“Well, quite a few friends down there, but one, in particular, might be able to help. They might have a way into Chinatown where no one else does,” Lane spun the automobile around the empty street heading towards a different neighborhood.
Madam:
Helena knew they skirted the roadblocks around Chinatown and the Barbary Coast. Not wholly sure where they headed for the moment she was trusting Lane with the lives of those children trapped in Chinatown. She wasn’t even sure if the children were there. Secretly she admired Missy how she had saved those two women she met in Napa. Helena wasn’t sure if she had the strength that Missy had. She wasn’t even sure she had the grit to continue looking for Missy. There were times all she wanted to do was go back in time to Thursday before this all started, and she thought her stepfather would be home from Cuba soon. As far as Helena knew, she had traveled more in the past six days than she ever had. Has it only been six days? It seemed like a month, perhaps even a lifetime.
Helena had never been in this part of town before, it was difficult to tell anything about this part of the city every door to the street closed, blinds drawn. The neighborhood looked deserted no one on the street, no one peeked out of windows, it resembled a ghost town.
Lane slowed Bessie to a crawl, the buildings here seemed older. Very few had brick fronts, principally only two-story at the most, all wood construction. The neighborhood appeared nothing like Chinatown or Barbary Coast with their street upon street of brick buildings.
“Is anyone here?”
“The buildings are full,” Lane said.
Sigmund said, “We’re being watched, check for movement at the windows.”
Lane pulled to the edge of the wooden sidewalk and brought Bessie to a stop.
“I’m not sure how this is going to work, but you two stay here and I’ll check if anyone’s home.”
Lane eased himself out of the driver’s seat and walked towards the double doors of what looked like an apothecary. Holding his hands high as if surrendering he began calling to the building.
“I’m here to see Lieutenant Fadgen. Can someone please find Lieutenant David Fadgen, and tell him Sergeant Lane is here. I must speak to him.”
Helena realized she never knew Lane was his last name. She watched as Lane readied to tap on the glass when the door cracked open.
“We don’t need any of your help here, we’re good, go away,” the voice had a strange southern accent Helena had never encountered before.
“Please, I just need to speak with David, or Hettie if she’s available,” before Lane could go any farther, a double barrel shotgun peeked out of the crack in the door mere inches from Lane’s crotch.
“Alright you’re the boss we’re leaving,” Lane started backing up one step carefully behind the other trying to put some distance between the vast maw of the twelve-gauge and his lower-half.
Helena could hear some scuffling going on behind the door, and abruptly the barrel of the shotgun disappeared into the dark room.
She heard a woman’s voice shouting, “What’s a matter with you foolish child! Pullin an unloaded gun on somebody is a good way to end up bullets in your body. Lane is that you?”
“Yes, Miss Hettie, I’m not alone though.”
“We’ll get your hides in here before the wrong people see you, now is not the time to be chatting outside.”
Sigmund and Helena left the automobile briskly rushing to reach the door as a tall black woman held it open. Helena was shocked to find the only two people in the room was a child of maybe eight years old and whom she presumed to be Miss Hettie.
“Where have you been hiding child? I told your grandmother I’d keep an eye on you, but you need to be somewhere I can see for me to keep my promise,” Lane found himself smothered by the bear hug that followed his admonishment.
Lane struggled to speak while being smothered, “Miss Hettie, I’d like you to meet my employer, Miss Helena Brandywine, and Sigmund,” Lane wasn’t exactly sure how to introduce the manservant.
“Miss Hettie Youngblood, of the New Orleans Youngbloods. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Helena had never seen anyone quite like Miss Hettie nor ever met a person with her accent. It was southern like Lane, but it had a tweak of French in it, not like her French tutor but similar. Her skin and looks golden and magnificent. Sharp features straight black hair and her skin color like coffee with the perfect amount of milk. Helena had never seen a more strikingly beautiful woman in her life. She found herself dumbstruck, she stuck out her hand, and remained mute.
“Lane, I think you broke her she’s not talking,” said Hettie taking her hand and shaking it with a firm grip.
“Madam, I hate to be rude, but how exactly are you and Mister Lane acquainted?” Sigmund asked.
“Let’s go back in the back get out of the shop here, and I can explain it to you.”
Helena found it difficult taking her eyes off the woman but eventually she recognized they had stopped in some sort of shop, herbs, and other articles she had no clue what items lined the walls. The closest thing she could equate it to was a drugstore. She wanted to touch everything it all looked so exotic.
Hettie walked towards the back of the room Sigmund and Lane following.
“Lane’s grandmother and my grandmother, they used to trade secret recipes and incantations. Anything that would keep our communities, our neighborhoods healthy.”
Sigmund said, “You’re a witch.”
Lane corrected, “No, my grandmother was a witch, Miss Hettie is a Vodou Mambos.”
“A what?” Helena asked.
“Kinda like the brother you met Martinez, but Miss Hettie’s gods listen.”
“Now be nice Lane you know they’re not gods. You know Bondye won’t answer any prayers, and Loa are often too busy to pay any attention. Vodou is not
