Cry Havoc

'And you just accept all that?'

'I do,' he said simply. 'I accept without understanding. It happens to me sometimes, too. That's one of the things she hates about me. She dunks I'm lazy, because I have a gift and won't use it. I tried, but it's just not for me. It's not an avenue I want to explore anymore than I already have.'

'Great. You're telling me I'm sitting here and you can see what color my underwear are?'

Darcy blushed.

'I'm not that good. I just get glimpses now and then. Like when I saw that kid stashed in the dumpster. I think it's something everybody has. Cops use it all the time, only we call it instinct or a hunch. Some of us just listen more than others.'

Frank couldn't argue with that. Listening to her instinct wasn't always logical, but it was usually right.

'She gave me her card. Told me she saw the Mother's hand on me. Like a black cloud.'

'What did you say?'

'Told her I could take care of it.'

Darcy assessed his boss, then shrugged.

'Maybe you can. But if I were you, I wouldn't risk it.'

Frank sat back, sighing. 'I gotta tell you, I'm tired of all this superstitious shit. I'm trying to solve murders here and for all I know half my squad's packing silver bullets and garlic necklaces. You'd think there'd be a little more logic to all this.'

Darcy stood with his palms up.

'Hey,' he groused, 'don't shoot the messenger. I'm just telling you what she said. Maybe if you weren't so defensive about all this you could see that logically you've got nothing to lose by seeing her.'

He strolled out, leaving Frank stewing in her skepticism.

30

What the hell, she'd rationalized all the way down the 405. She had questions Marguerite might be able to answer, and she'd been meaning to visit Orange County Sheriffs anyway. She'd called Homicide and set a time to go through a couple of their murder books. Frank hoped they might tie into a series of execution-style hits the nine- three caught in June. Her appointment was at two-thirty. Meanwhile, here she was back in Marguerite James' apartment.

Dressed all in white, Marguerite had led her in with no preliminaries.

'This will be easier and more effective if you take all your clothes off.'

Frank folded her arms and stared.

Indicating a chair in the center of the room, Marguerite said, 'At least your shoes and socks then. And your belt and everything in your pockets. I want the energy to move through you as freely as possible.'

Frank did as instructed, suppressing a sigh. Entertaining this new-age, woo-woo crap was embarrassing. If anybody found out, she'd pull a Sandman on Darcy's ass.

'What exactly are you going to do?'

'Did you ever play with a Wooly Willy when you were a child?'

'A Wooly Willy,' Frank repeated. 'Was that the bald guy with metal shavings you made hair with?'

'Exactly. That's similar to what I'm going to do. I'm going to draw the shavings off you, then I'm going to put a fresh new set of them around you.'

'But I'm not a Wooly Willy.'

'No, but you do have an energy field. Call it an aura if you like.'

'So you're going to rearrange my aura?'

'Like that, yes.'

'Is it going to hurt?'

Marguerite scowled and lifted a brow. It was a look Frank would know well by the end of the day.

'Basically, I'm going to do to you what I did to Mr. Hernandez. I'll cleanse you, then we'll invoke the proper spirits and ask for protection. While we're doing this I want you to picture this woman. Envision a large black envelope flying straight toward her. You're going to send all her negativity back to her.'

Frank joked, 'How much postage do I use?'

'Lieutenant, I assume you've come here for a reason. Now be silent and let me do my work.'

Frank watched Marguerite fussing with jars of herbs and a pitcher of water. She started singing, her voice light and soft. Frank thought the words sounded French, Creole maybe. She came to Frank, still singing, dabbing at her roughly with a rag she kept dipping into the pitcher. Frank closed her eyes. She felt like a kitten getting cleaned by its mother and despite her cynicism, she felt oddly safe.

Marguerite finished and went back to the table. Frank asked, 'So what else do you know about Mother Love?'

'I know she's widely respected in certain circles. That she is much feared and venerated.'

'Do you respect her?'

Marguerite pursed her lips.

'I respect her abilities but I don't respect what she does with them.'

'And what's that?'

'When a person of power uses their gifts for personal profit, it's called working with the left hand. Instead of using her gifts for healing, she uses them for material betterment. I've heard she's a fine healer, but that many of her clients enlist her for protection against criminal activity. It's people like Mother Love that give my religion such a bad image. She's a powerful sorciere. Very old.'

'What's a sorciere?'

'A sorceress. A witch.'

'Is that what you are?'

Grinding a white powder with a mortar and pestle, Marguerite clarified, 'I'm a mambo. I can do the same things as a sorciere but I work with the right hand. I do what I do for the good of all rather than for profit or gain. That's the difference.'

'Like the difference between a dedicated surgeon and a hack.'

'Exactly. Hush now.'

Marguerite knelt before Frank. Dribbling the powder between her fingers she drew a design around Frank's chair.

'You said she was very old. She's only fifty-nine.'

'Fifty-nine in this lifetime'—the mambo frowned—'but she is an ancient soul. One of the oldest I've ever felt.'

'What's it mean if she writes a name on a piece of paper and ties it up in a beef tongue?'

Marguerite glanced at Frank like she was expecting her leg to be pulled.

'Did she do that to you?'

'Hernandez' cohort. Left it on his front door. Wife went ballistic.

'Where I come from, that's how the two-headed women cursed someone who told secrets. They'd write his or her name on a piece of paper and then put it into a slit cow tongue. They'd add pepper, sulphur, and nine coffin nails, then tie it up and leave it where the person it's intended for would have to pass by it. In nine days, the victim would die.'

Frank suppressed a sigh. First the Mother killed Duncan, then Carrillo. Did she really plan on offing Hernandez and Echevarria too, or was she just freaking them? She had to know they weren't criminal masterminds, but maybe it was worth the trouble if she could appease her twisted notion of a god at the same time.

'Do these sorcieres make human sacrifices?'

'Everything's possible,' Marguerite said.

'Likely?' Frank pushed.

'I couldn't say. I only know my own business. Just because I would never do such a thing doesn't mean she won't. But you have to understand, most tales of human sacrifice are purely sensationalism.'

'And you have to admit it happens, like in Matamoros.'

Marguerite said nothing.

'Assuming she is, would it make sense that Mother Love'd burn some victims and cut others?'