The Seer Renee
Authors: C. R. Daems
THE SEER RENEE
By
C. R. Daems
The Seer Renee
Copyright © 2013 by C. R. Daems
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval
system, without the permission in writing from C. R. Daems.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
Edited by: Elisa Blaisdell - elisablaisdell (at)
yahoo (dot) com
Cover by: Erin Lark
http://erinlark.com/design/
Version
1
of
The
Seer Renee
was first published in November
2013,
Version 2
of
The Seer Renee
was revised in July 2014
ISBN-13: 978-0-9911060-0-4
ISBN-10: 09911060-0-8
Check out all my novels at:
Talonnovels.com
Triple trouble
Ken and Sheila
Locos
Grace and Ron
MS666
Mr. Willis
Dilemma
Ellen Jeffery
The Committee
Firebombs
FBI involvement
Revised plans
An anonymous tip
The Committee
Fire sale
An impossible situation
Recovery
The committee
Conflicting thoughts
Sheila's plan.
Impossible decisions.
Revelations
Now What?
The Wait.
The Committee.
The Test results.
Black's compromise
The Game
The game continues
Countermoves
Sheila
The Hunt for Mister Black
End Game
Conclusion
ONE
When Hector opened the door, I knew
it had gone from a slow day to a bad day. Hector was the leader of the Locos.
As the gang's name suggested, they were all crazy. Hector was no taller than me,
but he was twice as wide and double my weight. His broad smile exposed brown-stained
teeth, which did nothing to make him look friendly. Nor did the tattoos, which covered
every inch of his body not covered by his black cargo pants and sleeveless
T-shirt with its multiple red skulls. His shaved head and neck were covered with
gang tags, and
Locos
, a word which
described Hector completely, was prominently tattooed across his forehead. He
closed the door, twisted the knob that locked the deadbolt, and turned the Open
sign around to read Closed.
"It's time you and I get to
know each other since you're going to be Hector's squeeze." His smile got
bigger, exposing his nicotine-stained teeth. As he made his way towards the
small counter I was sitting behind, he weaved slightly—high on something.
This was not the first time Hector and members of the Locos had visited my
shop. They didn't come in to buy anything, only to test my interest in them.
When I didn't show any, they would pick up an item and take it, to show me this
was their turf, and they could take whatever they wanted. It appeared Hector
had decided that extended to me.
As he approached the counter, his
eyes were glued to my breasts, probably wishing they were bigger. That was too
bad for Hector. I’m slender for my 5' 9" height and have long conceded my
breasts were never going to be one of my standout features. I reached under the
counter for one of the four rings there. Granny had a friend in Oregon make them,
when she knew she didn’t have long to live. The four rings were plain-looking,
each with a different stone and design, and each with a syringe mechanism. I
slipped on the one with a tiger-eye stone. It was neither unique nor expensive.
Since I always wore a couple of rings on each hand, another didn't appear
strange. This ring contained an extract from the seeds of the rosary pea. The
diluted drug caused vomiting, fever, stomach cramps, and diarrhea. A similar
ring with an onyx stone on my right hand held an extract from the leaves and
stems of yew, a cardiac depressant that had no antidote.
When he reached me, he grabbed my
arm and jerked me off my chair. While squeezing my ass, he pushed me across the
room towards the door that led to my small living quarters.
As his grip tightened on my arm, I
knew exactly what would happen in the minutes, days, and weeks to come. As a seer,
once I made contact with someone and concentrated, I could see their future for
the next several weeks and sometimes longer. Hector's life over the next
several weeks would be fairly routine for a Locos—selling drugs, sex with
the gang's girls, and fights. However, he wasn't going to enjoy the next couple
of days.
When he opened the door, I placed
my leg between his, pushed with my shoulder, and made a half-hearted attempt to
wrench free from the hand holding my arm. Twisting loose would be impossible.
Hector had the strength of a professional tackle on the New Orleans Saints
football team. But the object was to distract rather than to break free, like when
a pickpocket bumps into you to misdirect your thoughts from any feeling you
might have in the area he was working—like your pockets. As he stumbled
into the door jamb, I struck him on the shoulder with my right hand. The impact
drove the needle and several drops of rosary pea into his arm. Now I needed to
play for time, and more importantly, effect. He smiled.
"That's not nice, Renee.
You're Hector's pussy now. You make Hector happy, or after I'm through I'll
have Locos tattooed across your forehead, and you'll be the Locos' pussy."
He laughed and slapped me on my ass. In response, I rolled my eyes up under my
eyelids, made my body rigid, and began to chant in a monotone.
"Dinclinsin
Ge-rough, your servant, Renee, seeks your help.
Hector's
attempting to violate your mambo.
Enter
the belly of the beast.
Dinclinsin
Ge-rough, …”
Hector's smile waned as he threw me
down on the couch. I lay there rigid, chanting as he fumbled with my skirt to reach
my panties. As he hooked his fingers into the elastic band, beads of sweat formed
on his forehead, and his face turned pale. He retched as the drug began its attack.
I continued to chant, and he stumbled off me and puked on my rug.
Bastard,
I screamed silently as I rolled off the couch and followed him through the
doorway into the shop, shouting so he could hear me over his retching and
puking.
"Dinclinsin
Ge-rouge, let him feel your displeasure
for
attacking your faithful servant… "
He opened the door and fell to his
knees onto the pavement. By now, the retching had become the dry heaves. When I
reached the door, Betty Lou, a regular customer of mine, stood looking down at him.
She turned to me with her eyes wide.
"Renee, can't you help him?"
she said, her voice rising with each word. Meanwhile, Hector had managed to
stagger to his feet.
"No, Betty Lou. I don't have
any herbs that can cure stupidity. I'm afraid the shop's in a mess and stinks
besides. It's going to take me the rest of the
day
to get
it cleaned and smelling fresh." I shrugged. "Right now, only the
Locos could stand to shop here."
She nodded but didn't move, her
gaze fixed on Hector, staggering down the street. I closed and locked the door
and sank to sit, trembling, with my back against the door. I'd been lucky. The
Locos had been sniffing around me for months. Had several of them attacked me
or had Hector beat me before he grabbed me, the result would have been far
different.
When the shaking finally stopped, I staggered
to my feet. Needing something to distract me, I fetched a mop, scrubbing brush,
and bucket, which I filled with water and Pine-Sol detergent, and began working
on my rug. Tears came to my eyes as I scrubbed Hector's stomach contents off my
granny's rug. She had raised me because my mother, her daughter, was, as Granny
put it, born with a destructive personality. As a result, I only saw my mother
when the latest love of her life deserted her, and she had no place to sleep.
She never stayed long because Granny wouldn't let her bring drugs into the
house.
My tears stopped, and a small smile
replaced my pout as my mind wandered back in time. Granny had begun teaching me
about herbs and roots not long after I could read and write. Not just their names
and descriptions. I had to know each by taste and smell as well as the effect
of combining them with other herbs. Tasting proved a formidable teacher. I got
to feel the effect first hand. Just a smear of rosary pea on my finger had made
me sick for hours, and I had injected several drops into Hector's shoulder.
He'd be lucky to recover in a couple of days. If I had played it right, he'd be
convinced I'd called on a Loa—Voodoo spirit—to make him sick. He wouldn't
be anxious to upset me again. With luck, his brother Locos would also be
convinced I was a mambo to be avoided. Perception is everything in Voodoo, like
all religions. It doesn't matter whether the Gods are interested or not, only
that you believe they are. I believe they exist but don’t like to get involved.
* * *
It took me several hours to clean
up Hector's mess. To get rid of the lingering stench, I opened the windows and
lit several candles with a rain and island scent. Hopefully, the weather
forecasters were right, and we would get some rain for the next twenty-four
hours, not that rain was unusual for New Orleans.
I finished up around eight o'clock,
too mentally and physically exhausted to prepare dinner for myself. Besides, I
needed a distraction. I was still coming to grips with Granny's suicide and
trying to understand the strange circumstances that precipitated it, learning
all facets of running a small business, fighting for acceptance as a mambo, and
having to deal with crazies like Hector. At times like this, it seemed
overwhelming. I wanted to scream, "It's not fair. I'm only twenty-two and
alone in the world."
Of course it wasn't fair, but so
what. It wasn't fair that Granny felt it necessary to end her life, but she
did. It wasn't fair that Hector felt it his right to force me to be his girl,
but he did. Granny had the right of it. Life's neither fair nor unfair, since
unfair only exists because of each person's perception of fair. Life's to live,
not to judge. Realizing how fortunate I had been to have Granny in my life, I
vowed to be the woman she would have wanted me to become.
Feeling better, I locked the door
and headed towards Saint Peter Street and the Cajun Café. I deserved a good meal
at a nice restaurant. As I strolled down Bourbon Street, jazz and blues drifted
out from bars and clubs as the nightlife came alive. I began to relax, enjoying
the familiar sounds and smells. People wandered the streets in small lively groups.
It felt like a gigantic outdoor party. When I reached the Cajun Café, it looked
crowded.
“Mambo Renee," Eloi said when
he saw me enter. He was a tall rakish-looking man with curly dark-brown hair
and a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. His smile today seemed broader than
usual. He normally called me Renee. Today he not only used my honorific but
emphasized it. "Rumor is that you put a curse on Hector. More than a few
people would like to see him suffer."
"I didn't curse Hector. I
merely sought the help of a Loa. Much to everyone's disappointment, he'll
recover. Next time, who knows?"
"We live for then. Patio, Renee?"
"Yes. That would be nice. I
need the fresh air."
Especially
after breathing Hector's puke for half the day.
Shortly after being seated
at a small table off to the side, Alma, one of the regular waitresses, appeared.
"We're all taking up a
collection for you for doing Hector. Every day he remains sick, we're adding to
it." Alma gave me an evil grin, which didn’t come easy. Her round café-au-lait
face, with its heart shaped lips, small pug nose, and chubby cheeks, just
wasn’t made to look evil. Hector was feared, and the local women went out of
their way to avoid him.
"Well, it should be at least
two days, maybe three. If you really do have a collection, give it to someone
Hector hurt, with my compliments." Knowing Hector, that would be a long
list. I took a quick look at the menu while Alma stood, pencil poised above her
pad, waiting. "Shrimp Creole and an espresso."
After Alma hurried off, I sat back and
looked around the patio. It appeared a mixed crowd, a handful of tourists, a
few regulars, and several couples that looked like hookups. It reminded me that
I hadn't had much of a sex-life lately. I had a normal number of dates in high
school, no sex but lots of heavy petting. In college, I didn't do hookups, but
I did have two serious relationships. The first one ended amicably by mutual
agreement. We had little in common except for college and sex. The second ended
when I found Granny was being terrorized. I dropped out of school and ended the
relationship. Today, I realized it wouldn't have lasted. He loved the
excitement of New York and the thrill of trading stocks. I loved the heart of
New Orleans and intended to follow in Granny's footsteps. I shook myself out of
my musing when Alma appeared with my espresso.
"Sorry for the delay. It's
crazy in the main room right now. Your dinner will only be a few minutes longer,"
Alma said with her ever present smile. I didn't care since I wasn't in a hurry
to return to my shop. But true to her word, my dinner arrived shortly
afterward. The shrimp was delicious as well as the crème bruleé for dessert. I
ate slowly, enjoying people watching. Granny had taught me how to interpret
people by their facial expressions and body language. Most didn't realize how
much of themselves they displayed to a careful observer. Watching the hookups was
the most fun, the ritual mating dance. After watching each couple for several
minutes, I would have been willing to bet which couples would have sex tonight
and which would be lucky to end it with a few kisses.
* * *
By the time I opened for business
the next morning, only a slight sour smell lingered. I left the door open,
hoping it would be all gone by the time customers began to arrive. I had few
customers in the morning, but business picked up later in the afternoon. A
small crowd milled around looking at the items displayed on the shelves and in
glass cases, when a middle-aged woman approached me.
"Young woman, the price of your
Voodoo dolls seems excessive. I can get a Voodoo doll at one of several shops
for ten dollars less than yours." She stood there looking at the other
customers. "And they are packaged in a nice box and have a sheet of
instructions." She now had everyone's attention, and a smug smile appeared
as she looked back to me.
"Ma'am, you're absolutely right,
and they make excellent souvenirs and gifts from N’Orleans. But if you look
into each box you will see they are identical. They were produced in some
factory—maybe in China—as tourist souvenirs and the directions are
written by someone who has never practiced Voodoo and contains a lot of
rubbish." I gave a practiced sigh. "My dolls were made one at a time
by a practicing mambo, a Voodoo priestess. When I sell one of the dolls, I
explain what Voodoo dolls can and cannot do."
The woman stood silent. I could imagine
her berating herself for buying one of those "fake" dolls from some other
store.
Before she could speak, an elderly
woman waved and pointed at one of the dolls I kept locked in a glass case. It
made them appear important. “I’ll take that one," she said.
Before I opened the case, I'd made
four sales. I collected the money and placed each purchase along with several
pictures of Voodoo dolls and a list of my services in a gift bag with "The
House of Mambo Eshe" on it.