That Voodoo That You Do - (Marigny St, New Orleans)

Part 2 of a joint post from Wandering Wolf and Sail.

Owen listened, face relaxing, as Katherine described his boy and how he had treated her. A smile of his own reached his eyes as he watched her reminisce. So she was a rich white kid, someone whose parents would literally pay to keep out of the house. The revelation intrigued Owen, in light of their common cause, piquing his interest in this unlikely compatriot.

"This is what you're going to study? And what, you're going to write a research paper on Voodoo for professor Snape?" He pointed to the book she'd just photographed, "All this stuff is made up, just people manipulating and exploiting other people. There are no zombies, or sacred roots, or charms. They're stories granny would tell the kids to scare them into bed on time." Rounding the table back to his seat, Owen picked up his carton of Chinese and took a bite.

Catbite shrugged. “Sure, it’s bullshit..all religions are...til you say the wrong thing and piss off a bunch of believers...and Voodoo people? They are fucking freaks.” She took more pictures, finishing the notebook capture. “Ever heard of la llorona? She’s a piece of folklore that hispanic parents use to frighten their kids. Not as cool as JK Rowling’s shit, but she scared the righteous fuck out of whole generations. She was gonna be my field study...mainly an excuse to wax dad’s plastic and go slam beers in every Spanish speaking country.”

The smirk that had been settling upon her face now darkened. “I hope that what we’re doing is just hella stupid. I really want to be standing outside that hotel room in Pensacola when you catch Jaiden on an extended spring break with some girl he’s doing. I really do,” she emphasized her words with a direct gaze. “But if he’s in….this…” she gestured toward the scattered pile of books with splayed fingers, “he’s walking on a road with no map. If you’re really going after him, I want in.”

A subtle ping announced the completion of the last audio cassette. The punk bent before her laptop, her eyes scanning the recording log. “We got ‘em all,” Kat said as she began stuffing all the ‘borrowed’ research material into her shoulder bag. “I gotta go,” the girl folded her laptop and glanced about for anything she might’ve forgotten. “What’s your email? When I get back to my room tonight I’ll send you a Dropbox do know what Dropbox is, right? Anyway, you’ll have all the files. Make copies,” she lifted her brows in seriousness.

Owen listened, steely eyes following her gesticulations.

He unfolded his wallet to produce a business card, but it froze in his thumb and fore finger. Katherine had triggered something in him with her comment, "If you're really going after him..." He was going after Jaiden, no matter where that led, wasn't he? The chances of him finding his mother were slim at best, and if people he could be tangled up with believed what they'd been reading? The thought furrowed his brow. He'd have to call in to Hibernia Corp. to let them know he had to take leave for... family matters. With the weekend ahead, he'd know more once they got a lead.

Grabbing a pen, he scribbled his email on the back of the card and put it in her hand. He'd already asked and she'd already answered why she was helping, and, honestly, with the amount of effort Katherine was putting in to copy this old collection Jaiden had his hands on, the punk had appeared like some kind of guardian angel. That made him smirk, eyeing the twenty-something with dyed black hair.

"Roger," was all he answered. "Will you be coming by later?"

“In the morning,” Kat slipped an arm into the shoulder bag strap. “After I return Markham’s originals. Maybe then we’ll know where to start looking. Watch your email.” A moment after she slipped through the front door, Sophie could be heard coughing and slowly sputtering to life at the curb. With a sudden lurch, she wobbled into the street, gasped a cloud of smoke, and then rattled off into the night, speakers blaring something obnoxious.

From between Venetian blinds, Owen watched Katherine reel out of sight in that excuse for a car. Dodge Dart, from the looks of it, he’d guess a ‘70-something, from the cut of the coup and, well, the rust. He shook his head, hand cupping his chin. He was tired, but the work was just starting. With another pot of coffee put on the burner, Owen sat down to his Compaq, raising the lid with squinted eyes.

“Drop Ox? Drop Socks? Drop… box. Yeah, now we’re cooking.”

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