The Seer Renee (3 page)

"You don't mind if Sheila comes along, do
you?"

"Yes. You must be alone when I tell your
fortune."

"Why?"

"In the event I reveal something that you
wouldn't want her to hear."

"You can say anything in front of Sheila. I have
no secrets from her." He turned to her and smiled. She said nothing but
gave him a sweet smile before turning her attention back to me.

"No exceptions. Neither you nor I know what I'll
see."
I can handle one. I don't know
about two.

He shrugged and began wandering around the shop
examining the items I had on display. When he did, Sheila pulled me aside.

"Do you have a lotion to treat skin cancer? My
dermatologist claims I have a patch on my leg that needs treatment." She leaned
closer to me. "He's very expensive."

"No. I can make up a lotion for skin rashes but
not cancer. If you had time, I could conduct a ritual to invoke the Loa to heal
it. They have the power, not me." It was a test of some kind. Maybe she
was trying to determine how much of a charlatan I was. My answer could be taken
both ways. She shrugged and walked off. As she did, he returned.
They're smooth.

 
"Mr....?"
I said as I opened my appointment book.

"Mr. Rogers. You can call me Ken."

"I'll put you down for eight tonight if that
will be convenient."

"That will be good. Thank you," he said. He
joined Sheila and they left. I closed at my normal time and went about my
nightly ritual of straightening the shelves and sweeping and mopping the floor.
Then I set up the round table and two chairs I used for a fortunetelling and draped
a dark-blue-velvet cloth over the table. When I finished, I went into the back
and heated up a chicken gumbo I had made several days ago.

What did they want? Were they connected to Granny's
death? I barely tasted the gumbo, as my mind spun with questions. If so, what
did they want her to do and were they probing to see if I could replace her?
Drugs were a possibility but seemed unlikely, since Granny had said the event
wouldn't happen for a year, and I doubted they believed in magic. If they did,
they would go to a high priestess like Mambo Monique. It had to be a one-time
event and related to Granny's ability to see into the future. Whatever they
wanted, I had to be careful. Except for their clothes and lack of tattoos, they
were no different from Hector and the Locos.

I put on a long gown with a green and white pattern
and matching headdress. Then I put on five rings: on the right, a mother of
pearl, amethysts, and the spring loaded onyx with extract of castor beans; on
the left hand, a gold snake ring and the tiger-eye loaded with
a
moonseed
s
mixture. Castor beans would kill within minutes whereas moonseeds
would only cause paralysis in its currently diluted form. I'd never thought
about killing someone before, even Hector, but what if… I didn't know and
wouldn't unless it happened but better prepared than sorry afterward. I had to
assume these people, whoever they were, were dangerous.

He knocked on the door exactly at eight. His eyes scanned
my outfit, and he smiled. After an exchange of greetings, I led him to the
table, and we sat. Even if Granny hadn't warned me, I knew I had to pretend to
be your average phony psychic or fortuneteller. So, what would a reasonably
good psychic conclude about the pair? They weren't married, since neither wore
rings, said they were tourists, so they both worked, were unlikely to have
children, athletic so they probably worked out.
Time to start the game. May the best woman win.

"Please put your hands on the table," I
said.

"Why?"

"I need to touch you. Mambo Eshe always said
that the connection made the interpretation of what we see more accurate."
I wanted him to believe I was just copying her. He gave a small frown but said
nothing. Within a minute of touching his hands, I saw him and Sheila breaking
into my house. They were extremely careful to place everything they touched
back exactly the way it had been. They took out each book and flipped through
the pages, looked inside each jar or container, opened the hide-a-bed couch,
took out the drawers in my dresser, knocked on the walls, and went through all
my clothing. When they finished, the place looked just like it had when they
entered. They were definitely professionals. Sheila was particularly interested
in my appointment book and took pictures of the pages. Afterward, Ken and Sheila
went to the Windsor Court Hotel where they met two other men. One young man who
looked similar to Ken, and an older man with gray-streaked hair. Both men were
dressed in well-tailored suits. I sat in silence until I had witnessed several
weeks—probably took a couple of minutes.

"Well, Ken. You have a nice surprise waiting for
you when you return home. Your employer's pleased with you and you're going to
be given a promotion or more responsibility. You will be involved with a woman
who will bring you much happiness. The only potential problem I see is an
accident tomorrow when driving on Canal Street. I would avoid that street
altogether. Oh, you will have a minor accident when you're working out. I
wouldn't worry about trying to avoid it. It'll only be minor, and you'd have to
avoid exercising altogether which wouldn't be worth it."
I think that's enough bullshit.
I opened
my eyes and looked at him. He remained silent for a minute.

"Can't you be a bit more specific, particularly
around the woman and what will happen at work?"

"I can only see what the Loa permits me to see.
Even then, they are snapshots of events, which require interpretation. The Loa
seldom reveal when an event will happen, and I think they avoid going too far
into the future because they don't feel we should know." He would drive
down Canal Street without incident, which should establish me as a fake, if the
other predictions didn't.

"What about Sheila?"

"I don't know. I can only see your future. The
woman may be Sheila, or she might not be. Does it matter?"

He didn't ask any more questions. He paid me, and
after an exchange of pleasantries, left.

* * *

Nothing new happened over the next few days. I
worked, cooked my own meals, watched a few TV programs, and reviewed Granny's
years of notes. I was tempted to hide the notebooks, since Ken and Sheila were
going to break into my house. But removing them or trying to hide them could have
unintended consequences since I didn't know what they were looking for or why
they were interested in me. Besides, I knew from Ken's telling that they didn't
take anything.

I decided to eat out and attend Mambo Monique's weekly
ceremony afterward. I had to laugh when I realized it was the night Ken and Sheila
would be visiting. I decided on the Cajun Café and closed the shop early.

Eloi wasn't at the door when I arrived. The hostess,
Susan, seated me at a small table in the outdoor patio. Alma approached my
table a few minutes later. The restaurant looked crowded tonight, and she
seemed stressed. I ordered a cup of
gumbo
z'herbes and a blackened red snapper entrée. Midway through my gumbo, a small
boy tripped, banged into me, and fell.

"Are you
hurt?" I asked, standing to help. He jumped to his feet and ran off
without saying a word. As he did, another boy ran past me, followed him into
the main restaurant, and out the door. I returned to my seat, thinking it
strange but not sure why. Still pondering the incident, I noticed what looked
like white specks floating on the top of the gumbo. Pretending to sip the soup,
I touched it cautiously with my tongue. It tasted bitter—
strychnine
probably.
I pretended to take several
spoons full of soup before putting my spoon down and wiping my lips as though I
had finished. A few minutes later, Kweku, a local houngan who practiced black
magic, appeared at the entrance to the patio with a rattle in one hand and a
doll in the other. He stood there, with his arched nose raised like a Ethiopian
prince, waiting for everyone to notice him and the noise to die down. Then he
began shaking his rattle and waving a Voodoo doll, which had long silver pins
stuck in its stomach and chest.

"I curse
you Renee in the name of Ogoun Ge-Rougs for the pain you have caused a man who
meant you no harm. For that evil, you will feel the fires of hell. So says Houngan
Kweku," he shouted for everyone to hear. With his theatrics done, he turned
and left. Now Kweku could pretend his curse made me sick. And strychnine would
have made me very sick, possibly critically, depending upon the amount they sprinkled
on the gumbo. Because Kweku practiced black magic, he was shunned by most
houngans and mambos. The question remained, who paid him and why. I barely
tasted my fish as I tried to make sense of it. It didn't help that most of the
diners kept sneaking looks in my direction. I'd bet the tourists thought it had
been an interesting show put on nightly for their benefit. I had to agree it would
entertain them, but I thought it degrading to Vodou. After the restaurant
returned to normal, Eloi joined me.

"What
was that about, Renee?"

"I've no
idea. Either someone paid him to curse me, or he thinks his little show will
help his business."

"How so?
You didn't fall off your chair or throw up. And I can't believe he thought you
would."

"Do you
remember the two boys who ran through here earlier? One dropped strychnine in
my gumbo." I held up my hand before Eloi could speak. "Your gumbo is
excellent without it."

"Strychnine!
I had thought his act funny and good for business... He could have killed
you."

"I
wonder if Kweku knew how much strychnine would make me sick and how much could
kill me," I said, wondering whether he's a fool or evil—a Bokor
dealing in black magic. I left with a lot of questions and no answers. The walk
to
Monique's Serpent Temple didn't resolve my questions but helped me relegate
them to a tomorrow problem. Today, the sounds of New Orleans and the evening
ritual were to be enjoyed. As I entered the temple—a large cement
platform covered by a cone-like thatched dome—Mambo Monique met me.

"Good evening, Renee. I'm glad you could
attend." She grasped my hands. "Perhaps the healing ritual tonight
will help. Problems are best addressed with a quiet mind."

"Yes, my mind's in turmoil… and I'm in need of
healing. I can't expect the Loa to solve my problems, but I would seek their
comfort tonight."

"Together, we'll seek their help."

Fifteen men and woman were gathered under the roof of
the temple, and another five strolled around the perimeter. Monique began the
ceremony by drawing the ve've for Legba-Papa Labas with cornmeal to open the
gates of the guardian of the crossroads.
The drummers and the healing ritual helped release me from my turmoil,
and I returned home feeling refreshed.

Ken and Sheila
stood, with another man, watching Renee lock the door to her shop and stroll
down Bourbon Street in the direction of Canal Street.

"Harold,
follow her and let us know if she decides to return here before we've
finished," Ken said. Harold was a small, chubby, nondescript man with a
receding hairline, and a round clean-shaved face. Dressed in plain, everyday
clothes, he could be only feet away from you all day, and you would be unlikely
to remember seeing him, much less realize he had been following you. He nodded
and began strolling after Renee.

"Ready?"
Ken asked. Sheila nodded, and they worked their way around to the back of the
shop. There she examined the two locks on the door before reaching into her
pocket and retrieving a small leather case. Within minutes, she reached down,
turned the doorknob, and the door opened. Ken shook his head and grinned. He
had worked with Sheila for years, and she never ceased to amaze him. She could
fight like a tiger, was an excellent shot, could open any lock, never got
rattled, and was dependable. As hired problem-solvers went, she was a perfect business
partner and good in bed.

Once inside,
they began a systematic search of the living area. Ken looked on each shelf, in
each drawer, and examined every item, making sure it was returned to its original
position. Books were opened to ensure nothing was hidden inside, and titles
noted. Sheila followed Ken, taking pictures of everything for later review, and
doing her own second check. When they finished, they moved into the shop, examined
locked cases, and looked for potential hiding places. Sheila went through Renee's
appointment book, taking a picture of each page. After assuring themselves
nothing was out of place, they exited and relocked the door. It had taken less
than an hour.

"What do
you think, Sheila?" Ken asked as they strolled down Royal Street towards
their car.

"I saw
nothing to indicate that she was aware of her grandmother's involvement with
us. Of course, we haven't proved she isn't aware of us, only that we didn't
prove she is," Sheila replied.

They walked
two blocks in silence until they reached a late model BMW. Ken unlocked the
door, and they drove to the
Windsor Court Hotel where they let the valet
take the car.

"Mr. Smith said they would be in room 1601. I
doubt he's our real client, probably some kind of intermediary," Ken said
after the elevator door closed.

"Does it matter? The money's the same." Sheila
smiled, running her hand over her hips as if to smooth her skirt. Ken gave a
small shudder. How could a woman who looked so beautiful be so dangerous? He'd
bet she had a red hourglass on her stomach.

"Yes, the money is the same, except this time
the payoff's big, which means we're playing in the major leagues. Eshe didn't
kill herself because they want to know the price of some stock or which horse
is going to win the Derby, although I wouldn't mind knowing." When the
elevator opened, they made their way to 1601 and knocked. A young man, Tony,
who always accompanied the older man, opened the door. Ken assumed he was a bodyguard
or personal secretary, or most likely both, since he didn't fit the thug
profile. Although he had a slight lump under his arm, he wore an expensive
tailored dark gray suit, was clean shaved, and had neatly trimmed hair.

The older man they knew as Mr. Willis looked to be in
his late fifties judging by his gray-streaked hair, slightly lined face, and veined
hands. But he appeared more than paid help judging by the way he carried
himself and the decisive way he conducted business. He sat relaxing in an
overstuffed chair with a drink on a small table next to his elbow and a cigar
between his fingers. Ken and Sheila had met with him several times. Willis and his
associates were playing this close to the vest. Ken and Sheila knew that Willis
and his group had identified Renee's grandmother, Eshe, as having the ability
to tell the future, and she subsequently committed suicide. So whatever they
wanted, it had major consequences. Ken thought Willis might be government, in
which case it could have international consequences. Sheila agreed and wondered
which government.

"Well, Ken, what have you determined about Eshe's
granddaughter, Renee?" he asked as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. He waved towards
the couch, probably so they didn't have the advantage of height.

"She claims to be a fortuneteller, so I had her
give me a reading. The things she told me were based on observations that most
competent fakes could deduce from looking at Sheila and me—we exercise,
not married, tourists with good paying jobs, etc. The only dangerous prediction
she made was saying we'd have an accident if we drove down Canal Street
tomorrow. Now if we believe she can tell the future, we won't drive down Canal Street,
so we'd never know if she was right or not. Of course, if we're going home
tomorrow like we said and drove down Canal Street and nothing happened, so
what? We searched her home and business but found nothing that indicated she
knew why Eshe committed suicide or that she could tell the future. Conversely,
we found nothing that indicated she couldn't."

"Sheila?"

"The only thing I thought might be strange was
her insistence Ken be alone. I thought it a bit overly cautious, given Ken said
he didn't mind me being there. And the prediction of an accident could be
relying on us believing her or at least not wanting to test faith… or a clever
way of proving she's a fake if she was being cautious with us for some reason.
I copied her appointment book. Ken and I plan to talk to her clients. They will
be a far better indication of her ability to tell the future. I wouldn't make a
wager one way or the other at this point."

"We… I," Willis took a puff of his cigar,
waving at Tony as if he meant to include him, "need to know for certain
within the next several months, sooner if possible. There will be a bonus if
things work out well." He took another puff of his cigar and exhaled with obvious
pleasure. "A very nice bonus."

Tony moved towards the door indicating the meeting
was over.

"What do you think, Sheila?" Ken asked as
they left the apartment.

"We need to be cautious. I have a feeling we are
working for powerful people. Unless I'm wrong, that 'We' includes people we may
recognize who don't want to be recognized. I'd like that
bonus
to be in money—not lead."