Lyndsey Patterson had eaten of the purple native-oil cake, and the results for her were at best soporific, and at worst disastrous! Came that BAFUBA, Boctor Harkelius’ immense emanuensis (or helper), had found her prone in the ritual circle clearing. Wordlessly he toted her across his massive shoulders to the sacrifice chicken house. “SCREE-EEK,”
a horrendous noise pierced the dim, musty space. Lyndsey could barely make out the whitish form emitting the sharp sounds. “What a darn faancy hen,” she thought, “No-wait, it’s a Cockatiel…Sure, why they..can SPEAK!”
“SCREE-AK,” went the diabolic fowl. Frighteningly humanoid, it continued unprompted.
“G-Guh,guhh–GACKK, Gghh-Hhouston, ggHOUSTON– gghh-hss-ssSTREET!!”
Lyndsey made out through the strangled squawks, that Loomis must be in Houston, for God’s sakes.
“Ohh noo, How will I ever–
The Gargantuan dark servant Bafuba, seeming to pity Lyndsey in her helpless state, reappeared, and hissed sharply, “Queek! Dis way, Missy! You are not safe here–”
His thin, sinewy arm tugged Lyndsey back out the rear potion of the henhouse, affording her no time for pondering what or when to do anything, save for wiping away traces of her blood from scratchings on her cheek as she’d grazed the ripped rattan wall at its base, during the hasty exodus from Harkelius’ messy ‘plantation’ compound Her blouse torn a bit under one arm, Lyndsey tied her flower-print wrap over for modesty, and slunk away with some pain. Bafuba didn’t bother to glance back as she did, glomming one last shot of the bizarre jungle ‘church’–Good riddance to that rubbish. Chugging in the shadows of loopy mangrove roots arcing high to the wavering moonlight, was a low-slung fishing punt with what barely qualified for a motor. As she wriggled onboard across the rust-caked gunwale, Lyndsey retched at the constant “Poit-Poit!”, of plashing oily spoor. Radiating out from the rough-hewn hull, she glimpsed the seductive ripples of radiating secretions of petroleum.
“Get down,” grunted Bafuba, hoarsely but not menacing. “Dey take you further up de swamp, an’ a Convoy will cross you as far as de Ship Channel, understand?”
Lyndsey was zonked by all the herbs and stress, and going under, but the words
“Ship Channel” rang a bell. As she passed out completely atop a dirty coil of hawser line towards the port bow, Lyndsey muttered, “Ship. Channel… as in HOUSTON Ship Channel. Oh Sweet Loomie..you will return to me somehow…”
Loomie, meanwhile was an incresingly unwilling member of a small, stumbling parade of three exiting Girod cemetery back in New orleans, and though most woozy, he was enough in command to know it was time to SPLIT. Was that “contract” signed with his BLOOD? Were Victor and Ed so set on rebuilding his lost music career. With the grinnin’
Skeletor dude in red-lined cape and battered top hat? Named LEGBA?? Hail no– we’re talkin’ strictly Voo-Doo. “I’m outta here,” proclaimed Loomis Johnathan Akula Reader, late of Buras and lord knows where else.
He scampered free, Free of the would-be possessors of his soul and their faint cries of “Dude, Dat contract was BINDING,” followed by a plaintive, “N-No!! Legba, I kin explain- We’ll bring’im back- Jus’ wait an’ see…”
Loomis had dropped out from his pursuers’ sightlines, having fortuitously tripped over a kelp-swathed lamppost at the far corner of Canal and Carondelet, right at the mouth
of Bourbon in the French Quarter. He sprawled there a few, and then, as his head cleared
(This time he had avoided a big conk to the noggin),he heard an incredible husky purring voice. He looked up, right into the open read compartment of a monstrous white with golden chrome trim Mercedes SUV. “I’ve been expecting your arrival, sweets, ” with the most velvet female voice warpped in satin Capri pants, a pale mink wrap toppeby a retro but chic bouffant hairdo and a most feline pair of eyes and lovely nose and lips.
“This IS your destiny, Loomis. Hop in with me, it is quite okay. And, don’t mindChang,” (Loomis caught the silent stare of an Asian chauffeur through the glass security panel to the front of the car .) “He’s always inscrutable. But meanwhile, I’m waiting…”
(to be continued)
