They all walked along in silence for a while, and Griffen wondered not only if Jerome was going to ignore the question, but if he had inadvertently put a damper on the mood of the whole evening.
“I’ll tell you, Grifter,” Jerome said at last. “One of the legends…stories they tell in voodoo is how sometimes one of the gods…Changul, I think…takes on the form of a beggar and walks among normal people to test their charity. It’s a way of seeing whether people really feel compassion, or if they just pay lip service to it because the doctrine demands it.”
Griffen didn’t know what he had expected as an answer, but this one caught him by surprise.
“Come to think of it,” he said, “I think there’s something similar in Norse mythology. I think it’s Odin who is supposed to disguise himself as a…”
He came to an abrupt halt.
“Wait a minute, Jerome. Are you saying that you believe in voodoo? That you’re a practitioner?”
“Why?” Jerome said, raising an eyebrow. “Would that be a problem?”
“Well…no…I don’t know,” Griffen managed. “I guess I never gave it much thought. We’ve never talked much about religion. I guess I just never thought of you as a religious person.”
“I’d have to say you’re pretty much right on that one,” Jerome said. “Just keep in mind the difference between religion and spirituality.”
Griffen shook his head.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to clarify that one a bit, Jerome,” he said. “I’m not sure I’m clear on the difference.”
“That’s two of us,” Valerie chimed in. “What are we talking about here?”
Jerome turned his head.
“You want to take a shot at this, Foxy Lady?” he said. “I’ve never been too good at explaining things.”
“There are a lot of very spiritual people around who are turned off by organized religions,” Lisa said. “They may be in tune with the world and believe deep down in a higher power or plan, but they are repelled by the ritualization that’s superimposed by so-called religions, particularly when the priesthood uses it to dabble in politics or for monetary gain.”
“I think it was John D. MacDonald in one of his Travis McGee novels,” Jerome said. “In it, the main character describes his view of organized religion as being marched in formation to look at a sunset.”
“That’s right,” Fox Lisa said. “For some, religion is going to church once a week and paying five dollars while paying lip service to things they don’t really believe in. For others…and I think both Jerome and I fall into this category…there are certain teachings that, while they may fall under the heading of religion, provide a code or a way of life. It’s not a matter of ‘practicing’ a religion, it’s living it day in and day out.”
“If you open yourself up to it,” Jerome said, “you’ll feel it. You know how, as each new religion gained domination, they would build their new temples on top of the places used by the old religions? That’s because there are certain focal points of energy in the world, and those who are sensitive can sense them. New Orleans in general, and the French Quarter specifically, is one of those kind of places. It practically vibrates with energy, and different people react to it differently. That’s why it’s always been a gathering point for creative people who express themselves with art or music…or theater. It’s also why we have so many people who are strongly religious or spiritual…or both.”
“Is that why everything down here is divided into parishes instead of districts?” Valerie said. “I wondered about that.”
“That’s part of it,” Jerome said, “but that’s only been because Christianity or Catholicism has been the dominant religion here for a long time. Another thing you can look at is Mardi Gras. Around the country, people think of Mardi Gras as the world’s biggest open party that runs for weeks with everyone getting drunk and flashing for beads. They miss completely that it’s a carnival and celebration for the start of Lent. I will guarantee you that on Ash Wednesday, most of the locals you’ve seen partying and working triples manning the bars and restaurants will be crowded into that cathedral right there and several dozen other churches around town for Mass.”
Griffen shook his head again.
“I don’t know, Jerome,” he said. “Like I said, we’ve never really talked about any of this before. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I always figured that if I ignored religion, it would ignore me. Isn’t there something in voodoo that says if you don’t believe in it, it can’t affect you?”
Jerome laughed.
“Actually, what they say is that if you don’t believe in it, you can’t summon the powers even with rituals or charms. Then again there are others who will tell you that just because you don’t believe in the gods doesn’t mean the gods don’t believe in you. I told you this is a focal point. Well, things that can’t be explained by science have a way of reaching out and tapping you on the shoulder down here. Wait until the first time you run into a ghost.”
Griffen and Valerie looked at each other, then looked at Jerome.
“Com’on, Jerome,” Griffen said. “Ghosts? Like white sheets and chains?”
“More like disembodied spirits,” Jerome said. “We’ve got a lot of them down here. Especially in the Quarter. Haven’t you seen those Haunted History Tours that are out on the street every night?”
“Of course,” Griffen said. “They’re hard to miss. But I always thought it was pure tourist hokum. Do you really believe in ghosts?”
“Look at it this way, Grifter,” Jerome said. “Every religion throughout time in all parts of the world have different burial customs. One thing they all have in common, though, is the basic purpose of the ritual. That is to lay the spirit to rest. As in if you
Griffen did. For a long time after the evening was over.
Griffen spotted Jerome’s Jeep Cherokee parked on the street as he walked down Rampart. Without breaking stride, he strode up to the vehicle as his friend rolled the window down.
“Is he still in there?”
“Still there,” Jerome said. “Sitting at the back table. Tall, skinny dude with a fedora on.”
Griffen glanced at the two silent men in the backseat. They gazed back at him without expression.
“What’s with the extra talent?” he said. “I thought we agreed I would handle this personal and quiet.”
“Never said I agreed,” Jerome said. “For the record, I still think this is a bad idea. I brought along a little backup in case you’re wrong. The man usually carries, and he’s probably got some friends in there.”
“Suit yourself.” Griffen shrugged. “Just let me try it my way first.”
He turned and stared at the bar and grill. Anywhere else, it would be described as seedy and run-down. Here at the edge of the Quarter, it was about average. Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, he headed for the door.
The brightness of the afternoon sun outside barely penetrated the dimly lit interior. There were about a half dozen people, all men, scattered around the room and sitting at the bar. A small television set high on the wall behind the bar was tuned to ESPN, but no one seemed to be paying it any attention.
While nobody stopped talking or looked around, Griffen was sure that everyone in the bar was aware of his entrance. If nothing else, he was the only white person in the place.
The man he was looking for was easy to spot. Sitting alone at a back table reading a newspaper. As Jerome had said, he was a good six and a half feet tall, skeletally thin, and sported a black fedora. There was a squat butt of a cigar smoldering in an ashtray on the table, along with a half-empty cup of coffee.
The man looked up dead-eyed as Griffen approached.
“Little Joe?” Griffen said, coming to a stop, carefully keeping his hands in view.
The man took a big drag on his cigar before answering.
“I know yah, white boy?”
“My name is Griffen McCandles,” Griffen said. “I run a couple card games around town. Something has
