Chapter 4

My decision to contact the Voodoo Queen for some assistance on this Bayou kidnapping case was truly from a sense of sheer desperation in failing my assignment.

The relationship with the ghost-like creature down New Orleans way was tenuous at best ever since the crazy business about her afflicted close cult follower Lovey and my shameful behavior in the debacle. (Read the continuing saga of “The Voodoo Queen”)

I managed to somehow stay on the good side of both Dora (My own Pussy Galore) and the luscious Brenda, her camel-toed girlfriend without any blood being shed. I admit that I did have to spank the both of them fairly hard in the process, but that seemed more of an incentive than a punishment at the time.

The pay-phone was in an odd place.

The things are usually right outside a bar, a gas station or near a bus stop, but this son of a bitch was sitting out on the side of a dirt road with a barbed wire fence behind it and nothing in either direction as far as the eye could see. I wondered what telephone company employee had been thinking of to set it up in such an isolated spot. It was like it was an insult or a joke to prior proper planning. I just shook my head in absolute disbelief because it was like some cosmic genie had answered my prayer for deliverance and if I used it I would be forever beholden to the forces of evil and had lost my soul just like all those poor bastards that were under the Vampire curse of eternal life in a state of death. I never understood how all those pirate pricks and Lafitte himself were able to get visible erections and start working over some innocent female civilian with their cocks as well as their deadly fangs.

The Voodoo Queen was adamant about not drinking too deeply of civilians and introduce the evidence of a body count to cause a reason for hunting the Vampire packs under her control. The “children” she commanded were careful to follow her instructions in such matters and they had existed for many decades right under the watchful eyes of the heavy-handed NOPD (New Orleans Police Department) in a symbiotic relationship with the Mardi Gras and the plentiful supply of blood from the hordes of human fun seekers that visited the Big Easy.

The Voodoo Queen had taken my blood to help restore her Lovey to health, but the results were less than satisfying and the poor thing was only a shadow of her former beauty. I had to bear my guilt for a share of causing the unintended consequences of her prolonged state of incapacitation. I hoped the Voodoo Queen would remember some of the good I had done to help her band to continue existence and would not still harbor her need for revenge against my mistakes of the past.

I read the instructions on the top of the midnight black shell-like box and lifted the receiver taking a moment to wipe it off with an antiseptic wipe because I didn’t know how long it was out in the wilderness and what had crawled across it in the middle of the night. I had a roll of quarters in my hot little fist and stood ready to do business with the miracle of modern day invention.

A voice came on the earpiece and instructed me to deposit $1.25 to complete the connection. I dropped in five quarters and waited for the familiar ring that would confirm the phone was actually working and was not in use with some other third party.

On the third ring, the phone was picked up at the other end and I heard the voice of one of Marie’s handmaidens answering with a melodious tone,

“You have reached the Church of the Joyous Redeemer. How may I assist you?”

I knew for a fact that her handmaidens were all virgins and only engaged in anal sex according to the Voodoo Queen’s teachings to keep their mystical power at peak levels for important ceremonies and special transactions that benefited the Clan.

“May I speak to Marie, tell her it is her old friend Harry Henderson, “Detective” Harry Henderson. I know she will want to speak to me.”

There was a dead space and I knew the handmaiden was weighting her options. Then, she announced,

“I will have to pass on your message to the party and you will get a call back at your number within the next five minutes. Just hang up and you will be called. I have your number on my screen and you will hear from us right away.”

I hung up the receiver and opened a can of orange soda even though it hadn’t been iced down. I liked that stuff at room temperature better than cold because it tasted more orangey that way.

Sure enough, it only took about four minutes for the phone to ring and I picked it up expecting to speak to the Voodoo Queen.

The masculine voice at the other end of the line was obviously not the Voodoo Queen and he politely asked me the reason for my call.

I asked him if it might be possible to talk to Marie directly and he laughed with a deep sound of pitying disbelief and told me,

“The Queen is powerful busy these days, Detective Henderson. You know how it goes. Give me the gist of what you want from her and she might call you back near close of business about five PM this afternoon.”

I explained that I was working on a kidnapping case down in the Bayou and gave him the name of the client and the location of the pick-up site. I asked that the Queen send me a few strong-arm followers to help me make a sortie into the Bayou backcountry in case the ransom pickup got fucked up.

I knew the Queen was spread pretty thin after a long, drawn-out struggle with the greedy authorities that wanted more tribute from her followers for them to continue cultivating the tourists for a steady blood supply. A lot of water had gone under the bridge since Katrina, but the name of the game hadn’t changed and her grip on the underworld in and around the Big Easy was still as strong as ever.

When her direct application of force to turn things in her favor failed, Marie would always fall back to Magic to get what she wanted. It was the magic that scared the shit out of me and I imagine most of those authorities had the same reaction.