Lenea, Voodoo Priestess

By William Buckel

Lenea and Karma Bastille reprise their roles as Voodoo Priestesses in this sequel to Evil In Hockley. Lenea is at home in the French Quarter of New Orleans living with her mother, Marie, Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. Having no other skills Lenea becomes a Bounty Hunter. She chases bail jumper Neil Morrow and clashes with his family, a group of Urban Terrorists centered in Louisiana and Arkansas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Buckel
• Release date: Oct 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311668059

William Buckel

I, William Buckel, am a writer of Fiction and Fantasy. I'm an ongoing student of history having written several historical novels. I live with my dog, north of Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Lenea sat in her car watching Neil Morrow as he robbed a small jewelry store in New Orleans. If she brought him in Neil might be a three time loser but then so would she. A bail bondsman might give her five hundred and the reward on Morrow wouldn’t be much more than a thousand: after this heist two at the most.

That wouldn’t pay her expenses this month and it might take that long to find another mark. The lease and insurance on her sedan were seven hundred alone.

Lenea and her older brother John Dean were enforcers for the mob until Harry Tanner shot John to death. Long story. Without her brother as a front no one would hire her. To a mob boss she was just a dumb broad only good for a lay. Truth of the matter: she was the magic behind the muscle, a Voodoo priestess. A woman has to eat so she decided that lacking any secretarial skills she’d become a bounty hunter. She’d watched enough episodes of real life bounty hunters on TV to have picked up a trick or two.

Bringing in Neil Morrow would be child’s play. All she’d need is something of his and she could cast a spell that would make him hers but his almost worthless hide wouldn’t finance her lavish lifestyle. She was hooked on designer jeans, stylish Italian boots, and clingy blouses made in Europe. Her credit cards were always over limit and her bank account in the debit range.

Lenea had returned home months ago to live with her mother, Marie Bastille, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. Mom lived in the old French Quarter and made a living telling fortunes, selling charmed amulets and other enchanted jewelry to tourists. Locals also sought her mother for medicine and spiritual aid when the medical profession had given up. She was a last stop for those beyond conventional help.

The jewelry store alarm sounded as Neil ran out of the store, past his car, into an alley.

Son-of-a-bitch, she hissed.

The car must have been stolen or else why would he leave it? That was an unexpected turn of events. Lenea jumped out of her car and ran full steam in pursuit. She had worked out with her brother John Dean using weights and also did aerobics so Neil Morrow wouldn’t stand a chance of outrunning her. Or so she thought. The distance between them widened and before she knew it he was out of sight. She’d underestimated him and overestimated herself. Did he know she was following?

She returned to her car singing a tune.

Rain drops keep falling on my head.

On leaving the alley she watched her car being towed away from the no parking zone. Morrow’s car was still parked in front of the jewelry store. Lenea hadn’t counted on a foot chase after she stopped to watch him pull the heist. She walked towards a taxi stand for a ride to the nearest impound yard so she could bail out her car.

As she walked she again sang,

Rain drops keep falling on my head.

She had the cabby drive her to three impound yards then back to the first. At the third yard she’d discovered that the car hadn’t been logged in at the time of her first visit. The cab fee emptied her wallet and the impound charge was turned down on two credit cards before being accepted by the third. Her cell rang.

Hello, Lenea here.

Hello, Lenea Bastille?

Yes.

This is Audrey from Total Credit. You’re over your limit and the last transaction will put you in the highest interest category as per contract.

Thank you Audrey. You’ve made my day.

She hung up.

Lenea drove to Hank Sherriff’s Bail Bond service. She was directed into his office. Behind a desk sat a huge man smoking a cigar. Lenea gave him a look. He stared at his cigar a minute then said,

When you pay the fucking rent then you decide whether or not I smoke.

Hello Mr. Sherriff. My name’s…

I got a busy schedule miss. Get to the point.

Neil Morrow. I need his address.

Won’t find him there. He knows I’m looking for him. What the fuck does someone like you want with his address? The guy’s a loser.

I’m a bounty hunter…

Sherriff laughed.

And I’m the Under Secretary to the President of these here United States.

He laughed again.

She frowned.

Look, give me the address. Maybe someone knows where he lives.

And if they do they’re going to tell you?

Yup.

He laughed again but did go through some files then wrote on a sticky note and tossed it to her.

Good luck sweetheart. Neil’s a loser but he’s quick on his feet. None of my regular boys have caught him yet. I’ll give you a thousand if you do. The bastard stuck me with a ten grand bond.

Make out the check to Lenea Bastille. I’ll be back soon.

That really broke him up. He coughed smoke and laughed at the same time.

Hank Sherriff was right. Neil wasn’t home and she was guilty of breaking and entering. She shut the door and turned on the lights. The place was dark and dingy, a twenty year old film on the windows. There was a living room bedroom combination on entering and a washroom and kitchen against the far wall.

Where to start.

She needed something of his so that on finding him she could cast a spell that would incapacitate him. She went through the bureau drawers near his bed. There was a black cloth bag with something heavy inside. She opened the draw strings and pulled out a wet, sticky, rubber object resembling a female vagina.

Eew.

She dropped it and ran to the washroom holding her hands under the tap until the water burned her skin. The soap was coated with scum and dirt so she didn’t touch that.

She resumed her search, careful not to touch anything wet. There was paperwork in a drawer with blueprints and a map. Everything was labeled and addresses on the lower line of each drawing indicated a sewer system on Logan Road. She folded the drawings and stuck them into the inside pocket of her jacket.

The door burst open. A man wearing a dirty t-shirt eyed her with suspicion.

Who the fuck are you?

Who do you think? Neil gave me this address. He didn’t answer and the door was open so I came in. Do you know where he is?

Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. What’s it to you?

Neil invited me.

You a hooker or something?

Let’s just say, a friend to mankind.

He laughed at that.

You my friend, baby doll?

Maybe. I need to talk to Neil.

He’s over at Angie’s place. You know Angie?

He never mentioned another woman, otherwise why call me?

Angie Turner’s his sister. She’s got a pad on Brock Avenue. I don’t know the address but it’s opposite the bus stop.

Thanks. You never gave me a name, she said.

Chris.

Thanks Chris.

Chapter 2

There were two bus stops on Brock Avenue but only one with an apartment house across the road. Lenea read the names on the mailboxes in the foyer and found Angie Turner on one. She leaned against the wall and removed the blueprints she’d found in Morrow’s room. He was obviously planning another robbery and this one was in the investment district on Logan Road. It made sense: he needed a sizable haul to get him out of the state. Today he was worth two thousand but if she left him to his devices maybe he would fetch double that amount. He was beginning to look like an investment. Like fruit that needed to ripen. Lenea like that scenario: planting a seed then reaping a harvest. She knew where the theft would take place but not when so decided to have a look.

The investment district comprised of bank headquarters, investment councilors, and brokerage houses. The address on the prints indicated a small trust company whose name she’d never seen. Lenea looked at the business hours and wondered if the theft would occur on a weekday or a weekend. She leafed through the prints again then found one for a different address. She hadn’t noticed that before thinking they were all the same. The other one was on William Street so that’s where she went.

That particular address was on an empty building lot. That didn’t make any sense until she saw the train tracks in a field beyond. She drove to the nearest train depot and got a schedule for departures heading north. She assumed he’d want to leave New Orleans behind after the heist. Three commuter trains were running north this week. The sewers would be an escape route not a place through which they’d enter the trust company. This guy wasn’t into the big times of pounding his way through cement and cutting a way through iron safes. That was only done in movies. There were only two trains scheduled to leave at times when the trust company was open.

She could simply be here an hour or two before both scheduled times and he would come to her from the sewers below. It seemed simple; too simple.

It had been a busy day so she drove home to her mother’s house. She parked on the outskirts of the French Quarter and marched in. There was almost no parking near her mom’s place, the streets being narrow and houses packed tight. In places balconies hung over the streets making it difficult for delivery and sanitation vehicles to find their way through. Emergency vehicles had to be driven by knowing people in times of a crisis as one could be jammed between buildings on a tight corner.

If it was up to Lenea she would live out her life in the French Quarter but then there was mom. There were times when Marie could be so cruel, so demanding of her daughters. Her older sister Karma left when she was sixteen years old and only returned for a few visits.

She thought about Karma, her older witch, bitch sister. After Harry Tanner had shot John Dean Lenea gave him life. It was the life of the half dead but life nonetheless. Karma jammed a broken board into his heart killing their older brother once and for all. Witch, bitch older sister did exactly that. Of course one could say that John was no good but then neither was Karma and neither was she. Lenea had done things she wasn’t proud of. Most people had.

Lenea entered the house catching her mom in the kitchen making the evening meal. There were only two of them but her mother cooked enough for an army platoon.

Hello mom, how’s it going?

It could be worse. You could have been home all day.

Funny.

What evil have you been up to. And don’t tell me you nursed the sick or saved a child from drowning.

No I told you I’m a bounty hunter now. I’m on the straight and narrow.

Mom gave her a look. It was the kind of look she gave her when she’d baked a cake and there was a finger trailed through the icing. Mom always assumed it was Lenea. Now she assumed Lenea was lying when in fact she was telling the truth.

Supper was stew. Lenea hated mom’s stew because it usually contained ingredients not normally found in home cooked meals. Handed down through generations the Bastille family ate parts of their foes. It was all part of some chest thumping culture Lenea had no intention of inheriting.

That was the old generation and Lenea thought of herself as the new although she hadn’t quite defined new. Broke and laden with credit card debt wasn’t the basis of a breakthrough society.

Mom can you lend me a couple of hundred?

Marie shook her head.

You have to learn how to stand on your own two feet. I won’t always be around to bail you out of a mess.

Yah, I know and I’ll start right after this.

No, you’ll start today.

Does that mean yes or no? I need the money to fill up my car. Otherwise I’ll be stranded here all day.

Marie sighed then said,

Two hundred and that’s it. Anymore and you’ll have to earn it scrubbing floors or cleaning toilettes if need be.

Eew!

You don’t like the idea of cleaning toilettes?

No, not that. Well, yah that too but what the hell is the chunky bits in this stew?

Eat it. It’s healthy.

Not for the mammal or person unfortunate enough to wind up part of it, said Lenea.

Survival is always a matter of them or us, isn’t it?

Compromise?

Marie chuckled then said,

Compromise is in the stew.

Chapter 3

Lenea’s sedan was on empty so it took a good chunk of Marie’s last offering to fill it. She had a day before her first surveillance shift at William Street so decided to take a look at Angie Turner’s apartment. Her car might be identified by Morrow so she sat in a restaurant within sight of the apartment house entrance. She was on her third coffee and noticed the waiter giving her a wary eye. He wiped the counter then finally came to her table.

This is a family restaurant miss. We don’t allow prostitutes to set up shop.

What? I’m no hooker. I’m waiting for a friend. After today you won’t see me again.

If you say so miss but you know what it looks like so don’t stay too long. I got steady customers that I don’t want to lose.

I’ll finish the coffee then I’m gone.

You’re such a pretty girl. I think you can find other work.

He still didn’t believe she wasn’t a hooker. She almost missed it talking to the old guy but there was Morrow walking with a woman. Was that his sister or a girlfriend? Time to find out. The waiter watched her leave the restaurant and she felt his eyes on her as she crossed the street.

Morrow and the woman were almost out of sight when she entered the foyer of the building. She buzzed Turner’s apartment but no one answered. She buzzed a few more times in case Turner was in the shower. A man eyed her as he entered. When the door swung open she grabbed her gas card and a second after he passed she held it over the latch before it closed. She turned back to the buzzers and as she suspected he turned and gave her a last look.

She was at the door of apartment 302 listening intently for movement inside. She didn’t want to knock, afraid she might draw attention from an apartment dweller across the hall. She was after all about to break and enter. She tried to push the latch back with her gas card but that didn’t work. It was definitely locked. She searched for a key over the door and under the mat. Nothing. In one quick move she grabbed the door knob then slammed her butt into the door. The lock sprung and she quickly entered then shut the door behind her. She latched it then listened. A door opened and footsteps made their way down the hall past the apartment and back again. The neighboring door closed again. With nothing to see most people would assume that something had dropped.

Lenea set about searching the two bedroom apartment. It seemed strange when she found men’s and women’s clothes in the same bedroom. Was this a girlfriend or was he sleeping with his sister? No matter: she was here to search the place not get into Morrow’s sex life.

There were women’s sex