Voodoo Love (And the Curse of Jean Lafitte’s Treasure) (9 page)

             
I would never know now.

             
In the hallway, I stepped over the body of my neighbor, Ellen Elderbee, trying hard not to look at the blood pooling around her head. My senses dulled further, and I could hardly believe any of this was real. At the door, Diego paused and glanced outside to make sure no one was around.

             
"Here's what we are going to do." His brown eyes were bloodshot and had deep circles under them. A kind of desperation clung to him that I hadn't noticed earlier.  "We are stealing that car in the next driveway. I don't want anyone noticing that your car is gone. No telling who your traitor husband has watching. You're going to walk calmly out of this house. No screaming or alerting the neighbors. If you do so, I will shoot you, but not any place where the wound would be mortal. At least, not immediately. Let's be very clear on this,
Elizabeth
. I'd rather have you fit and in one piece, but wounded and compliant works for me, too. Not to mention I will shoot anyone I feel threatened by."

             
I believed him. In the ten minutes he'd been back in my life, Diego Martes had killed two people.  I thought about the neighbor kids and their families. Could I really take a chance and get them hurt? No. I didn't think so.

             
"Do you mean the black Impala?" I nodded at Ellen's car. It sat in the driveway, a big shiny beast of an automobile that always made me envious.  A '79 model, it had been Ellen's pride and joy, belonging to her deceased husband. I knew from spying on her that she kept a spare key in a magnetic case attached to the undercarriage of the car. "I know where the key is."

             
I suspected Oprah Winfrey, the master of life lessons, would have frowned at me agreeing to go anywhere with this guy, much less telling him where the key to the Impala was. Countless times on her show, I'd heard about how you shouldn't leave with your kidnapper, because the odds of you coming back alive were not good. I just didn't see any other viable options, and more than anything I wanted Diego to feel like I was submissive. I didn't want him to sense the one thing that had become clear to me the moment he killed Eddie.

             
I was going to kill this son of a bitch myself. I may have been terrified, but all I needed was the opportunity, and if that meant getting him alone and away from other people he could hurt, so be it.

             
"Move it." Diego pulled a New Orleans Saints jacket off of the coat stand near the door and draped it over his arm so the gun couldn't be seen.

             
We crossed the lawn. Dusk began to settle around us, and porch lights started to wink on. I saw a crane, what I thought of as the bayou bird, fly low across the horizon, headed for its home in the swamp. I figured that's where we would be headed, too. 

             
I reached under the car to find the magnetic key box. Sure enough, it was right were Ellen always left it. I'd often fantasized about taking the car out for a spin, just to piss her off. Looked like I would be getting my chance. Too bad the circumstances weren't better.

             
"I take it I'm driving," I said, opening the passenger door for Diego. He shoved me in and indicated that I should slide over to the wheel. "Where to?"

             
"Back to
Barataria
Bay
, of course." A little sneer caused his lip to curl as he looked at me. "You don't think I buy all that bullshit about you losing your memory do you? Diego Martes is no fool."

             
He leaned closer to me. "You are going to take me to the treasure so I can get rid of this curse!"

             
Curse? What the hell was he talking about?

             
I started up the engine and backed out of the driveway. As we wheeled through the streets of my neighborhood, I snuck glances at Diego. Earlier I'd thought he hadn't changed much, but that wasn't true. In the fading light of early evening, I could see there were shadows on his face that matched the dark circles under his eyes. His brown skin looked sallow, and he was thinner. And now that we were alone, I could feel the edginess in his demeanor, as if anxious energy crackled just below his skin. Something was at work in Diego Martes, something sinister, and I wondered if I could use it my advantage.

             
"So are we going to the shrimping docks?" I asked, already headed that direction.

             
"Of course not. Too many people and the wrong direction. Don't play dumb with me."

             
"Look, I get that you don't believe me, but I really don't remember where that treasure is."

             
"Sure you don't." Diego glared. "You only moved back to this god forsaken little hell hole to learn how to hunt gators." 

             
"I don't know why I moved here." My voice cracked a little and the thin wall on my emotions shook. "I guess it's to be close to where Juan died."

             
"Yeah, right." He shook his head in disbelief. "Montoya isn't dead. I saw him in your bedroom. It's just as I thought all along. You, Montoya, and that gringo traitor you call a husband have been plotting all along on how to get the treasure. You've been playing tricks on me, doing something to mess with my mind, haven't you? Well, it won't work anymore."

             
I had no idea what the man was talking about. My goal had always been to stay as far away as possible from his sadistic ass. So how was I going to make him understand that my amnesia was real? And why did he keep calling Eddie a traitor?

             
"I'm not lying to you, Diego. Why would I do that? You killed my friends two years ago and just murdered two people in my house. You are the one in control of this situation and I know it. Why would I lie to you?" I don't know if honesty ever worked with a guy like Diego, but it was worth a shot. "I really can't remember much about what happened two years ago. I hit my head in that explosion with the helicopter, an explosion that you caused."

             
His dark eyes looked me over, trying to decide if my words were true. I was really afraid that he would just shoot me right then and there. Though my hands shook, I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, trying to remain calm. Despite the absurdity, despite everything I'd just seen the man do, not freaking out was an essential part of survival.

             
"Which way, Diego?" I asked. "Tell me what path to take now."

             
I'd driven to the town square, where the statue of Jean Lafitte was erected. I'd seen it up close before more than I'd wanted to since I'd accidentally shot it once with my gun. Even though I'd paid to have it repaired, the incident was one of the reasons the community of Barataria wasn't exactly friendly towards me. Jean Lafitte was the founder of the town back in 1805. He'd established an illegal smuggling operation deep in the bayou which brought lots of money to the community. Over a hundred years later, people still thought he was the bee's knees around here. Insulting the "Gentleman Pirate," much less shooting his statue, was very taboo and libeled to get your cursed by some backwoods Cajun.

             
I shook my head at seeing it and Diego followed my gaze.

             
"Pull over!" He stared at the monument. "Now!"

             
"Okay, okay," I muttered sliding into a parking space in front of it. The town square was deserted, but that's how it was in Barataria. Everyone was a fisherman of some sort and had to get up early so there wasn't much activity after seven in the evening. As a rule, all the shops shut down at 6pm except for Gator Mart which closed its doors at 10pm. There wasn't a night life in Barataria, and if you wanted to go to a club or were teenagers looking for fun, you had to travel one town over.

             
"Who is that?" Diego demanded, his face a bizarre mixture of awe and excitement.

             
"Where?"

             
"The statue? Who is that supposed to be?"

             
"I figured you'd recognize him right away. That's Jean Lafitte, the man whose treasure you are after."

             
"Whoever created that thing has it wrong. Lafitte's much thinner and a helluva lot uglier."

             
"Really? So you've had one-on-one conversations with a man who's been dead almost two hundred years? That's just not normal, Diego."

             
Diego slapped me. Maybe I deserved it for shooting off my big mouth.

             
"Shut up." He turned his attention back to the statue, leaning forward to see it better in the dim light. When he spoke, Diego's voice was filled with contempt and bitterness. "I see Jean Lafitte every night in my dreams. He won't let me rest, constantly talking about how I took a piece of his treasure. He shows me other things, too."

             
"What kind of things?" I dared to ask, touching my cheek, which stung from where he'd hit me.

             
"People I've killed." He looked at me and I shrank back against the door, unsure if he was going to strike me again. Something new glimmered in his eyes. Madness. It lurked just around the edges of his sanity. "Ah,
Elizabeth
. You don't know how I much I've wanted to see you again. You are the key to making things right."

             
I didn't know what to say. What did he need to make right?

             
He leaned closer.

             
"And cursed or not, I will make you sorry for what you did to me."

             
He pulled a coin out of his pocket. It was hard to see clearly in the fading light, but it looked a bit like the coin Juan had placed on my palm earlier. Diego held it up.

             
"See this? It's a gold doubloon. A piece of the treasure. I took it, not knowing the damn curse was real. I have to put it back in order to be free of this hell!" He seethed for a minute and I saw it again, the madness. Whatever was happening with the man had really affected him physically and emotionally. Not that I felt sorry for Diego.  "That's why I need you. You were there that night. You heard the name of the voodoo god who we need to evoke in order to remove the bad magic on it. Tell me what his name was!"

             
I searched my memory, willing something to come back, but as always there was a blank spot in my memory.

             
"I can't remember," I whispered.

             
Diego rubbed at his head, frustrated. He looked at the statue and cocked his head to the side.  "Did you hear that?"

             
"Hear what?"

             
"Stay here." He opened the passenger door, an odd light in his eyes. "Hand me the car keys."

             
I did so and watched him slowly approach the statue. What was he doing? This didn't seem like the time to read the historical plaque! On the other hand, maybe this just improved my chances of being seen in Ellen Elderbee's car. Like I said, Barataria is a tight knit community. Ellen hadn't kept her disgust of me secret so anyone who saw me riding around in her car would know something was wrong.