Evil in Hockley (14 page)

She hung up.

Harry slowly walked to the door, pushed
the bodies outside then closed it. The main catch was broken but
the bolt was untouched. He knew it would be a waste of time hunting
for Lenea. She had a talent for watching yet he hadn’t once spotted
her. How did she manage that? Probably part of her magical spell
over him. She could make herself transparent to his
eyes.

Marie was on her house phone calling
friends to clean up the bodies on her front stoop. When they
arrived she went out to help. When she returned she had a sack in
her hand. Harry didn’t want to know what was inside.

Chapter 25

Marie seldom ventured from the French
Quarter but today would be an exception. She had Harry drive her to
the office of Sal Bejenco. Harry tapped the gun tucked into his
waist for reassurance then got of the car.

“Oh no Harry. There would be too much
violence if you came in. I need to see Sal on my own.”

Harry didn’t argue. Who would exchange
words with a Voodoo Queen. She grabbed her sack and went into his
office building. Marie walked passed a guard at the front desk as
though he wasn’t there. He was looking in that direction but didn’t
see her. Imagine that she thought.

She walked into the office and sitting
beside Sal was his nephew Joe. Sitting in an easy chair near the
wall was Lenea. Marie nodded to her then said,

“Hello sweetie.”

Lenea smiled and nodded to her
mom.

Marie glanced at Sal then
Joe.

“Hello to you also.”

Sal drew a deep breath puffing out his
chest.

“Who the fuck invited you?”

“Well, you see Sal, I did. It would be
rude if I didn’t return the visit your boys paid me last
night.”

Marie set the sack on his
desk.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce
myself. I’m Marie Bastille.”

“That supposed to fucking mean
something, Marie,” said Sal. Sarcasm laced every word.

“Well, yes it is. But let’s not get
into that right now. I wanted to return the guns your boys lost
last night along with their wallets. I’m not a common
thief.”

Marie dumped the sack on the desk and
the guns dropped onto some paperwork, hands still attached. They’d
been severed at the wrist and congealed blood plopped out of the
open ends.

Sal dry heaved and Joe lost his last
meal on the floor.

Sal yelled,

“Frankie, get in here.”

When Frankie the guard outside arrived
Sal said,

“Shoot the fucking bitch.”

He pointed at Marie.

Marie held up her hand pointed at
Frankie then closed it mumbling a phrase. Frankie froze like a
statue.

Sal had an arrogant and determined look
on his face.

“I don’t believe in any of that Voodoo
shit.”

Marie smiled.

“Ah, then you know who I am. Your boys
also left behind their testicles. I’m having them in my stew
tonight. Care to join me for supper?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m going to make you a deal Sal. You
stay out of the French Quarter and I’ll stay off your docks.
Deal?”

Sal didn’t say a word.

“I’ll take your silence as a
yes.”

Sal turned red and snapped.

“This is bullshit. I’ll gun down
everyone you know and then a few. Nobody walks into my office and
threatens me.”

Lenea walked to Sal and
said,

“Calm down. Let me deal with this and
don’t fuck with Marie Bastille.”

Sal was furious. His status as a mob
boss had been undermined by an old woman.

“And who the fuck are you that you’re
going to take care of my business?”

“I’m Lenea Bastille, Marie’s
daughter.”

Sal stood then yelled,

“Both of you get the fuck
out.”

Joe eyes went wide.

“But Sal…”

“Shut the fuck up Joe. Just shut the
fuck up.”

Marie eyed Lenea then said,

“I think we’d better leave. I can take
a hint. I know when I’m not wanted.”

They both left, Lenea out the back and
Marie out the front to where Harry was impatiently waiting. Marie
knew that if Harry and Lenea saw each other violence would be
inevitable.

She said,

“Let’s go home, I miss the French
Quarter already.”

“Business go your way?”

“Let’s just say I made my point
clear.”

That night at supper Marie served
stew.

“Eat up everybody.”

Karma eyed her mother suspiciously then
spooned some the stew. She knew that two men had been killed the
night before, both would have taken her life. Marie, like her
mother before her, considered it a type of victory dance to indulge
in some of their enemies’ remains. She would assume others would
want to share. Karma hoped that three non family members would
dissuade her from her usual barbaric ritual.

Karma asked,

“What are those gummy chunks? I’ve
never tasted meat like that before.”

Marie shrugged.

“Pork. I should have cooked it longer.
It’s not quite done. But it’s healthy.”

Chapter 26

That evening Shelley said,

“Where am I?”

It was the first sign of intelligence
Harry had seen from the woman.

Marie answered,

“With friends.”

“Hi Shelley. It’s me Karma.”

“Hello Shelley, it’s me Harry. How do
you feel?”

“Blind. Will it go away?”

Harry had no idea whether it could be
done but offered to try. The nerves attached to the eyes were
delicate and if damaged… Well, he didn’t know.

“Your eyes are severely damaged. We’ll
see about a transplant when we get home.”

Shelley lightly ran her fingers over
the bandages. Her hands were healing to a point where bandages were
no longer necessary.

“Can I have some more ice cream?” she
asked.

Marie chuckled.

“Of course, I’ll bring you a bowl right
away.”

Everyone had ice cream then coffee
except Shelley who had more ice cream. The house phone rang so
Marie answered. She spoke a moment then thanked someone she called
Pierre.

Karma knew Pierre was sort of an old
version of a neighbourhood watch. He’d been around forever or so it
seemed. The French Quarter was a close knit community and at the
head was the Voodoo Queen, Marie Bastille. Karma guessed that Sal
Bejenco was being an idiot and sent more of his goons into the old
town.

Marie wrapped a shawl around her
shoulder and said,

“I’m going out for a walk. Look out for
Shelley, Karma.”

Harry stood to follow.

“No, I need to be on my own for a
while.”

Marie left the house and was soon
greeted by Pierre.

“How many?” she asked.

“Six, in two cars.”

“Can your boys handle them? I don’t
want anyone hurt on my account.”

“No problem. We can box them in with
delivery trucks. If they don’t surrender, well…”

“They have to be punished Pierre. In a
way that will not infuriate them but will deter them from coming
back. We have to set an example. Last night wasn’t enough, I
fear.”

“Leave it to me. I have half a century
of creative experience behind me. Where are you off to?”

“The docks.”

“I’ll cover your back.”

“Thank you Pierre.”

Marie went to the stable where old
Sherman kept his horse and buggy. Diablo his stallion was well past
his prime but could still pull the carriage all night long. Sherman
took lovers around the old quarter in the evening. Tonight he’d
take her to the docks.

“Hello Diablo,” said Marie.

She petted his nose. The horse made a
low friendly groan. Sherman appeared as if from nowhere.

“Hello Marie. Where can I take you this
evening?”

“The docks.”

“That’s a ways.”

“I’m in no hurry. You have other
business tonight?”

“Not if you need me.”

Diablo trotted through town, the sound
of his hoofs echoing off the buildings. Some time later they
arrived at the docks where a night crew ran forklifts in and out of
warehouses.

Sherman stopped the carriage short of
the workers and Marie climbed out. She eyed the men as they shut
down their forklifts. As she neared men started grumbling to each
other in almost inaudible tones.

They knew who she was.

She spoke in a louder than normal
voice.

“I give you leave. Take the night off
and have a drink on me at Randolf’s Tavern.”

Marie had a running tab at the
inn.

They cheered then left in a
group.

“They won’t defy you Marie. You shut
down the docks,” said Sherman.

“Oh, I suspect they were doing me a
favour. I wouldn’t have come had it not been important. They know.
Let’s go home Sherman. Diablo needs hay and oats.”

By the time Marie arrived at her house
everyone had gone to bed except Harry.

“Have a nice walk?”

“Yes, it was a beautiful
night.”

“A Pierre called and asked me to give
you a message. He said it’s all clear. I suspect Sal sent more men
and that’s what he was talking about.”

“Exactly.”

Harry looked at Marie then
said,

“So far all the Creole people I’ve met
speak perfect English. Well almost perfect, just a hint of French
here and there.”

“We’d better speak English. Over ninety
percent of New Orleans is English speaking nowadays.”

Harry already had his mind made up but
he ran it past Marie in any case.

“Men like Sal don’t give up. His
ability to run his business has been questioned and he has to
retake control. It’s my turn to take a walk. Can you ask this
Pierre or one of his men to meet me at my car?”

Marie thought about it then
said,

“If you do as he says, yes. He knows
the town and the players. He has contacts everywhere.”

They gave each other a knowing look
then Harry left the house. He waited at Sandy’s car for ten minutes
then an old man limped to the passenger side of the Chrysler. He
directed Harry to an old stately mansion outside of town. The place
was lit up and mob soldiers walked the grounds.

“They expecting someone?” asked
Harry.

“It’s always like that. He’s got three
union bosses under him that want to take over the show.”

“Any connections here
Pierre?”

“Drive around back, down the next side
road.”

Harry drove around the rear of the
mansion stopping at another gate. This one appeared to be a
delivery entrance. Pierre punched numbers into his cell.

“We’re here,” he said to someone on the
other end.

The gate opened, as electric motors
whined.

“Drive in and park near the garbage
shed on the right.”

A Chinese man soon appeared gesturing
Harry to follow.

Pierre said,

“It’s all yours. I’m too old for this
shit. Follow Ling. He’s Sal’s cook.”

Harry followed the Chinese cook into
the mansion and noticed someone slumped on the floor near the back
door.

The cook nodded and said,

“I make him coffee that make him sleep.
No caffeine, only some pills.”

He laughed then led the way
upstairs.

Harry had already noted the lack of
protection inside. Most of the guards were posted outside except
for one at the servants’ entrance. Not a good plan if one wanted to
stay alive. It was all for show.

When the cook pointed to the bedroom
Harry walked in. There was no complicated strategy: Sal was asleep,
Harry grabbed a pillow, put it over Sal’s face, and pulled the
trigger. There was a thud that could have been a door slamming or a
food tray hitting the floor.

Harry turned and left followed by Ling.
They immediately exited the house. To Harry’s surprise Ling jumped
into the back seat of the car.

Pierre said,

“With Ling gone they’ll know who the
informant was. They won’t bother anyone else. Ling is single and
can get lost in California under another name. It’s all
arranged.”

Harry was already clear of the house
when his cell rang.

“You’re the second best assassin on the
planet.”

It was Lenea.