Cry Havoc

understanding how the Mother could had such loyal followers. She broke from the Mother's charismatic tug to examine a framed document on the back wall. A stamped and sealed certificate ordained the Mother as a spiritual minister. Three other frames showed a business license, the church's articles of incorporation, and another ordination certificate recognizing Crystal Love Jones as a priestess of the Church of Lukumi.

'This Church of the Lukumi,' Frank said. 'That's santeria, isn't it?'

The Mother scoffed, 'Santeria is a Latin corruption of the ancient African religion. What we practice in the Church of the Lukumi are our ancestral beliefs.'

'So santeria's Latin and Lukumi's African?' Frank pressed.

'Lukumi is pure. It doesn't have the mix of Catholicism that santeria does.'

Waving at the saints, Frank contended, 'Seems like you got some taint going on here.'

The Mother's eyes lit up and Frank realized the Mother wouldn't brook challenge.

'It's for them,' the Mother said with a finger toward the door. 'The ones who don't accept the true faith. I don't need these false gods, they do. Many of my worshippers have been with me since I started the spiritual church. I didn't want to alienate them when my faith turned down a new road. The saints are easier for them to understand than the African deities, and because the deities correspond to the saints, I use them here. This satisfies all my worshippers.'

'I see. They make your brand of paganism easier to swallow.'

'I'm assuming'—the Mother etched her words with acid—'that you didn't mean to offend me but are simply showing your ignorance.'

'Please assume that,' Frank said with a show of humility. 'I just meant paganism as opposed to conventional Christianity.'

'The Church of the Lukumi is based on African beliefs older than any white belief system. If anything is pagan here, it's Christianity.'

'You don't have to preach to me,' Frank protested. 'I don't care one way or the other.'

'Child, of what faith are you?'

'Lapsed Catholic,' Frank lied, uncomfortable admitting she was of no faith. 'You wear quite a few hats. Minister. Priestess. Fortuneteller.'

The Mother surprised Frank by laughing, 'Oh, I wish I could tell the future. I have a gift, child, that's all. Sometimes I can see things before they happen and I often make accurate predictions using the diloggun. Those are cowry shells,' she explained patronizingly. 'The deities speak to me through them.'

Though the offenders Frank dealt with rarely considered anything more complex than how to get laid and where to score, Frank nonetheless enjoyed seeing how a criminal mind worked. The Mother was giving her a toy store to play in. The woman was obviously bright, but short on humor; wary, yet boastful. Frank quickly pegged pride as a major gap in her defenses. Especially after such a long run of consistently defying the odds.

'Are you like a channeler or something?'

'A channeler, a priest, a psychiatrist, a doctor. Child, I'm all of those things.'

'A doctor?'

'I heal people. Sometimes all they need is someone to listen; unburdening their souls is half the cure. Other times they require teas or balms. When their ailments are more serious, I call on the gods to intervene on my clients' behalf.'

'And how much do you charge for these services?'

'It depends.' The Mother lifted her shoulders.

'On?'

'The severity of the problem. How much time it will take to effect a cure. The materials I use.'

'What materials do you use?'

She shrugged again.

'It depends.'

Frank monitored the Mother's reaction as she asked, 'Do you sacrifice animals?'

'Sometimes,' was the offhand reply. 'Again. It depends on the nature of the problem.'

'Give me an example.'

'All right. A client comes to me—'

'—are your clients the members of your congregation?'

'Sometimes. Not always,' the Mother answered, annoyed at the interruption. 'They come to me with a problem. It could be something as simple as a client's lost her wedding ring to a case as serious as someone's boy got shot in the heart four times. Sometimes I can find the ring using the diloggun. The gods suggest where to look for the lost item. To thank them we offer their favorite food and drink. For something as complicated as saving a life, larger sacrifices are required. A life for a life.'

'Is that what those chickens and doves at your house are for?'

The Mother nodded.

'Do you ever use bigger animals?'

The Mother held Frank's gaze easily.

'Sometimes a goat or pig. Once I sacrificed a bull'—her white teeth flashed—'but that was such a bother I'll never do that again.'

When humans are so much easier, Frank finished for her.

'How'd you get into this? The spiritual and Lukumi stuff.'

'You're born to it, child. Someone in my line's always had the gift. Usually a female child but sometimes a boy. My uncle Kuban had the sight. He could heal. My mother had it. She passed it on to me. I learned how to heal from her. From my grandmother too. They were steeped in the Spiritual Church and I followed that for a time.

'Then a client introduced me to santeria and I realized that my true path was to follow the ancient gods. I studied to be an olosha, a priestess, and in 1994 I was ordained by the Church of the Lukumi Babalu Aye.'

'You see your clients—do your healing—over at Slauson?'

The Mother rearranged some flowers on the pulpit, purring, 'That's right.'

'Who's that beggar that hangs around outside your place? The old one wrapped in the blankets?'

The Mother threw an eye at Frank.

'I don't know who you're talking about.'

'Got cataracts, gray hair, wears about half a dozen blankets, even now, in the heat.'

'There are many beggars in this city. Am I expected to know all of them?'

'This one hangs around your place a lot,' Frank pushed.

Fussing with some pots around her arrangement, the Mother asked, 'Why do you want to know?'

'I know a lot of them, but I don't know this one. I was just wondering if it was a client of yours.'

When the Mother didn't respond, Frank continued, 'So you see clients at home and this is where you do church stuff, right? The singing and preaching. All that.'

The Mother laid a hand on Frank's bare arm. Her touch was cool and dry and Frank was reminded of a snake shedding its skin.

'If you're so curious, why don't you come to a service and find out. There's one tomorrow night at seven o'clock. Even better'— the Mother leered—'come to a bembe. You'll really see something there. I'm having one two weeks from this Saturday. It starts at five-thirty. At my home. For a client's daughter.'

As if leaving, Frank turned away from the Mother's touch.

'What's a bembe?'

'It's an initiation ceremony into the faith. It's where the initiate is chosen by one of the gods. I don't usually allow outsiders, but I'll make an exception in your case.'

'The initiate is chosen by one of the gods to do what?'

'Why, to serve!'

The Mother bared her teeth in a shark's smile. Frank ignored the shiver crawling up her spine. With an effort at nonchalance, Frank answered, 'I just might show up.'

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