(From the collection Lastie’s Grimoire by C.D. Brown)
The Heart of Power
by C.D. Brown
I was relieved that Gwen called me first and not the police. The police would have given it to the press and that would have made it worse than it already was.
The call came on a warm Friday night, somewhere in that weird place between the false spring and vicious summer. New Orleanians shut their doors and turn on their window units for the five-month war against heat. I choose not to fight nature, so when the phone call woke me up, small dots of moisture beaded on my forehead. She tried not to scream, but the teary bawls that came between each word were full of pain. I told her I would be over. I didn’t say everything would be all right, because nothing will ever be the same for her now that Reggie was dead.
Gwen came from proud Creole blood and her skin was milky brown. The fact that Reggie was so dark didn’t really set her family to complaining. Who would say no to an All-Pro lineman in the family?
I pulled up to the large brick house they kept in Gentilly. Football would let him live anywhere, even on St. Charles Avenue, but they chose to stay near Gwen’s roots. Reggie was a project boy from Jackson, Mississippi and he didn’t care where he lived so long as there were only the two of them in the bed and no gunshots on the porch. I didn’t knock as I got to the front door, just walked right in. The large living room was dark and I saw the shadow of Gwen weeping on the leather couch. She didn’t stand up so I went over to her and put my arms around her. She felt frozen, stiff from her neck to her toes. Under her breath, she said something.
“What’s that, baby?” She took in two sharp breaths and let it all out.
“Why, Lastie? Why would they do this to that beautiful man?” She grabbed me back now, her fingernails digging into my arm, chin digging in my back and the strength of three men grabbing me tight. Even though she was killing me, I let her get it all out. I could hold on as long as she needed me.
She finally let go. She was in need of help that I couldn’t give her right now. I leaned over and whispered, “Where’s he at?”
“The back porch.” Reggie always came in the back way to avoid people in the street. Somebody must have cased his nabits.
I moved quickly and spotted the crimson pool where Reggie’s body lay. He was on his back, his arms and legs wide open. As I got closer, I saw his chest was split like he had been hit by a shotgun. That was enough for me to see.
“I’m gonna call Frank.” She nodded to me. Now would come the worst part.
When Detective Frank Jasmin of the New Orleans police department came, a crowd soon followed. He had to get on the radio to call a coroner and, when he did that, the reporters made the scene. I kept Gwen from those cats, sending her upstairs to the bedroom. I found some Percodan from the time Reggie messed up his knee and the pills allowed her to space out for a bit and catch a little sleep. Frank was getting the lowdown from a group of cops when I came back down.
“What did the neighbors say?” Frank looked at me wearily. We see each other in these situations way too often.
“Wasn’t a gun, I can tell you that for sure.”
“With that big hole in his chest? Look like he was hit by a thirty-ought-six or something.”
“Well, the neighbors would’ve heard something. As it stands, we’re the ones who got everybody out of bed.” Frank stroked his moustache. His face looked pale and his eyes were sagging. Reggie didn’t care much for me, but I introduced him to Frank. They did a lot of charity work together and I know that Frank thought he was the greatest. I mostly thought about Gwen and the hole this put in her life.
“Nobody would’ve heard this, Frank. He was hit on the back of the head.” The coroner’s assistant walked up to us. “One shot from a blunt object and he was down on the ground. This guy knew right where to hit him, too. One thing I can’t explain. The heart is gone, cut right out. That’s the cause of all that blood.”
“What kind of sick fuck are we dealing with here?” Frank was looking right at me.
“Shee, I don’t know. There’s lots of stuff this could be. You asking me for help?” Frank nodded and I nodded back. Although my tax form says I’m a businessman, I do consult with the police department, especially Frank. I’m considered a specialist with the black community and on unnatural crimes.
I decided that going home would be useless so I went over to my shop. I have a place in the French Quarter where I sell voodoo trinkets and candles along with new age books and anything else I can get my hands on. Most of the stuff is bullshit, but I need the money. I head a local voudon group and this shop pays for our ceremonies. That was why Reggie didn’t like me. He was a devout Baptist and he thought I was too weird to hang out with his wife. Gwen and I had known each other since grade school and she wasn’t about to lose one of her oldest friends, so we made nice most of the time. I was always impressed with his performance on the field and I gave him the respect he deserved as a brother, but he wouldn’t let me close. Maybe if he had, I could figure out why all this had come down.
While I waited for Frank to come by, I went out to the courtyard behind the shop. I switched on a recording of drums that I use for meditation and ritual. The drive of the rhythm kept me focused on what I had to do. The sun was coming up, and the sky turned a shallow orange. I went over to my prayer box and opened it. In there, I kept my statue of Legbah, plus rum and cigars for blessing. I picked up one of the unfinished cigars and lit it, blowing smoke onto the statue as an offering. I took a sip from the rum bottle and spit it for ablutions. I then danced, slowly at first, but building up. I felt the heat rise and the sweat fall, but I was energized. So many years ago, when Legbah had chosen me as one of his earthly vessels, I made a vow to praise him every day. This ceremony was for him. About seven minutes into the dance, I felt the spirit enter me. I could still see and hear, but my actions were not my own. Legbah always pushed me harder and harder. I felt my muscles pull and creak as I slid back and forth to the heavy beat.
And then the vision hit me. Normally, I didn’t have sights outside of my own, but I found myself in a rose-colored world like some sort of strange dawn. I felt myself spinning slowly and, as I looked around, I could see that I was at a crossroads. When I stopped spinning, I looked directly at a cross. At the bottom was a muscular black man pushing up against the supporting middle beam. He turned around to face me, his chest empty and his eyes gone, leaving only dry sockets. He spoke to me slowly.
“The vessel shall become the master.” He turned back around and I spun again. Faster and faster I twirled, until all I saw was my courtyard.
I stopped dancing to stretch out. My body was soaked as I felt the humidity cover me like plastic wrap. I went to the sink in the back room, splashing some tap water on my face.
I got on the phone and called Willie. I knew he would still be in bed, but he was too much of a player to be away from his phone for too long. After the third call, I heard my own cellphone ring.
“Why you sweating me, bruh?” Willie’s voice was gravelly. I obviously had woken him up.
“I need a favor from you. Word on the street kind of thing.”
“Man, I just got in bed. Shee. Ain’t nobody gonna be in the streets at this time.”
“Then hop on the horn, Willie. This is important. I need to know if the drug dealers had Reggie King killed.” It took him nearly a minute to say anything.
“The King is dead? When did this happen?”
“Last night. You gonna help me or what?”
“Yeah, bruh. I’m your niggah.”
“Brother, I told you to excise that word from your vocabulary.” “Ah-ight, Mr. Lastie. You be hearing from me in an hour.”
I spent the day helping a few customers while I waited for Willie. I kept thinking about Reggie and how quickly he died. This was a guy who crashed his car into a light pole at seventy miles an hour. Doctors said he would miss two months of football and he was back on the field in two weeks. But I know life ain’t like those TV shows. You take a shot on the back of the neck, you don’t just turn and smile. Your brain shuts down and you go black.
Around ten, Shimalley, my counter clerk, walked in the door. She looked like her bones had been boiled.
“Last night, Mr. Lastie, when I was praying, I had a vision. I saw you. I mean it was your face and your body, but …” I moved closer to her. “You were white. And you were surrounded by all of the loas, except Legbah. You were pushing them around and then broke out of the circle. You walked over to me and laughed, saying, ‘I need me some good things, little sister.’ Then you turned to Egwili, tore her head off and started sucking down her entrails.”
She shook with fear. Egwili was Shimally’s personal loa. She represented all of the positive aspects of female nature. I told her about my vision and that made her more upset. I told her to go home and I would take care of the shop on my own. My phone rang near eleven-thirty. It was Frank and he had the autopsy results. I told him I waited for Willie to call, but I would meet him at noon. Just as I hung up, the phone rang again.
“Whoever whacked Reggie didn’t deal no drugs.” Willie is rarely serious and this caught me off guard.
“You positive?”
“Serious as a heart attack, jack. Most of the pros down here know the ‘just say no’ is bullshit and don’t pay him no mind. What they saw was the cat on the field making shit for quarterbacks. Reggie King only had fans, Mr. Lastie.”
My only idea was dead. I closed up the shop and went to Central Grocery, picking up a muffaletta sandwich. I have been trying to cut meat from my diet for some time now, but those sandwiches with ham, salami and a big pile of olive salad kept calling me back. I took the sandwich up to the levee of the Mississippi River where Frank would be waiting for me. I saw him at a park bench with two Barq’s root beers, one with my name on it.
The heat hadn’t let up and it was even worse in the Quarter, but at the riverside there is always a breeze. Frank waved when he saw me. Right above Frank’s hand, on the Western horizon, I saw a storm cloud rising. It wasn’t like the rest of the sky, but floated out there in the west like smoke. I couldn’t look away from it. Suddenly I felt a stabbing pain like a small shark bite in my back. I winced, shook my head and the cloud was gone.
“Earth to Lastie.” Frank waved his hand right in front of my face. “Jesus, guy, get a grip.”
I sat down and handed him a quarter of the round sandwich.
“I thought your religion said you couldn’t eat pork.”
“That’s Islam. How long you known me?”
“Easy. Here, read the report.”
He handed me a manila envelope and I rifled through the pages for the summary. Something caught my attention.
“What does your boy mean here? The cuts are precise?”
“He’s saying that whoever cut the heart out of Reggie King did a very good job of it. He most probably used a razor or even a scalpel. Which gives us our next lead.”
“Yeah, check out the seven hundred doctors in town.”
“Don’t forget the three hundred medical students, too.”
“So, I guess I have to try to narrow the list.”
“Call the regular weirdoes and find out who their doctors are.”
We spent the next ten minutes mostly silent, finishing lunch and thinking. I had a few ideas, so I headed back to the shop.
One of the things I hate the most is waiting. Voudon teaches, among other things, patience and passivity, but, in a situation when I feel helpless, I can’t help but try to figure the right way to act. There is only a small community of voudon practitioners here in New Orleans, but I keep in touch with all of them. I, for instance, do not allow white people into my group. They have the same right to worship as I do, and there are many white voudons who are my friends. But I take the less fortunate and the disenfranchised and give them a reason for living. Voudon is powerful and, when these people get some of that power for themselves, they feel ready to change their situations. So, when white people come to me for guidance, I send them to one of the others who can help them.
I got on the phone and gave a quick survey. Sure, there were plenty of doctors, just as there were plenty of lawyers and business people and freaks. I had a list of names together and I was ready to call them all after I met with the voudons. Anyway, it was time for me to go home. Right as I had turned out the lights, the phone rang. It was Frank.
“We got another one. Same deal. This one is out on Airline Highway, close to Baton Rouge.” He said the name of a hotel.
“That hotel sounds so familiar to me.” I thought for a second. “Hold up, that’s where Reverend Swillings got caught with the prostitute.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“I read it in the tabloids.”
“You read those things?”
“The truth comes in many forms, friend. What was the victim’s name?” He told me a name and I knew automatically that this was the same woman who slept with the preacher.
“I can’t see a connection.” Frank was worried, an emotion no detective ever wanted to show.
“Neither do I, Frank, but there will be. I have a feeling the person doing this wants to be known. The reason why ain’t here, but it won’t be pretty.” Frank agreed, asking me about my search. I told him about my list and he asked me to call him once I got a lead.
“Frank, is that hotel to the west?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just had a funny feeling is all.”
I told everybody to meet me at my shop tomorrow morning before I opened. Some protested because they held their ceremonies at midnight, but eventually they all said they would make it. After an early morning dance, I was ready to greet my brothers and sisters. It’s rare that we’re all in the same room together, because we all lead different lives in many different sections of the city. Although New Orleans is small compared to other cities, actual distance is stretched. Even though the farthest reaches of Uptown are twenty minutes from my shop, the Uptowners complain about having to go “all the way to the Quarter.” And the Westbankers don’t even like to come into the city. But we have our big party on Halloween at rotating spots and no one seems to complain then.
Everyone knew that Reggie King was dead, but the details had been kept under wraps. They told me all the rumors floating around: a gang hit, the KKK, suicide, all the most ridiculous things that people can come up with. Kwame, my old student who had branched out on his own, told me he heard it was a vampire. I told them the details and each agreed it was worse than they thought it was.
“No disrespect, Lastie, but we don’t do this shit here. You know it. I know it. Why don’t you bust up with them Satan worshipers?” Kwame was an intense kid and I wanted to stop him quick before he got beyond my control.
“Kwame, how long have you had your congregation together?”
“You know.”
“Yes, I do. And I also know in that short time, you had to ask a few people to leave. They weren’t following along like you, or any one of us, would have wanted. And also, you don’t know what nobody does when they ain’t around. You trust people, but you don’t know them. All I know is someone is breaking down the trust and that ain’t right. You dig, chief?”
“I’m cool with that.” I started to see some nods and a few stood up, figuring I was done and they didn’t have any answers. While everyone filed out, Sharon Casey stayed behind. She was a heavy young woman in her late twenties and one of the most deeply committed voudons in the city. She was from some rural town in Minnesota that was as white as they come but, when she came here to go to Tulane, she found my shop and started asking questions. I didn’t take her on, but I sent her over to Sister Jamila who did take white girls and molded them into great vessels. Sharon was still very shy in the big group, so I knew she was gonna tell me what I wanted to hear.
“Lastie, do you remember last Halloween at my place? I introduced you to a guy I was dating at the time.” I thought back. He was a tall, skinny guy with wire-rim glasses and sapphire blue eyes. He looked right into my eyes without blinking. He shook my hand a bit too firmly and was on the fringe of the party all night. “His name was Bruce. Do you remember the conversation we three had that night?”
“He wanted to know about mounting. He was real concerned with how I felt. He was real deep into power or something.”
“I should have come to you earlier, but I didn’t know this was going to happen. We had been dating up until about two weeks ago. But then he started to trip out. He was even more intense, then out of control. He wanted so desperately to be mounted, but I told him it wouldn’t work until he was more passive. He just kept trying to force it and it didn’t work.
“So he started talking more about power. You know, personal power. How can you get it, all that stuff I don’t deal with. He got some books from that crazy bookshop on Magazine Street and it gave him all these ideas.”
“Okay, how does this fit?”
“Bruce is in his third year of medical school.”
My hand shot to the phone. Sharon gave Frank the address and we sped across town to his apartment. Frank and four backup cars waited for us. We stayed outside as the cops crept up on his porch. They yelled into the building, getting no reply. They crashed through the door, but Bruce was gone.
Littered through his room were stones of various sizes, each marked with their weight. Bruce had been making totems out of beads and feathers, hanging them from the ceiling and forming a swinging gauntlet of dolls. There was no furniture but a futon in the middle of the floor and that was surrounded with votive candles, each marked with a cross. I didn’t notice until I had walked up to the bed that it was at the center of a another huge cross carved into the floor. It must have taken Bruce weeks to carve its intricate design. Frank’s phone rang, breaking the stunned silence.
Frank walked away from the group to take the call. I turned to Sharon.
“He’s put himself at the crossroads.”
The crossroads is the place of power. My divine rider, Legbah, is the its god. You could make any deal you wanted with him and he would give you exactly what you want, but for his price. Legbah was tricky and I couldn’t see why Bruce called him there.
I stepped into the bathroom to look for any more clues and the shark bite hit me again. I fell to the tile floor head first, feeling the crunch on my skull. I went black.
Once again, I found myself at the rose-colored place. I faced myself this time, the way Shimally described it. This other me laughed and pointed. In the middle of the crossroads was a crucifix with Legbah hanging from it. He clapped his hands and the cross flamed up, changing the color of the world from rose to orange. I stood to face myself, when the world faded and I opened my eyes to find myself on the tile again.
Frank and the other cops stood over me. I wasn’t bleeding, but my head was bruised and hurting.
“We just got report of some Klan guy in Mississippi had his heart cut out. You see any connection?”
“What city, Frank?”
“Greenwood.”
“Patch a call to the Mississippi State Troopers and tell them to get as many cars as they can to the intersection of Highways 61 and 49.”
“Why?”
“That’s where Bruce is going. How fast can we get there?”
“I could try to get the helicopter, but I need a good reason.”
“He’ll be there, Frank. I give you my word.”
Greenwood, Mississippi was only a few miles from that crossroads. He was heading right up Highway 61 to get there. I knew because it was the most powerful cross in America. Legend has it Robert Johnson, the great blues guitarist, sold his soul to the Devil at that very spot. And I knew that Legbah had become the Devil after black people came to America.
I sent Sharon home and Frank and I went to the chopper pad. I gave him the skinny on the myths and he felt I was right. The flight took about an hour and we stayed silent for the rest of the trip. I kept saying to myself that the troopers would have him and I wasn’t necessary. But my spine tingled and my legs bounced and I knew that I went for a reason.
As we neared the intersection, I could see the police lights flashing. Thick clouds covered the entire area and, although it was three in the afternoon, it looked like dusk.
“Holy shit!” It was the pilot on my headset. I leapt to my feet to see his view. For about ten yards to each side, the crossroads was a bloody red.
“Put down here.” Whatever was going on down there, I didn’t want the pilot involved. He landed and Frank and I got out. Frank held his pistol, but I knew it was going to be useless.
As we approached, I saw Bruce standing at the middle of the cross. He had a contented smile on his face. Strewn through the trees at the roadside were bodies of highway patrol officers, each gutted and purged, their blood used to mark the highway. As I walked up, a flash of lightning sparked in the distance.
“Lastie, I have been waiting for you. I hoped my messages were clear enough.” His tone was friendly and his hands extended toward me.
“Hello, Bruce. Sharon is worried about you.”
“And yet, I have moved way beyond her. She was a good introduction, but now the student has exceeded that master. Which is why I wanted you here.”
“This is a funny application to my school.”
“I don’t want to study with you. I have progressed even beyond your level. I need to see Legbah.” And in my head, I heard the drums. He called to the big man and I was the phone.
Without hesitation, I started to move. Lastie was outgunned, but Legbah could take this turkey. The drums in my head boomed louder and louder. I winced with pain, but I danced as hard as I could.
Without me even realizing it, Legbah was upon me. My mouth spoke to Bruce.
“You call me to the crossroads, young one. What is your request?” I could feel my whole body tensing, each limb on fire. Never before had I been this close to my protector.
Bruce’s smile disappeared. He put his hands to his side with the palms facing up.
“I have no request of you.” I could feel a surge coming from him. All of his force concentrated in his hands. “Legbah, I called you here to kill you and take your place!”
He leveled his hands at me and I felt a stunning force. Thrown up off my feet, I landed hard in the grass. I rolled up to face him again.
He clapped his hands together and the sound of thunder deafened me. I felt weak, all of my energy draining. I got to one knee and chopped the air, sending a bolt toward his head. With a sudden motion, he blocked it and it sailed into a tree, which cracked and fell with a crash.
“It’s over, Legbah. I shall defeat your vessel and banish you forever.” He leapt straight at me, his body cutting the air like a spear.
Two words appeared in the front of my brain. “Be passive.” I relaxed as he neared me, his hands close to my throat. As I saw his fingernails, I fell to the ground and kicked up. I caught him in the kneecaps and he went sailing into a police car. Glass and plastic exploded everywhere. I stood up. Bruce, cuts crying all over his body, jumped to the top of the car.
In a flash, he was next to me. His hands shot to my throat and I was paralyzed by his grip. Words came again to my brain. “Break him now and he shall fall.”
With my last burst, I grabbed both of his forearms and lifted my feet into his body. There was a crackle of light and he flew backwards. We both landed hard on the ground. I heard myself speak, the choking having rasped my voice.
“You are powerful, young one, yet you are human. You cannot defeat me.”
Bruce’s smile returned. “I have the power in me, lord. Black power, female power and white power, all from the hearts of latent beings. I have surpassed humanity and I want my seat at the table of the gods.” He flung himself at me again. Before I realized anything, I heard a sick crunch and felt something pounding in my hand. I wrenched back and Bruce’s heart lay there in my palm. I looked into his blank eyes. He was human, all right.
I fell to the ground, completely exhausted as Legbah returned to his domain. In a few seconds, Frank stood over me. His eyes were wide and he had the same pale look he had at Reggie King’s house.
“Is it over, Lastie?”
“Yeah.”
Even though Bruce swallowed the power of the heart, his own was just too weak, like a starved baby. Maybe if he had listened to what voudon said, he could have found his own power in right way. Instead, he had to die to find out he was wrong.
