Tortured Spirits (5 page)

“I'd always felt closer to my birth island than to my adopted country, so when I was old enough to legally make my own decisions, I returned to Pavot Island and joined the Democratic Party, which opposed Malvado's corporatist party. It was in my role as an activist that I met Andre Santiago. Andre was an idealist like me, but he had something I did not: the ear of the people. He became Malvado's political opponent. Malvado had the backing of the corporations on the island, but Andre had the support of the people. Wherever Malvado went, Andre showed up with protestors, including me. It must have driven Malvado mad, but he tolerated us while he sowed the seeds of his power. Andre and I married and had two sons.

“Havana moved to New York City, where she married a man named Evans and gave birth to Ramera. Ramera was eight when Malvado finally ascended to the power he craved on Pavot. That was a terrible year for my family. Havana and her husband were murdered by drug dealers. Ramera was traumatized, and my mother brought her to New Orleans. There was nothing I could do; Ramera was a US citizen, and Andre and I had problems of our own. Malvado had his soldiers arrest Andre as a dissident. He was sentenced to prison without a trial. I was not allowed to visit my husband and pursued every legal means to do so. The stress was unbearable, and I had two sons to raise alone.

“For four years, I fought to have my husband freed,
while all around me darkness ruled the island. Pavot was always a center for vodou, but with Malvado in charge, black vodou dominated. Through a letter smuggled to me, Andre instructed me to return to the US with our sons and fight for Pavot from here. Fearing for our lives, I obeyed.

“Fernando and some of our other friends were aboard the boat that brought us here. I spent one month in New Orleans with my mother, and that's when I met Ramera. She was twelve, and her eyes chilled my soul. I know she needed me, but so did my husband and our sons. I set up shop here in Miami, where most of the people from Pavot in the US live, and established the Andre Santiago Freedom Foundation.

“For ten years that followed, I lobbied Congress and the White House to pressure Malvado to free my husband. I sent one son to college. Today Carlos is a lawyer and works for the foundation. The other, Roberto, returned to Pavot, where he joined a resistance movement and was killed.

“Ramera graduated from Tulane University and started writing a book about vodou. She visited me here to interview me about the book, which I tried to discourage her from writing. She was a beautiful woman, sophisticated, and she wanted to expose too much about our religion. The secrets of vodou are not meant to be shared with the common public. She wrote the book over my objections, and it caused controversy among practioners and believers. Ramera then accepted a high-paying research position; she told me nothing about it, told my mother it was directly related to her book.

“Then Katrina struck, and my mother drowned in her home, and her body floated through the streets. I saw Ramera for the final time at my mother's funeral. Her eyes were as traumatized as the first time I saw them, but the pain was replaced by fury. I did my best to keep tabs on her and didn't like what I learned. Vengeance and vodou are a potent and deadly combination, and now she's dead.

“My husband has been a political prisoner now for thirty years. Malvado hasn't executed him, because to do so would make him a martyr. He remains a symbol of the fight for freedom in our land.”

Jake measured the woman before him. “What do you want from me in exchange for restoring Edgar to his human form?”

“Isn't it obvious? I want you to go to Pavot Island, break my husband out of prison, and bring him home to me.”

Jake studied the intensity in Miriam's eyes. “Is that all?”

“I'm your only chance.”

“Aren't you better suited to freeing him with your vodou hoodoo than I am?”

“White vodou isn't a very practical weapon, and if I set foot on Pavot I'll be killed on sight. I'm Malvado's political opposition. He's not worried about making a martyr out of me; he's tried to have me killed here. That's why I'm surrounded by bodyguards, all of them refugees from Pavot.”

“It sounds like you need an army.”

“You're selling yourself short. I told you I followed my niece's activities. There's only one reason to distribute Black Magic: to create an army of undead soldiers. Once Ramera died, any zonbies she created ceased to function. But in the
days leading up to her death, someone took it upon himself to exterminate her soldiers, half of them in a warehouse Ramera and Malachai used to manufacture their Magic, the rest at drug spots throughout the city. The police believe one man was responsible. I'd say whoever did that kind of damage without being caught knows what he's doing.”

Jake chose not to confirm her suspicion. “How will I get to Pavot Island?”

“Take a plane. It's a short flight. Or take a boat. Pavot is a dictatorship, but Americans are allowed to travel there, even though there's no tourism trade. Once you arrive, I'll set up a meeting with a contact from the resistance.”

“How will I get back here? Even if I manage to break your husband out, this Malvado isn't going to let me board a plane with him.”

“Regardless of how you travel to Pavot, you'll have to take a boat back, just like all the people who come here illegally. I can arrange that.”

“Are there zonbies there?”

“I never saw one while I lived there, but I heard stories. Everyone has. The tales spread fear over the island. One more reason for decent people to flee here.”

“No wonder Malvado doesn't want Pavot to join the UN.” Jake hated zonbies. “Ramera told me she'd summoned a demon. She called it a Loa. According to her, she fornicated with it and had its baby, which she killed as a sacrifice. That's how she learned about Magic.”

“She told you that?”

“We had a chat before she died.”

“Kalfu, a Petro Loa—one of the aggressive beings. One has to be willing to endure much pain to obtain that level of vodou power.”

“The same power exists on Pavot?”

“Yes. Malvado has surrounded himself with bokors who do his bidding. Sugar and rum are Pavot's primary legal exports, but Malvado makes much more exporting heroin and cocaine. He must harvest Black Magic, too.”

“You're not exactly selling me on this whole plan.”

“Pavot is an island of great beauty and terrible secrets. The chances of you rescuing my husband are slim, and the chances of you getting off that island alive are even slimmer.”

“What will happen to Edgar? I can't take him with me obviously.”

“You'll leave him with me. I need to make extensive preparations for his transmogrification. It's one thing to reduce a human being into a lower life-form like a bird but another to turn a bird into a higher life-form, like a man, even if restoring a former man.”

“Have you done either before?”

“No.”

Jake snorted. “So you want me to risk my life on some crazy-assed mission and you can't even guarantee you can make the payment?”

“There are no guarantees in life, but I believe I can restore your friend. And if I can't, no one can. Me, my husband, and my surviving son are the only blood relatives of Ramera's, and only I practice vodou. I'm you're only hope.”

Jake drew in his breath and exhaled. “All right, I'll do it.
I'll go to Pavot Island and bust your husband out of prison.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” Miriam opened a desk drawer, withdrew a gleaming knife, and crossed the floor.

Edgar croaked.

Jake held Miriam's gaze, ignoring the blade as it descended and cut the rope binding him to the chair. When the rope fell away, Miriam stepped back and Jake rose.

“You've got one seriously cursed family,” he said. “I'll take my card back.”

Smiling, Miriam drew Jake's card from the base of the candle and handed it to him.

Jake felt like a fool as he slid the card into his wallet. “How soon—?”

Rising shouts outside cut him off.

He and Miriam turned to the open vent in a glass block window ten feet away and heard a woman curse in Spanish. Jake and Miriam glanced at each other, and Miriam ran to the stairway. Jake seized Edgar's cage, then ran after her. They stood at the bottom of the stairs as the upstairs door opened, spilling sunlight into the gloom.

Shadows stretched over the wall as Fernando and his men entered with their hands raised. Fernando turned in the opposite direction, with his back to Jake and Miriam.

But the voice of the woman who had cursed outside stopped them. “Vayan abajo!”
Get downstairs.

Jake and Miriam backed up as the three men descended the stairs with resigned expressions.

A woman entered the stairwell behind them, bathed in hot sunlight, and slammed the door. “Quedate donde yo te
pueda ver.”
Stay where I can see you.

Fernando offered Miriam a regretful smile.

From his new vantage point, Jake watched the woman's copper-colored legs as she descended the stairs. She wore Timberland boots and denim shorts. Then he saw the rest of her: a pink tank top that clung to her breasts, a gold necklace that matched her earrings, and a navy-blue New York Yankees baseball cap that held her curly hair in place. She gripped a Beretta in both hands like a pro. A compact video camera dangled from her hip.

Jake had seen this woman before. Even with her eyes masked by her dark sunglasses, he knew her.

They stood in a half circle around the woman, who held her gun ready to fire. She glanced in Jake's direction.

“Hola,
Jake,” Maria Vasquez said.

“You two know each other?” Miriam said.

“Oh yeah,” Maria said. “We go way back.”

Jake looked at Maria's gun. “A Beretta?”

“It's not mine.”

Fernando blushed.

Maria turned to Miriam. “Next time you hire three punks to watch your back, give them
all
guns.”

Miriam spoke in an even tone. “What's this all about?”

“That part of this equation is between me and Jake.”

“Fernando and I own this club. If you're here to settle a score with Mr. Helman, take it somewhere else.”

Maria shook her head. “Lady, I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

“She was videotaping you through the window,” Fernando said to Miriam.

Jake frowned. What the hell did Maria want with him here in Miami?

“What did you hear?” Miriam said.

“Every crazy word you two said to each other,” Maria said.

Miriam glanced at Jake, who shrugged.

“These men are freedom fighters from Pavot Island. Who are you?”

“Maria Vasquez, detective third grade, NYPD.”

“That name sounds familiar.”

“We spoke on the phone nine months ago.”

“You called to tell me my niece was dead,” Miriam said. “You asked me about Prince Malachai.”

Jake couldn't believe it. Maria had spoken to Miriam before he even knew she existed.

“Good memory.” The toughness never left Maria's voice.

“You sounded nicer then. Of course, you weren't pointing a gun at me.”

“I didn't know you were a witch doctor.”

“You're out of your jurisdiction, dear. You trespassed on our property and violated our civil rights. This is kidnapping. Or is it an execution?”

Maria lowered the gun. “It's neither. Your boys tried to manhandle me. Once I disarmed
goyo
here, I was in a bind: take off or face off. After everything I just heard, I decided to take the direct approach.” She tossed the gun to Fernando, who caught it and tucked it beneath his shirt. Then her gaze settled on Edgar in the cage.

“Fernando,” Miriam said, gesturing to the stairs.

Fernando and the other two men went upstairs.

Miriam looked from Maria to Jake. “I'll give you some time alone. Try not to kill each other.” She ascended the stairs, muttering beneath her breath, “New Yorkers.”

Maria moved close to Jake. “I saw that bird in your office—”

“Just days after Edgar disappeared.”

“Fuck you! This is
not
Edgar. Don't give me that shit!”

“I don't care if you believe me or not. I don't need to convince you of anything. What the hell are you doing here?”

“The same thing I was doing in New Orleans.”

Jake blinked as if he'd been struck. “You were in the crowd outside my hotel …”

“And outside Mrs. Santiago's house today.”

“How long have you been tailing me?”

Maria took a deep breath. “It feels like years, but it's been less than one. Since this all started.”

“Since
what
all started?”

“The Black Magic and the fucking zombies. I have sixty DOAs under my name on the board in Homicide. And that's just the ones who were already dead when you put bullets in their brains. It doesn't include the vics in the Machete Massacres, the people those zombies killed.”

“How can you believe in zombies but not that this is Edgar?”

“I saw those things walking around the streets. Scarecrows. Zombies. Skeletons. And I saw their corpses after you did them. Teeth pulled out, fingers and toes cut off, all to make identification next to impossible. Stuffed with sawdust.
Sixty
of them. I'll give you credit: you didn't use the same gun on all of them. We counted six.”

“Sixty people? Six guns? Sounds like six killers to me.”

“But they weren't killed, because they were already dead. They were all autopsied. Despite all that sawdust packing, the ME determined they'd ingested Black Magic. Some snorted it, some smoked it, and some shot it up. The chemists learned that Magic contains traces of human ashes among other things. It was a never ending cycle, wasn't it? Junkies OD on Black Magic, turn into zombies. When they can't function anymore, they get cooked into Black Magic. But where did the first powder come from?”