We met Maximus down in the lobby at twenty minutes to twelve. He was chatting to the plucky receptionist, who was batting her grey hair down nervously, obviously charmed by the f**khead.
“Vegetable Lasagna,” I called out. “Let’s go.”
He turned to face me and I had to immediately forget the terrible things he’d said to me earlier, otherwise I’d never even make it through the day.
I forced a smile and jerked my head toward the door. Then I grabbed Perry’s hand and pulled her outside. She was wearing leggings and boots again, with a skull-embossed sleeveless dress on top. It was so nice to see her showing more skin, although I’d probably find it a lot more distracting as the months got warmer.
It wasn’t long before we were outside of Nameless. The bar looked different in the daytime, both sweeter and older, like so many of the buildings in the Quarter. Strands of Mardi Gras beads hung from the sign and awning, tossed there only weeks ago.
Now that I was really getting a feel for the place, I could sense this vibe of resilience underneath the rough city streets, this pride and strength to keep going, to rebuild, to forge on. But even with that spirit everywhere, I could sense spirits of another kind. Sprits of history, spirits of loss, spirits of revenge. This didn’t happen often to me, only a few times when I used to live in New York, but now that I was sober I could feel a layer of supernatural chaos underneath everything. I wondered what looking though the Veil here would look like.
As we waited for Rose to show up—the bar had already been open for several hours—I studied Perry. She seemed to be okay at the moment, not edgy or nervous like she could be if she was experiencing the same feelings that I was. The minute she looked even the slightest bit uneasy, I’d be there telling her she wasn’t alone in this. Until then, it was another thing I was keeping to myself.
Finally Rose poked her head out of the bar. She was wearing worn jeans that fit her like a glove and a dark grey tank top that showed the slightest sliver of her flat belly. She was in good shape, looking as if she ran several miles before breakfast. I wondered if the Rose that Maximus had known was softer in body too.
“Y’all ready to meet the Mambo?”
“I can do the mambo,” I said. “Mambo Number Five.”
Perry let out a derisive laugh. “Thanks, I just got that song out of my head.”
I shrugged. “Well, it was my song back in the day, but I never got to sing about Perry.”
“You guys can be cute later,” Rose said. “In private. Without me there. Let’s go.”
“There is no private for these two,” Maximus muttered as he brushed past me, following Rose. I was almost fooled for a second into thinking this morning had never happened. There was no delight in our loud antics anymore. Well, no petty delight anyway. That was some top-notch sex.
Rose took us around the corner to a half-empty parking lot near a venue called One-Eyed Jacks. which she assured us was the best place to see live music. She said she saw Queens of the Stone Age play there to only 900 people. I decided I hated Rose after that.
She drove an old crew cab truck that was cherry red and rusted in parts. It groaned and creaked as she eased it out of the Quarter and around numerous detours from endless construction work, but assured us that the old beast would probably outlive her. It was funny hearing her speak. At times Rose looked and acted like she was our age, but at others she came across as a toughened old lady. Maybe that’s what Maximus had meant by her becoming harder. Maybe whatever life threw at her, whether it was Maximus or owning a bar, or seeing the supernatural, just made her wiser. I didn’t think it was possible to be both soft and experienced—your battles caused the scar tissue. I knew I definitely had mine.
“Where does Mambo Maryse live?” Perry asked as Rose pulled the noisy car onto the I-10. We were sitting in the crew cab together and I was having a flashback to the days when we were first getting to know each other and we had to share the back of her cousin’s truck with a crab trap. Had never been so thankful for a crab trap in my life.
“She had a nice place on the outskirts of town, used to do readings there back in the day. But after Katrina, her place was damaged. She moved further West, a house on the bayou.”
“By herself?” Maximus asked. “Isn’t she ancient? When I last saw her she looked like she was going to keel over.”
Rose shot him a dry look. “She’s stronger than she looks. She has her apprentice taking care of her now. She lives in a cabin further out in the swamp water, the kind you have to take an air boat to get to. Anyway, she’s living with Maryse now, well most of the time.”
“So how did you get to know this Mambo?” I asked, watching as the industrial buildings melted away into endless stretches of swamp water, duck blinds, and billboards.
Rose eyed me in the rear view mirror, her eyes mirroring the grey water around us. “My family was very much into the occult. Well, my ma was. Dad was a cattle farmer and just turned a blind eye. She never practiced Voodoo but it fascinated her. She got to know Mambo Maryse in the eighties, stayed friends with her until she died. Then I stayed friends with her. My ma was an immigrant so she didn’t have any family on this side. I looked to Maryse as a viper-tongued maw-maw, a grandmother, especially after my dad died too.”
“Sounds like my kind of woman,” I told her. “But you said she’s sick now?”
“They say old age, and I reckon that makes sense, but…”
“You don’t believe it,” Perry filled in.
Rose brushed her hair back but it wouldn’t respond, her frizziness mocking her. “It just doesn’t feel right. I’ve tried talking to Maryse about the illness, about what’s ailing her, but even last week she said it was just her time. She said…the stress was too much.”
“Mambos have stress?” I asked.
“Ones that are being shunned by the community? Yeah, they have stress, sugar.”
Maximus looked at her askance. “Shunned?”
Rose exhaled slowly. “The last two years or so, the other Mambos have been accusing her of being a Bokor, like the person who’s raising the dead and creating the zombies. I don’t really know why. Maryse hasn’t done anything then and she certainly isn’t doing anything now.”
Huh. Well that was at least a little suspicious. The Voodoo community shuns this Mambo a few years ago for going to the “dark side,” now she’s ill and zombies are tearing up the ghetto.