One Blood (34 page)

Jhonnette Deveaux? Desiree had a daughter?
“I don’t know who or what you’re talking about.”

“
Don’t play dumb with me, Wright. You put a curse on me.”

“
A curse?” Panama X asked. “I thought you were a rational man, Governor. What would your loyal constituents say if they heard you spouting off about a curse?”

“
I don’t give a fuck about what people think,” Randy yelled. “You have to stop this!”

“
Now why would I do a thing like that? And even if I could help you, what can you possibly offer me in return? You are planning to execute me, remember?”

“
Don’t patronize me, Wright. You and Desiree Deveaux were in on this together from the very beginning. You were there the night my father died, weren’t you?”

He’s putting it together. Good.

“
Governor, all these unfounded accusations. I’m appalled. Besides, didn’t your father blow his own head off with that old revolver?”

“
How did you know the kind of gun he used?”

Panama X laughed. “Okay, you’ve got me there.”

“
You…tricked me.”

“
If only I had that ability,” Panama X replied. “How was I supposed to know that an eighteen-year-old punk would stumble into my woman’s place of business talking craziness about a family curse he wanted to resurrect to kill his racist father?”

He watched Randy’s eyes widen.

“
No, Governor. It was all you. You refuse to take responsibility for your actions, even now at the end? Amazing.”

“
I…saw you there. You did this. All of it,” Randy stammered.

“
I was there that night, I won’t deny it,” Panama X replied. “Just like I was present when you came to see Desiree Deveaux. I also followed you when you went to see your father at Commander’s Palace to collect a sample of his hair and clothing for Desiree. I comforted Desiree later that evening after she slept with your father in the place of his usual mistress. Then years later, I used a vial of your blood you’d provided to Desiree to cause the cancer which you miraculously recovered from. And we both know about the River Boat bombing and how your daughter saved you by trying to kill herself. But you must believe me when I tell you that your father ended his own life because of the curse that
you
brought back. And you are destined to share the same fate.”

Randy looked shell-shocked by Panama X’s admissions. He opened and shut his mouth as he tried to process what he’d just heard. Finally, he managed, “You made me.”

“
No, Governor. Your anger and rage toward your father made you. Your cowardice and refusal to get your hands dirty made you. Trust me, I do understand why you want to direct your animosity toward me—we have been tied together for a long time. Believe me when I say I wish our paths had never crossed.”

Unfortunately, what had begun as a plan to blackmail Randy had resulted in the deaths of Joseph Lafitte, Walter Simmons, Juanita Barber, Kristopher Lafitte, and now Amir. Destiny was an unforgiving road with a singular destination. It was time to send Randy Lafitte on his way.

“
It will be over soon, Governor,” Panama X said. He sucked in an immense amount of air and released a dark, cloud-like substance into Randy’s face. Randy choked and clutched at his throat. Panama X watched Randy struggle to maintain control of his faculties. Of course, the skirmish was over before it even began. Panama X stood and walked around the table.

“
By the end of this day, you will know my pain, Governor,” he said. “Your punishment is just beginning.”

Panama X snatched a strand of the Governor’s hair, some dead skin, and a piece of thread from his blazer. Then he bent over and whispered in the man’s ear. When he finished, he sat back down across from Lafitte.

“
You came here begging for help, but all you did was sign your own death warrant. From the moment you leave this place, you will be completely vulnerable to attacks both spiritual and physical. Your strength is now my strength, and your weakness has been increased one-hundred-fold. I can see the shift in your aura.”

Panama X smiled with satisfaction as the color drained from Randy’s face. “When you awake, you will remember nothing. You will return to your Lake City home. And when the sun sets, you will take your own pitiful life. Nod if you hear me.”

Randy’s head went up and down.

“
Good.”

Now came the hard part. Panama X calmed his heart-rate. When it reached the desired rhythm, he uttered a guttural command.

Randy’s face went from slack to livid. He jumped across the table and attacked. As they fell to the floor, Lafitte pummeled Panama X with his fists. He scratched Panama X’s face and arms, biting his hands and neck.

Panama X did not resist or cover up.

Finally, Randy sat on his chest and clamped his hands around Panama X’s throat.

Panama X looked at Randy. The man’s face was a mask of rage, but his eyes were passionless.

Good.

The light in the room began to darken as the life was slowly squeezed out of his lungs.

Panama X visualized Juanita’s face.

My duty to you is done, Juanita. It is time for me to embrace my destiny.

Before succumbing to the beckoning darkness, Panama X whispered another command. Then his body went limp.

* * * * *

“
You’ve got to get out of here, Randy. I can’t keep this quiet for long.” George put his hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder.

Randy couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

How did this happen?

Malcolm Wright lay motionless on the floor of the visitation chamber. His face had been bludgeoned.

Randy stared at his bloody knuckles.

Did I do this?

One second he was talking to Wright—the next he was sitting on the man’s chest with his hands around his throat. After the initial disorientation, he called George from his cell phone.

“
Randy, did you hear me? Get the hell out of here! I will cover for you.”

“
Thank you, George. I’m really sorry about this. He…he said some bad things about your sister. About my daughter. Then he attacked me. I had no choice. You believe me, right?”

George gave him a long, doubtful look and replied, “Of course, Randy. Now go home to your family.”

The medical team arrived as Randy made his way out of the chamber. At first he thought the man had hope, but then Randy saw the haphazard way they threw the body onto the gurney. He glanced back at George and raised his eyebrows.

George gave a slight tilt of his head.

It was as bad as he’d feared. Panama X was dead.

* * * * *

Chapter Fifty-Seven

US-61

Lincoln arrived at the intersection where Tunica Trace met US-61. He was at a crossroads. A right turn would take him into the eye of the storm. A left turn would lead somewhere else, to some other future.

I’m a free man. I could just head north and never look back.

Lincoln thought about Brandon locked up in the Lake City Police Department. He pictured Moses laid up in the Angola infirmary. He'd rather slit his wrists than abandon the only people who’d ever given a fuck about him. Lincoln gave one more glance toward the left and the sweet unknown. Then he turned right.

After a difficult hour and a half, his choice put him in the middle of a completely gridlocked highway. Cars packed to the hilt with suitcases, kids, and pets smothered I-10 West.

Where the fuck is everyone goin’?

A sign announced a rest stop ahead. It couldn’t have come at a better time.

Lincoln struggled to remain conscious. Whatever Jhonnette had done to him had his body in a state of shock. She’d warned him that he might suffer a reaction to her healing. He had been stupid to trust her. She'd probably put some voodoo hex on him because, after all, she was Panama X's daughter.

He could see the rest area up ahead on the right, but the stalled traffic was not allowing him to get any closer to it.

Fuck this.

Lincoln pulled over onto the shoulder. A few seconds later, he parked crookedly next to a station wagon that had also pulled off the road. Most of his remaining strength had drained out of his body. Shivers overcame him, his heart beating weakly in his chest. He could barely keep his eyes open.

Jhonnette’s parting words came back to him,
“I healed your physical wounds, Lincoln, but only you can heal your real scars.”

Lincoln closed his eyes and saw stars. Moments later, he was snoring loudly inside the Jeep.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Ten years earlier

1992

Lake City, LA

“
Test, one two…can everybody out there hear me okay?” Principal Jefferson asked. “Great. Well, I’d like to thank you all for your prompt attendance this afternoon. Today is a momentous occasion for St. Louis Prep Academy, for Lake City, and for this young man seated to my right. Since joining us two years ago, Lincoln Baker has been a model student and athlete, helping to put the St. Louis Crusaders on the map. It’s going to be tough next season without him, but we’re happy to report that he’s moving on to bigger and better things…”

Lincoln tried not to gawk at his principal, who hadn’t spoken more than two words to him since he transferred to St. Louis Prep.

Moses’ warning rang in Lincoln’s head.
“Watch out for leeches, Son. You can’t walk through the woods without catching a few.”

Where was Moses? Panic descended over Lincoln the closer it got to his turn to speak. All of the saliva in his mouth had dried up. He rubbed his sweaty palms on the new Dockers slacks Lois had bought him for the occasion. His clip-on tie choked him. Sweat pooled in his armpits.

“
Lincoln? Son?”

He glanced over at Principal Jefferson’s clown-like face. Lincoln was supposed to say something, but needed water. Then he remembered the speech he and Moses had written together the night before. Pulling the neatly folded piece of notebook paper out of his pants pocket, he stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat.

“
Good afternoon, everybody.” The microphone squawked loud feedback as the crowd stared back at him expectantly. Lincoln finally found Moses’ face in the throng. Moses gave him a nod and a smile.

You can do this.

“
I’m kinda nervous,” Lincoln continued. “But here goes. This season was one of the best fuh me. Winnin’ the state championship and everything. Plus, the education and support I’ve received from St. Louis has been great. I ‘preciate everything everybody has done fuh me. Now it’s time fuh me to give back. I’ve decided to skip college and declare myself fuh the NBA draft next month. I wanna play against the best and learn from the best and give back to my fam’ly and my city. That’s all…”

Thirty minutes later, after dropping Moses off at church, Lincoln navigated Moses’ Cadillac over to Simmons Park to pick up Brandon. Long gone were the cold sweats, dry mouth, and other symptoms of anxiety. He felt great.

In a few months he’d be in the NBA, and everything would change. Moses would quit his job and move with Lincoln to wherever he was drafted. He’d have more money than he could spend. His days of drug dealing, robbing, banging, and struggling would be a distant memory.

Lincoln would have to get used to being an overnight celebrity, but he could handle it, especially after all the shit he’d been through. He even envisioned reconciling with Kris; they were both rich now. Anything was possible on a day like this.

There were five entrances into the Village from Highway 14. Lincoln took the shortest route, turning right after the newly opened Shoney’s. It was a straight shot to Simmons Park from there. He hoped Brandon would be on the lookout for him so he wouldn’t have to get out of the car.

The kids always swarmed Lincoln whenever he came by. Not to mention old Mr. Diaz, the park manager, who acted as if Lincoln owed him something because he learned his game on the Simmons Park courts. Lincoln didn’t like Brandon being around Diaz; there was something odd about the man.

Lincoln pulled up to the stop sign on the corner of Simmons Way and General Bradley. A police cruiser was stopped there also, making no effort to move. Lincoln had the right of way, but he stopped for an extra beat—he didn’t need trouble with the po-po today. While he waited for the cruiser to move, Lincoln turned his attention to the small forest that bordered Simmons Park. He thought he saw movement in the woods. Staring hard into the dense foliage, he made out several figures creeping toward the outer edge.

The men moving through the forest appeared to be brandishing semi-automatic weapons.

What the hell?

Lincoln got out of the car, only to be slammed against the hood, cheek pressed to warm metal, arms pinned behind his back.