Blood of Cain

72

Mambo Eve wrapped Courtney’s head. Courtney sat on a stool in the voodoo shop as the old woman slowly wrapped her head in a royal blue and canary yellow African head scarf. When she finished, Mambo Eve handed her a hand mirror and said, “You look lovely, child. You have the face of an Egyptian queen.” She smiled.

Courtney looked into the mirror and said, “The headdress is beautiful. Thank you. Do you have any hoop earrings?”

Mariah Danford looked up from using Windex to clean the glass case and said, “We do. I have just the pair for you. You could pass a silver dollar through the hoops.” She went behind the counter and removed two earrings. “Let me put them on for you.” In less than a half minute, she’d attached the earrings to Courtney’s ears. “What do you think?”

“Courtney held the mirror up, capturing more light entering the shop. “They’re beautiful. How much are they?”

Maria glanced at Mambo Eve who closed her eyes and nodded. Mariah said, “It’s my treat. I’ll buy them for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can pay for—”

“Shhh … I insist. It’s the least I can do for you … for someone who’s got the heart to do what you’re trying to do.”

Courtney stood in the shade of a Southern live oak and looked up and down Dumaine Street. She wore dark glasses and the African headdress. A black mixed breed dog sauntered across the street, head low, rib bones visible under the mangy fur. There was very little traffic. She walked a half block down from where the red Toyota truck was parked, discreetly glancing at parked cars, looking for occupants. Looking for anyone who might be looking for her.

She crossed the street and walked back toward the truck. A low-rider Chevy Malibu turned the corner onto Dumaine. Courtney could see two men in the car, dark features. The driver’s head was shaved, tats up his neck. The passenger wore his hair in a purple Mohawk, sleeves cut from his black T-shirt, thick silver chain around his neck. Rap music pulsated from the car. The passenger stuck his head out the open window and shouted, “Lookin’ fine, Mama. You want some scratch? Crystal. Best in the city.”

Courtney ignored the man.

“Talkin’ to you, bitch!”

She walked straight ahead, music from an approaching ice cream truck, Turkey in the Straw, crossing with the rap beat. Two teenage boys on skateboards coasted by Courtney. They skated around a man standing on the corner, watching the traffic. Watching the people. He wore dark glasses, ear-bud in one ear, and a baseball cap backwards on his round head.

Courtney was within fifty feet of her Toyota truck. She walked faster, the ice cream truck coming down Dumaine. And then she spotted them. Two men in a van. The van was parked on the side of the street, a parked car in front of it and one behind it. Courtney could see the driver start the engine.

The teens on the skateboards turned around and were heading back in her direction. As they got closer, she smiled at them and said, “You guys look hot. You want some ice cream?”

One teen, silver ring through a nostril, inflamed acne on his cheeks and chin said, “Sure. Sounds good.”

The other teen, a taller boy with dirty blond dreadlocks, grinned. “You buyin’?”

“Yes, I am.” She handed them a ten-dollar bill. “Go back to the corner, there’s a blue van parked between the white car and the black car. Stop the ice cream truck by the parked van and buy your ice cream.”

“No problem,” said the dreadlocked boy.

Each boy used his left foot and leg to build speed on his skateboard, kicking off the pavement, rocketing back toward the van.

Courtney watched them a moment. She could see movement in the van, the men watching her. The moment the teenagers flagged down the ice cream truck, near the front of the van, Courtney bolted and ran for the Toyota. She fumbled with the keys, unlocking the door and sliding in behind the steering wheel. She started the motor, her heart racing. She glanced in the side-view mirror pulling away from the curb.

Her stomach turned. One man had jumped from the van, pointing a pistol at the teens and the ice cream truck driver. Courtney could see that the gunman was shouting, gesturing with the pistol. She zoomed away from the curb, accelerating down Dumaine, passing the bar where the old bluesman strummed his guitar and had a stare on his face that seemed to look a thousand yards away.