Voodoo, Ltd.

Thirty-eight

Quincy Durant didn’t like the looks of Cousin Colleen’s Bed & Breakfast Inn and said so. Georgia Blue replied that if he had seen it for the first time at night, he would’ve liked it even less.

Durant stopped the rented Ford sedan near the large sign where the red neon letters forever blinked “No Vacancy.” He studied the huge old house in the distance and decided it looked like a place to store ancients until they breathed their last while watching black-and-white reruns of I Love Lucy and Perry Mason. As if reading his thoughts, Georgia Blue said, “It’s just somewhere to lie low until the looted trust funds reach the Bahamas.”

Durant grunted, then drove up the long brick drive, taking in the trees and drought-resistant flowers that he thought could use some moisture. In the fan-shaped parking area, Blue noticed that the elderly MG roadster was gone although the Toyota pickup truck remained.

Durant parked next to the pickup and said, “What d’you want to do with the money?”

“Lock it in the trunk?”

“Trunks take about three seconds to open.”

“You carry it, then,” she said.

When they were out of the Ford, Durant followed Georgia Blue up the nine steps to the porch. As they neared the doorbell, she also noticed that the stained-glass panel of a bowl of cherries, through which Otherguy Overby had rammed his elbow, had been replaced by one representing a bowl of purple grapes.

Blue gave the doorbell a five-second ring and waited. Ten seconds later, the heavy front door flew open and Colleen Cullen appeared, aiming her sawed-off double-barrelled shotgun at them. Durant automatically noted it was fully cocked and that she had fingers on both triggers.

“Whatever you want, Slim, the answer’s no. N-O. No.”

“We want the whole place for tonight,” Georgia Blue said.

“Full up. Booked solid. No room.”

“Tell her about the money,” Durant said to Georgia Blue.

“Well, shit, he can talk,” Cullen said. “Just opens his mouth and out it comes. Who’s Mr. Tan Man, Slim?”

“My partner.”

“What happened to Maw-reese?”

“All three of us are partners.”

“Tell her about the money,” Durant said.

“What you got in the bag, Mr. Tan Man?” Colleen Cullen said.

“Money,” said Durant.

“Open it up and let’s see,” Cullen said.

“Not out here.”

“I got a double-barrelled sawed-off that says open it up.”

“Ms. Blue’s hand is in her purse,” Durant said. “In that hand is a thirty-eight I understand you sold her. It’s aimed at your right eye. If you even think you’re going to pull a trigger, you’re dead.”

Colleen Cullen and Durant stared at each other. Nobody moved or spoke or blinked until Georgia Blue said, “Let’s go inside, Colleen, and have a drink and talk about money.”

Still staring at Durant, Cullen said, “How much we going to talk about?”

“Enough,” Blue said. “But inside.”

“Okay,” Cullen said and took two quick steps back, the shotgun still levelled at Durant. “But Mr. Tan Man goes first. Then you, Slim.”

As she followed Durant through the door, Georgia Blue said, “To your right.”

When they reached the closed sliding doors, Blue said, “Open them.”

Durant slid the two doors back into their walled recesses, went into the large living room, looked around quickly, then turned to Colleen Cullen and said, “Hughes and Pauline Goodison were shot dead yesterday in a motel bathroom in Oxnard.”

Cullen reacted with a clearly visible start. But the shotgun didn’t waver. “That calls for a drink,” she said. “Big round table back there’s where the whiskey is. You pour, Mr. Tan Man. Three bourbons. Water. No ice.”

Durant turned, went to the big round table, poured generous shots of Virginia Gentleman from the now half-empty bottle into three glasses, then added water from a glass pitcher. He did it all with his right hand, keeping a tight grip on the blue carryall with his left.

Once the drinks were poured he turned to look at Colleen Cullen, who was aiming the shotgun at Georgia Blue. “I’m going to open the bag and put something on the table,” Durant said to Cullen. “If you don’t like it, shoot her.”

Without waiting for agreement, Durant zipped open the blue carryall, took out $10,000 worth of bound hundred-dollar bills and placed it on the table. He then picked up his drink and had a long swallow.

Cullen used the shotgun to herd Georgia Blue toward the table. When they reached it, Cullen picked up the bound packet of currency, flicked through it with one hand, her eyes shooting from the money to Durant to Blue and back to the money. It was an indifferent, even contemptuous gesture. Cullen then picked up one of the drinks Durant had mixed and tasted it while studying her guests over the rim of the glass.

She put the glass down, resumed her two-handed grip on the shotgun, backed away two steps and asked, “If I pull these two triggers, how much richer am I?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars richer during the second before we kill you,” Georgia Blue said.

“What if I did you first, Slim?”

“Mr. Durant would shoot you in the left eye.”

“You shoot folks in the right eye. He shoots ’em in the left. Those the rules or something?”

“Pick up the money and count it,” Durant said.

“Shit, I don’t need to count it. I know what’s there. Ten thousand dollars. You think I don’t know how high a ten-thousand-dollar stack in hundreds is?”

“Here’s the deal,” Durant said. “We’ll pay you seventy-five hundred for the exclusive use of your house from seven to twelve tonight.”

Cullen frowned. “What’s the other twenty-five hundred for?”

“Security.”

Cullen turned to Georgia Blue. “What the fuck’s he talking about now?”

“If things fall apart,” Georgia Blue said slowly, “he wants you to put them back together again.”

Colleen Cullen turned, put the shotgun down on the big round table, pulled out a chair and sat down in front of her drink. She picked it up, had another swallow, then gestured for Durant and Blue to join her. They did — Georgia Blue on her right; Durant on her left.

“This ain’t no drug buy, is it?” Colleen Cullen asked.

Georgia Blue shook her head.

“Blackmail payoff?”

Blue nodded.

“Something to do with those Goodison creepies?”

“A little,” Blue said.

Cullen nodded slowly, then turned to look at Durant. “And you want me for backup.”

“That’s right.”

“Where?”

“Outside.”

“Suppose they kill you two, grab the money and run. What d’you expect me to do?”

“Kill them,” Blue said.

“And the money?”

“Keep it,” Durant said.

“All of it?” she asked.

“All of it,” he said.