Chapter 19 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - You Probably Aren't Going to Like This Part!

Chapter 19 - You Probably Aren’t Going to Like This Part!

Rico’s Uncle Jerry looked resigned to completing his task. “Come on, then. Let’s take this down to the altar.” They moved from the porch down a gentle slope in the lawn to an area that had a firepit, possibly for colder autumn nights. There was an oak tree with a large drum hanging on it from a peg. There were dozens of bottles suspended from the tree by heavy fishing line. Occasionally two or more of them would bump together in the breeze and create a tinkling noise.

Rico looked back to see that the ghost of James Cody still lingered by the porch. He signified such to Jerry.

Jerry made a face that said he was annoyed and walked a few steps toward the ghost of James Cody. “Really! You followed my nephew all day long but now you decide otherwise?” He cleared his throat. “You get your phantasmic ass down here right now.”

The ghost sighed, as only a ghost can, and meekly followed Jerry back down the slope. “And you.” He gestured at Rico and then at the bottles hanging from the oak tree. “Make some noise. Wake them up.” Jerry commanded.

“Oh man, do we have to?” Rico whined.

“Just do it.” Jerry sneered. Rico grabbed a large wooden spoon and started tapping in the bottles in an odd syncopation.   

The altar Jerry used was traditional. It was made in Brazil, then transported up to Texas where he used to live. He brought it with him when he moved to Kildeer. It was housed in a large shed where he did most of his healing ceremonies.

The shed was located next to a large ornate iron gate and fence. On the other side of the fence was a graveyard. To those that couldn't see the dead, it looked rather deserted and calm. That changed almost immediately. Various spirits sat up as if they had been resting next to their grave markers. Hearing the bottles being tapped to a rhythm that Jerry taught Rico years ago, and Rico wished he could forget, scores of the dead came forth and crowded the iron gate.

Jerry brought out several cigars, some apples and hard candy. He said, “Okay bottle boy, enough. Sit on the picnic table and don’t interrupt a Loa if it needs to speak with me.”

He lit one of the cigars and blew the smoke into the gentle night breeze. He spoke the same invitation three times, once in Spanish, once in Portuguese and once in English. "Papa Legba, I call upon you tonight. I have set my table for you. Will you grace me with your presence?"

“Why do we need the Loa? They creep me out. Can’t you just ask James about the murder one-on-one.”

“Listen to yourself! ‘Why do we need the Loa’?” Jerry mocked Rico in a whiney sing-song voice. “Look, this isn’t Columbo or Starsky and Hutch.” Jerry pointed at the ghost of James Cody. “He’s a spirit. Spirits lie all the time to the living. I need the authority of the Loa to insure they are telling the truth. Incidentally, I’ve tried to teach you about my religion before. You act like you didn't think this was important. I intend to find some answers for you. You need to be a little more tolerant.” Jerry picked up a couple of tom-tom sticks and beat on the drum that was hanging from the Oak tree.

There was a sudden gust of wind. Then the clouds in the eastern night sky moved revealing a nearly full moon. The picnic bench that Rico was sitting on creaked and a shimmering silhouette appeared sitting next to him.

“Oh God!” Rico shuddered. “Jerry, which one is he?”

“Are you dense? That is Papa Legba that I just called. You know him.” Jerry was mortified.

“Oh right! And we need him because?” Rico gave Jerry a sheepish smile.

“He presides over all ceremonies. He is the Loa of communication with the dead, family bonds, and acts as a baby-sitter for dumbass guests like you. Quit interrupting. I need to get Ogun to open the gate for the dead."

Jerry went into the shed and pulled out an old sword that had once belonged to one of Fernado Maximillian’s cavalry officers many years ago. It was ceremonial and often used in rituals like the one about to take place. Next to the iron gate Jerry drew a large plus sign with the sword, signifying the ‘crossroads’, a region where the spirit world and material world come together. "Close your eyes, Rico. You’re probably not going to like this part.”

Finally, Jerry picked up two iron bars and hefted them in his hands. He would use them to invite in yet another guest and let the dead know the gate guarding this crossroads was open. Jerry clanked the iron bars together calling the Lao known as Ogun. Rico stared at the iron gate separating his Uncle Jerry’s property from the cemetery known as Peaceful Valley. The gate opened on its own accord and the dead filed through. Rico looked at the Spirit of James Cody and the Loa called Papa Legba sitting five feet away on the picnic table. He shivered.

                                                                *      *      *

Our driver, known only as Sal, announced that we had finally arrived at Happy Meadows. The gray sedan stopped. I looked at Clara and said, “I have a question.” She nodded, affirming that she had a few of her own.

“So, you’re not going to tell us whether or not you murdered James Cody?” I spoke carefully, as if I were walking on eggshells.

“No. As I’ve mentioned before, it affords you a certain amount of plausible deniability. Should this matter ever come to trial it is to your advantage that you don’t know for certain. But, between you and I, the very fact that I tried to protect innocent bystanders at the ballgame…”

“Protect them from what?” Clara interjected.

“Do you remember those two junk cars in the parking lot. They were just wrecks that were going o be used at a fundraiser for the local high school football team.” Joey’s face was grim.

“Yes. For a dollar you could whack on one or the other junker with a sledgehammer.

“Like I said, Sal and I were around for a few days before the championship game. We were back and forth talking to people. I noticed a couple of guys waving goodbye to a tow truck operator that brought the wrecks over to the ballfield. They had popped open the trunks on both cars. They were obviously rewiring something.  But what? We waited around until they left. Then we drove over and took a look in the trunks ourselves. They were locked but locks never stopped me much.

“What did you find?” I asked, nearly breathless.

Joey looked at Sal. “Car bombs.” Answered Sal. “Both cars.

“They had the devices wired to C4.” Said Joey. “That’s a plastic explosive. They use it in Viet Nam for demolition and ordinance disposal. Powerful stuff. It would have thrown shrapnel all over that crowd at the game. Those two guys clearly didn’t know what they were doing.”

“But Joey and I disassembled both bombs. We kept the C4, however.” Sal explained.

“Those two guys were your cop buddies, Jennings and Davidson.”

“I’m confused.” I confessed.

“It makes a certain amount of sense to me. I’ll try to put together what I think was happening.” Joey smiled. I thought at the time, I’d once seen a fox grin like that.