Voodoo, Magic, and Murder

By C. D. Moulton

Six novella-length works about voodoo and such. These are often based onstories I've been told by people in those places.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Aug 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201232962

Book preview

Voodoo, Magic, and Murder

6 novellas

© 2022 by C. D. Moulton

all rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons or events are purely coincidental unless otherwise stated.

Contents

About the author

Witch Way to Hell

Curses!

Witches Brew

The Deal

Determination

Your Deal

Where Death Waits

Body Without Cause

Valley of Waiting Death

Diagnosis

Number Two

Valley of Death

The Question

A New Tale

Back to Normal

The Dead Zone

Exit Dr. Sommers

Osi’s Investigation

Aldo’s Investigation

Jujus

Cops and Witches

Finishing the Case

Man Overbored

Romantic Nights – Yeah! Right!

Smooth Sailing

Isla Lunatica

Figure That One!

Deeper Water

Son and Surf

Dihiti 

Death Expectancy

Caribbean Cruise

Distant Interference

Isla Palmitas

Cat and Mouse

Eat Your Way to Hell

Looking for Father

The Confrontation

Friends and Futures

The Face in the Sunset

Evening in Paradise

Who Is Rick Langley?

Wanda Peters and Sally Downs, et al

NOLa

The Plan

Back to Paradise

About the author

CD began writing fiction in 1984 and has more than 300 books published as of 3/15/16 in SciFi, murder, orchid culture and various other fields.

He now resides Gualaca, Chiriqui, Panamá, where he continues research into epiphytic plants and plays music with friends. He loves the culture of the indigenous people and counts a majority of his closer friends among that group. He funds those he can afford through the universities where they have all excelled. The Indios are very intelligent people, they are simply too poor (in material things and money.) to pursue higher education.

CD loves Panamá and the people, despite horrendous experiences (Free e-book; Fading Paradise). He plans to spend the rest of his life in the paradise that is Panamá

CD is involved in research of natural cancer cure at this time. It has proven effective in all cases, so far. It is based on a plant that has been in use for thousands of years, is safe, available, and cheap. He was cured of a serious lymphoma with use of the plant, Ambrosia peruviana.

Information about this cure is free on the FaceBook page Ambrosia peruviana for cancer. CD asks only that all who try it please report on its effectiveness on that group.

Witch Way to Hell

© 2013 by C. D. Moulton

James Jimmie the ShivAmes was having horrible luck in his life. Everything he touched seemed to come back to smack him in the chops.

He went to a voodoo woman to see if there was some kind of curse on him. There was, and it was a powerful one. He had made a dangerous enemy who had the curse put on him. There was some kind of problem where the curse couldn’t be lifted.

He had the choice of that one or another to counter it. Either path led him straight to Hell.

Curses!

James Jimmie the Shiv Ames stepped out the door and tripped over a box sitting on the step. It was a good thing it was only one step to his door! It was going to leave a hell of a bruise on his shoulder and one side of his face.

Why did every move he make turn into some kind of painful event? What was wrong? He had spent twenty six years having nothing but great luck, now everything turned to shit.

It started just after – well, during, really – that LeFontaine deal. He didn’t know what happened there. It should have been damned easy. Second rate skinny shithead punk had somehow hit him from behind or something.

Not from behind. He was in front of him.

There was no one else around! He didn’t do a job if there could be any witnesses. He still didn’t know what had happened, only that something big and heavy had slammed into him from behind.

It smelled like those old sulfur matches his father had used before he croaked.

Whatever. LeFontaine had been able to fight him back a lot more than you’d ever think for such a skinny punk. The eight others he had to eliminate had all been a lot bigger, but none of them had a chance. He was damned good with the blade! It was like LeFontaine had help somehow.

He did manage to stick him, finally, but he didn’t get a good enough cut and he fought a little. He had to stick him four more times!

It was messy as hell, but he got the job done.

He only got paid half for it. The second half was supposed to be right after the job was done, but Smith got hit by a goddamned garbage truck on the way to pay him!

Everything since had turned to shit. No matter what, it was going to go wrong.

He didn’t believe in curses, but his mother had. She was terrified of that Mama Donna who was supposed to be some kind of voodoo queen or something as silly. He wasn’t quite so sure it was all bullshit anymore. There had to be something other than a run of bad luck!

Come to think of it, there was a story going around that LeFontaine was some kind of warrior or something. Warlock, that was it!

More bullshit for the gullible.

He rubbed the side of his face. Blood. Shit!

Maybe he should go see Mama Donna.

No. She had moved back to Jamaica or Haiti or somewhere.

This was a hell of a way to have to live. He couldn’t even get a fast cheap job and he was going to be dead broke in another week at this rate. Twenty five hundred didn’t last very long anymore.

He was passing under a balcony and someone threw some dirty water off the thing. He didn’t get much, but he did get some. It stunk of piss.

This had to stop! He couldn’t put up with this crap any longer!

He would probably slit his own throat if he wasn’t so programmed by the church. He knew he was bound for Hell because of the way he made his living and for a lot of other things. He didn’t want to get there any faster than he was going to, anyway.

He had to know if there was some kind of curse that actually worked. It was times like he...! A damned bird shit all over him! Have a nice day, fuckhead!

He couldn’t live like this! He simply couldn’t!

Maybe he could get away from New Orleans. His father was from the Dominican Republic and he had inherited a hut of some kind there. He had just enough for a ticket on a boat if he worked for part of it. He could sell the TV and a lot of crap he didn’t really need, anyhow.

He stopped in his tracks and a kid walking behind him ran into him. His fault. He had said, Give a fucking signal! to enough people who did that kind of thing in front of him.

He apologized (something he was not known to do!) and said it was his fault. The kid said, No big deal! and went on.

He turned around and headed for the docks. It took him three hours to find a boat taking crap to the Dominican Republic, but he could work his way over and even maybe get a few bucks extra! He could damned well make it on that!

The captain, some guy named Beauregard, for Christ’s sake! had talked to a guy Jimmie met in a bar and said was he Jimmie the Shiv. He’d bowed. Beau, as they called him, shrugged and said to be there at nine in the morning. They would load what little there was left to load and be on their way. There was a passenger who was going to be aboard who would be a big pain in the ass, but he paid a lot to go. He paid for a phony passport and all that, so he was running from something.

Ask no questions. If he came back on the boat, don’t ask what’s in the hold.

I‘ve been around. I was sleeping and didn’t see or hear anything, besides being stupid.

You, I can get along with. You have your specialty, I have mine. I don’t know from a cow turd about you and vice versa.

Jimmie was on the dock half an hour early. He sold the TV and some other things for less than half what he wanted, but he was going to be paid deck hand’s wages and no ticket, so that was alright.

It was an easy enough trip until they were out in the gulf. A shrimp boat came close and a dory brought a man over. He was a bit fat, a mulatto, and seemed to have an attitude. About two hours later on the deck he thought, when he ordered, Jump! you would ask how high. Jimmie said, Fuck off! instead. The ass went to Capt. Beau and complained that the service wasn’t what he expected or what he was paying for. He’d be lucky to get paid anything more at all if things didn’t improve!

You would be smart to realize you’re illegal and it would take two minutes to have your obnoxious ass in the pen! Beau replied.

You’d better be careful! I know people in Haiti who owe me big favors!

Jimmie recognized him! He was some kind of big drug supplier who was in Monday Cure bar one night. His ass was in a crack because some nark had scored from his top supplier and they would break him down. He had to get out!

You’re Gordo Chavez, right? Jimmie asked.

Uh? Er, that is....

I met you in a bar. You were with Ronnie Runner.

Er, um.

Don’t threaten my friends, Fatso! You’ll die to regret it!

"Who the fuck do you think you are to threaten me?!"

I’m called Jimmie the Shiv.

"ER!"

Beau gave him a thumb up behind the asshole’s back.

Yeah! I see you’re heard of me. My reputation precedes me.

Er, sorry. I’m not used to this. I usually take a jet, but this time wouldn’t be too good for that.

Yeah. Ratface Bud‘ll make a deal and you’re history. By the time you got out nobody would remember you ever existed.

"Look, Jimmie. I’ve got to get to Haiti and to Colombia. If I get there I’m home free. I won’t make anymore problems. I’m just not used to traveling like this. I can’t let anyone know I’m on this boat! Hatfield, the guy on the shrimp boat, thinks I’m doing a double transfer to a fast boat. He’ll think I’m already off this one. I think he’d sell me out in a heartbeat! He’s probably already sold that I was to meet a boat two hours ago and go to Honduras and up through Nicaragua.

Please! Don’t ever let anyone know I was here! If I can get back out of Haiti tomorrow I’m home free!

Yeah. Just stay cool. No more shit!

He agreed. Beau said it was all the same to him. He went back below and Beau called Jimmie over.

Want a little job on the side?

I’m listening.

Tubby has a big duffle bag full of hundreds, all legal. Nobody, and I mean nobody, knows he’s aboard this boat. Nobody knows to expect him in Dominica.

Deal?

Half-and-half.

And he won’t be aboard this boat. Where will we be at midnight?

Just past Cuba.

What time are we just off Cuba?

Ten thirty to eleven thirty.

Jimmie nodded and went to help Lindsey re-wrap a tarp that had blown off the deck cargo.

At eleven twenty Beau found Jimmie on the deck, popa left. He was washing the deck and rail with Clorox. He watched for a minute, then went back below deck. He came back up after about ten minutes carrying a big duffle bag. It seemed heavy. He told Jimmie to come into his cabin.

There was more than two million dollars in cash in that bag! Jimmie finally made the big score!

Gonna put it in that chest full of old clothes until we get through the customs. I know how to keep them from checking it. They all know me at customs there and know I bring a chest of clothes for the poor every trip. Been doing it for years. One time, I brought in fifty thousand in gold bars in it. They didn’t check. I always tell them to grab anything they can use, but they’re not the kind of thing any of them want.

I believe in being prepared, too. Jimmie took two thousand from the bag for spending money. They’d wait until the chest was unloaded, one of the last items, so no one would think they were in a hurry or anything. They’d then spend a couple of days, Jimmie trying to find work and Beau trying to find a return cargo.

You find a cheap hotel. Get a cheap room and ask them if they know anywhere hiring, Beau said. I’ll have the chest delivered there to pass out the clothes – after we unload it in your room, of course. Act like you sort of resent me taking it there. It’s nothing but a pain in the ass for you to have to do that after your job with me is over.

Jimmie agreed. They wouldn’t spend more than they would if they were a little low. Nobody would be suspicious.

As they were approaching the harbor the coast guard came alongside and ordered them to stop. Beau went on deck and acted indignant. They were going the wrong way to be carrying drugs, so what’s with the big bad gov’mint act?

Nothing like that! We don’t need to search, I don’t think, the CG man explained. We found a body just off Cuba and you went through those waters just before. We thought maybe you lost a passenger somewhere?

Don’t carry no passengers. Took some guy named Miguel Pedro or something out to just past the Keys. Met a boat to take him on up the east coast or something. Paid me five hundred, so I didn’t ask questions.

So you don’t think he ... met a boat? What kind of boat?

I don’t know. I was in the wheelhouse. George, here, helped him aboard.

Jimmie said it was a sort of cabin cruiser thing. It was about a thirty six footer and looked like an expensive job. He didn’t notice the name, but said he thought it had something to do with luck. Lucky Something or ... Run of Luck? He wasn’t sure.

I see. Well, I don’t know...

Want to look around, feel free. Ain’t hidin’ nothing ... this trip.

The CG man laughed and said it wouldn’t be necessary ... this trip. He left and they went on in to the dock. Jimmie went to a cheap hotel and got a room for a week. Maybe the curse or whatever was finally over! Maybe it was only in Nola!

Well, and Cuba. He thought the body was weighted enough that it would stay down. Act broke for a week, then go somewhere else where he wasn’t known – as someone else.

Witches Brew

Beau didn’t show up with the chest on time, but Jimmie wasn’t worried. The boat was sitting there at the dock. Beau was probably just being casual and not drawing any attention. He would do the same. Be casual and act like you’re okay for the moment, but would need an income in a few days. Like he almost always was. Maybe even take a little shit job for a couple of days. He was a millionaire now and could live the way he wanted starting next week. Until then, he was just another typical boat bum. Go to a whorehouse and complain that he didn’t have enough for a good piece of ass anymore!

Don’t act like you’re waiting for anything special. You’re supposed to be a little pissed because Beau wanted to use you and your room to hand out a bunch of old clothes to a bunch of cruds.

He stopped at the desk and said that, if Beau brought a bunch of crap, let him in the room. He’d be back in a little while. He wanted to look around town. Where was a good cheap place to get edible food?

He went to the restaurant the woman, Estelle Something, suggested. The food really was pretty good. Maybe a little greasy.

He went back to the hotel. He didn’t mention Beau and Estelle didn’t say anything, so he said he was going to buy a few things and left again.

Damn it! He was getting cramps and gas that he wasn’t sure was all gas! Just what he needed! Montezuma’s Revenge was supposed to be in Mexico!

He knew what to do about that, so went into a drug store and got a Terramycin and took it. The diarrhea would be gone in an hour.

He went back to the hotel and to his room to be near the shitter.

It was getting late. Beau hadn’t shown up yet. Jimmie was getting a little nervous, but maybe there was something that came up where he couldn’t move the chest yet.

Dark. A whole day late. Something was wrong! Beau had damned well better be there in the morning. Before eight. Jimmie the Shiv wasn’t going to be ripped off by some crooked boater! They had a deal, and you didn’t cross Jimmie the Shiv or the last thing you would know in life was how he got the name and rep!

At 8:15 in the morning Jimmie went to the dock. There were some people on the boat, taking things out. Maybe something had happened so they couldn’t unload yesterday like they planned.

He asked a man with a clipboard where Capt. Beauregard was. He wanted to maybe book back on to return to the states.

Beauregard is in Kingston by now, I think. He sold me the ship. I’m going to make it into a floating casino. Big money in that, and I have the equipment and permits.

He sold the boat? Jimmie asked in a squeak. He can’t get way with this! There was a hard cold knot in his stomach.

With what?

He, uh, that is, we were partners! He can’t sell the boat and run with the money!

There was only his name on the papers. You’re not going to shake me down with some scheme. I’ve been around!

"I was a silent partner. You bought a boat. It’s got nothing to do with you.

"Life sucks! He had me do a big job he was supposed to pay me for. The boat deal was just sort of a guarantee. I believed the goddamned cheap bastard son of a bitch! I find him, I’ll be the last thing he ever sees short of in Hell!

Beau take a flight?

No. The tour boat. He’s afraid of planes.

Jimmie waved and went back to the hotel. He called the airport and could get the flight to Jamaica if he could get there in half an hour. Otherwise, it would be tomorrow.

He said he’d be there and grabbed his bag and ran for a taxi. Estelle called that he’d paid for a week. He said there was an emergency. She could rent the room if she liked.

He banged his head on the doorframe of the taxi. He made it to the airport just in time. He cut himself somehow getting out of the taxi. He ran up the steps and onto the little plane and the pilot told him to close the port and take a seat. He was in the tropics. He shouldn’t take so much sun so soon.

Sun?

He closed the port and sat in one of the two vacant seats. The woman in the next seat said he should put some aloe on the sunburn and it wouldn’t be so bad.

What was that about?

Oh, shit! Tetracycline! Stay out of the sun. Even cows got sunburned when they were given the crap!

His luck was consistent!

The cruise ship stopped in Kingston Harbor at five thirty. It was after seven. The passengers would be in town. Beau would have tried to disappear. He wouldn’t know that Jimmie the Shiv had found out he was going there and didn’t think Jimmie the Shiv could get there before the morning flight.

He could give Jimmie the Shiv one and a half mil or die. His choice!

The plane ride was a horror. There were a lot of air pockets or something because a hurricane was just a hundred miles away. It was rocky and he just got over diarrhea and was sunburned.

He was afraid of going to Hell? What was this? Shit! He couldn’t go on much longer. Not like this.

The landing was as bad as the flight. There was something the pilot, Ed, said was sheer, so stay strapped in until they were stopped. It was a three bouncer and the wing dipped and almost hit the runway. Ed said that was as bad as he ever knew. That storm was coming this way, sure as sunset. Get a place up high. The surge could be pretty awesome. He was going to tie the plane down and pray harder than he ever had. It was too close for him to dare to try to leave.

Everything high was sold out. He could sleep on the couch in the lobby of a fleabag for ten bucks.

Well, it would be harder for things to get worse! There was only one way to go from the bottom, and that was up!

Oh? Really?

The roof leaked. The rain came in a wall and the couch was soaked before they could move it, so they put a sheet of plastic on it so he could stay reasonably dry. The dry spot was next to the pisser door, so people would come and go all night. A huge dog came in and tried to get on the couch with him. A bunch of chickens were put in the room to keep them from drowning. The restaurant was flooded and wouldn’t open in