The Seer Renee (11 page)

Sheila quietly strode down the
Windsor Court Hotel hallway and stopped at the door marked 1201. She gave the
hallway one last look and knocked. A few seconds later, Tony answered the door
and smiled.

"Right on time, Ms. Sheila.
Come in." He stepped back, and she entered the room, which looked exactly
the same as the previous time. Mr. Willis even sat in the same looking chair
with a cigar.

"Sheila, get whatever you want
from the bar and join me. I'm interested in what you have to say. She walked to
the small bar, poured herself a ginger ale, and returned to the couch.

"As I told you the other day,
if Renee is a seer, then Ken has been compromised along with you and me. We
don't know how far out she can see, or if she can hear us, but we have to
assume she could have seen everything Ken saw and did. Consequently, our plan
to test her has to be changed. It can't have our fingerprints on it, or she
will most likely let it happen."

"I agree. You and I have come
to the same conclusion. We must assume she can see into the future and act
accordingly. Therefore, the object is to prove she has her grandmother's
ability. Given that, what do you suggest?"

"I have a contact who fronts
for an anonymous assassin. This assassin is expensive but one hundred percent
reliable. He's an artist and can make the killing look like whatever the client
wants—accident, revenge, road rage, mugger, stalker..."

"Yes, and I can send you and
Ken on separate assignments, just in case Renee could see this far ahead. Give
the illusion you're still snooping." He took a deep drag on his cigar and
exhaled with obvious pleasure. "How long?"

"I'd think at least three
weeks. One to arrange a contract with his intermediate and one or two weeks for
him to scout the person, their environment, and decide on when and where."

"Arrange it. When you've
arranged the contract, tell Tony, and he'll see you get the money you need. If
this works, there will be a generous bonus for you." He sat quietly for
several minutes before speaking. "Tell Ken I want him to find her mother.
She's an addict and can be made to tell him everything about her daughter. Tell
him I'm sending you to her old college to track down anyone she was close
to."

"The mother sounds like a good
idea."

"It isn't. I contacted her
over a year ago. She's a true addict. She birthed Renee and gave her over to
her mother to care for. I doubt she's seen her daughter more than two months in
the past twenty years. She'd be lucky to remember the color of her daughter's
eyes or hair."

The next day, I called the number
Grace had on her agent's card.

"Agent Casey, speaking."
A confident soprano voice answered.

"Good morning, Grace. This is Renee,
I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, we’re just sitting around
drinking coffee hoping someone will call and give us something to do." She
laughed. "Sorry, Renee, I couldn't resist, although we are sitting here
drinking coffee. And we're discussing the situation in the French Quarter,
hoping someone will give us a lead." She laughed again. "I think I've
had too much coffee. What can I do for you?"

"Then I may be able to help. I
have some information. Could y’all come down and see me?"

"Right away. Are you at your
shop?"

"Yes, I'll be here all day. I'm
sitting here hoping customers will come and buy something so I can afford to
buy food." I laughed.

"Be there in an hour,"
she said and hung up. Several customers did come in, and a couple bought some
small souvenirs. I was in the process of talking to one older man about herbs
for headaches when Grace arrived with Mike. She nodded towards me and then began
walking around looking at the merchandise. Mike stood looking at the books on
Voodoo and herbs.

"Sir, I can mix up some herbs
that will help, and they aren't addictive."

"How much," he asked,
looking suspicious. I didn't take it personally. There were enough scams even
from respectable firms to justify people's paranoia.

"Ten dollars. A spoon full in
a cup of hot tea is best, but you can mix it with water. There will be about
thirty or so spoon fills in the bag."

"That's a lot cheaper than the
pharmacy. Does it work? Hell, at that price, what do I have to lose? If it
works, you’re my new druggist. I assume you have a website?" He smiled.

"No, sir. I don't, but that is
an excellent idea. I'll give you my card. If you want more, drop me a line.
Just ask for headache herbs and enclose a check."

He nodded, took his bag, and left.
When he did Mike was first to the counter.

"I'll take some of that, given
it's not illegal," he said with a lopsided grin as Grace joined us.

"No, just old fashioned remedies
before the
pharmaceutical
companies turned them into pills and added chemicals to ruin your liver, kidneys,
and stomach." I grinned back. "Give me a minute," I said as I
went to the door and turned the sign to Closed. "Come in the back. Have
some sweet tea or a Coke while we talk." They nodded, so I got the tea
pitcher out as they surveyed the room.

"I don't know if it's an
advantage or disadvantage to have your work and living space together. Hard to
get away from work," Mike said, looking around the room. "And it is
small...and cozy," he quickly added.

"How much rent or mortgage do
you pay, Mike?"

"There is that. Probably more
than you pay for this building." He laughed. After I placed the tea and
glasses of ice and lemon slices on the table, I sat. "I have information
collected from several sources that indicates Mambo Monique's place will be
firebombed later this week," I began.

"From whom?" Mike asked,
while Grace studied me. "We need to talk to them."

"They don't want to be
directly involved. Too many times people get involved and it results in them
being hurt. Not your fault," I added quickly. "The law is complex,
and the guilty are not always punished, and the government can't protect
everyone they should forever. I'd like to ask you to trust me, but I know you
don't know me well enough." I shrugged, waiting for some feedback from
Grace, as she was the senior agent and would be responsible. She said nothing
for a while.

"What have you learned,"
Grace asked with a slight frown.

"Most people ignore the 'help'
like they don't exist and are not
careful around them. And even in a restaurant, everyone is talking so no one is
listening, unless you mention the word mambo or houngan. We have a large
population who practice Vodou and anything concerning a priest or priestess is
worth hearing. When it's someone like Mambo Asogwe Monique, everyone
listens." I stopped to take a sip of tea, waiting to see her reaction as I
built up a plausible explanation for what I was about to tell them.
"Collectively, it indicates someone is going to firebomb Mambo Monique's
shop after she closes. Most likely towards the weekend, and most likely on
motorcycles."

"Do you have their names and
addresses," Mike blurted out and gave a sheepish smile.

"That is a lot of information
and highly specific from overhearing conversations. We would obviously like to
talk to the same people and see if we draw the same conclusions," Grace
said, giving me a hard look. "But you say that's impossible?"

"Yes."

"Why not contact the
police?"

"I suspect they would patrol
the area, which would be relying on luck. I don't want to trust Mambo Monique's
life to luck."

"If it's after hours, Mambo
Monique's life shouldn't be in danger," Mike said.

"Like me, she lives in the
back of her shop. Where will the Molotov cocktail land? Where will she be at
that time? How fast will fire spread?"

"So, you’re suggesting a
stakeout that is capable of stopping the incident," Grace said.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"No, I don't, but committing
resources on vague rumors..."

"Well, I'd wager my store on
that vague rumor rather than chance Mambo Monique losing her home and maybe her
life," I said in frustration, tears clouding my eyes.

"I'll talk to the area
director and see if he'll approve it."

* * *

I felt relieved after they left.
Maybe if they caught the paid help, it might lead to information that would get
the FBI closer to the people responsible. Probably not, I conceded in
frustration. The rest of the day dragged by as I waited to close my shop and go
see Monique to see if her future had changed. I closed on time, washed, and
hurried out the door towards
the Serpent
House of Voodoo. It seemed to take forever, longer because Harry Bishop stopped
me to tell me that Ms. Jeffery had thanked him for recommending me. Jeffery,
judging by Bishop's remarks, had been extremely discreet, in fact, had lied,
saying she had been concerned about a friend.

When I reached Monique's shop, it was still open with two customers
talking with her. I walked around the shop while I waited for them to leave.
The most notable thing was the absence of things "made in China" and
abundance of hand-made and Haitian items. When they left, I couldn't wait. I
walked over to her and held out my hands. As she held mine, her new future
scrolled by.

"Damn. Damn," I growled, my face twisting in anger.

"What's wrong, Renee? Not the result you hoped for?" She took
me by the shoulder and walked me into the back room, sat me down, and then went
about heating up something. I was too upset to care.

"I talked to the FBI agent investigating the incident with Houngan
Bolade. She's the wife of an old friend of mine, and we've had dinner together,
so she knows me. I made up a plausible story about how I obtained information
about a possible firebombing here. She said she'd talk to her director about a
stakeout. She obviously did." I shook my head, still angry.

"That's good, isn't it?"

"No. Whoever she told or they
told has gotten back to the people responsible, and the firebombing has been
called off. They are going to bomb the House of Eshe."

"How do you know? I thought
you told me you couldn't see your future."

"I can't. I saw you standing
in front of my burnt out shop, crying."

"Oh, no! You've shifted the
danger from me to you." She patted my hand, clearly distressed. "Were
you killed?"

I didn't say anything. I pulled out
my cell and dialed the number Grace had given me for their home. After a few
rings, Grace answered. "Yes?"

"Grace, it's Renee."

"Good, I was just about to
call you, the director—"

"I know," I interrupted. "And
whoever he talked to has called off the attack on Mambo Monique. They have a
new target." No sense saying it was me. She had gone out on a limb for me,
and it had backfired in her face. Even if she believed me, the people responsible
had a strong connection to the FBI bureau here in New Orleans. There was a long
silence.

"How do you know—so quickly?"

"I'm sorry I got you involved,
Grace. You tried to help, and you will suffer for it. You can't trust me
anymore, and I can't trust the bureau. I'm sorry and hope in time you'll forgive
me." I hung up.

"What do you plan to do
now?" Monique asked.

"I don't know. Buy a darned
good fire extinguisher." I laughed. Changing the future wasn't as simple
as it sounded. But I had saved Monique's life, and it was worth it no matter
what happened. Monique fed me and although concerned couldn't really do or say
anything to help. On the way home, I walked slowly trying to think but unable.
My mind felt numb. I passed two Locos, who looked my way but said nothing.
Normally, they would have at the very least made all sorts of vulgar remarks
and might even have approached and groped me. I seemed to be in a cycle of
solving one problem and getting a new one in exchange. I wished I could take
the million dollars, if the offer was real, and leave.
No, I don't
, I quickly conceded. I love New Orleans, being a mambo,
helping people, and living in the home where I grew up. Young or old, I knew I
would die here.

* * *

I had two days until the firebomb
incident would occur, so I kept the shop closed the next day, and went
shopping. Thank the Loa for the money Jeffery had given me. I purchased three,
ten pound, ABC fire extinguishers, five rolls of fiberglass insulation, and
rented something close to a fireman's outfit. I brought my purchases in the
back door to avoid any talk. The next day I opened for business as usual, with
slightly less inventory. I had moved half of my more expensive inventory to the
back room. The rest I would move when I closed, which would be two hours early.
I had determined the approximate time of the attack by watching Monique's
future and observing the gathered people as she stood in front of the broken
window of my shop. I estimated it was an hour or so from the time I normally
closed—around six, so I'd close around four to give me extra time to
setup.

It was a slow day, so around two I
began moving some stuff to the back and storing them in the cardboard boxes I
had purchased. Last night I had packed Granny's books and notes, and anything I
considered irreplaceable into two boxes, which if necessary I could drag out the
back door to safety.

Around three thirty, Grace walked
into the shop, without Mike.

"Hello, Renee. I informed the
director that my informant had heard the attack would be called off. He didn't
blame me, so you didn't get me in any sort of trouble, and I'm not upset with
you. Mambo Monique is an important person in your life. How did you find out...what
are you doing? Are you going somewhere?" she said, looking into the
backroom through the half open door.

"No, just rearranging
things," I replied, trying to sound casual. She strode to the door and
opened it. The shock on her face was priceless. I guess it was the fire
extinguishers or the fireman-like suit.

"What's going on, Renee? It
looks like... You think...know... They’ve switched targets from Monique to you.
How? Why didn't you tell me?" She shook her head like a dog out of water.
"Of course, you couldn't. You knew I wouldn't take you seriously, and even
if I did, you feel there is a leak in the bureau."

I nodded agreement. "Sorry.
You did what you could, and it's saved Monique. That's what was
important."

"But you? How can you be so
certain?" she asked, sticking her head into the room.

"Grace, you trusted me and did
everything you could to help, so I wish I could tell you, but I can't. I'm
sorry." I liked Grace and was truly sorry I had pulled her into this mess.
I might be able to change the future, but I couldn't change the past.

"I can't call the
bureau." She laughed. "They can't respond this fast even if I had the
authority, and if you are right. It would negate all your careful planning. I'm
staying. If for no other reason than curiosity and to help if I can."

"Please, no. I'll never
forgive myself if you were injured. You don't have the proper clothing."

"I'll help you prepare, and I'll
stay out of the way. Promise."

"All right." What else
could I say? It might help in the future if she saw the threat was real, and
she could trust my rumors.

Around four, I hung a sign on the
window "closed for inventory." And with Grace's help, began moving
merchandise to the back and packing them in boxes. By five we had all the valuables
removed from the shelves, and I began laying fiberglass along the walls,
thinking to keep any gasoline that splashed from igniting the cabinets or
walls. Then I covered the floor.

"Why the floor?" Grace
asked after we had finished, and I had warmed up some leftover chicken gumbo.

"Maybe, if I'm lucky, the
bottle won't break. If it does, the gas won't spread as much, and it should
reduce the intensity of the flames." I carried the food into the shop, and
we ate off the counter. I wanted to be prepared, since I didn't know the exact
time. Grace was discussing how she decided to join the FBI, and her initial
training at Quantico, when the window shattered, and seconds later a bottle
with a flaming rag flew through the window, hit the floor, and burst into
flames. I already had my fire extinguisher spraying the area.

"Grace, get in the back,"
I yelled. She didn't. Instead, she grabbed the other extinguisher and began
spraying. With the two of us, it was out in less than a minute and, except for
the floor and the window, with no other damage.