Chapter 12
Alexander
Black magic.
Specifically mixed with variations of Hoodoo, a folk tradition entirely separated from Voodoo that mixed herbs and graveyard dust with other items for spells and curses. Half of the Prince heritage had the blood of such spirits running through them.
At least according to my grandmother.
The other half, our Anglo heritage fit well given our beliefs in Catholicism.
If you asked my beloved sister to explain the art of Hoodoo, she could go on for days.
Dabbling was something she’d been doing since a child, of course nurtured by both our mother and grandmother.
Other than funerals, we’d remained away from various rituals such as music and dance, but the children had never been allowed to forget where they came from and what spirits evoked evil.
Perhaps my ancestors would roll over in their graves if they knew I used the fear of the unknown involving both Voodoo and Hoodoo to…
make a point with my enemies. As I pulled the car to the outer edges of the cemetery, I realized if my ancestors were as powerful as I’d been taught to believe, they knew and were likely giving me their blessings.
“Gris-gris. Really?” Jarvis asked from beside me.
The two small sachets were filled with several crushed bones, graveyard dust, and wolfsbane.
They were often used by those practicing black magic in placing curses or simply to terrify whoever they wanted to warn to stay away.
I couldn’t take the credit for the theatrics and superstitious methods used.
Once my father had learned about the rituals, he’d adopted the use of perpetuating superstition whenever possible.
Given there was a large contingency of those believing in black magic in New Orleans, the deterrent had come in handy on several occasions.
“Do I need to remind you that one of our men is missing a hand?”
“You don’t know that for certain yet.”
I twisted my hand around the steering wheel.
But I knew. It was a message much like the one delivered in a tidy box from my CFO.
Since when did anyone who took weeks skimming money from various bank accounts come forward and admit doing so?
It was unheard of, which meant the employee in question had been used for a little…
black magic game of his own. While I didn’t know shit about Jimmy Parker, my gut told me he would be the last person I’d believe would steal from a mafia empire.
Why take the risk?
“We both know that’s exactly what happened. I don’t care if we run DNA on his fingertips, DeMarco was killed and you know it. This war that’s started is already getting out of hand.” Just as with the severed hand, this was a warning. And they highlighted inconsistencies in my operations.
Fuck, my father’s seat at the head of the table had yet to grow cold and my entire empire was being challenged by some lowlife.
“So what does it have to do with Voodoo?” Jarvis demanded.
“Hoodoo. There’s a big difference. Jimmy is a devout believer of the darkness.” I don’t know why I was bothering, but the last thing that could happen was allowing the man to go without receiving punishment.
He chuckled. “What darkness would that be? Being alone in a goddamn spooky ass cemetery in the middle of the night?”
I threw him a look as I cut the engine. “I hardly think nine at night is the wee hours of the morning.”
“Speak for yourself. You like carnal activities. It’s dark enough for me and this place creeps me out.”
“That’s what it’s meant to do.” I snatched the small satchel from his hand. Emmeline had also been instrumental in teaching me about how gris-gris was used.
“What in the hell is that stench?”
“Maybe the wolfsbane is decaying.” Like Jimmy would soon find himself. A perfect place for an interrogation. I certainly didn’t believe in ghosts or the afterlife. Unless accepting the fact I was going to hell when I died being a true believer.
“He stole a hundred k. You make that in a few hours. Why are you bothering?”
Jarvis’ question was a good one. I ordinarily didn’t bother with low-level issues or crimes within the organization. That’s what I paid my men to handle and did so handsomely.
“You know how I feel about anyone in my employ stealing from me. And this is some elaborate game, not a man suddenly feeling remorse.”
He snorted. “Or maybe you’re trying too hard to make some sense of the simple fact Russo is trying to pin his son’s murder on you.”
“Like we’re pinning our father’s murder on him?”
“Fine. I get your point. However, if poor Jimmy is just feeling remorse, he picked the wrong day to confess his sins.”
Something I could agree with.
Once out of the car, I took a few seconds to glance toward the glow in the sky.
I knew my men also hated the location, but I found it entertaining.
What better area to require someone to tell the truth than in the oldest active and most haunted cemetery in the city.
Between the moss covering the stone and concrete fixtures, the century-plus-old gnarled trees, and the addition of the bright full moon, there couldn’t be a more perfect setting in my mind.
“What’s the goal with having a discussion with Jimmy other than to find out why he stole the money? Or are you more interested in ripping someone apart to feed your anger?”
“Be careful, Jarvis. While I consider you my best friend and closest confidant, that doesn’t mean you’re allowed any more disrespect than others in my employ.”
“You’re definitely cut out to be the head honcho, but why don’t you save it for when you discover the person who killed your father. That kind of vehemence anyone could understand, but Jimmy is a two-bit player.”
“Because my gut tells me he knows something that will prove useful in our search for the killer. Before I start a war with the Russos, I need to discover what the hell we’re dealing with. Every detail.”
“I agree with that. Nothing else you’ve said today, but this you’re right about.”
If he believed pushing my buttons was in his best interest, he didn’t know how close to an edge I’d been pushed.
Jarvis’ insult would need to wait. We headed to the preordained spot that I’d used a few times over the years, the location hidden by groups of trees and located in an area where the tombs were rarely visited given the length of time the inhabitants had been deceased.
I could smell Jimmy’s fear before we moved toward the group of trees.
There was no light needed, the shimmering illumination from the stream of moonlight the perfect added atmosphere for the macabre moment.
Especially with the humidity creating a slight hint of fog.
I couldn’t have asked for a more enhanced setting.
While I wasn’t known for my dramatics, I’d learned there were times brutal violence could only do so much on its own. Over the years, ending a life had become passé. Or maybe I was just getting older.
Before we reached him, Jimmy was obviously able to smell the gris-gris. It was rancid. The contents with the wolfbane were also poisonous. I’d yet to determine if I simply wanted to shove the entire bag down his throat.
Jarvis was correct. I was more enraged than usual, which would mean I’d need to shorten my involvement, or the scene would be far too bloody, taking precious time to clean.
With the criminal charges hanging over my head, prudence was in order.
Another reason I’d chosen to use the element of the mind as pressure.
What concerned me more than a lousy one hundred thousand was the timing.
And the fact up to this point Jimmy had been a decent employee.
Why hadn’t he come to me if he’d needed money?
While everyone had a vice whether women, drugs, booze, or even gambling, Jimmy had always come to work on time, his production excellent, and had never so much as raised his voice to anyone. So why now? Maybe that’s why my CFO had come to me directly. You paid more attention to the anomalies.
In my mind, the answer was obvious. Someone had lured him into stealing from me. I wasn’t in the habit of giving out charity. I also was known for having a temper. That’s one reason there were rarely any issues within the syndicate. As Underboss, they’d both feared and respected me.
The two men holding him were none too happy.
No one liked the cemetery. If I believed in ghosts, I’d say we had a group of them watching us.
I adored the place. The vibes. The darkness.
The feeling of being amongst the dead. At least I wasn’t desecrating the family tomb, the cemetery in a different part of town.
“Mr. Prince. I hoped you’d be here,” Jimmy started as I approached and immediately his gaze drifted to what I had in my hand. The darkness and ominous shadows couldn’t hide what I was holding or the implications.
“You did? I’m curious as to why.”
“So I could apologize properly.” I knew instantly there was more to the story than a Catholic man paying an act of contrition.
Besides, I was no priest. Maybe I should simply place a curse on him and be done.
Not that I knew any. But he didn’t know that.
However, that allowed me leeway as to whether I would kill him or simply use his punishment as a warning to others. With my takeover of the organization, everyone would be watching what I did. With my arrest, they’d believe I was out for blood, eager to paint it on every building and street.
As I twisted the net bag in my hand while moving closer, he recoiled.
In these instances, it was often best to remain quiet and allow the prisoner to feel the pressure, until they were unable to withhold information.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely audible. He wasn’t attempting to fight for his life or break free from the brutes holding him. He’d known he’d face punishment. “I shouldn’t have taken the money.”