Chapter Seven
Michael looked the pictures over more carefully and shook his head. “Like I told Deacon, there was a hierarchy. I only made it about half way up the ranks. You only learn everything once you make it all the way.”
“So, these symbols mean nothing to you?” Ramirez-Montague questioned and there was the distinct sound of doubt in his voice.
“I didn’t say that. See this one on her arm, it’s the satanic cross.”
Both Deacon and the police detectives slowly looked his way in disbelief.
“So, these people are devil worshippers?” Detective Horner asked.
“No,” Michael answered and shook his head in frustration. He didn’t feel like it was the time to get into what he’d learned about real Satanists and what they believed. “They appropriated the symbol for their own purposes. They don’t truly believe in anything beyond themselves and giving themselves power.”
“Power over what?” Deacon asked.
“Everything. Control over their lives, other people’s lives, destiny, everything. See, this one on her stomach is from Voodoo. It’s Papa Legba’s symbol.”
Ramirez-Montague sighed as did Deacon. One couldn’t live in New Orleans without knowing about Papa Legba.
“So, what? They’re trying to make a crossroads deal?” the police detective asked, referring to the practice commonly associated with the Voodoo figure.
“It’s possible,” Michael said with a shrug. “Maybe using the woman as an offering to him.”
Deacon snorted in disgust. “So, they’re not only narcissists and murderers, they’re also perverting other people’s religions.”
“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to get out,” Michael admitted.
“I think this is definitely related to your case, Detective,” Deacon said.
Ramirez-Montague nodded. “We found the website you told us about as well, but we haven’t been able to get in. I was hoping it might give us some insight.”
“Oh yeah,” Michael answered. “There’s a lot on there about the organization, at least there used to be. None of it is criminal, but there might be thinly veiled clues.”
“I don’t suppose you have the password?” Deacon said, eagerly.
Michael frowned and shook his head. He glanced at the photos one last time and then got up to get away from them. He paced the floor in front of Horner for a moment and then said, “The password changes all the time. You aren’t supposed to be able to get in unless you’re invited.”
Then Ramirez-Montague slapped the case file onto the desk, rather loudly, and ran a hand over his bald head. “We’re kind of stumped here, then. No physical evidence was found at this scene that led to anything and none was found in your apartment either. Besides the powder, which could have come from a thousand sources, we have nothing.”
Michael rubbed the back of his neck and then suddenly stopped pacing. Slowly, he turned back toward the desk. “Even though the password changed, they only had a handful of them that they just kept rotating. It’s possible they still use the same ones.”
Deacon grinned and then raised his eyebrow sarcastically at the police detective. For once, the police detective didn’t care. He waved Michael over to his computer and brought up the Vires et Spiritu website. Like before, a black background with floating red symbols came up and a single box for a password.
Michael sat down, feeling nervous. Everything seemed to be riding on his ability to get into the site and he had no idea if he could. He took a deep breath and let his hands hover over the keyboard. He wasn’t even sure he remembered them all. After a moment and a pat on the back from Deacon, he typed in the password he’d used when he joined. The page went black and then a large, red skull and crossbones, flashed across it. Disappointed sighs filled the room.
“Try again,” Deacon urged as the front page came back on. Underneath the regular password box was the message that they’d only get two more tries before the site shut down on them.
Michael shook his head. “I don’t know, Deac.”
Deacon put his hands-on Michael’s shoulders. “You can do this. We need you.”
“Once in, we can make it look like we were an invited recruit,” Ramirez-Montague added.
Michael turned to look at him. “You mean, set them up?”
“That was the plan,” the police detective answered with a smug grin.
Back at the keyboard, Michael typed in the next password he could remember. Once again, the skull and bones came up and everyone in the room let out a nervous sigh. He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together. Slowly, he typed in his last try.
“We’re in!” he heard Deacon shout and he opened his eyes to the group’s website. With a relieved laugh, he looked up at his lover and smiled.
From there, they went to work. He helped the detectives pour through a brief history of the group, what they stood for, meetings and dues—the works. It was only slightly helpful and when they’d gone over every detail, Michael said, “I told you, they only give you information as you go.”
“From the way this reads, it sounds more like some kind of fraternity or harmless charity organization,” Ramirez-Montague pointed out.
“There’s more here than you think,” Deacon said with a mischievous grin. “Like Michael said, thinly veiled.”
“Like what?” the police detective asked.
“All these spots talking about club meetings have photos.” He pointed to the screen. “That’s down by the wharf at the end of Esplanade.”
“Where they dragged you into the warehouse?” Michael asked.
“Exactly. I bet all the rest of these photos are secret hideouts as well.”
Ramirez-Montague nodded. “Then, maybe, all the photos of members with politicians and businessmen—”
“I bet they’re all members,” Michael said. “The ones in power now were recruited when they were younger too.”
“You realize how far up this might go then?”
The piano player turned away. “Why did I have to write that song?”
“Hey, what they’ve done isn’t your fault,” Deacon insisted. “You shouldn’t have to hide away. You did the right thing.”
“Now we just have to find a way to bring them to justice without getting ourselves killed,” the police detective pointed out.
“I think keeping everyone alive is your job,” Deacon pointed out.
“Yeah, assuming they don’t have members in my precinct.”
Deacon and Michael left a little later, glad they could help and that there had been a break in the case. They weren’t feeling too confident about where things went from there, though.
As they opened the doors of Deacon’s car to find somewhere else to stay for a few days, he looked at Michael from over the top. “Do you think faking being a recruit will work?”
Michael thought about it. “They don’t recruit often. We’d have to make it look like we’re someone special. They’ll be excited by the prospect of someone they can use and mold. I think it’ll work.”
Deacon slapped the car, feeling better. “Good.”
“Until they want to do an actual meet-up,” Michael added and then got into the car.
His lover’s face fell. “Great,” he grumbled and slid into the driver’s seat.
They left the police detectives to create their fake recruit account and drove to see yet another person who owed Deacon a favor. Michael was starting to wonder just how this private detecting worked.
“Does anyone ever actually pay you? You know, in actual cash?” he asked as Deacon got back in the car with a set of keys.
“Yeah, of course they do. I take cash from the ones whose cases were a waste of my time,” he answered and flashed Michael a cheeky grin. “I rely on favors from my friends. It builds rapport too. I appreciate them, they appreciate me—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. So, where are we staying?”
“Broadmoor,” Deacon answered. “Mister Johnson, my former client, has a place there that was damaged by Katrina. It was a rental, mostly fixed up now, but he’s never bothered to rent it out again.”
“Sounds all right,” Michael agreed.
“It’s not like we can be picky. Besides, I like Broadmoor, it’s lovely.”
Mr. Johnson lived in Algiers, so they took the ferry back across the river. From there, the drive took them past the French Quarter and the Superdome, to a quiet, leafy community with shotgun houses and large, well-manicured lawns.
“I don’t get up this far that often,” Michael admitted. His new-found love for the country side had changed his point of view on things, though.
“Too in love with the city,” Deacon teased.
Michael blushed, but his heart fluttered at the idea of his lover knowing what he was thinking. He simply nodded.
“Me too, but like I said, it’s lovely.”
Just off Napoleon Avenue was a narrow street with so many trees it practically looked like they were going back to Deacon’s cabin in the woods. The houses were roomy, and they quickly found the one they were looking for.
“That is not what I’d expected,” Michael said as they drove up to the stuccoed house, surrounded by trees, semi-tropical plants and a pillared veranda. “Why hasn’t he rented this back out again?”
“Not sure it’s quite up to code. He had to pay for most of the repairs out of his own pocket,” Deacon said with a frown. Then the two of them unpacked the few belongings they were still dragging around with them. The first thing planned was a trip to the laundromat.
The inside of the house was nice too—fully furnished with three bedrooms. It was more luxury than they’d seen in quite a while. It came as a surprise to both of them when they thought about just how long it had really been since they’d met.
“I feel like we’ve been on the run for months,” Michael said as they sat at the kitchen table, eating dinner, a few hours later.
“Nope,” Deacon said, trying to sound carefree about it. “Can’t be more than a week or so.” He glanced around the kitchen, which was set into a little nook by the front window. It had a bar, overlooking the living room and then a back hall led to the bedrooms and bathrooms. The back was a little closed off for his taste, but he liked being able to look over the garden from the kitchen. He looked out the window now, wondering if the neighbors might get suspicious.
“Earth to Deacon,” Michael said with a chuckle.
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you’d ever consider moving out of the Quarter.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Though, I’m not sure I like the idea of going back to my old place,” he admitted.
Michael nodded. “I wish I could go check on mine. I have some plants that are probably dead by now.”
Deacon laughed so hard he had to stop eating. He didn’t know why it was so funny. Maybe he just needed the release. Before long, Michael had joined him, and they laughed until they couldn’t breathe.
Sleep didn’t come very easily for either of them. They’d picked the bedroom closest to the living room so Deacon wouldn’t feel so tucked away, even left the door open, but it didn’t help much. Michael had made the mistake of joking about him being locked in a closet as a child and was horrified when Deacon only looked away with sadness in his eyes. It had made for a tense sleeping situation and both of them felt miserable when they got up the next morning.
Michael made it up first and cooked a little breakfast. He was tired of bacon and had opted for some grits and eggs instead. He watched as Deacon stumbled out of the bedroom and felt his heart quicken. He flashed a nervous smile and said, “I’ve made grits.”
“Oh, thank God,” Deacon breathed. “Do you have any alcohol to go with it?”
Michael chuckled and passed him a bowl. “Eggs are on the stove. I didn’t know if you liked mixing them or not.” As his lover stumbled by, he added, “Oh, and Ramirez-Montague texted.”
Deacon groaned. “What did Detective Ramigue want?”
“Just letting us know that the profile is complete and was accepted. Now we have to figure out what to say to them to let us into a meet and greet, maybe even an initiation ceremony.”
“Initiation ceremony?”
“Yeah, that would be the best,” Michael answered as Deacon sat down across from him and started eating. “That way all the senior members would be there too.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know who they were.”
“I don’t. Most of the members stay in the shadows and have their faces covered with masks. They’ll still be there, though.”
Deacon nodded, a slow grin crossing his face. “We could catch them all at once.”
The two of them got dressed and hurried back to the police station. By the time they got there, though, Deacon wasn’t so sure about this plan. He was hesitant as Ramirez-Montague gave them the update.
“You know what they’re looking for, Mister Deveraux. Tell us what we need to do to convince them to take us in,” the police detective said.
“And then what?” Deacon asked from where he’d been leaning against the door jamb. “What happens if they do want to meet? It’s not like we have any proof of what they did. Michael knew what those symbols meant. I bet a lot of people do.”
The other three looked at him in disbelief, especially Michael. “I thought you liked this plan,” he said.
“It sounded good at first, but it’s no good arresting a bunch of powerful people if we don’t really have anything on them.”
Ramirez-Montague thought for a moment, but wasn’t convinced. “We have a witness and a connection—”
“So, who are you going to send to this meeting, then? None of us fit the profile you created?”
“An undercover operative,” the police detective answered.
“Wait, a kid?” Michael asked, suddenly feeling iffy about the plan as well.
“A college aged officer,” Ramirez-Montague corrected. When Michael only snorted, he added, “He’s a trained police officer, Mister Deveraux.”
“No, I don’t like this.”
“See?” Deacon said and gestured toward his lover. “There are too many holes—”
Suddenly Ramirez-Montague was out from behind his desk and in Deacon’s face. “This is where your story has led us, Jameson. This is the best plan we’ve got to catch the men who trashed your place and beat up your client. Maybe, if you’d come to us in the first place, there’d be some evidence of that, but you didn’t. So, this is what we’re gonna do, with or without your help. Do not make me throw you in jail for obstruction of justice.”
Deacon held up his hands and pushed himself back into the door. “Yes, sir, Detective. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He and his client left the police station a few minutes later, having promised to help out if they could. Neither of them felt like it anymore, though. As they drove back to the house in Broadmoor, both were deep in thought.
As they walked up the steps to the house, though, both turned and said, “I have an idea.” They grinned at each other and then hurried up the steps.
Over a hastily thrown together lunch, the two of them discussed what had been going through their minds.
“How well do you know the techniques they use?” Deacon asked. “What about the PCP?”
“I never knew what was in it,” Michael said through a mouthful of chips and dip. “The powder they used on people was usually…less potent.”
“Well, they did dose me twice.”
His lover nodded. “And you weren’t prepared. Sometimes they did that with new recruits who seemed hesitant to follow through. They’d basically terrify someone into either never telling what they saw or going ahead and joining. Most of the time, though, they used it as a mild hallucinogenic. The way a lot of spiritual practices use it in their rituals.”
“Uh-huh,” Deacon sassed. “Just sounds like a lot of experimental drug use to me.”
“In a way, but you have to remember that most of the members, especially the ones who have made it all the way through the ranks, they really believe they have some kind of divine powers, that their magical rituals actually work.”
Deacon thought for a moment and then said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That you want to find a way to turn this back on them and use it against them?”
Deacon grinned. “If we can get to just one of them, maybe we could get him to tell us the truth.”
“You want to use mind altering drugs to question someone?” Michael asked in disbelief.
“Well, what was your idea?”
Michael blushed. “Actually, I was going to suggest going all the way. We could put together a ritual that included the drugs, make them really believe some kind of magic was happening.”
“Then get them to tell us the truth?”
“Yeah, and the names of all the members, everything.”
“I like your thinking, Michael. You should have been a PI,” Deacon complimented.
“Thanks, but what about Detective Ramirez—”
“Ramigue,” his lover corrected. “Don’t worry about him. I’ve been dealing with his wrath for a decade. Besides, wouldn’t you rather we did this than some hapless rookie who doesn’t know what he’s getting into?”
Michael nodded. He had to agree with that. “So, now what?”
“Well, you’re the expert, so to speak.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No, I see how much you know what you’re talking about. You may not have made it very far up in Vires et Spiritu, but I know you’ve done a lot of trying to make sense of it since.”
Michael blushed and looked away. “I needed to know that I was still OK inside, you know? And that what they were doing wasn’t real. It made me angry to find out just how much they’d perverted the religions they were supposedly using.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with this idea, then?” Deacon cautiously asked.
The younger man sighed and leaned his head back. “I think so. This is different, in a way. We’re doing it to catch these men. Who knows what all they’ve done over the last five decades. This is just the only murder we know about.”
Deacon nodded in agreement. He decided it was probably best not to mention that the plan sounded like a lot of fun too. “So, tell me what we need to do.”