Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 (15 page)

“All right, we can rest now.”

Travis sank to the cold, hard ground. They had moved back inside the cave perhaps a hundred feet. He could not see Eldon but knew where he was from the sound of his harsh, labored breathing. “All right,” Travis said finally, also gasping. “What do we do now?”

“We wait till almost daylight and then go back to the hotel and get our things and take the first boat out of here. They’ll be busy the rest of the night swapping partners, and the
houngan
will pass out drugs to make their sexual appetite go on for hours. Eventually they will all sleep. Even if they find you missing, they probably won’t come after you tonight. They figure they can get you any time they want you, and next time they’ll kill you on the spot—wherever they find you.”

Travis shrugged. “I plan to go to the politicians on that committee and tell them the whole story, and you can believe they will go to the local law and demand something be done to protect a citizen of the United States.”

“You are crazy.” Eldon sighed. “The law will say you brought it all on yourself. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if one of those painted-up devils out there tonight wasn’t a constable, anyway, or some government big shot. The best thing for you to do is get out of this place, just as I plan to do, because they’re going to be after me, too. They’ll know it was I who helped you.”

“How will they know that? And how did you know where to find me? I’m grateful, believe me, because those people are crazy, but you drank out of that same bottle, and once I came out of my stupor, it wasn’t hard to figure out that I had been drugged. The only thing I can think of is that someone slipped in and put something into the rum.”

“That’s right. It was the rum. I realized it when I went back to my room to get my gun and found myself passing out. I made myself throw up, and I fought it like hell, but I still passed out. When I finally did struggle awake, I knew where to come, because I had done some checking on that girl, Molina, after we talked this afternoon, and I knew that her particular tribe holds their rites in that graveyard. Just be thankful Molina cared enough about you not to want you dead. She asked for the
banda
instead.”

“And what in hell is the
banda?”
Travis demanded. “And who is this baron who never put in an appearance at my party?”

Eldon was deeply reproachful. “I think it’s time you stopped making light of the situation, Coltrane. You almost died tonight.”

Travis nodded acknowledgment of the possibility and urged him to go on.

Eldon told him that Baron Samedi was the king of the cemetery spirits. “If you will recall, I explained that earlier, but you did not listen. The baron is the first person to be buried in a churchyard, and he can and does appear at any ceremony. He’s a greedy and tricky spirit and it is always his prerogative to devour all offerings made to any other
loa
before they get to them.”

“The
houngan
said something about some people named Ogoun and Erzulie.”

“They are what you call gods, who are always called on in marriage rites. You probably heard the name Guédé, too. Guédé is a collective title for all the cemetery spirits. It was obviously Molina’s intention that the two of you be married, and the
houngan
wanted you sacrificed to appease one of her dead relatives who was angered because you violated her honor.”

Travis nodded in the darkness. “Yeah, something was said about her grandfather. But what about the
banda?”

“The dance of the
banda
combines sexual fascination with the scorn for pleasure and willful contempt of love, which is, in Molina’s eyes and the
houngan’s,
the way you treated her. They use a stick as a mock penis. I saw some of them waving one around. That’s when I dared to hope they would dance the
banda
and wind up having sex and forget about you long enough for me to get you out of there.”

He sighed loudly in relief. “We were lucky. I have an idea that when the sun came up, the
houngan
would have slit your throat like a chicken’s anyway. There was no way he was going to see one of his tribe married to a foreigner, especially one who had turned the virtuous young lady aside after
robbing
her of her virtue.”

“Well, I’m indebted to you, Eldon,” Travis said with as much sincerity as he could muster over the chill going through his body and the headache that was exploding due to the drug. “I just wish we could head on back now and let me get some clothes and go to bed. What I would really like to do is go back and get my gun and then go to that cemetery and kill a few of those bastards, especially that
houngan.”

“No, we can’t leave. You might as well try to sleep, Travis. They might be out looking for us. We’ll have a better chance to make it in daylight, and they won’t just come running up and murder you out in the open. They will wait till dark, but we’ll both be gone by then.”

Travis leaned his head back against the rocky wall behind him. What a night. If anyone had ever told him that he would wind up in such an infernal mess all because he got drunk and could not resist the temptations of a beautiful native girl, he would have told them to go to hell and probably rapped them in the mouth as well. When Sam heard of this escapade, Travis thought wearily, he would spend the next ten years reminding Travis what a damn fool he was.

The next thing he knew Eldon was shaking him awake, and he was blinking rebelliously at the intrusion. His neck was stiff and aching. In fact, he realized, he ached all over. There were rope burns on his wrists and ankles, and he wondered how he had ever slept in the damp, cold cave without any clothes on.

“Come on, Travis, we’ve got to get out of here,” Eldon spoke in the pale light that filtered through the brush-hidden mouth of the cave. “We’re going to run all the way to the village and get our stuff and go to the docks and take the first boat out, just as I said last night. To hell with the committee, our jobs, all of it. Our lives are at stake.”

Travis looked at him long and hard. The man was scared to death. No doubt about it. His eyes were dark sockets, like someone dead and not yet buried. His skin was pasty white, and his lips had turned a funny blue color. He looked sick.

“You need some rest, Harcourt.” Travis struggled to his feet and then stretched to try to get some of the stiffness from his bones. “I’m going to the committee and tell them about that bunch of lunatics, and then I’m going to Santo Domingo and track down Sam.”

Eldon made a strange, strangling sound deep in his throat, and he reached out to place ice-cold hands on Travis’ bare shoulders, shaking him as hard as his strength would allow. “You are wasting your time and risking your life going to the law. What is it going to take to make you realize that you must leave?”

Travis sucked in his breath and resisted the impulse to tell the man he thought he was just as crazy as those wild, dancing, painted-up natives. After all, Eldon had come to his aid when he needed it desperately, and there was no way of knowing how things would have turned out without Eldon.

Travis decided to try humor for the present and then try reasoning later, when he returned from Santo Domingo and Harcourt had had time to rest.

“Anything you say, my friend.” Travis forced himself to sound jovial. “I’m not looking forward to running into the village naked, but I can’t hide here in this cave forever. Let’s go.”

Harcourt looked relieved, so relieved, in fact, that Travis felt a momentary wave of remorse.

They walked to the entrance of the cave, peered out through the brush, and then, after deciding all was clear, made their way toward the village.

Eldon gave Travis his shirt, which kept him from walking down the street totally unclothed. Still, there were many stares. More than that, there was a smothering air about the village. Travis had the feeling that, though there were not many people out, eyes were watching from behind every window.

“They’re here,” Eldon whispered, terrified, eyes widening as his gaze darted from left to right. “They’re watching us. I can feel it. We’ve got to move fast.”

Travis threw what he hoped was a reassuring arm across his shoulders. “Don’t worry so much, Eldon. You’re just tired. We’re both going to feel better after some rest and some food. I’d say we deserve a drink, too, even if it is so damn early, but this time we’ll make sure it isn’t rum and that it comes from a bottle that hasn’t been opened.” He laughed, but the sound fell flat against the shroud that had engulfed Eldon.

“No. You eat and rest if you want,” was his barely audible comment. “I’m getting my things and heading for the harbor. I’m getting on the first boat I see. I don’t even care where it’s headed.”

Travis was not about to let him do anything so foolish, but he did not tell him so. He steered Eldon on toward the hotel, arm still across his shoulders.

The desk clerk was nowhere to be seen. The silent, empty lobby was like a tomb. There was even a damp, decaying smell, and the odor reminded Travis of that smell of the night before. He bit down on his lower lip. Damned if he would admit it, but he did not like the situation. Something…something he could not put his finger on was just not right. Perhaps he was just letting Eldon’s fright rub off on him. Travis stiffened. Hell, he had never been scared in four years of that goddamn war, and he was not going to let a bunch of rum-drunk natives make him wet himself now.

He gave Eldon a gentle push up the stairs.

“Stay with me, Travis,” he was saying tremulously. “Go with me to my room. Get my gun. Don’t like it. Something is funny. I just feel it—”

“It’s going to be all right, my friend.” Travis wished he would hurry up. When he got to his room, he would probably fall asleep, and that was the thing Eldon needed most now, rest. He would see George Carpenter, one of the congressmen’s aides who roomed just down the hall, and tell him to keep an eye on Harcourt till Travis returned from Santo Domingo. By then he should have himself together. If not, Travis would just ask the committee to send the man back to America.

They reached the top of the stairs and turned to the left, Eldon shuffling along and Travis trying to hurry him without actually pushing him.

“Gun,” Eldon babbled as he fumbled in his pocket for his key and shakily inserted it in the door. “Get the gun first.”

The door swung open, and then Eldon fell backward, a scream lodged in his throat. He clutched at his face and fell to his knees, rocking to and fro, gasping for breath.

Travis stepped over him and into the room. “What in hell?” He took in the sight before him. Bones! Bones were scattered across Eldon’s bed. They were human bones—a leg, an arm, and there was even a grinning skull sitting upright on the pillow, staring at them mockingly.

“Granddaddy,” Eldon was moaning over and over, rhythmically pounding his head on the floor. “I’m a dead man…dead, dead, dead.”

The moans changed to an ear-splitting scream, and Travis reached down to grasp Eldon’s hair, yanking his head back. He smashed his fist into Eldon’s face and knocked him out cold, both to put the wretched man out of his misery for a moment and to stop that insane shrieking.

Eldon Harcourt slumped all the way to the floor, unconscious. The sound of running footsteps in the hall made Travis whip around, fists clenched, expecting to see that wild-eyed, painted-up
houngan.

It was George Carpenter, still in his nightshirt, heavy-lidded and sleepy as he rushed into the room. “What in blazes is going on here, Coltrane?” His voice trailed off as he looked from Eldon’s unconscious body to the bones scattered over the bed. “Oh, my God.”

Other doors opened, and soon several people were gathered around the doorway. Travis tried to explain without sounding like a madman himself, but he knew that no one was listening, for they all stood in silence staring in horror at those macabre, bleached white bones.

Suddenly the black desk clerk appeared. “Voodoo,” he whispered hoarsely, horror in his voice. He backed away from the doorway. “There is a curse on Mr. Harcourt. He will die now.”

“What do you mean, a curse?” one of the men scoffed. “I’ve heard about voodoo but paid it no mind. A bunch of dog bones means Eldon Harcourt will die because of some silly native superstition?” He chuckled, amused, and was joined by less convincing chuckles from the others.

The desk clerk retreated even farther, moving away from the gathering. “Not dog bones,” he pointed, his whole arm trembling violently. “Those are the bones of Mr. Harcourt’s grandfather. When the bones of a man’s ancestor are removed from its grave, it means that man is cursed. He will die.”

Travis knocked several people aside in his sudden lunge for the man. He pinned him against the wall. “Now you tell me how you know so goddamn much, you sonofabitch,” he ground out the words. “How do you know those are the bones of Harcourt’s grandfather?”

“He…he told me…” He choked out the words. “He told me…his grandfather was buried here…in Haiti. I heard of the curse.”

“How
did you hear of the curse?” he demanded, shaking him. “Talk, damn you.”

“Drums. The drums tell the story. They stopped beating only a little while ago. Mr. Harcourt, he is dead man.” His eyes raked over Travis reproachfully. “He interfered with the Baron Samedi,” he said contemptuously. “He interfered for you. Now he will pay, for the Baron Samedi has cursed him. You they will deal with later.”

Travis’ hand cracked across his face. He would have hit him again if the others had not stepped forward to pull him away. The little bastard had probably been one of those painted-up lunatics out there dancing. Travis wanted to kill him and let the whole bunch of them know he was not scared.