THREESt. Dismas Parish Sheriff’s OfficeInterview Room #2THE ROOM WASsparse and smelled of old cigarettes and sweat. A worn table, chipped, with the word “fuck” scratched in its surface an impressive number of times, stood between the hand-cuffed man facing the two-way mirror and the man with his back to those watching and listening. A single dented lamp hung over the table, casting shadows along the walls and on the stained ceiling tiles. The room was supposed to intimidate. The room was supposed to scare those brought into it. For Curtis Jones, the room reminded him of his past. He smiled at the thought.The former cop had a dozen cuts and abrasions that had been hastily bandaged. The bump on his forehead throbbed, and he knew he’d have two black eyes by morning, but he had somehow miraculously survived.Jones rubbed the tangled hair of his goatee. The old man with matted long hair that he watched in the mirror did the same. When did I get so old?He shifted in hi
FOURDelta flight 2504En route to Louis Armstrong International AirportAFTER THE CAB RIDE, Jeannine was barely able to make the Delta lounge before breaking down with a sob. A fellow flier took pity on her and bought her a martini. Jeannine should have said no, but she was shaking so hard all she could do was nod her head. She should have said no to the next three martinis, as well.Jeannine had been sober since college—no booze, no pills. She had to give it to Stanley. With his help she had learned to deal with the horrors of her past without self-medicating.Stanley would be so disappointed in her right now. She felt that old familiar shame rising as bile in her throat.She made the ladies room in time to empty the contents of her stomach. When her flight was called, she staggered out of the stall, only to have another woman look at her sideways and tutloudly.Jeannine ignored her.She washed her face, rinsed her mouth, and stumbled onto the concourse. She didn’t re
FIVEGreenwood Cemetery Caretaker’s CottageNew OrleansTHE “SAFE PLACE”was a cemetery.One of the krewe—Richard “Red Rooster” Romain, a black Baptist with a penchant for the occult—worked as the caretaker and lived in the small cottage nestled between the stone and marble above-ground graves.“The neighbors don’t put up much of a fuss,” he’d once said when asked why he liked living surrounded by the dead. But Jones knew the truth had to do more with the former Ranger’s interest in Voodoo, than it did with peace and quiet.A three-legged cat let out a loud “meow” as Curtis entered the dimly lit cottage. The place smelled of fried sausage and peppers, and the growl from his stomach reminded him the last time he’d had something to eat was a cold slice of pizza earlier that day.“Rooster!” Jones called. “Hey, Roo!” He deliberately made a lot of noise as the old man of his krewe had a blown eardrum from the war. Probably only one of a handful of soldiers whose Purple Heart was
SIXLouis Armstrong International AirportNew OrleansAN ASIAN-LOOKINGflight attendant—a woman too young to be working full-time, in Jeannine’s opinion—sat with the shaken attorney as the rest of the passengers disembarked. “It was only a nightmare,” she told the young attendant. “Too many drinks before getting on board. I’ll be fine in a minute. Honestly, you don’t have to stay with me.” “It’s not a problem,” said the Delta cheerleader with a toothy smile. “Gets me out of picking up other people’s booger rags stuffed in the seat cushions.”Jeannine’s stomach lurched. “Nice,” was all she could say without grabbing an airsick bag.The last passenger—an old man with a cane—finally exited the aircraft.“I’m okay,” said Jeannine to the attendant. “Really. I can just go grab my bag and get a cab to my hotel—”“Jeannine LaRue?”A short man with a buzz cut appeared. He wore a cheap suit under a damp trench coat and stood flanked by two uniformed cops. The three of them block
SEVENFebruary 2006WGNO Temporary Studio Outside the Louisiana Superdome“DON’T BE NERVOUS,”said Stanley with a reassuring smile. “You’ve done TV before. I’ll be with you the whole time. Look at me if you get nervous, okay?”“I’ll be fine, Uncle Stanley,” said fourteen-year-old Jeannine. “You worry too much.”“The people want an update on you,” continued Stanley as if she hadn’t spoken. “Talk about your new prosthetic. And don’t forget to mention the charity event next week. That will lead right into the announcement of my new talk show.”“I know, Uncle Stanley!”“And don’t call me “uncle” on the air, okay? Might give people the wrong impression, got it?”Jeannine nodded.“Say you’ve got it.”She sighed. “I’ve got it, Stanley.”“That’s my girl,” he said, as he put his arm around her shoulders.“One minute, Dr. Bernstein,” said the news director.JBack in the make-shift green room, Curtis Jones, in his dress uniform, paced nervously while watching the broadcast. He
EIGHTPresent Day New OrleansInterstate 10 EastboundTHE BLACK ESCALADEtraveled through New Orleans proper, the lights of the city turned to jewels by the rain drops that fell from the sky once again. Jeannine, Stanley, and the leggy brunette camera woman were sealed off from the driver via a blacked-out, soundproof partition. Jeannine felt like she was in a cave. The young camera woman’s thumbs flew across the screen of her smartphone. The handheld device provided the only light in the passenger compartment, painting everyone in a blue, sickly tint.I’ll bet she’s updating her Instagram account, steamed Jeannine. Stanley and his young women. Can’t save them all, you pompous prick.“Why the hell did you follow me?” Jeannine finally asked from between clenched teeth. Visions. Dreams. And now this. The Universe certainly had a sick sense of humor.“I’m worried about you,” said Stanley’s silky baritone. “As I said to you this morning back in New York before you storme
NINEThe StormHAD THE VISIONof her mother, Cassandra, on the roof been real? Had she, and maybe even Nana, somehow survived? How would she find them? How would they find her? These thoughts tormented her for hours as she struggled to stay alive, clinging to the shattered remains of the roof.Rain sliced at her, mixing with her tears and blood. The storm was alive—a beast, a monstrous beast hell-bent on killing her. Wind tore around Jeannine, trying to throw her off balance into the waiting arms of the waters below and laughing at her like Cassandra had. Debris tore at her body, rending pajamas and flesh. This creature made of wind, rain, and fear had tasted Jeannine’s blood and wanted more. It tried every trick to wear her down, to destroy her.But she persevered.The wind gave up first, quieting to an impotent breeze. Then, the needles of rain faded to a trickle. Despite the realization that she was alone, Jeannine called for her mother, for her Nana, her tears and blood
TENGreenwood Cemetery Caretaker’s CottageNew OrleansPapa NightmareCURTIS KNEW OFthe legendary Voodoo witch doctor, of course. He was a local celebrity. He did magic for the tourists, all the while telling them stories of New Orleans’s past. While he had the crowd’s attention, his minions picked the pockets of the more inebriated audience members. He was also in bed with the Cartel, providing safe passage for drugs and for people who wanted to come to the States illegally. If they could pay, of course. While Curtis’s krewe didn’t indulge in human trafficking or in drugs, Nightmare and Curtis were rivals of a sort. At least, Curtis liked to think so. In truth, his operation was small time compared to the self-proclaimed sorcerer.Smaller than he’d thought, Curtis admitted to himself as he watched Fernández and Gallow carry the unconscious Stanley Bernstein into Roo’s cottage.Now, how the hell is the shrink mixed up in this?“We need to get him to a doctor,” grunted Fe