Tupelo Gypsy, page 7
part #1 of Voodoo Lucy Series
Lucy gave a smile. “I don’t think so.” She tossed him the voodoo doll.
Ethan gawked at his name written on the doll’s head. “Am I supposed to be scared?”
“I would be,” Lucy said. “Get out of town and don’t return, or you’ll be dead before the sun rises.” She walked to the corner and disappeared into the dark. If the threat didn’t work, she had a backup plan that should shake Ethan in his boots.
She met Darlene, her pill-popping friend from the clinic, at the Napoleon House, one of many famous French Quarter bars and restaurants. Darlene was very good at taking Lucy’s directions, and she’d been following Picklehead ever since the cop car had showed outside the salon earlier in the evening. Darlene also knew him as one of her bulk clients. He’d buy all the pills she could produce.
Lucy slipped Darlene the gram of coke she’d ripped off from Ethan and asked, “Are you sure you can do this?”
“Yeah. I’m not a big fan of Picklehead either.”
With three empty shot glasses in front of him at the bar, Picklehead was an easy mark. Opening the top two buttons of her blouse, exposing a deep bouncy cleavage, Darlene was ready to perform. Brushing against him, she got his attention quick. After he got an eyeful of her open top and reeled his tongue back into his mouth, she took a seat next to him.
About to call him Picklehead, she caught herself. “Pete, you’re getting sloppy.”
“What are you talking about?” He pulled Darlene closer, making the third button of her shirt pop open, just as she’d planned.
“Some punk sold me a gram of coke on Decatur Street,” she said, plopping the bag in front of him. “Talked smack about you and Felipe and undercut your price. This cost me twenty bucks.”
That was all she needed to say. After three shots of Wild Turkey on top of his daily drug intake, Picklehead was ready to defend his territory. “I’ll teach this punk some respect.” He motioned for Darlene to follow him out of the bar.
At the corner, Darlene pointed out the guy Lucy had described. Darlene watched from a distance as Picklehead, the larger of the two, approached Ethan. Though Picklehead caught the guy by surprise, Ethan immediately pulled a handgun. Darlene watched the horror unfold. This wasn’t the plan.
Ethan marched Picklehead into Jackson Square with the gun pointed at his back. Behind the iron fence and tall shrubs, they disappeared into the darkness. Darlene moved around on the outside of the fence, jockeying for a view, but couldn’t see anything. Then she heard the dreadful sound of a single gunshot.
It was late at night, and street bands were still playing. Two horns and a drum belted out tune after tune close by. People had gathered, throwing money in a box for them to continue. Darlene was sure she’d heard a gunshot, but no one else seemed to pay the sound any mind.
Through the gates walked Picklehead, dusting himself off and looking both ways before stepping onto the walkway. Darlene ran up to him like she really gave a crap about his well-being. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, pulling her closer.
“Let’s get out of here,” Darlene said. “I know a place we can party all night.” This wasn’t what Lucy had laid out in her plan, but Darlene didn’t have a choice.
Picklehead skimmed his hands over Darlene’s body. Repulsed, she stayed in character and let him get his jollies. Then she gave him a hit of coke, guiding him to an alleyway. He was too high on coke and whiskey to even know where he was going. They made it up the alley. Darlene knocked on a door. Picklehead buried his face in her cleavage as she tried to hold him upright.
The door opened, and Lucy, expecting to see Ethan, hit Picklehead with a syringe to his neck. He dropped on a cart, and they rolled him into the furniture shop below the salon.
Darlene buttoned up and tried to brush the Picklehead funk off her body but soon gave up. It would take a hot shower and a burning of her clothes to accomplish such a task.
“What the hell happened to Ethan?” Lucy said, keeping one eye on her target.
“His dating days are over. Picklehead got the best of him,” Darlene said. “I’m sure he’s dead, and by way of his own gun.”
Lucy had planned to scare Ethan after Picklehead had roughed him up. A quick stick in his neck, and Ethan would have lain immobile and listened to her reasoning about why it was in his best interests to disappear and never see Margo’s daughter again, not even to say goodbye.
But Picklehead had just solved two problems for her.
Darlene’s part was done. She sneaked out to the alley and into the night.
Picklehead lay motionless, and Lucy hoped Walter was right, that he could hear everything she was about to say. This opportunity had fallen into her lap, and she had to take him down. He was a lousy person.
In the furniture shop, Mr. Vic kept several old bridles nailed to the wall, a memento of when the small room in the building was a stable for horses that pulled carriages and for donkeys that pulled work wagons. She hooked a donkey bridle to Picklehead’s face and attached the metal buckles to the arms of the pushcart. It was a perfect fit for his elongated head and had a fitting name—donkey harness.
She wheeled him outside, smiling at Picklehead as he came down from his big rush.
He had only minutes left, but he didn’t know it. A garbage truck rumbled down the street. It was close, close enough to be useful.
“You got anything to say?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she pressed down on his neck with her foot. “Well?”
“Yeah, I’ve got something to say—you’re a dead bitch.”
Picklehead had been watching and waiting for his chance to get to her. No doubt Felipe had planned to have her killed, preferably before she testified later that morning.
“Didn’t that little hit of coke take the edge off?”
His eyes blazing, Picklehead asked, “What do you want?”
“You can’t take advantage of women without consequence.”
Without hesitation, Lucy stuck the needle into his arm, administering a full dose of Walter’s wonder juice.
You should have killed me when you had the chance.
Picklehead let out a scream and then another, the sound masked by the garbage truck’s hydraulics as it crushed a new load of trash.
Removing the harness and flipping his body off the cart, she propped him against the building, with his thumb placed on the syringe and the needle pushed into his arm.
The furniture cart cleaned of fingerprints and rolled back into place as if it had never moved, Voodoo Lucy walked through the building and out the front door to Royal Street. Night had turned into morning, and she waved to the cop who’d been sitting in his car all night to protect her.
“Good morning,” Lucy said. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” He thanked her but said his patrol was ending, and he was heading home.
Café Beignet was stirring with early customers. Lucy sat among them, sipping her coffee. Now it was a waiting game—to see how long it would take for someone to discover another junkie overdosed in the alley.
She had an hour to relax before cleaning up to testify at Felipe’s hearing. She reflected on the evening’s events. Two people had died at her hands. Ethan should have taken her advice and left the area. As for Picklehead, he’d gotten what he deserved. She had no regrets.
Chapter Fifteen
The shower had just turned off when Lucy heard Wanda beating on the bathroom door. “Lucinda,” Wanda said, peeking in the door.
It had to be vital for Wanda to call her by her real name. From the sound of Wanda’s voice and the sirens coming down Royal Street, Lucy knew the cause.
“There are police swarming Pirate Alley,” Wanda said. “The word is that Picklehead is dead.”
“Couldn’t be better news,” Lucy said, taking a towel to the steam on the mirror. She stared at herself. A smile and a feeling of satisfaction came over her. You got what you deserved. And Felipe will too.
Lucy dressed in a dark blue skirt with an emerald green scarf accenting her white silk blouse and red hair. She touched up her lipstick and hair, then said into the mirror, “I’m coming for you, Felipe.”
She’d spent the last several months studying the wealthy women who frequented the salon. How they dressed, what they purchased on Canal Street, their handbags, their makeup. With her father’s bank robbery money, Lucy had bought the same items. Now she looked like a socialite from the Garden District. Her testimony would be believable; she’d look like what they called an uptown girl, and most of all, she’d impress the judge. Even though deep down, she was still Voodoo Lucy.
She’d been smart enough to push Picklehead’s body close to Pirate Alley and even luckier no one had been around. The police were combing the backside of the building, leaving Royal Street wide open.
She walked out front, thinking she’d get one more cup of caffeine under her belt.
“Wow, you clean up nice,” Mario said as he reached the salon.
“Are you flirting, Officer?”
Mario blushed. “Is it wrong to admire a beautiful woman?”
“Not at all.”
“I’m about to get a cup of coffee. I can bring you one if you’d like?”
She gave him a smile. “Thank you. I’m happy to know there are still gentlemen in this world.”
Mario headed to the coffee shop. She waited curbside and watched him go. If she were the marrying kind, he’d be just the kind of man she’d want. Thoughtful, respectful, and caring.
Seconds later, a dark sedan pulled up to the corner with a red flashing light on the dashboard. The car stopped abruptly, and the driver said Zack had sent him to pick her up. She got in the back seat.
“What’s your name?” Lucy asked.
He turned to the back seat and smiled. “Just call me Officer Bob.”
When she saw his fake smile, Lucy knew she’d made a mistake. The smile on the man in the passenger seat looked even creepier than the driver’s. She reached for the door handle. There was none. It was a genuine cop car driven by a fake cop.
“Just settle down, honey,” Bob said. “This will be over soon enough.” Then he put the car in drive. That’s when a gun was jammed through the open window and into the side of his head.
“Let her out!” Mario said, his finger on the trigger.
“Hold on, cowboy. I’m a cop,” Bob said.
“Let’s see a badge,” Mario said. “And keep in mind I’ve got an itchy trigger finger.”
“Okay!” Bob said, then a click sounded and the rear door popped open.
Lucy got out quickly. Mario reached for her hand. That slight movement took the pressure off the gun barrel against the driver’s head.
The car peeled out, turning right at Canal Street and disappearing. Mario shouted over his radio and described the vehicle as a dark late model Ford, last four of the license plate 9324.
Dispatch responded, “Copy. All available units.”
Two cops on motorcycles answered the call by rushing up Royal Street in pursuit. Right behind them, Zack and Johnny pulled up for Lucy’s ride to the DA’s office.
Still shaking, Lucy got into the back of Zack’s car and gave her version of what had just happened. Zack followed up with dispatch, but it was unlikely the two guys and the car would ever be found.
On the way to Orleans Parish Criminal Court, Lucy put the ordeal behind her and focused on her testimony. Not knowing what questions Felipe’s hotshot attorney would throw at her, she had little to go on. All she knew was that it wasn’t going to be easy. Zack prepped her a bit. She already knew the drill: short yes or no answers, and don’t complicate the responses by elaborating.
The courthouse was an intimidating building, and the click of Lucy’s stilettos reverberated every time her heels hit the marble floor.
Outside the courtroom, Zack stopped her. “You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?”
She took a deep breath. “I am. I want Felipe Cruz off the street.”
Shortly after they entered the courtroom, the bailiff entered, announcing the judge’s name, and everyone stood. The court was called to order. Across the room, Felipe Cruz sat dressed in a suit and tie next to his high-profile attorney, Albert Esterman. Felipe had done his best to look respectable. Lucy gave him a stare, then looked away. It would take more than a three-hundred-dollar suit to clean up that pig.
Once the hearing started, Kevin Cooper, the DA, walked the floor, painting a detailed picture of Felipe Cruz killing Vivien Bluff. He presented facts, then asked the judge for a brief break. During the break, Cooper coached Lucy on the questions he planned to ask.
“Get to the point. Give me short, believable answers,” Cooper said.
Lucy wanted to tell him that was course 101 back in Tupelo at what her family called the “gypsy farm.” Instead she said simply, “I understand.”
The break was over, and the bailiff called out, “Please rise.” The judge returned to his bench and said, “Mr. Cooper, please call your witness.”
Lucy swore to tell the truth and took her seat in the witness chair. She gave every answer correctly and to the point. Starting with the first time she’d ever seen Felipe, up to seeing him run from Vivien’s bedroom, her giving chase, his jumping the fence, and his red shirt.
The defendant’s attorney, Albert Esterman, took the floor. “Your Honor, I believe Mr. Cooper has wasted this court’s time with a bunch of frivolous details.” He walked the floor, shouting like a jury was present, putting on a big show for the judge. “This wild story that Ms. Jones first met Mr. Cruz while he was extorting money from French Quarter merchants is utterly absurd and has nothing to do with the criminal charges. Does it, Ms. Jones?”
“Objection, Your Honor. He’s badgering the witness,” Cooper shouted. “It has everything to do with the case. That’s why he killed Ms. Bluff.”
“Overruled,” the judge said. “Mr. Cooper, I will not allow outbursts in my court. Mr. Esterman, continue.”
“Your Honor, this woman said she stopped at Ms. Bluff’s side before running after the man.” Albert stopped talking and stood in the middle of the floor. Stood still for the longest time not saying a word. “Did I stop for five seconds or twenty seconds?” Then he smiled and walked to the bench. “We don’t know how long Ms. Lucinda Jones stood by Vivien Bluff’s side.” He looked Cooper’s way. “Now do we, Counselor?”
Cooper flipped through some papers, then closed the folder. “Your Honor, may I approach the bench?”
“Yes,” the judge said. The two attorneys approached.
“Your Honor, we have an eyewitness who saw Felipe Cruz run from the crime in a red shirt,” Cooper said. “Let the jury decide if he’s guilty at trial.”
“Your point?” the judge asked.
“Cruz is a flight risk and shouldn’t be out on bond.”
Esterman scoffed. “She saw a man in a red shirt run down an alley. How far away was she from the man?”
“Enough,” the judge said. “Take your seats.” He looked at his calendar. “Trial starts in three weeks. Mr. Cruz will not leave town and will turn over his passport. He will remain out on bond.” The judge’s gavel slammed down. “Court dismissed.”
The argument the DA had prepared went down the drain without any consideration. Afterward, Cooper met with Lucy and Zack. She was at risk and needed protection until the court date.
“If you put the word out that I’m not testifying, what happens?” Lucy asked.
“Esterman will be at the judge’s door wanting the charges dropped,” Cooper said. “You’re our only shot at getting Felipe convicted.”
Lucy smiled. “Let him roam the streets as a free man.”
“He’ll kill you,” Zack said. “Just in case you change your mind.”
“I’ll take my chances.” Lucy took a deep breath, composing herself. “Put the word out—I’m not testifying.”
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, Lucy sat at Café Beignet curbside. She’d had a restless night trying to come up with a plan, one to handle Felipe. It was only a matter of time before he came calling on her. She sat throwing pieces of a beignet into the street and watched birds pick at the dough.
Mario had stopped by earlier to give Lucy his good news and to check on her. He’d been promoted to Gang and Drug Enforcement, a division created by the new Chief of Police. He assured Lucy she could call on him any time and gave her a phone number for dispatch. They would contact him any hour of the day or night. He would still be in the area, but now he’d be working as a plainclothes cop. Before departing, Mario showed her two articles in the morning newspaper. Picklehead’s death had been declared an overdose, and a man identified as Ethan Clark had been found dead in Jackson Square of an apparent drug deal gone bad. She didn’t comment and couldn’t help but wonder why Mario had made it a point to show her the articles.
Lucy opened the shop that morning to a jubilant Margo. She waited for Lucy in the kitchen while Lucy cleaned up the salon before the first appointment.
Taking a seat, Lucy poured Margo a cup of coffee. Margo didn’t waste time and opened her Gucci purse and plopped an envelope on the table.
“Thank you. Ethan is out of my daughter’s life.” Then she pushed the envelope to Lucy. “Five thousand, plus a little twenty-five-hundred-dollar bonus.”
“Thank you very much,” Lucy said, opening the envelope and thumbing through the hundred-dollar bills.
Wanda stepped into the kitchen. “Lucy, there’s a lady here for you, a Bernadette Pearson.”
Lucy, not expecting anyone, gave Wanda a hand flip. “See what she wants.”
Margo announced, “That’s my friend, Bernie. I got you some business.”
Lucy put on a smile. “We’re talking maybe a haircut?”
“No, honey.” Margo touched the envelope on the table. “Your other business.”
Wanda escorted Bernie back to the kitchen. Before leaving, Wanda gave Lucy a wild-eyed look. Lucy understood it as what the hell is going on?
The woman introduced herself and offered Lucy her hand. “My name is Bernadette Pearson. Please call me Bernie.”
