The Reprise & Reprisal
Chapter 33
What went before was back again, this time targeting Americans rather than the local staff. Dick couldn’t believe it. The Cuban initiative, with The Family’s help, was largely a bust. Sure, there’d been some casualties and maybe upwards of ten percent of the Haitian employees still hadn’t returned to work, but the impact on mission’s operations had largely abated. So why this and why now, a last ditch effort to cause some more pain? Just for the hell of it?
Maybe so, Dick thought. Perhaps that was what all of this stuff was about to begin with, a poke in Uncle Sam’s eye and nothing more. Cuban harassment seemed to be the answer. They’d done it to us in Havana and now Port-au-Prince. No sonic attacks this time, only vicious voodoo.
“Frank, things have taken a different course it seems. What the hell can we do about it? I thought this shit was over and done with, but it’s taken a more ominous, nasty turn.”
“Embassy scuttlebutt suggests The Family’s is up to new tricks. Mama Mambo hasn’t learned her lesson, it seems. The damn Cubans must pay very well indeed. We’ve pretty much gutted the organization and there’ve been many defections among her followers, especially the zombie thugs. So we’ve done well, my friend. I believe things are coming to an end soon. That’s my hope anyway.”
“Yeah, I agree, but I’d really like to conclude this case on a high note and go home. But there’s still some unfinished business and I don’t like to leave loose ends, any thoughts Frank?”
“Yes, I have a couple, although I’m not ready to share them. However, I’ve got a good hunch things will end soon. So let’s be patient and see what happens next. The embassy has taken a number of steps to ramp-up security, same with the American business community. So there’s no urgency to act on our part, at least not yet. Maybe never if things go well. Who knows?”
Frank gave me a big smile, a shit-eating grin really, and left. It was an enigmatic gesture and wondered why I felt so damn uneasy.
***
It’d finally arrived, the day of reckoning. It was late evening as Frank knocked on Mama’s backdoor. The darkness cloaked his arrival from any innocent onlookers or prying eyes. The rainy season had started in earnest and had finally made its way to Port-au-Prince. Few people ventured outdoors during the nightly torrents. And that was good for Frank’s plan, the fewer people on the street the better for his purposes.
“Welcome Frank, what a pleasant surprise! It’s an unexpected one, but pleasant nonetheless. Come in out of the rain, you silly goose. Take off your soaked jacket or you’ll come down with a cold, my son. I’ll get you a blanket so you can warm yourself. Please sit, I’ll be right back.”
Frank thought the temperature in the house wasn’t only cool, but downright frigid. Mama always kept the thermostat at its lowest setting. Something to do with her weight and metabolism, he supposed.
“Auntie, please bring us a couple beers. It’s already been a busy evening with more work to be done. I’m thirsty!”
However, it wouldn’t only be his thirst quenched tonight, but his strong anger and even stronger ambitions as well.
“Salud! Why a visit at such a late hour? Couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow or do we have an urgent crisis we must deal with immediately? If so, tell me, otherwise I’m going to bed.”
“Yes, in a sense, there is a crisis and one of your own making. There’s a crisis of leadership in our family.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not what, but who. You Mama, you’re the problem. The business with the Cubans has been nothing short of a disaster from the beginning. It has boomeranged on you and our family, especially our credibility among the faithful followers.”
“We’ve made some small money from their contributions to our temple. But that’s merely chickenfeed to defray our overhead costs. Their real importance is they’re now a large constituency with political clout that we can leverage to our advantage. You’re jeopardized that. More importantly, the authorities are now closely examining our other activities. And if those should be discovered and shut down, we’ll lose more than just money, we’ll lose our freedom.”
“You need to retire at once. It’s time for someone else to head the family and clean up the mess you created. It was all for power and prestige on your part without considering the ramifications of your actions and how they’ve damaged us. You must leave and leave now!”
Mama had never heard such vehemence from Frank before, even as the spoiled child she raised.
“Frank, you’re wrong and how dare you challenge my authority! Remember, I’m the Voodoo Queen of Port-au-Prince and always will be. I raised you since you were a snot-nosed kid and now this is the disrespect you show me. It’s you who must leave immediately. Bondye may forgive your impudent ways, but I won’t, so leave now before I do something I may regret!”
With that, Mama slowly got up from her oversized divan and started to climb the stairs to her bedroom.
Frank expected nothing less from Mama. It was a foregone conclusion she’d never relinquish control of The Family as long as she was alive. No worries, Frank had carefully planned for the expected outcome.
Following directly behind her, Franked placed the muzzle of his semiautomatic pistol to the back of her oversized head and pulled the trigger three times. She fell backward to the floor, quite dead. His gun was fitted with a silencer, the same one he used to save Dick’s life.
He then got on his cell phone and made the call. Twenty minutes later the moving van with his two helpers pulled into the driveway. Two pieces of furniture and a large tarpaulin were off-loaded and taken into the house via the backdoor. Other than the tarp, the props were just for show.
The tarp, with Mama’s body inside, was carried out with difficultly by the three of them and ungracefully shoved into the rear of the van. Frank followed the truck in his own car. It was to be an exhausting night for everyone except Mama.
They reached the spot about 20 minutes later, the one owned by The Family and venue for the voodoo ceremonies. About a kilometer away from the stage, Frank’s helpers had already dug a large hole, large enough to accommodate Mama’s humongous body and then some.
She and the tarp were unceremoniously dumped in the hole followed by ten bags of lime. The lime would work its wonders and make short work of the corpse, enough to keep the authorities guessing as to its identity. That was highly unlikely since there’d be no witnesses, no tattletales to tell the tale.
As the helpers poured the lime, Frank shot each in the back of the head and they fell willy-nilly into the grave of their own volition and making. Loose lips sink ships, he reminded himself. He wasn’t about to go down with it.
He then got busy, filling the hole and two hours later he was finished with the chore. With the rains, the ground would soon level the mound of dirt so it would appear as a bare spot like the many others surrounding it. Mother Nature, not Mama Mambo, was the ultimate leveler of all things.
Mama had simply disappeared. And that was his intent. The last thing he wanted was her to be mourned and martyrized by her followers. She might be missed, but no longer would she be held in high regard by anyone. She’d fled to the states out of concern for her safety. And she’d abandoned her loyalists and fellow voodooists. At least that’s what Frank would insinuate and intimate. It was a wholly plausible explanation for her absence given what had occurred in the capital in the past several weeks. Oh, by the way, before she left, she’d appointed Frank as her successor to head The Family and all of its enterprises. He believed his fairytale and usurped authority wouldn’t be questioned!
Light was coming soon and he needed to finish quickly. He drove the van towards a cut in the road and parked it where it could be seen. He next backtracked to the gravesite, brushing the tire tracks as he went with a small tree branch. Lastly, he walked to the van and set it afire using a couple of liters of petrol to speed things up.
As the sun rose, Frank pulled away and headed home. All-in-all, a good night’s work, he thought, as he whistled a little tune in his head. Ding dong the witch is dead!