Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Hold on.” I sat up in my seat. “Only three white guys can come into her place?”
“Yes.”
Now I see why Boris and I got our guns back.
Finally, I looked out of the window and tensed.
The driver parked in the front of the house. It was painted a light blue, with white trim and a black door. It reminded me of a doll house.
An iron gate surrounded it.
Two trees, both dead, stood by the front entrance like guards. Tons of flowers and rose bushes decorated the place.
While the house appeared normal from the outside, something didn’t seem right.
The front windows were clean, but I swore the windows watched me as if they were alive. In fact, I felt like a lot of things were watching me.
I scanned the area and saw nothing. No one walked the streets or sat on the porch of the other houses next to it.
Yet, there was an intense feeling inside of me that something could attack us at any moment. My gut tightened and my senses were in overdrive. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and a cold chill ran down my spine. I had the sudden urge to run away as fast as I could.
“I’m not going in that house.” I made no move to take off my seat belt. “Something isn’t right about that place.”
“That is fine.” Jean-Pierre left the Benz, but didn’t close the door.
“That’s fine?”
“Yes.” He straightened down his suit coat. “We are not going to that house.”
“What?” I undid my seatbelt, opened my side of the car, and left.
Boris got out too.
The white van from the airport pulled up along with several other cars filled with Rafael’s men.
“If we’re not going there,” I gestured to the house, “Then, where are we going?”
“There.” Jean-Pierre pointed to the church four houses down.
“Oh, hell no. Another church?”
“Another one.” Jean-Pierre headed off.
“The Voodoo woman is in there?”
“My understanding is the person to get us to the Voodoo woman is in there.”
“And why is the person in the church?”
Jean-Pierre smiled. “Because it is Sunday.”
Chapter 14
Ms. Curly
S
omehow Rafael beat us to the church. He must have taken a shortcut.
Rafael stood at the door of the church, his hand on the knob. His face wore a nervous expression. He kept fixing his tie and patting down his hair. His shoes were polished to a shine and his suit was pressed. He looked like he was about to ask the love of his life to marry him.
When we approached Rafael, he pointed at each Jean-Pierre, Boris, and then me. “Be on your best behavior.”
Jean-Pierre rolled his eyes.
“No. No.” Rafael shook his hand at the extra men behind us. “What are they doing here?”
Jean-Pierre sighed. “They’re security, Rafael.”
“No security. None.” His eyes went wild. “I told you no security and here you are—”
“But we are not at the witch’s place yet so—”
“There is no witch! Do not say that. This is the Lord’s house.” Rafael lowered his voice. “Do not say that here. We may get kicked out or something. And do not mess this up for me, Jean-Pierre.”
“Fine.” Jean-Pierre gestured for his guards to leave. “They will wait outside.”
“Not outside!” Rafael’s voice rose. “They go back in the cars. I told Gwen that I can be a changed man. I must present this image of normalcy.”
Who’s Gwen?
The men headed back.
“They are gone.” Jean-Pierre gestured to the door. “Let us begin.”
Rafael pointed at his cousin again. “Behave.”
No humor covered Jean-Pierre’s face. “I always behave.”
“The hell you do.” Rafael opened the door and led us through.
I followed behind the Pansies.
I can’t believe I’m going into another church.
At least this one was different.
Fast-pumping music hit my ears first. Lovely voices swelled and throbbed down to my soul.
The gospel choir stood in the front and on the right, wearing dark blue and white robes. It must have been thirty people swaying back and forth, clapping, rocking, and singing their asses off.
Alright now. If I knew church was like this, I would go more often.
On the left, a small band tore it up like they were in a night club on a Friday night.
The keyboard player had black sunglasses over his eyes. He moved his fingers across the keys with mesmerizing skill and precision.
The drummer was a tall, lanky guy with long hair that flew every which way as he slammed his sticks in a perfect tempo that made me put a bit of pep into my step.
Alright, brother.
There was an electric guitar player that was performing like his body had been possessed by Jimi Hendrix. The guitarist’s fingers blurred as they flew over the strings, producing a sound that was both melodic and chaotic.
Damn. This church is popping.
Electric energy pulsed through the space.
The congregation clapped and sang along.
Some danced in the aisles.
And it was nothing but Black people filling the space. They were all different shades, from the lightest brown to the richest deep black. Perfume and cologne thickened the air.