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CHAPTER 1
Lonnie Oglevie was 19 and living in the east end of the French Quarter. His mom was Cajun and his dad was from Dutch descent. He was tall and skinny with dishwater blond hair that always looked like it needed cut. On nice days, he takes his fold-up chair and a large blue plastic bucket and plays guitar on Bourbon Street for money. He's been at this for a couple years or so and is starting to build his bankroll. He's saving for a car when he graduates college.
On this particular day, he left his house about 8:30 am. While walking down Esplanade Avenue, he felt some cold chills giving him goose bumps on his arms. The past few days had been like this and it bothered him, but today, though, it seemed to be more pronounced. The cold chills were now causing a strange sensation in his anterior neck, right below the Adam's Apple in that little depression just above the chest bone. It was a feeling of tightness as though his windpipe was narrowing. The whole situation was strange, but it didn't seem to alarm him. Something just didn't seem right, but nothing had evolved to make him suspicious, so he moved on toward his familiar spot. As he walked further, the chills seemed to leave just as suddenly as they had appeared and his throat no longer felt constricted.
When he turned onto Bourbon Street, the cold chills returned, this time, much worse. He found his spot, about eight blocks from Esplanade Avenue, unfolded his chair and placed the 3-gallon bucket on the sidewalk in front of him. He had a few one dollar bills already in the bucket to bait the tourists.
He began playing and before long a dozen or so people had gathered around to listen. The day was a good one for him as he'd made over twenty dollars in the first two hours. Usually, things were quiet this early in the morning, but today they were different. People were out early and prowling the streets in large numbers. This always meant better business for him which meant more money toward his car.
Around 11:30 one of the girls from the bar behind him brought him a soda. She brought him cold drinks a couple of times a day because the bar actually did a better business while he was there.
"Hi, Lonnie,"
"Hi, Janise," replied Lonnie. "Tell Fred I said thanks for the drink."
"No problem. Fred knows a good thing when he sees it. Besides, he likes your music."
They both laughed.
"You know, Janise, I've had these strange feelings the past two or three days like something weird is going on. Is it just me or is there something wrong in the air?"
"It's not just you," answered Janise. "There have been some strange characters prowling the streets at night. My husband says it's the full moon, but Fred says it's voodoo at work."
"I don't like voodoo," replied Lonnie. "It always ends up bad for someone. My dad says there's no such thing, but my mom feels differently. Of course, she was born and raised in this area."
"Well, I don't know what it is," said Janise, "but I just wish things would get back to normal. I don't like these eerie feelings any more than you do."
They continued to talk for a few minutes and then the cold chills came to Lonnie again and this time they were really strong.
"Did you feel that?" asked Lonnie.
"Yes, I did," answered Janise. "It was like a cold chill running up and down my spine."
"Look," yelled Lonnie, pointing down the street. "Look at those guys coming up the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Are they strange looking or what?"
"They're certainly different, that's for sure."
"They're dressed like pirates, swords and all," said Lonnie.
As the men got closer, they could see that a couple of them had beards and the others were clean shaven, but their hair was scraggly. They seemed to be in deep conversation and paid little, or no attention, to anyone else in the streets.
"This is June, not Halloween," said Lonnie. "I wonder why the pirate get-ups?"
"I don't know, but they don't look friendly to me."
The men walked on past them and entered a bar across the street. After a while, some of the customers came out and proceeded to another bar.
"Weird, isn't it?"
"Well, I don't like it," said Janise, heading toward her bar. "I'm going back inside and I'm glad they didn't come to our bar."
"Take my guitar and basket inside with you, would you, Janise? I'm going over there and take a look inside."
"Sure," replied Janise.
She grabbed his stuff and went inside. Lonnie crossed the street and walked into the bar where the men had gone. As soon as he entered, he felt those cold chills again and this time they were severe. The men were seated in the far corner of the bar drinking at a round table. The one with the longest beard was doing the talking and the others were sitting in silence. He was dressed in all black and had his sword lying across the table. There were only five or six other patrons in the bar and they looked uneasy. Suddenly, the men all began laughing, stood up and carried their beers through a door behind the bar.
Lonnie walked over to the bar.
"Hey, Sam,"
"Hello, Lonnie," the bartender replied. "How are you today?"
"Good, Sam. Who were those men who were just sitting at that corner table?"
"Oh, they're friends of mine," said Sam.
"They're dressed like pirates."
"Yeah, some get-ups, huh?" said Sam as he continued cleaning glasses and stacking them on the back counter. "They come in here once in a while and I give 'em free beer. They're harmless."
"Well, I've got to go back. I'll see you later, Sam."
"Okay. Keep the music comin', Lonnie."
Lonnie left the bar and as soon as he was in the street again, the cold chills disappeared. He went to the bar where Janise worked and told her everything that had happened.
"I don't like it," said Janise. "There is something fishy going on here."
"I know what you mean. As soon as I left, the bad chills left me."
"If you ask me, they're up to something and it's not good," said Janise. "If you see them again, let me know."
"Will do," said Lonnie.
He grabbed his guitar and basket and returned to his chair and began playing again. The afternoon went well for him just as the morning had. About 5 o'clock, he went inside Fred's and had a po' boy sandwich. He was hungry as he had skipped lunch because the tourists were continually rewarding him for his music. At times, he would rather make money than eat, to a point that is. Some days he played all day and didn't eat till he got home. When he sat down on his chair, he noticed the four men leaving the bar across the street and heading east on Bourbon. He quickly stuffed all his money into his pockets and put his basket and chair inside Fred's and headed back out to the street. The men were about a block away and he began following them with guitar in hand.
They proceeded down Bourbon Street and then into the bar that used to be Jean Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop years ago. When he arrived at the bar, they were nowhere in sight. He knew they came in here, but now they were gone. The only exit was behind the bar, so he knew that's where they went. The cold chills had now returned and he was feeling a little queasy in his stomach.
"What the hell is going on here?" he asked himself in a low voice.
He turned around and walked outside and headed back to Fred's. He grabbed his bucket and chair and placed himself back on the sidewalk and began playing. Even while he was playing, he was thinking about those men that were dressed up like pirates. He couldn't figure out what they were doing or what they were up to. It was probably nothing, but it still bothered him. He thought he'd better let it go and keep his mind on playing.
It wasn't very long before he noticed a large number of people running west down Bourbon Street. They were shouting, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. It must be something big because everyone was heading in that direction. He took his bucket and his chair back inside the bar and stuffed the rest of his money in his pockets and handed his guitar to Fred. He ran down the street toward the commotion. Everyone was turning south on Bienville Street and the crowd was getting bigger. When he got to Chartres Street, he could tell that the commotion centered in that area. There were dozens of people congregated in an area about a half a block up the street. He couldn't see what was going on because there were too many people in front of him. It was hard for him to get closer because of the crowd. People were edging their way in closer, so he followed suit and got as close as he could. Soon two police cars arrived and shortly after that an ambulance. He heard sirens in the distance and knew more emergency vehicles would be arriving soon.
Word had filtered back that someone was injured badly or possibly dead. No one knew the circumstances, but it must have been bad because there were certainly plenty of police cars and emergency vehicles in the area. They were trying to get everyone to move back to give the responders room to work. Pretty soon, lines of policemen had cleared out the area and set up the yellow crime scene tape. The massive crowd had moved backward, pushing Lonnie up against the wall of the building across the street from the accident. He heard that there were a couple of bodies on the street and that they had jumped from a window high up on the building, but he couldn't see any open window. Maybe someone in the room had closed it.
Soon a helicopter hovered above the building shining its light down on the crime scene. He could see several police officers on the roof with rifles in their hands as if they were looking for something. They were moving back and forth and then suddenly they disappeared from view. The police on the ground were trying to keep order. He could see them talking to each other and motioning toward the roof.
This day certainly turned out to be a weird one for him. First, the weird guys dressed like pirates acting strange and then disappearing and, second, the crime scene here in the west end of the Quarter. He still couldn't see what was going on too well, so after edging his way through the crowd he headed back toward Bourbon Street.
He grabbed his chair and bucket and began playing again. The crowd was thin now as everyone was at the crime scene and no one was there to listen to him play. He couldn't get his mind off the events of the day, anyway, so he decided to pack it up for the day and come back tomorrow. He asked Fred if he'd heard anything about the accident. He said he hadn't.
On his way home he began to get those cold chills again and it was starting to irritate him. These on and off cold chills were becoming a nuisance and he was getting tired of it. If, only, he could figure out what was causing them. And it was strange to him that Janise was feeling them, too. He wondered how many other people in the area were feeling the same thing. What could it possibly mean?
What Lonnie didn't know and didn't understand was the frightful situation that was going to be bestowed upon New Orleans in the near future. Those cold chills were some kind of warning, but he didn't know about what. If he had known, there wouldn't have been anything he could have done about it anyway. Dark times for New Orleans were coming.
CHAPTER 2
Pete Mercer was walking down Poydras Street toward Canal Street where he was going to meet his wife, Pam, for dinner. It was a beautiful day and he was enjoying the busy shuffle of shoppers and workers as they crisscrossed the streets in harmonious rhythm. He left City Hall shortly after work where he'd had a grueling day filled with paperwork and more paperwork. He has been Chief of Police in New Orleans for over eleven years and was working his butt off to keep law and order as well as possible. He was appointed by the Mayor after he had been Chief of Police of Cleveland, Ohio for almost five years and the move suited him because he was tired of the cold winters and the harsh winds off Lake Erie. The warmth of New Orleans was a welcome change and his wife passionately concurred. God, how he loved this city!
New Orleans is the largest city in Louisiana with a population of over 360,000 and is a major US port on the Mississippi River just north of where it enters the Gulf of Mexico. It sports a gorgeous French Cajun architecture and is named after 'Orleans', a city located on the Loire River in Centre, France. It's referred to as the 'big easy' as everything moves slowly down here. The people love to party and, coincidently, it definitely has the best cuisine and music in the country.
Chief Mercer stops on the corner of Poydras and Penn Streets and takes a deep breath. Things have been going well for him as of late. He has season tickets to the Saints and Hornets games and both teams appear to be doing well. He's going to be early for dinner, so he sits down on a street bench to pass the time.
His mind wanders and he brings back memories of hurricane Katrina in 2005. That happened about five months after he took office. He remembered the chaos that took place in the aftermath of the storm and the struggle that everyone had in order to just survive. He was proud of himself, though, as he handled the situation as well as anyone could expect. He worked hard putting every effort he had to keep the peace till some sort of normalcy was reached and order was slowly restored. It wasn't easy and he got little credit for his accomplishments, but then, most police forces aren't recognized for the job they perform. He just smiles and feels good about his performance at that crucial time. He knows in his heart that his men did the best that they could in that dire situation. The city is just now starting to recover, maybe not completely yet, but it's off to a good start as businesses are doing better and tourism has returned.
His thoughts now move to dinner. His wife was to stop in the French Quarter at Cafe du Monde and pick up beignets and bring them for dessert. He indulged in them often and his waistline was starting to show it. Dining out was a great outlet for him. When they sat at dinner in a favorite restaurant, he would forget all that had happened during the day, leave all his work behind and concentrate on his spouse for a while. This had become a weekly or semiweekly occurrence and it seemed to relax him and relieve his stress, to some degree. It was a peaceful feeling and he looked forward to it often.
He decided it was time to mosey on toward the restaurant, so he stood up and headed down Penn Street. As he was walking, he could hear the clanging of the streetcars chugging up and down Carondelet and St. Charles Streets. He was only a block away and they were music to his ears. He and Pam have ridden the entire length of the St. Charles Street line many times, usually just to relax and people-watch.
The time was almost six o'clock when he arrived at Canal Street and he knew Pam would be there soon, so he hustled his way to the restaurant. The maître d' met him at the door.
"Ah, Chief Mercer, welcome. Will your wife be joining you this evening?"
"Yes," replied the Chief. "She'll be here shortly."
"Getting you your beignets? Am I correct?" asked the maître d', smiling.
"You betcha," said the chief. "I have her trained well."
They both laughed. The man knew the Chief and his wife well.
"Speak of the devil, here she is now," said the man, motioning toward the door with a wave of his arm.
Pam Mercer entered the restaurant carrying a large white bag in one hand and a large purse in the other.
"The line was awful," she barked. "I waited almost fifteen minutes to make my order."
"It's good to see you, too," said the Chief, in a sarcastic tone.
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's a long walk here and my feet are tired," she said, smiling. "Don't pay any attention to me."
She looked at the man holding the menus. "And how are you this evening, Mr. Moss?"
"Oh, I'm fine for a Friday, he replied. "If you'll both follow me, I'll direct you to your favorite table."
He brought them to a table in the back situated in a small alcove with only one other table. The Mercers always tried to get one of those tables because of the quietness and the romantic atmosphere. There was hardly any traffic in that area and no screaming kids nearby. It was like they were in their own little world. If the restaurant knew they were coming, they would keep the other table free in order to give them some privacy.
"Amanda will be here shortly to serve you," said Mr. Moss. "I do hope you enjoy your meal."
"Thank you, we will," replied Pam Mercer. "We always do."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Vampires and Voodoo"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Darrell Tooker.
Excerpted by permission of Abbott Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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