
06 Apr The Bullet
βThe Bulletβ
Written by J.C. Fields Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
π§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
β° ESTIMATED READING TIME β 22 minutes
Shorty Small, a man neither short nor small, sat with his back against a wall in a dingy bar several blocks off Bourbon Street. He concentrated on the front door and sipped on a half-consumed bottle of Nola Blonde Ale.
The din of Mardi Gras could be heard in the distance outside the establishment. The comings and goings of revelers kept the door he watched constantly opening and closing. Finally, at ten minutes past eleven p.m., Homer LaCroix rushed through the entrance.
Six-foot-five, rail-thin, hawk nose and long curly salt and pepper hair, the man scanned the occupants of the room. His eyes settled on Small, and he made a bee-line toward the table.
Small growled, βYouβre late.β
The lanky man shrugged.
βSo, what was such an emergency you dragged me all the way from Chicago to New Orleans?β
βGot a job for ya, Shorty.β
βWhat kind of job?β
He fished an object out of his jeans and placed it on the table.
Small stared at the item and then locked eyes with the man. βWhat theβ¦β
βItβs a silver bullet.β
βI can see that. Like I told you on the phone, I donβt do that anymore.β
βI know what you said, but for fifty-K, I figured youβd at least think about it.β
Smallβs attention bounced from Homer to the bullet and then back at the tall man. βFifty-K, uh?β
βYeah. Fifty-K.β
βDamn.β He picked up the silver bullet and studied it closer.
βAt one time, you were the best hatchet man in the business.β
The comment went ignored as Small continued to examine the bullet. Finally, he said, βIβm not saying I will, but what do I have to do for fifty-K?β
Homer pointed toward the object. βUse that.β
βI knew that, asshole. Whoβs the mark?β
βA witch.β
With a slow shake of his head, Small stood. βI ainβt getting mixed up with that kind of nonsense, Homer. Thanks for wasting my time.β
βHear me out. Itβs not what you think.β
The former hitman hesitated. With a long glare at his old acquaintance, he returned to his seat. βTen minutes, then Iβm outta here.β
Homer leaned over the table and whispered. βVoodoo in New Orleans is big business. It draws more tourists than Mardi Gras. Plus, it keeps those famous, fancy restaurants from goinβ bankrupt.β
βYouβre down to nine minutes.β
βDo you know much about Voodoo and witches?β
A shake of Smallβs shaggy head was the answer.
βVoodoo is basically a religion brought over during the slave trade from South Africa. Those enslaved persons brought their culture from Bambara, which is now Mali, and the Kingdom of Kongo, roughly where Angola is today.β
βYour point, Homer?β
βBear with me, Shorty. These slaves were brought over to the French colony of Louisiana. This all started in the early 18th Century. The white settlers of French Louisiana were heavily Roman Catholic. During this time the area transitioned from French to Spanish control, back to France and then after the Louisiana Purchase, the United States. During all these changes, the two religions syncretized.β
Small frowned. βHuh?β
βSyncretized. It means the two religions attempted to reconcile and combine with each other.β
βOkay.β
βThe melting pot of Louisiana transformed the African traditions into what is now known as Louisiana Voodoo. Most people think of it as a religion practiced in secret.β
βI thought Voodoo was about sticking a pin in a doll.β
LaCroix smiled. βOne of the myths of the religion. However, ancestors and spirit guides are essential parts of Voodoo as are spells and incantations. Voodoo Queens are female religious leaders who offer guidance to believers with problems and sickness using charms, herbs and prayers. They use ritualistic dances, songs, incantations and beseech ancestors to ease the practitionerβs particular affliction. No one has ever told me this, but I think thatβs why people started calling the Voodoo Queens witches.β
βHomer, this is all fascinating, but youβre down to four minutes to sell me on this cockamamie story of yours.β
βShorty, my whole point boils down to this. Voodoo tourism is big business here in New Orleans. Millions of tourist dollars flow into the city coffers. Someone is trying to screw up the fun nature of Voodoo by scaring potential tourists away.β
Small tilted his head. βOkay, I just added a few minutes to your timetable. Thereβs money involved.β
βBig money, Shorty.β He paused and smiled. βThose who are the so-called βkeepers of the faithβ are scared.β
βWhy?β
βThey believe a real witch is seeking revenge on the ancestors of those who persecuted her in the mid-20th Century.β
βYouβre kidding.β
βNo, thatβs why they gave me a silver bullet to be used. Itβs the only thing thatβll kill a real witch and cleanse the earth of her presence.β
Rolling his eyes, the big man shook his head. βHomer, someone is pulling your leg. Thereβs no such thing as a real witch. There might be a few poor wretched souls who believe they are witches, but theyβre not.β
LaCroix leaned over the table. βWho cares if the witch is real. Our employer believes she is and is willing to pay someone fifty-K to use this silver bullet to make it go away. That someone can be you.β
βWhatβs your cut?β
βI do this out of the goodness of my heart.β
βBullshit. Your heart is as black as mine.β
βIβm being paid as a consultant. Itβs separate from the fifty-K.β
βDo they know where this witch is?β
βNo.β
With a chuckle, Small sat back in his chair and drained his beer. βThen how do they know itβs a witch?β
Reaching into his pocket, LaCroix pulled out what looked to be a folded playing card. He opened and laid it on the table. βThis is one of the five Tarot cards found on the desks of each member of the tourism board. No one knows how they got there, and security cameras show they suddenly appeared around midnight.β
Small picked up the object and studied it. βA tower with lightning striking it and two dudes falling. So?β
βThe Tower is one of the more foreboding cards in the Tarot deck. It means there will be upheaval or change coming.β
Rolling his eyes again, Small handed the card back to LaCroix. βI canβt believe people fall for this crap. Especially enough to spend fifty-K to stop it.β
βYou would if you knew how much money the haunted house tours brings in. Thatβs not the only card theyβve received. Everyone on the tourism board has also received the death card in the mail. They think it symbolizes the end of the tourist trade. They are quite literally pissing their pants.β
βThis seems to be something the police would need to investigate.β
βOne would think so, but the police told them until some crime is actually committed, they arenβt interested. Which brings us to the need for someone else to take care of the problem. Thus, the fifty-K and you.β
Small studied the bullet again then the Tarot card. βIβll need more than one bullet.β
LaCroix nodded.
* * * * * *
When Shorty Small exited his hotel early the next morning. He planned to walk the streets of the French Quarter and get a feel for the area. His journey took him to Toulouse Street where he turned left. At the intersection with Bourbon Street, he made a right. This early in the morning he saw street cleaners hosing off the puke left behind by the previous eveningβs Mardi Gras participants, along with food and drink suppliers delivering product to the restaurants and bars scattered along the famous street. Making another right at Phillips Street he looked back and noticed a woman a block behind him staring intently in his direction.
Over the course of his career, as a man who handled personnel problems with a gun, his radar pinged when he saw her. Quickening his pace, he ducked into an open coffee shop. He waited for the woman to pass, but after ten minutes, he still had not seen her. Silently chastising himself for his runaway paranoia, he ordered a coffee to go and continued his tour of the French Quarter.
Turning right on Chartres Street he reached Jackson Square and sat across from St. Louis Cathedral on a park bench. He planned to enjoy his coffee and watch the pedestrian traffic mill about.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman who followed him on Bourbon Street. He paid no obvious attention to her but kept her in his peripheral vision. She remained still while he pretended to study the men, women and children roaming the area. The distance to her location at the corner of Chartres Street and St. Ann would prevent him from catching up to her. She would have plenty of time to disappear into any local business and elude him.
Standing, he found a trash receptacle to deposit his now empty coffee cup. When he looked toward the position where she last stood, the space was empty.
With a frown, he jogged toward the corner and glanced up and down St. Ann Street. He saw her a block to the northwest. As he started to follow, she disappeared. He stopped. Stood without moving for a few moments and then hurried to where he last saw her.
When he arrived, there were no doors, alleys or alcoves. She had simply vanished. Turning back to return to the park bench, a black cat scurried across the street in front of him.
* * * * * *
LaCroix chuckled as Small retold the events of his morning tour in the French Quarter. βI told you she was a witch.β
βWitches do not exist, Homer.β
The thin man pushed a box of 9mm ammunition across the table. βYou asked for more silver bullets. There are twenty-five in there with the remaining oneβs hollow point.β
Small put his hand on the box and slipped it under the table. βThanks.β
βThey do exist. The one spying on you may be the one causing all the trouble. Be careful out there, Shorty.β
βWeβll see if I see her tomorrow.β He paused. βAnything happen yesterday I should know about?β
A slow nod from LaCroix. βThey arenβt sure itβs related, but one of the board members of the tourism board died of a heart attack last night.β
βLet me guess, he was seen with a woman beforehand.β
βHowβd you guess?β
βI was joking. Whatβd this woman look like?β
βBlonde, mid-forties, average height, and Iβm told a real looker.β
Small stared at LaCroix for over thirty seconds. βThatβs how I would describe the woman who followed me yesterday.β
βWell, there ya go, Shorty. Iβd load your gun with the silver bullets immediately.β
βOkay, Iβll take the job. Did you tell them I get half up-front?β
βI did.β
βWhere is it?β
A plain, white business envelope appeared on the table. βThereβs thirty-K in there. With the death of McAlister, they upped the fee to sixty.β
The envelope disappeared just like the box of ammo. Small narrowed his eyes. βHowβd you know Iβd take the job?β
LaCroix shrugged. βAfter seeing the look in your eyes, the other day, I figured youβd take the job.β He stood. βIf I were you, Iβd brush up on the history of the French Quarter. It might keep you alive.β With those words, he walked out of the bar.
Small muttered to himself. βWay ahead of you on that one, Homer.β
* * * * * *
Located on the southern edge of the French Quarter on Decatur Street, Smallβs hotel ranked high on the list of best hotels in New Orleans. Close to restaurants and all the cultural offerings of this section of town, it lay only a block from a jewelry, gemstones and minerals shop that also offered psychic readings. During his walking trip on the first day, he wandered into the shop and struck up a conversation with the owner.
She turned out to be, not only knowledgeable on local history, but up to date on all the happenings within the local religious community, mainly Voodoo.
After his meeting with LaCroix, he waited around until eight p.m. when the small shop closed. Madame Claire HonorΓ© greeted him as he walked into the store. βAh, Monsieur Small, I am so happy you are here. I have one customer left and then we can talk.β
She hurried away while Shorty examined a display case with numerous gemstones. He heard the little bell above the door jingle and then she returned. βI did not know if you would keep our appointment.β
βI have lots of questions, Madame HonorΓ©.β
βPlease call me, Claire.β
He folded his arms and appraised the woman. She appeared to be in her mid-to-late forties, long brown hair with a silver streak prominent on one side, hazel eyes, and a smile he found inviting. βIβm Shorty.β
She looked him up and down. βYou are most definitely not short.β
He shrugged. βItβs my name.β
Taking his arm, she guided him to a room in the back. βThis is where we do our psychic readings. We use Tarot cards or read palms.β
He glanced at her. βDo you believe in that sort of stuff?β
Offering the sly smile he enjoyed, she grinned. βI donβt have to believe. I just have to sell it.β
He chuckled. βTell me about witches.β
βWhat kind? The chamber of commerce kind, the New Orleans kind, or the ones no one should mess with kind?β
Small tilted his head. βLetβs start with the kind no one should mess with.β
βThat could take a while, you buying me dinner?β
He pointed to a ring on her left hand. βWhat about your husband?β
She patted his arm as she guided him toward the storeβs front door. βHeβs been gone for ten years. I use the ring to keep the vultures away.β
βThen, Iβm buying dinner. Know a good place?β
* * * * * *
At breakfast the next morning in the hotel cafe, Claire HonorΓ© finally got around to explaining more about New Orleans and witches. βShorty, this lovely city has a long history of Voodoo, witches, the occult and various other traditions passed down from the past inhabitants of the area. Most of it is harmless and helps support the local economy.β
βThatβs what Iβve been told.β
She held her coffee cup with both hands. βHowever, there is a dark side.β
He remained quiet as he kept his gaze on her.
She continued. βMost witches are benevolent. Some truly believe they are witches, while others are hustlers and scam artists.β After another sip of coffee, she looked up at him. βThe real witches are agents of the devil and will steal your soul. It is said they can take the shape of anything or any person.β
βHow do you tell if a witch has taken a new shape? Will it cackle like the ones in The Wizard of Oz?β
The sly smile returned as Claire shook her head. βNo. It is their eyes. The eyes will be a black pool. Bottomless and enticing. It is the eyes that suck the soul from her victimβs body.β
βAre there any real witches here in New Orleans?β
βThere have been many over the years. Not so much recently, but nowβ¦β
βWhat does that mean?β
βI am hearing rumors one has returned. Returned to seek vengeance on those that make a mockery of the ancient traditions.β
βDo you believe it?β
She sipped her coffee and then studied the contents. βIt is inevitable. We have strayed from the real purpose of Voodoo. It came about in this area to ease the burdens of the early slaves who toiled to make their masters rich. Now, those traditions have once again morphed into a system that exploits the workers and favors only a few rich men.β
βSo, you think she has returned to do good?β
Claire shrugged. βIt depends on your definition of good.β She paused. βBut no, I donβt believe she has returned to do anything positive. I feel she has arrived to threaten the livelihood of those who make their living here in the French Quarter.β
βDoes that include you?β
She sipped her coffee and then nodded.
βWhat can stop her?β
With a chuckle, the store owner said, βTwo things. Fire or a silver bullet through her black heart.β After another sip of coffee, she stared at Small. βWhy are you so interested?β
βIβm curious, thatβs all.β
βShorty Small, somehow I doubt that. I saw your palm last night. You are here for a specific reason.β
βYes.β
βBut you will not tell me.β
βNot right now, someday, maybe.β
* * * * * *
After Claire HonorΓ© returned to her apartment above the store to freshen up before she opened the shop at eleven a.m., Small returned to his room in the hotel. His doubts about a real witch returning to New Orleans seeking revenge remained in place. However, after listening to Claire at dinner last night and then again during breakfast, he retrieved the box of ammunition given to him by LaCroix and loaded a magazine with silver bullets.
As he pressed the shiny objects into the black metal sleeve, he mumbled to himself. βBetter to be prepared.β Once he completed this chore, he returned the weapon to the inside-the-pants holster at his waist.
At exactly noon, he walked northeast on Decatur Street until he arrived at Jackson Square. Taking the same park bench where he sat two days earlier, he watched the pedestrians and waited. Time passed slowly, but forty minutes later, a tall lanky man sat at the opposite end of the bench and said, βAny luck finding her?β
βNo.β
βHave you tried?β
βI know more today than I did yesterday.β
βAnd that means?β
βIβm working on it, asshole. You havenβt exactly been a fountain of information.β
βMore Tarot cards were found stuck to doors this morning.β
βWhich cards?β
βMostly The Tower card. One Death card.β
βWho got that one?β
βIt was on the mausoleum where the Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau is buried.β
βSounds like the cardβs a little late.β
βFunny, Shorty. The problem is the cemetery is closed to the public due to all the years of vandalism. The only way to access the grave site is during an official tour with a licensed tour guide.β
βOkay, they slipped in after dark.β
LaCroix shook his head. βMotion detectors and security cameras protect the property at night. The card was found this morning by a maintenance man. Just like the cards appearing on the desks, nothing showed up on the security cameras.β
βSo, what does the death card on a grave mean?β
βIβm no expert, but Iβm told it means a life-altering change is coming.β
Small laughed. βTo a grave?β
βNo. The person who spoke to me believes this is a sign the future of the French Quarter is in jeopardy. They want you to hurry and fulfill your assignment.β
Standing, the hitman looked down at his bench companion. βIβll check out the cemetery. In the meantime, tell your bosses, I make the schedule when the job is completed. No one else. If they push me, the contract will be null and void. Down payment is non-refundable. But you knew that, didnβt you, Homer?β
A nod was his answer.
* * * * * *
The guided tour of the Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1, where the mausoleum of Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau resided, lasted an hour, concluding at half-past five in the afternoon. Small paid little attention to the tour guide as he used the time to locate the security cameras throughout the grounds. As an expert in avoiding such devices, he concluded no one would be able to get near Marie Laveauβs final resting place without being seen by no less than four cameras.
With a growing realization he might be in over his head on this assignment, he walked back toward his hotel, making a stop at Claire HonorΓ©βs Gem store. When he approached the small shop, the front door stood ajar. Looking in, he saw nothing but chaos, smashed display cases, overturned shelving units and broken glass mixed with necklaces and bracelets covering the floor.
Small yelled, βClaire!β When he received no answer, he yelled it again.
He heard a faint voice say, βIn the back. Watch out for broken glass.β
Making his way toward the rear portion of the store, he found the proprietor in the room where psychic readings took place. Zip ties held her legs and wrists to a captainβs chair. She looked up at him. βItβs a mess out there, isnβt it?β
Hurrying to her, he used a pocketknife to cut her bindings. She stood and hugged him. βThanks. Youβre the first person to come by since this happened.β
βWhoβ¦β
βNever seen her before. Blonde, mid-forties, average height, and very pretty. I didnβt hear the bell on the door. It tells me when someone enters the shop. I was redoing a display. When I turned, there she stood, next to me. She scared me, Shorty.β
βHer?β
βThe one we talked about this morning. The eyes. They were black as coal and her breath smelled of Sulphur.β
βWhat did she say?β
βShe didnβt. Just swept her arms around in the air and all the damage you see out there occurred. She pushed me into this room and thatβs all I remember until I heard you calling my name.β
βWhereβs your front door key?β
She pulled a set out of one of her jeans pockets and handed it to him. When he returned, he said, βYou need to call the police.β
She shook her head. βWonβt do any good. They wonβt believe me.β
βJust tell them a bunch of druggies broke in and did it. That way the insurance company will have a police report to work with.β
She tilted her head to the side. βIβm impressed, Mr. Small. Are you a former cop?β
βNo. But Iβve dealt with the police before. Theyβll buy the story about a break-in.β
Claire folded her arms. βShe knows I spoke to you last night.β
βWho knows?β
βThe witch youβre chasing.β
βHard to chase someone youβve never seen.β
βFigure of speech, Shorty.β
βI know. You sure she just waved her arms?β
βPositive.β
Small looked at all the damage. βCall the police, Iβll stick around and make sure they take you seriously.β
* * * * * *
After the police finished taking pictures and asking questions, they left and Small escorted Claire up the back staircase to her apartment. Nothing seemed out of place. He said, βMake sure nothing is missing.β
She glanced at him. βWhat do you mean?β
βMake sure she didnβt come up here and take something personal.β
βLike what?β
βI donβt know. A hairbrush or something like that.β
With a frown, Claire walked toward a closed door and entered the room. She reemerged holding a brown object. βHereβs my brush.β
βGood, look for anything youβve used personally.β
She tapped her foot. βAre you telling me you believe sheβs a witch?β
βIβm not saying anything. Just look for something personal missing.β
She went through another door into what Small could see contained a bed. Ten minutes later, she emerged, her eyes wide. βShorty, your t-shirt I wore home last night is missing.β
* * * * * *
The stillness on the streets of the French Quarter seemed out of place as Small returned to his hotel room just before dawn the next morning. When he entered his room, he half expected it to be trashed like Claireβs small store. However, nothing seemed out of place.
After placing a Do Not Disturb sign on his hotel room doorknob, he stripped and took a long hot shower. Emerging minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist, he stopped suddenly at the sight of a blonde woman standing in the middle of his hotel room.
Her eyes appraised him. βMonsieur Small, why do you seek me out?β
βYouβve caught me at a disadvantage, I donβt know your name.β
βBecause I did not give it to you.β Her accent was French, the voice slightly hoarse. βNow, why do you seek me out?β
βIβve been offered a contract to find you.β
βAnd kill me?β
He shrugged. βI havenβt yet, have I?β
βNo.β She tilted her head and walked toward the door. βYou have no idea of what you are involved with.β
βCare to enlighten me?β
Her hand touched the doorknob and she turned to look at him. βNo, you need to discover it yourself. What you find could shake the very foundation of who you believe yourself to be.β
With a smile, she dissolved into a blue mist. It rose and disappeared into the air vent above the door. The tightness in his stomach caused him to hurry to the closet. He checked his Glock 19. It remained where he left it before his shower. Taking the weapon from the holster, he ejected the magazine and checked the number of rounds. None were missing. He carried it back to the bathroom.
* * * * * *
βWho the hell sent you to hire me, Homer?β
LaCroix raised his hands, palms toward the man sitting across from him. βEasy, Shorty. What happened?β
βA blonde bitch with black eyes is what happened.β
Raising his eyebrows, the skinny man lowered his hands. βYou saw her?β
βIn the middle of my hotel room. She was there, then she wasnβt.β
βWhat do you mean?β
βShe was there, then, poof, she wasnβt.β
βDid she call you by name?β
βYes.β
βDamn.β
βWho is she?β
Closing his eyes, LaCroix scowled. βShe knows why youβre here.β
βObviously.β He folded his arms.
βWhen she disappeared on the street the other day, did you see anything strange?β
βNo, just a black cat.β
βOh, dear.β
βWhat the hell does that mean?β
βNot a good sign.β
βIβll be leaving today. I told you I was done with the business. Youβve successfully convinced me I should have stayed retired.β
βYou canβt.β
βI can.β
βTheyβll want their money back.β
βLike I told you, Homer. No refunds. Besides, I have expenses.β
LaCroix examined the hitman. βDid she scare you?β
Small stared at the thin man. βScare, no. Convince me you havenβt been telling me the truth, yes.β
βTheyβll send someone to collect.β
βLaCroix, you havenβt been listening, have you? No refunds.β
βThe next messenger wonβt be as easy to get along with.β
βI can be the same way. Remember?β
The thin man nodded. βThey donβt like people who fail at assignments.β
βWhatβs that mean?β
βProbably the last time youβll see me.β
βGood, I didnβt want to see you this time.β
βNo, I mean Iβll be taken into the swamp and fed to the gators. No one will find a body.β
Small rolled his eyes. βReally, Homer? Youβre giving me a sob story?β
βItβs not a sob story. Itβs a fact and will happen.β
Small took a calming breath. βWell, we canβt have that.β He narrowed his eyes. βDonβt you think itβs time you told me the truth?β
βI did.β He paused for a second. βI might have left out a few details, but the people who hired me are really scared about the appearance of a new witch.β
βWhatβd you leave out?β
Taking a deep breath, LaCroix let it out slowly. βIt all has to do with money.β
βIt always does.β
βYeah, but Iβm talking millions of dollars.β
Small glared at his friend.
βThe powers that be like the way the current system works. The tourist industry generates revenue for the area, and each of the businesses within the French Quarter pays their fair share to the tourist board.β
βVoluntarily or is there an enforcement squad?β
βUhβthe latter.β
βThought so. And some of the local businesses donβt like it.β
With a nod, LaCroix continued. βThe tourism board got greedy and raised the percentage businesses have to pay a year ago. A lot of the business owners banded together and found a way to fight it.β
βA witch?β
βYeah, they used black magic and conjured up a witch.β
Small laughed out loud and shook his head. βYou donβt need me, Homer. All of you need a trip to the psych ward. Youβre all crazy.β
βThatβs why they had the silver bullets made. Youβve seen her disappear. You know sheβs real.β
βI donβt know how she did it, but itβs not black magic. Thereβs no such thing.β
The thin man shrugged. βOthers think different.β
βIβll prove it by finding her. Iβll prove sheβs a fake and you guys can pay me the rest of the money.β
βThey just want her gone.β
* * * * * *
After his meeting with LaCroix, Small stopped by Claireβs shop to see if she needed any help cleaning up the small store. When he arrived, he saw the sign indicating the shop would be closed for remodeling. He tried the doorknob and found it open. Stepping in, he discovered the shop in the same state of chaos as the night before. βClaire?β He waited. No response. Stepping in, he called her name again. βClaire?β Still silence.
He climbed the stairs in the back toward the apartment and knocked on the door. No response. Taking a slim tool out of his billfold, he unlocked the door and stepped in. βClaire, itβs Shorty.β
Silence.
With his concern growing, he took the stairs back down two at a time and hurried to the sΓ©ance room. Empty.
He turned toward the front door and saw the blonde woman. He said, βWhat have you done with Claire?β
βSheβs gone.β
βI can see that. Where?β
βAway.β
Small withdrew the Glock from his concealed holster and pointed it at the specter. βI donβt know who you are, and quite frankly, donβt care. I do care about Claire. Now, where is she?β
The woman fixed her coal-black eyes on Small. βSheβs where youβll never find her.β
βMy patience has limits, lady.β
βYou shoot me with a silver bullet, and youβll never find her.β
βSounds like we have a stalemate.β
βYes.β
βYou first.β
βLeave New Orleans and Madame HonorΓ© will be free.β
βI have a counter proposal for you, let her go and I wonβt shoot you.β
The response from the blonde woman surprised Small. She cackled like a witch from a Hollywood movie.
He shook his head and leveled the gun at her heart. βWas that supposed to scare me?β
She frowned and backed up toward the front door. Slowly at first, she quickened her pace and said, βThe one you seek. Is unconscious and weak. Find her you must. Before the end of dusk.β Just as she reached it, the door opened by itself. Emitting another cackle, she stepped onto the sidewalk and vanished.
βDamn.β Small ran to the still open door and stepped outside the shop. He looked up and down Chartres Street, the woman was nowhere to be seen. He turned to look at the building and noticed another floor above Claireβs apartment. Dashing back into the shop, he took the stairs two at a time to her apartment. Inside, he hurried from one room to the next. When he entered the kitchen, he noticed a door on the far side of the room.
* * * * * *
Claire was indeed unconscious and unresponsive. The Paramedics loaded her into the ambulance and within seconds, the siren spooled up as it accelerated south toward Decatur Street.
He turned to a police officer, who had responded along with the ambulance to his 911 call, and asked, βWhere are they taking her?β
βUniversity Medical Center, itβs over on Canal Street.β
Small nodded.
The officer looked around the shop. βYou were here yesterday, werenβt you?β
βYes.β
βWant to tell me why youβre here again?β
βI came by to see if she needed help cleaning up.β
βDoesnβt look like she got much done. When did you last see her?β
Small turned his attention to the policeman. βWhen I left.β
The officerβs hand slowly moved toward his service weapon.
Noting the cop moving his hand. Small said, βAfter you guys left last night, I made sure she was okay before leaving. I made her some tea and stayed with her until she fell asleep. It was somewhere around four in the morning.β
His hand returned to a neutral position. βYou from around here?β
βNo, Iβm here on business.β
βWant to tell me more about this blonde woman you mentioned?β
Small debated with himself about how much to tell the officer. Finally, he said, βNot much to tell. When I first got here, the place was empty. I went up and checked Claireβs apartment. I didnβt know about the third floor at that time. When I came back down, she was standing in the middle of the shop.β
βDid she tell you were Ms. HonorΓ© was?β
βYes.β
βSo, you think sheβs the one who assaulted her?β
βYes.β
The officer nodded. βWhere are you staying?β
He gave the cop his hotelβs address and told him where he lived in Chicago. After the man left, he locked the front door to the shop and started walking toward the hospital.
* * * * * *
Small stood at the side of Claireβs hospital bed and looked down at her.
She glanced up and said, βWhat happened, Shorty?β
βI was hoping you could tell me, Claire.β
βAll I remember is, I slept until noon. After a few cups of coffee, I went down to the shop and placed a sign on the front door about being closed for a few days. Then I woke up here.β She paused for a moment. βThey told me if I hadnβt been found, I probably wouldnβt have made it.β
He frowned. βDid they say why?β
βNo, just that I had a weak pulse and low blood oxygen.β She reached for his hand and held it. βA nurse told me a friend found me. That friend was you, wasnβt it?β
He nodded.
βThank you. I was on the third floor, wasnβt I?β
βYes.β
βI have rarely ventured up there. Too dark and spooky.β
βWhatβs this witch got against you, Claire?β
βI have no idea.β
Small crossed his arms. βTheyβre gonna let you go home here soon. Why donβt you stay with me at the hotel tonight? I can look around the shop tomorrow and see if I can find any clues who this blonde woman might be.β
She squeezed his hand. βI like that idea.β
* * * * * *
Using a flashlight purchased before he ventured up to the third floor, Small swept the beam around the cluttered area. Claire followed him into the room.
βIβve never really been up here much, Shorty. The wiring is messed up which means, no lights. Since I donβt need the room, Iβve never made the repairs.β
He looked at her and frowned. βYou own the building?β
βYeah.β She paused. βActually, I inherited it from my grandmother. She was the one who started the gem shop. I worked there until she died. I moved in and took over the shop.β
βDo you know the history of the building?β
She shook her head.
He turned his attention back to the contents of the third floor. He moved further into the darkness and his flashlight shown on a brick wall. βIs there a room behind this wall, Claire?β
βI have no idea.β
He detected a strained tone to her voice. Turning, he pointed the flashlight back at her and found she stood with her arms folded, shivering.
βYou cold?β
βAll of a sudden Iβm freezing.β
He walked back to stand beside her. A distinct cold air pocket hung over the area. He heard a loud noise behind him. Pointing the flashlight toward the sound, he watched a door open in the wall. A figure emerged with a brilliant halo surrounding it.
Claire screamed and Shorty Small did what Shorty Small did best. He retrieved the Glock from his concealed holster, pointed it at the figure and started squeezing the trigger.
* * * * * *
Homer LaCroix handed the envelope with the additional thirty thousand dollars to Shorty Small. βThe powers that be are very pleased with the outcome, my friend.β
βGood, I like satisfied clients.β He tilted his head. βYou in good standing with them?β
βExtremely. They like your style and asked me to see if you would move to New Orleans. They haveβuhβpossible other projects for you. Your moving expenses would be picked up, of course.β
βReally. Let me think about it.β
βI bet Claire would like for you to move.β
βShe would.β
βThen, whatβd ya say.β
βIβll think about it.β
βShe doing, okay?β
βYes, thanks for asking.β
βWhen did you figure out the witch lived on the third floor of her building?β
βThe first time I saw the place, I didnβt notice the third floor. Almost like it didnβt exist. The night I found Claire, I stood outside and noticed there was another floor above her apartment. I honestly donβt remember seeing it before. I found the staircase to it behind a door in her kitchen.β
βHow many did you find?β
βThe blonde bitch with the black eyes was there. Not sure how many others. As soon as I shot her, she shrieked and dissolved into a puddle of water. The others disappeared.β
βWhat happened to the water?β
Small gave LaCroix a half-smile. βSopped it up with a towel, then burned it.β
βDoes Claire know anything?β
βNahβshe passed out when the door opened. She inherited the building from her grandmother. Who, I discovered after a trip to the library, was a well-known Voodoo Queen before the turn of the century. I also found a picture of the woman in a digital copy of a newspaper.β
βOh.β
βYeah, blonde and a pretty woman.β
βAre you telling meβ¦β
βYeah, the witch was Claireβs grandmother. Claire doesnβt know that, so keep your mouth shut.β
βWhy?β
βThink about it, would you want to know your grandmother tried to kill you?β
LaCroix smiled and nodded. He tilted his head. βThereβs always something going on around here that needs someone with your talent. Why donβt you say goodbye to Chicago and join us down here?β
The big man was quiet for a few moments. He pursed his lips. βYeah. Chicago doesnβt hold that many good memories for me. Guess, if a hurricane comes, I can always head north.β
π§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
Written by J.C. Fields Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/Aπ More stories from author: J.C. Fields
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