Interlude
Two months had passed since the events of episode I.
During those two months, the “Class of 1924” tried to return to their normal lives, but at the same time, they prepared themselves for what they knew would be coming.
The following was written by ledded to explain some of what Willie experienced during his off-time between Episode I and Episode II.
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. . .
-- 7:28 am, West Side of Birmingham –
Willie knew it was a dream again, because there wasn’t any sound except for that laughter, and there wasn’t any color either, except for the red blood, creating that giant stain at his feet. And he knew, even in the dream, it wasn’t his blood. Hell, no, that would have been too easy. It was Taylor’s blood he was seeing.
Taylor: so damn abrasive, and condescending, and hell, sometimes just downright abusive. Taylor: his friend. Now dead, and for no reason other than somebody wanted to hurt some stupid rich white man that Willie couldn’t even give a f*** about. And that didn’t even count the homeless guys. All of them dead too. Men from his neighborhood, *his* city, some of them by his own hand, for no other reason except for some stupid mother’s need for revenge.
Willie could feel the rage and the righteous anger, just bubbling up inside him; just pushing against his temples like some damn power-lifter trying to make his head three sizes bigger from the inside. The pressure just blocking out colors, all reason, all sound… except for that damn laughter and his own heartbeat pounding so fast in his ears.
He could sense the man, even feel him. Willie felt like he could just see him if he turned his head quick enough. But he knew, even without seeing him. Willie knew what he looked like:
Large, dark, with his hands on hips and his bald head thrown back in that mocking laughter, red coat flapping in a wind that only he felt.
Again with the red.
The red eyes of the zombie as it slowly crawled across the crane a hundred feet overhead
The red of the black man’s coat
The red of Taylor’s blood on his hands.
Willie felt himself move again, in the dream. He moved without thinking. He felt the rifle come into his hands. He felt the round entering the chamber. He felt the shape of the rifle, so strangely familiar, even though he had never touched it before. He felt the soundless recoil and he knew, even before the monster’s head kicked back from the impact. He just knew, even then, that he had put one right in its left eye.
“Justice”. The whisper came soft and deep in his left ear. That same weird Caribbean-sounding voice. The same voice as the one that he still heard laughing.
Willie felt darkness come on as the rage withdrew like a firm hand leaving his neck…
“Now you be mine, boy. Forever.”
Willie’s eyes snapped open. That same damn dream again. Nearly eight weeks in a row.
Willie stumbled to the bathroom mirror and looked at the two day’s worth of stubble growing up around his goatee and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to shave yet.
Maybe it was that stupid book. Voodoo. Magic. Zombies. All real, all in his world, in his f***in’ backyard. “And here I am, with a book on this stuff in my apartment” he complained out loud to no one in particular.
He should have been happy. Hell, this should have been the best time of his life. He had money now, or at least, he had more money than he was used to. That reward from Scorse had paid off a lot of debts. He had gotten his car and his shotgun out of the pawn shop, and paid up his membership to the shooting range. Hell, he had even bought a new cell phone and had taken Lucille and a couple of other ladies out to some pretty fancy dinners.
But it had not helped.
And it wasn’t like he was especially close to Taylor. Hell, he had really just met her. So why should he care about any of this, or about any of the whole magic thing.
Exactly, what the hell. It didn’t matter. It was time for work: time for some more wasted effort, spent following useless people, and getting pictures of them sleeping with other wasted people, or whatever it was they might be bothering to do.
But, before that, breakfast.
-- 8:46 am, Gram’s house –
“Baby, you gots to get some rest… you workin’ too hard, and dat leg ain’t healed up right, ah know it. Here, lemme put you some more bacon and biscuits on”, Grams Lamar fretted.
“Yes, Grams. You’re sure right, Grams.” Yes ma’am, the leg was bothering him, and a load more stuff too, but he couldn’t tell her about all of that.
“You know if we had an Auntie Ells up here instead of all these useless doctors, things would be a might different. When I was a girl…”
The story trailed off as Willie’s mind jumped into focus on the name. Hazy old memories of stories told by his grandmother, years before, about the woman, “Auntie Ells” from her childhood in New Orleans.
“Willie? WILLIE? Damn boy moon-calfin’ when his food getting’ cold… see if I get my old bones up this early for him to let good food sit on a plate! Why it ain’t right for an old frail woman like myself to…”, but her half-hearted complaints fell on deaf ears.
-- 10:15 am, Ace Bail Bonding, downtown Birmingham –
“Yeah, I know. Whatever, man, it ain’t much, but I need ya to do me a solid. No, she ain’t bein’ followed, or sued, or whatever, this is… personal. Alright, lemme know what you find,” Willie hung up the phone, already exhausted.
Another busted lead. Another contact in Louisiana tapped out on this lady. Nobody knew anything; not even the cop he once knew, who used to be willing to sell out anyone for a little more cash.
Willie picked up the New Orleans phone book that he “borrowed” from the library and, frustrated, threw it down on his cheap desk, pulled a Newport from his pocket and got up to go outside. If his cousin Gerald didn’t whine so much, he would have just lit up at the desk.
Patting his pockets as he got up…where did he put that lighter? Damn lighter… he know it was in his shirt just a minute ago. Willie lifted up the corner of the phone book, found the lighter, and glanced at the desk as he put the book down.
Right there. Yellow pages. Almost under his hand. “Auntie Ells Fortunes and Charms”. French Quarter address. Willie actually managed a half-smile. Well, it’s always better to be lucky than good.
-- 5:52 pm, Auntie Ells Fortunes and Charms, New Orleans French Quarter –
“Well, my Grams, that is, uh, Juanita Lamar, she was a LeBouix back then, she, um, told me some sh-, um, stories about you, about stuff from a ways back, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you about, well, Voodoo, and this book I got,” Willie related everything to the ancient black woman in front of him, unsure of why he felt nervous talking to her about this. And the whole time, she just sat there, with an amused look on her face.
It took forever to find this little hole in the wall, a touristy “voodoo” and palm reading shop, with its ancient tables and wares and even more ancient proprietor, though finding a real name and background on this “Ellsie Parker” was even harder.
She peered up at him. “Hmm…yeah boy, I remember Juanita, and I remember her girl Bernita, too. Which make you little Willie, I assume.” She continued before Willie could open his mouth to confirm, affirming that she didn’t “assume” very much. “Lemme see you hand, boy.” Willie reluctantly gives over his hand and she holds it gently in her warm, paper-dry grasp, palm up. “Ain’t seen you in, oh, gots ta be twenty-seven year now. Damn shame about you grand poppa, James, he was a good man, yes, a good man. And you brother, it broke ma heart to hear what happened to him, and I bet it still tear at you poor momma to this day.”
She looked up at Willie from where she was softly tracing the lines in his hand, with a surprisingly piercing gaze for such a frail, old woman. Her voice took on a sudden edge that made Willie’s pulse race just a little bit faster. “If you father was half da man you grand poppa was, well, things woulda… mighta been different.”.
Was it getting’ hot in here? Or was it *always* hot in New Orleans and he was just now noticing? Some investigator he was turning out to be.
Auntie Ells smiled at him through a maze of wrinkles. “I’m sorry baby, ah can’t help you. You see, Voudoun ain’t no magic tricks, dere’s nothing ah can teach you or show you, and dat book aint got nothin’ but scribbles and nonsense. All of dis, dis is just tings for those dat need something to trust in, other dan common sense and a little home wisdom. Dere ain’t no power in dis book, and anybody who tell you dey can teach you Hoodoo or Voudoun is pullin’ you leg. Now, don’ go tellin’ anyone I said dis, cuz you’d be robbin’ an old lady of her livin’, but I suspect that ya questin’ for da truth and all dat nonsense don’ be interferin’ with what be right, and I sense you wouldn’t want to hurt old Auntie Ells”.
Willie tried not to let his disappointment and frustration show as he pulled his hand from her dry grasp and stood up. “Well I truly thank you for your time, ma’am, but I gotta go… it’s a long drive back to Birmingham and it’s close to dark…” but Auntie Ells quickly sprung up and interrupted, that smiling countenance too sweet for Willie to object to.
“Oh no, honey child, now don’t you be getting all upset and rushing off… you gots ta stay at least da night and catch me up on you family. See, we havin’ a barbecue tonight down the bayou way, with some home folks and I need to have ya come meet some of The People and at least enjoy a little Louisiana hospitality while you here. Come on now, ah wont take no for an answer”. She ushered him towards the door, talking the entire time without taking a breath. “Now you go down da street to the Chilton Arms motel, you tell Moby at da desk that Auntie Ells sent ya, and my nephew Michael gonna stop by around eight to ride wit ya out to the gatherin’ ”.
Willie started to open his mouth to object, politely, as he noticed a ringing coming from the rear of the shop, and Auntie Ells continued without missing a beat. “Oh honey, dat’s da phone, and it be my closin’ time, you get ya-self rested up now and I’ll see you tonight”. The door swung closed in an instant, and he was outside.
Willie stood there looking at the closed door, wondering just how rude it would be to open it and argue, but decided it would be petty just to hurt some old bat’s feelings just because she played you out the door like a first year rookie cop.
Well, he might as well get a room before somebody towed his car.
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