Chapter 10
All but one of the factory’s lights had been shut off. Chuck Toussaint’s office was still illuminated, and he sat in his chair, sipping a glass of bourbon as he gazed out onto the still quiet of the factory floor. He hated it when it was like that. He loved the noise and commotion of production. If he could keep the factory open twenty-four hours a day, he would. What he saw now was just wasted money.
He set the glass down and checked his watch. It was a Rolex. His father had given it to him when he took over the business.
“Time is money, Chuckie. And like money, you can never have enough time.”
His father’s words lingered in Chuck’s head for a long time, rattling around in some of the blank spaces of his mind. It should be done by now, but neither Jake nor Billy had called. They were off schedule. And if there was one thing he hated more than losing money, it was being off schedule.
A hurried knock banged at his door, and Chuck snapped his head toward the commotion. It was too late for someone to be calling at this hour unexpected. He opened the bottom desk drawer and removed a .38 revolver and cocked the hammer back. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Nate! I need to talk to you!”
Chuck grunted in annoyance and gently lowered the hammer and then pocketed the weapon. He flung open the door and a very haggard, very panicked real estate agent rushed inside.
“I tried calling you, but it keeps going to voicemail,” Nate said, pacing the office floor in quick circles.
“What?” Chuck hurried back toward his desk and picked up his phone. No service. “Shit. You’d think by now we’d get some goddamn towers in this fucking town.”
“You didn’t tell me you filled the Cypress house,” Nate said blatantly. “Your new tenant paid me a visit today.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Chuck said, taking a seat and reaching for his bourbon. “It should be done by now.”
Nate flattened his palms on Chuck’s desk and hunched over. “You need to tell me when you do that. I almost started talking too much. And you know I have a problem with that.”
“Relax,” Chuck said sternly. “Have a drink. Bourbon’s behind you.”
Nate had always had a heavy hand, something that Chuck used to his advantage. “I don’t need this kind of stress, Chuck, I really don’t.” He poured himself a glance, gulped down a mouthful, then exhaled. “Thank God we only have to do this once.”
“Yeah,” Chuck said, his voice muffled in his glass as he took another sip. “Thank God.”
***
The late hour had turned Main Street into a ghost town. Crawl Daddy’s Bar shoved out its last few drunks and flipped the closed sign, then shut off the lights. The pair of Louisiana bachelors put their arms around one another, swaying back and forth down the sidewalk.
“I don’t care what they say, Tommy.” The man hiccupped and then burped, leaning into his friend. “You could have played pro-ball if you had gone to college. Go ‘Dawgs!”
Tommy slowed on their way down the sidewalk. “Woah, woah, Kenny, hold up.” He tapped his friend on the chest. “I-I don’t wanna walk in front of that store. Bitch inside might get us.”
Kenny, with all of his eight beers, four shots, and two plates of nachos under his belt, scrunched up his face skeptically. “You mean old crazy Crepaux? You really believe all that horseshit?” Kenny removed his arm and stumbled right up to the door, the closed sign exposed in the window, and pressed his greasy face up against the glass. “Hey! You in there, voodoo woman?” He laughed drunkenly and then turned back to Tommy, who started to chuckle himself. “I bet she ain’t even—”
A bright flash lit up the windows, and both Kenny and Tommy yelped as they shut their eyes and lifted their arms to block out the blinding light. Kenny fell backward and landed on his ass, scraping up his back and shoulders, while Tommy hunched over with his elbows on his knees.
The light disappeared, and it took them both a minute before Main Street slowly filed back into their vision.
“Tommy!” Kenny said, reaching out his hands and groping air. “Tommy, whe—” Kenny screamed and jumped when a hand touched his arm.
“C’mon, man, let’s get the hell out of here!” Tommy pulled Kenny toward his truck down the street, leaving whatever shit that woman was up to behind those closed doors.
Inside the shop, that voodoo woman, Madame Crepaux, stood over a wide, shallow bowl that took up the entirety of the card table she’d set it on. She sat alone, eyes closed with those white paint marks over her face, chanting over and over to herself.
A mixture of corked tubes and emptied baggies lay discarded on the table. The woman chanted the same phrase over and over, her eyes shut tight and her muscles tensed. “Chulung-Oola-Awaola-May. Chulung-Oola-Awaola-May. Chulung-Oola-Awaola-May. Chulung-Oola-Awaola-May.”
The words grew faster and she rocked back and forth. The water in the bowl was black like the night sky void of stars. It was still at first, but as she spoke the words faster, the water rippled from the center and outward toward the edges.
The woman lifted her arms and head toward the ceiling and opened her eyes, her throat bobbing up and down along with the chanting that had grown as loud as screams. The water in the bowl bubbled but as she reached the crescendo of the chant, the water fell flat as glass.
The chanting ended. Her arms and head lingered upward, her eyes open, and there she stayed until she heard the familiar rattle of bones cracking against one another. She looked down and in the water, she saw the creature. It snarled and hissed, those long, jagged teeth and black eyes fixated on her.
Slowly, she lowered her arms and clutched the sides of the bowl as a smile spread across her lips. She’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. The reckoning was near. The righting of all those wrongs so many years ago was at hand. Now all she needed was the father.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends