Cry Havoc

be at work tonight instead of going to the opera. A slit throat, obvious cause of death, we'll be lucky to get to it by Monday. I don't think I put your boy high on the rotation.'

'No big,' Frank said. 'I was just wondering.'

Trailing her fingers under Gail's dress, she added, 'I don't think you can tell us much more than we already know.'

'Better stop that or we'll miss the opening act,' Gail murmured.

'That wouldn't be so bad.'

'At these prices, yes it would.'

During the opera, Frank studied Gail's rapt profile. She had to admit she was having a hell of a lot of fun with the doc. But she hadn't lied to Tracey; it was complicated. The doc was bright and generous and sexy, but living alone all her life had spoiled her. She held Frank up to standards she wasn't sure she could meet.

Still, Frank was game. Having loved and lost, she was willing to make concessions. She had to admit it was scary as hell, but it felt good to care about someone again. And be cared for.

She slipped her hand into Gail's, rewarded by a bright, quick smile. Tracey's tapping finger echoed against her heart.

12

Monday afternoon Frank slouched into Ike's old chair and draped a long leg over the arm.

'What's the good news?' she asked.

Jill shook her head, so Johnnie answered for her.

'People are scared, man. They don't want to talk about Danny or any one connected with Mother Lo-ove-Jo- ones,' he drew out. 'Like the ground's gonna open up and swallow 'em or somethin'. They're all spooked, huh?'

He looked to Jill for corroboration but she only made a disgusted sound. She made a lot of those lately.

'What?' Frank encouraged.

'I don't like this,' she blurted. 'I don't like this case.'

'Yeah, she's spooked, too,' her partner teased. 'Thinks she's gonna get a spell put on her or somethin'.'

'Johnnie, shut up,' Jill snapped.

'True?' Frank asked.

'I just don't like talking with any of these people. I don't like their vibes.'

'What vibes?'

'Just creepy. Weird.'

'Come on, you gettin' soft on me?'

'I'm not soft,' the detective defended, 'They just creep me out.'

'That's how those cults operate,' Noah chimed in. 'They pull a rabbit out of their hat and make everyone think it's magic when all it is is tricks and illusions. They make you think they're powerful, and then once you believe that, you're afraid of them. And then they've got you. That's their power, the ability to make you afraid.'

Waving his hand, he advised, 'It's all superstition and mumbo-jumbo. Don't worry about it.'

'Easy for you to say,' Jill muttered.

Frank looked at Diego.

'What do you say, Taquito? Horseshit or real?'

Diego shrugged.

'I don't know,' he shrugged, surly. 'Maybe it's true. Maybe it's not. My grandpa used to tell stories about brujos, witches and stuff. How they could turn into coyotes or snakes, make people do things. I don't know.'

'Lewis, I know you believe it,' Frank mocked.

'Nuh-uh! I don't believe they can change into animals or make anybody do something they don't want to do. It's like Noah says, I think they can make you believe certain things. And then once you believe that, they make you believe other things.'

'It's just a form of brainwashing,' Noah interjected.

'Yeah, like that. It's all that mind over matter, power of suggestion foolishness. That's all that voodoo stuff is—but mind you, it can work. I'm not saying it's magic or nothin', but that doesn't make it any less effective. Like Noah says, they make you believe their nonsense. You think it works so therefore it does. It's a placebo religion, that's all.'

'Aren't all religions?' Noah asked, provoking Jill's Catholic ire. She cut him a look, but Frank said, 'Darcy?'

He sat back from the report he was typing and measured his answer.

'It's a complicated question. There are a lot of permutations to consider.'

'Permutations? Johnnie said mincingly to Noah.

His old partner snickered, 'You ignorant bastard. You probably think that's a fruit going bad.'

'Like what?' Frank asked.

'Like whether you're talking about simple hoodoo, or something more complex. Like voodoo.'

'What's the fucking difference?' Johnnie said. 'It's all just ignorant dirt-water bullshit anyway.'

'Not really,' Darcy drawled, his accent faint. 'There's a big difference, and both of them can be very complex.'

'How so?' Frank pressed, intrigued as always by the man's incongruities. Barrel-chested, bandy-legged, and thick-armed, he drove a Harley, chewed Skoal, and had more tats than most of the bangers he locked up. He kept his own counsel, never joined his colleagues for drinks after work, and rarely joined in conversation unless asked. Off-duty he wore diamond studs in his ear and biker leathers. He looked like a Hell's Angel who'd rather stomp someone in the face than talk to them, but when he opened his mouth a blind man would think he was talking to a tweed-wearing, pipe-smoking professor. The biker facade concealed a man with a sharp eye for details and anomalies at a crime scene, a keen understanding of criminal predilection, and, if the incident with the hidden .44 was true, an uncanny instinct.

Darcy picked up an empty Dr Pepper can. He squirted a thin stream of tobacco juice into it before answering, 'Hoodoo's basically folk medicine. Surprisingly effective medicine. It's based on Old World healing principles and incorporates a large botanical pharmacopoeia while working on the same principles as faith healing. The root doctors—that's what we called them in Louisiana— they have some repute for wizardry, but they're not true mambos or priests like you'll find in voodoo. They can make concoctions and juju's for practically every domestic malaise you can think of: How to keep a husband from straying, how to get him to leave, how to come into money, how to get pregnant. You name the problem and I guarantee there's a root doctor somewhere that will know the right combination of herbs and powders to produce satisfaction.'

Darcy's audience was attentive, so he continued.

'Now voodoo, that's actually a religion. I guess I should say an American bastardization of a religion. It developed in this country when Haitian slaves were introduced into Louisiana. It was based on the vodun religion that the slaves practiced back in Africa. Haiti was a Catholic island and the slaves there were all ostensibly converted to Catholicism. What actually happened, was that they syncretized their African gods with the Catholic saints. When the slaves were praying in front of an altar to Saint Barbara they were actually worshipping one of their old gods that had a lot of Saint Barbara's attributes. The Catholic masters looked on approvingly and the slaves practiced idolatry right under their noses.

'American slaves didn't have that opportunity. Except for French Louisiana, most slave owners practiced some variation of Protestantism, so the slaves didn't have the opportunity to co-opt their gods to the dominant religion. American slaves were forced to take their religious practices underground, and as they splintered off among the various slave holders, they lost touch with their priests and priestesses. They practiced secretly—what they could remember—but as their old beliefs faded they were be replaced by the prevailing religion of the area. The use of the traditional herbs and medicines—and their faith in them—that remained. That's what we call hoodoo.'

'How the fuck do you know all this shit?' Johnnie interrupted. 'They teach you this in Coon-Ass 101?'

Darcy ignored him and Frank appreciated that that was how he had decided to deal with Johnnie's juvenile