The audio died. Crutch eyeballed the wire hole. He had to see.
Tiger Klaw lolled in Luc’s inlet. The voodoo slaves built a nice berth for her. Luc lounged on the foredeck. His dogs snoozed under the bridge. Scalps drooped from the front antenna. They bore the Tiger Krew paw brand.
Crutch hopped on board. Luc was effusive. He was snorting smack and voodoo-herb speedballs. Crutch perched by the machine-gun nest. Luc flexed his nostrils and fed his head.
Crutch said he couldn’t sleep. He was in the neighborhood, blah blah. Luc said, “You are pariguayo. You are always looking and thinking. This means you think of questions to ask. You are a very young man out of his depth in a horrifying region, where your questions will often be met with unpleasant answers. I do not begrudge you a very long drive at a very late hour to talk to me, baby boy.”
A dog ambled over. Crutch ruffled his coat. The dog nuzzled him.
“I’m a bit of a history buff, and I know you’ve been here quite a while.”
Luc wiped his nose. “I have been here since time began. I have carried the visage of dogs, chickens and men. I know the histories of both countries on this island and would be happy to share my knowledge with you. Was there some knowledge you specifically require?”
“I was thinking of the 6/14 invasion. I know there’s a story there.”
“I know the story. Take a drive with me and I’ll tell it to you.”
Luc owned a ‘61 Lincoon. The paint job was a Haitian history show. Black demons impaled white Frenchmen. Luc’s dogs raped their wives. Baron Samedi’s cloak covered the hood and wheel wells. Papa Doc Duvalier smiled on the trunk.
It was hot. Luc put the coonvertible top down and ran the air coonditioning. Bugs bombed the car. Luc offed them with voodoo-herb bug spray. One puff killed the cocksuckers. Two puffs vaporized them.
They drove through inner Haiti. Villages blipped and vanished. Darkies in whiteface blipped out of the haze.
Luc ran his brights. The Lincoon had heavy-duty tires. They kicked big rocks out of their way.
Crutch shut his eyes. He kept seeing demon wisps in the shadows. Luc motor-mouthed.
“The 6/14 insurgents were skilled in Haitian voodoo and had voodoo-chemistry skills. A Marxist ideologue named Maria Rodriguez Fontonette was supposed to dose the water supply near the invasion sites along the D.R. coast, in hopes that it would induce a mass spiritual awareness in the Dominican peasantry. Herbs and blowfish toxins in non-lethal quantities, baby boy. She wanted to bring ecstasy to the peasants and create spiritual chaos with the police and army contingents. Alas, she betrayed the rebels to the Tonton and the Policia Nacional. Thus, we were able to quash the invasion. Most of the insurgents were killed. Some were captured, imprisoned and executed, a very few escaped.”
Crutch opened his eyes. A whiteface ghoul capered in their headlights. Crutch shut his eyes quick.
“There was a woman named Celia Reyes, right? I saw how you reacted when Sam mentioned her. She had a friend. An American woman with dark, gray-streaked hair.”
Luc lit a cigarette. “Oh, they escaped, baby boy. They were among the few.”
“Emeralds. Sam said Celia loves emeralds, and you said emeralds have this significance.”
Luc turned on the radio. A low chant in French built. Luc said, “Emeralds do as emeralds do, baby boy. They are a power unto themselves.”
Crutch opened his eyes. They bombed south. The coast air evaporated. The bugs got bigger. Luc drove with his knees and bug-bombed them two-handed. The bugs dropped dead all over Crutch. He went eek and tossed them out of the car.
They entered a village. It was small: two mud huts, six graveyards, two taverns. Luc said, “We should visit a friend of mine. He is a bokur. He would enjoy meeting you, baby boy.”
Crutch said, “Groovy.” Luc slowed down and idled up to a tavern. A light was on. A voodoo-sect flag flew out front. It matched the flag on Luc’s Lincoon. Luc parked and ushered Crutch inside.
A fat darky stood at a tonic bar. He had two Mixmasters churning goo and four hot plates stewing shit in saucepans. Luc bowed to the darky. The darky bowed to Luc. They spoke in French. They touched emerald rings. Luc said, “Il est ‘pariguayo.’ ”
The darky poured steaming brew in a goblet. Crutch grabbed it and chugalugged.
It burned. It tasted like dead leaves and fungus. His vision blurred and came back 20-20. He burped odors from his last ten meals and stumbled over to a chair.
The room went round, square and rectangled. Fun-house mirrors warped out of the walls. They rolled pictures at him. He couldn’t discern details. Luc laughed. The darky said, “Pariguayo, oui.”
Crutch squinted. His eyes framed a back wall. It was plastered with anatomy charts. Internal organs were highlighted. Pins extended from them.
Crutch re-squinted. A skull morphed into Wayne Tedrow’s face. He got up to jab pins in Wayne’s eyes. His arms and legs wouldn’t move.
Luc laughed. The darky laughed. Luc said, “Le pauvre pariguayo.”
He saw his mother’s face and Dana Lund’s face. He saw Dana naked with Chrissie Lund’s eyes. He saw THE ELECTRIC CHAIR, THE HANDS AND FEET AND THE EYE. He tried to talk. His vocal chords froze. He tried to stand. His legs walked away from his body and ran outside. He tried to move his hands. His fingers melted. He saw ten thousand snapshots of Joan.
Luc said, “Pariguayo.”
The darky said, “La poudre zombie.”
Crutch tried to scream. His mouth dissolved into the 3rd Street tunnel under Bunker Hill. Luc and the darky grabbed him and dragged him into a back room. He tried to resist. His arms turned into bird’s wings. They dumped him. They locked the door behind him. Rats roamed the floor. He tried to roll away from them. They crawled on his back and pinned him prone. He saw Joan. He started crying. His tears turned different colors. The rats scurried to his face and started licking. He saw their fleas and the open sores on their bodies. Their tails coiled and flicked saw teeth at him.
He couldn’t move. La poudre zombie. He saw Joan. He heard mumbles next door. Words in French formed. He saw the girls in his high school French class. His teacher said, “Donald, you’re a bright boy. Learn to listen, learn to speak.”
The rats nibbled at him. He saw printed French words and heard Miss Boudreau translate. He heard “emeralds,” “suspects,” “kill him.” He heard “Laurent-Jean Jacqueau,” “America,” “changed name.”
“Trujillo and Duvalier.” “Emeralds.” “Lost in America.” “Celia.” “1964.” “The boy wants the stones.”
The words stopped, the mumbles re-started, black-and-white pictures appeared. Clyde Duber’s office, Scotty Bennett’s dashboard frieze. Crime pix-THE ARMORED-CAR HEIST.
Crutch heard footsteps. Crutch heard a gun hammer cock. A rat walked over his face. Crutch willed his mouth open. The rat looked inside. Crutch pressed down and bit its head off.
The rat thrashed. Crutch kept biting. The blood and fur taste did something to him. The door opened. Luc and the darky walked in. Luc’s.38 was pressed to his leg.
Crutch laid there. The rat squirmed and died in his mouth. Luc and the darky got close. Crutch reached up and grabbed the gun. Rats skittered all around them. Luc and the darky froze. Crutch aimed and blew their nigger brains out.