roll over,” she whispered.

Obeying, he felt no pain.

“Close your eyes.”

He did, and she closed her hands around the shaft of his cock and stroked it until he came, which didn’t take long. He felt her wiping him down, then heard her step from the room and close the door. He slept.

“Wake up.”

Jake’s eyes fluttered open. He saw Laurel standing before him, his clean clothes in her hands. Sitting up, he said, “What time is it?”

“Just after five.”

He realized that he had sat up without experiencing pain. Looking down, he saw that she had covered him with a towel in his sleep. He felt fully rested, even though he had slept for only forty minutes. More important, he felt no pain. Glancing at her with bewilderment, he took in her bemused smile.

“You were cursed,” she said. “I removed the curse.”

He swallowed. “How?”

“I’m a healer as well as a sensitive. My abilities operate through touch. And I touched you all over.”

His face turned red.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m not accustomed to giving clients happy endings, but I could tell you needed that. It didn’t take much work on my part.”

Now he
really
felt embarrassed.

“See for yourself. Get off the table.”

Hopping down, he caught the towel as it slid from his groin. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.
No pain!
“What kind of curse?”

“You’re welcome.”

He studied her eyes, looking for some sign of sarcasm. “Thank you.”

“Vodou. Whether Haitian vodou or Louisiana vodou, sometimes known as New Orleans voodoo, I’m not sure. But I’ve removed the curse from your body. Your enemies will need to find a new method of attack now.”

Jake didn’t want to believe her or give her any credibility, but he had experienced enough in the last year to know there was no point in doubting anything. The supernatural
did
exist.

“I know you’ve already poured salt across the thresholds in your suite. This is a good first step—”

“How do you know that?” he said.

“I read people by touching them. I didn’t just touch you; I massaged your entire body and got you off. And now I know everything about you.
Everything.
I know that the Cipher murdered your wife and you took revenge against him. I know that you carry part of her soul inside you. That Cain tortured you and that you’ve had three separate encounters with the undead in less than twenty-four hours.”

Unbelievable,
he thought. “Then you also know that you got me into this mess by sending Carmen Rodriguez to me in the first place.”

“She needed help.”

“You said the undead—”

“Zombies. Or
zonbies,
depending on the type of vodou.”

“What’s the difference?”

“None, really, since you’ve already discovered how to destroy them, no thanks to that disc locked up in your safe.”

“Please stop doing that.”

“The only reason to care what type of vodou is being used is so you can figure out how the zombies are being created and where your enemies are hiding.”

“How can I figure out what type of magic is being used?”

“I can tell you. Just bring me the hand of one of those creatures.”

Thinking of the bodies he had dumped down the incinerator shoot, he grunted.
“Now
you tell me.” His cell phone rang, and she handed it to him. He recognized Edgar’s number. “I have to take this.”

Laurel laid his clothes on the table and left him alone in the room.

“Hello?”

“I’ve been calling you all day.” Edgar sounded troubled.

“I know. It’s been a crazy afternoon.”

“Crazier than your night was?”

That’s a good question.
“If you’re going to quantify everything …”

“It’s all over the newspapers that you crashed your car into One PP.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“I’ve seen the photos; it’s no exaggeration. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Where are you?”

He didn’t like a quality he detected in Edgar’s voice. “Not far from my office.”