"This rogue priest, this Mr. Dunn, is known only to the group of thugs with whom he has surrounded himself- He is a criminal in every sense of the worda mobster. It is rumored that in Haiti he was one of the T)nton Macoutes, Franqois Duvaher's secret police. He preys on people's weaknesses and superstitions. He extorts money from our businesses and sells narcotics to our children. 'two years ago, after several attempts to enlist the aid of the police, my uncle attempted to organize the merchants to fight back.
One of Dunn's collection men was beaten up. Another was robbed of his stash of drugs before he could sell them. It came from Mr. Dunn that my uncle was to be made an example-that he had been marked for living death. His family tried to protect him, but several of Dunn's men came with guns and took him away. Uncle, are you able to tell this doctor what happened next?"
Eric turned to the old man. "Please try," he urged.
"I received the coup poudre from the Evil One himself," Titus said, weakly clearing phlegm from his throat. "Across my mouth and under my arms." He demonstrated by drawing his hand across the areas.
Eric remembered reading in several sources that absorption of tetrodotoxin was nearly as rapid and complete through the skin as through the gastrointestinal system.
"Did you see the man's face?" he asked.
"It was the face of hell."
Eric looked to Anna, who shrugged and shook her head.
"Perhaps a mask," she said. "Go on, uncle."
"They tied me down, but soon they cut me free.
There was no need to bind me, for I could no longer move."
"You remember all of this?"
"Some things he remembers clearly. Some not at all," Anna explained.
"what we do know is that two days later, this man who now sits before you was found lying on a bed in this very room, cold and quite dead. His eyes were taped shut. A note by his body warned against moving him or calling for medical help. Over the following two days, though he was watched constantly, not once did anyone see him take so much as a single breath."
"MY wife mourned over me," Titus said hoarsely.
"I could hear her and feel her hand when she brushed it over my face."
"You were awake?" Eric asked.
"I was." Eric saw himself staring down at Laura's brother as he pronounced the man dead, and felt a painful queasiness churn in his gut.
"After those two days, Dunn's men came again," Anna said. "And once again they dragged my uncle away. A day later he was found wandering down an alleyway near here, retarded in mind and body and quite incapable of caring for himself.
"When he could tell us, he claimed that his captors had forced some sort of Powder into his mouth, and then injected something into his arm.
Finally they beat him with their fists and set him free. His senses have returned somewhat over these years, but he remains a man without a soul, and no one outside his family will have anything to do with him."
"That's very sad," Eric murmured, "and very terming." He had not the least doubt that what he was hearing was true. He gazed across at the broken old man, and then reached out and held one bony hand in his.
"I am very sorry for what has befallen you, sir", he said. 'And I am very grateful that you would share your story with me."
"As you might guess," Anna said, "my uncle served the houngan's purpose well. The beast has met little resistance since then. The merchants pay, and the children buy his drugs. And we have no more idea who he is now than we did when he first appeared on the scene."
At once fascinated and fearful, Eric tried to create a scenario whereby Scott Enders and Loretta Leone would have been intentionally poisoned.
Both were street people Perhaps they had seen something, or learned of something, that threatened the priest and his operation.
"Anna, is there anything I can do?" he asked.
"Anything at all?"
"Perhaps," she said, after thinking over his request. "Perhaps there is. Dunn's payment demands have been increasing steadily. Once again there is a small group who is willing to stand up to him, if they can. I am part of that group, Eric. We have begun meeting.secretly to try and form a plan, but we are still frightened-very frightened.
Dunn is as ruthless and sadistic as a man can be. He has many spies and informants, and may already know us. But we do not know him.
We have no one to strike at, and no support from outside our community.
And worst of all, he has the terror of the coup poudre.
"Talk to people, Eric. See if you can get some of your doctor friends or, better still, someone in the police Department interested in this."
She wrote a number down and handed it to him. "Please be careful, and do not return to this store without calling me."
Eric glanced at his watch. It was twenty of eleven.
"I need to think about all this, Anna," he said.
"Then I'll call — you."
"Whatever you decide to do or not do will be understood," she promised.
"Uncle, you can go upstairs now."
They waited until Titus Mennilard had shuffled off, and then they left his shop. Sproul Court was deserted and totally silent, save for the faint rumble of traffic from the thoroughfare several blocks away.
"Do you need a ride anywhere?" Eric asked.
"No, thanks. I don't live too far from here, and I need the air."
"That was a terrifying story your uncle just told."
"I hope you believe it."
"How could I not?"
"And I hope you will find a way to help us. I sensed in the library that you were the sort of man who might. That is the real reason I chose to share this with you."
Anna looked at him in a way that made his mouth go dry; "I 4 call you," he managed. "At least I can promise you-" Eric's words were cut short by a hand clasped tightly over his mouth from behind. His head was pulled back and a long, razorlike stiletto was set against his throat.
At virtually the same instant, a tall black man pulled Anna back by the hair and slipped the broad blade of a hunting knife beneath her chin.
"Not a word," he ordered. "Not a fucking word or you're both dead."
Eric's heart, driven by a sudden flood of adrenal e, in began pounding mercjlessly- The powerful hand across his mouth pulled even more tightly. Eric felt his lip split. Then he felt the dagger break skin.
"Please," he rasped.
"Shut up!"
Eric sensed blood beginning to trickle down his chest. He tried to look over at Anna, but the hand held him too tightly. Then, without lowering their knives, the two men half-dragged, half-shoved them several doors down the street to the only storefront on the block that was boarded up.
I.So," the man holding Anna said in a rich Island accent, "word has it that you are interested in challenging the power of the spirits and their priest, and the coup poudre. Why, my beautiful friend, perhaps you are about to get that chance."
In response to a tap from the man's boot, the solid wooden door opened, and Eric and Anna Delacroix were shoved rudely onto the floor inside.
Not in his worst nightmares had Eric conjured a situation more terrifying than the hell he was living through this night. He and Anna Delacroix were gagged, their arms and ankles lashed to their chairs in a room heavy with incense and glowing with the flickering light of several dozen candles. Two decapitated chickens, hanging from a rafter, dripped blood onto the floor between their feet, forcing them to keep their knees spread apart to avoid being soiled. Around the dingy room hung bones some of them human-sized-fluid-filled glass jars containing the bodies of toads and snakes, and carelessly tied bunches of what appeared to be dried weeds and wild flowers. On two sides of the room, surrounded by candles, were bizarre altars, each featuring a cluster of a dozen or more cheap plastic or ceramic figurines-statuettes of women and cowboys, clowns and madonnas, cupids and dogs. Resting on a dish at the center of each cluster was the head of a recently slaughtered chicken.