King of the Mutants Read online

  “It’s the law ’round here, boys. So we’ll just done and have to get you some.” Scary Elvis began to walk away. “Whachew kids waiting for? A par-ade? Follow me and I’ll get you sorted out.” He opened the door and we followed him into the dark alley. “The name’s Billy Bob Lafitte. But most people ’round these parts call me the General. This is my joint, this is my hood, and I’d like to welcome you boys to the Big Easy.”

  Billy Bob walked up to the pile of screaming newspapers and tossed them aside. Under them slept a boy, probably my age. “Gad night a living,” screeched Billy Bob. “Well, if that don’t put the cayenne pepper in the gumbo. I reckon I told you not to sleep in my alley. It doesn’t make a good impression for my paying customers. Now get, before I knock you so hard you’ll see tomorrow today!”

  The filthy, bug-eyed kid scrambled off the ground, stuck out his tongue, and ran toward the main street with his arms outstretched. He wasn’t wearing shoes, or, um, pants, just a t-shirt, a red cape, and blue underwear.

  Freddie tried to hold back his laughter. I thought his brain might come out of his nose he snorted so hard.

  “Tell your mama I’ll be home late, son,” Billy Bob yelled after the strange running boy. Then he shook his head in disbelief and muttered, “That boy is so dumb he could throw himself on the ground and miss. Couldn’t even find a pair of dungarees.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger twice, opened up a rusty door, and led us into a dark and dingy hallway. We could hear the bar’s music and laughter swell. We walked through the back of the building, the lingering scent of stale beer and cigarettes making me gag.

  “Careful of the stairs,” Billy Bob said, almost falling. “They’re slipperier than snot on a glass doorknob. And careful of the hole. Been meaning to have it fixed.”

  Nope, this definitely wasn’t a five-star joint.

  Billy Bob led us into a small room that was more like a closet. He turned on the light, the kind where you yank the chain on the ceiling and it swings back and forth in the air. More mice-sized cockroaches scattered into the cracked cement walls. A wobbly desk sat in the center of the floor, a map of Louisiana hung on the wall. Besides those two things, wires hung down from the ceiling. Otherwise the room was bare, like an interrogation room at an abandoned police station. Billy Bob closed the door, reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny …

  “Don’t shoot us, please!” I screamed. “I didn’t mean to upset Peaches so badly and Grumbling hates my guts. You seem like a nice guy. Can’t we talk about this?”

  “Easy now, boy, ain’t nobody hurting you. You’re jumpier than a crawdad on a hot-buttered skillet. I’m just fixing to take your picture, that’s all.”

  Billy Bob held up a digital camera and played around with it, mumbling, “Now, let’s see if I remember how to use this thang. I think this is the on button…”

  While Billy Bob fumbled around with the camera, Freddie shot me a look that said “let’s get out of here.” Walking backwards, we skulked toward the door and I opened it slowly, its creak giving our intentions away. Bill Bob lumbered over and slammed the door shut. I nearly jumped out of my skin and, because of this, my tail peeked out from under the trench. Billy Bob noticed it immediately.

  “Grumbling, hmmm?” He gave me the once-over. “Hey, you that alligator boy who wears the funny green Speedo and plays that rock and roll music? I saw you the last time you came to the outskirts of town. You’re good with the guitar, can jam some. Shame you’re so ’flicted.”

  “I’m not conflicted. I’m really all right with the way I am,” I said.

  “Boy, not conflicted, af-flicted with the mu-ta-tions.” He drawled out the last word with disgust. “Gotta cousin with some issues, though not extreme like yours. Nice little wee man. No matter, now stand over there.” He held up his camera and pointed to the poster with the outline of Louisiana. “I’m going to…what is it you kids saying nowadays?”

  “Hook us up?” asked Freddie.

  By the way Billy Bob smiled, I knew we had to play along. We were stuck.

  “That’s right, hook y’all up. Now smile real big,” he said, and I did. “Mercy me, kid, you gotta set of teeth on you. Probably could tear a tin can apart like a goat.” He just had to add insult to injury. I sneered right when he took my picture. “Skinny kid, you’re next.”

  Once our pictures were taken, Billy Bob pulled out an Apple Powerbook Computer and small printer from the desk, tapped a few buttons, and BAM, like hot Creole spices, we were set. He handed us the cards. The name on mine said Vardon Bean, but Freddie’s was even worse. His name was Francis Wiener. Together, we were franks and beans. This guy had a sick sense of humor.

  “What?” Billy Bob belched. “I made y’all eighteen because you surely cannot pass for twenty-one. And that’ll be two hundred clams for the IDs, plus twenty for the room, and fifty to watch the bike.”

  I glared at him. This was absolutely criminal.

  “Look-y here, don’t you eyeball me like that. My cow died last night and I don’t need your bull.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “You got cloth ears? See this is the way things go, either that, or that nice red chopper y’all rode in on is mine. Virgil’s been keeping an eye out on it for you. Said you’d be paying him fifty smack-a-roos to look after it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Like I said, this neighborhood’s mine. Ain’t nothing going on around here that I don’t know about. And I’m sure as the Pope’s Catholic, y’all don’t want me to call up that circus of yours.”

  Billy Bob cracked his knuckles. The sound, well, it was like I could hear every single one of my bones turning into dust. I could tell Freddie wanted to object, but let’s face it—the man had us. We were being bamboozled. I held up my hand to Freddie as if to say don’t argue.

  Snaggletooth licked my arm when I reached into my bag to grab, ugh, two hundred and seventy dollars. At least the dog seemed to be doing okay. I turned my back to Billy Bob while I begrudgingly counted out the money. Before I handed it over, I still needed to be sure of one thing. “Cherry Pie, our bike, is going to be alright?”

  “She’ll be right as rain and spit shined in the morning. I’m an honest man. Never go back on my word.” Billy Bob grabbed the wad of bills like a crazed monkey going after a banana. “Pleasure doing business wichew. You boys hungry? ’Cause I’m hungry enough to eat the south end of a north bound skunk. Dinners on me and then I’ll show you to your beds. Ol’ Henriette, why, she made up the best jambalaya this side of Congo Square’s ever done seen and I’d hate for fine fellows like the likes of you to miss out.”

  He glanced down at my duffle bag, which moved around on its own.

  “Maybe you want to take your dog out of the bag? I don’t have a problem with ’em. Sure he’d like some of Henriette’s sausage, and it’s not like Louisiana’s finest gives a hoot.”

  Busted again. Been had. Time to move on.

  Honestly, food sounded good, and it was a free meal…sort of.

  “Come on, boys,” said Billy Bob as if we didn’t have a choice in the matter. “Let’s say we go and grab us some grub.”

  We followed him to his Boogaloo Bar and sat down in a noisy corner. The patrons in the bar were rowdy and drunk. Six burly guys that wore black leather motorcycle vests embroidered with “The Devil’s Spawn” on the back sat next to us, crushing empty beer cans on their heads. Billy Bob said hello to them, sat down, and ordered three bowls of Jambalaya from a walkie-talkie. He added an extra order of sausage for Snaggletooth.

  A chain-link fence surrounded the stage on the far side of the room. On it, one guy sang, another strummed a washboard, and the last played a piano accordion. They had mad skills. My exhaustion kept me from jumping onto the stage to jam with them. Their beats kind of had some hip-hop and reggae influences, as far as I could tell. And the crowd on the dance floor, well, they went crazy—singing, dancing, yelling, and generally having a good ol’ time.

 
; I found myself wondering what purpose the fence served. My answer came when a full beer can smashed into it, then another. Yet, the band played on with huge grins. I wish I’d had that kind of protection performing at Grumbling’s. I managed to muster a smile, despite just being taken for a ride.

  While we waited for our food to arrive, Billy Bob grilled us with questions. “Where you boys really heading off to this time of night?”

  Freddie began, “We’re on our way to New—”

  I kicked the motor mouth in the shin. I didn’t want Billy Bob to know any more of our business. “We’re in New Orleans because I need to find some woman named Sarah,” I said curtly.

  “You’re going to need a whole lot more than a first name. Maybe ol’ Billy Bob can help you out? I know a lot of people ’round these parts. Got a last name?”

  I racked my brain. What was it? My tail tingled with remembrance. “Feena.”

  “Sarah Feena? Don’t think I know anybody called that.”

  My expression didn’t hide my disappointment. Billy Bob’s face puckered in concentration, mouthing the name over and over again.

  I instantly perked up when he said, “Now Serafine, the first name, is fairly common among the Creoles. The most famous one is this Hoodoo queen who lives deep in the Bayou with the gators. Heard all sorts of tales about her, and if’n it’s trouble you looking for, well, you’re going to find it with that one.” He leaned forward, a maniacal sparkle twinkling in his eye. “Heard she put the gris-gris, a wicked curse, on some kid. Heard the kid’s mother caused Serafine problems. Now the kid’s so ugly, you’d have to tie pork chops to his ears so even a dog would play with him.”

  “Yeah, but doesn’t she see the future?” I asked.

  “You shouldn’t be messing around with crazy stuff like that. Why on earth would you do that for?”

  I didn’t respond because even I didn’t know the answer. All I knew was that every bone in my tail told me I needed to find her. Thankfully, our food arrived, distracting Billy Bob for the time being.

  Snaggletooth popped his head out of the bag and begged for the sweet sausage. Billy Bob hand-fed him while patting him on the head, which I guess was nice. I pretty much dove head first into the Jambalaya, and it was so good, I licked my bowl. Freddie chugged a glass of water like his mouth had been set on fire. The tips of his ears burned red. Clearly, he couldn’t handle spicy food.

  After we ate, at a quarter to four in the morning, Billy Bob showed us to our room. The neon sign flashed right outside our window. I could hear zaps of electricity. Blinds hung on the windows, but they didn’t work. And everything smelled moldy—including the bedding.

  Freddie got the top bunk, I took the bottom, and Snaggletooth curled up at my feet, snoring away. Considering the fact our shoddy mattresses were sinking lower and lower like quicksand, Freddie got the better end of the deal.

  Although our less than stellar accommodations were stifling and humid, and the noise from the bar was loud, the second our heads hit the cement-hard pillows, we fell stone cold out.

  Tomorrow was a big day.

  We had things to do, places to go, and people to see—starting with Serafine.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HOW TO EAT A LIVE CHICKEN

  If I never had to see Billy Bob or his rip-off-of-a-boarding-house ever again, that would have been fine by me. Freddie and I loaded up Cherry Pie, ready to set off on our quest to find this mysterious woman known only to me by her name. Serafine. For that, my tail tingled in a good way. But excitement was replaced with annoyance. Just as Freddie put the key in the ignition, Billy Bob barreled up to us.

  “Nice to have made your ac-quain-tance, kids,” said Billy Bob. He stood in front of Cherry Pie like a bouncer at the toughest of biker bars. “Before you boys take off, that’ll be twenty bucks for having your bike cleaned. Virgil, why he spit-shined it all night.”

  I knew I wouldn’t win by arguing no matter how hard I tried. “Fine,” I said, “but I need you to point us in the right direction to find this Serafine.”

  “Don’t know where that crazy lives, but I know someone who will.” He sucked on his big, bucked teeth. “Best bet is to visit Adelaide Bacchus’ House of Voodoo and Hoodoo on St. Charles Avenue. Head just that way.” Billy Bob pointed haphazardly down the road. “She’ll know where to find your Hoodoo queen.”

  I held out the twenty and Billy Bob’s grimy hand snatched it away. Freddie sneered at him and started up the engine. We rumbled off toward the heart of New Orleans’ famed Garden District, with Billy Bob’s voice trailing behind us. “Y’all come back now, you hear.”

  Unless you paid me a gazillion dollars, that wasn’t going to happen.

  On this leg of our adventure, Freddie handled Cherry Pie like an old pro. Thankfully, the humidity eased up and there was a nice breeze in the air. Camera-wielding tourists on a streetcar pointed at us, smiling at Snaggletooth as we passed it. He looked so cute wagging his tail, the wind whipping through his ears. I tousled his mangy head, sat back in the sidecar, and enjoyed the ride.

  Now as I mentioned earlier, circus folk are extremely superstitious, so I held my breath as we sped by the infamous Lafayette Cemetery and its massive above ground mausoleums. Rumor had it vampires haunted the place.

  Finally, we ended up on St. Charles Avenue. The tree-lined streets and the beautiful antebellum homes were a stark contrast to Billy Bob’s neighborhood. Huge wrought iron balconies decorated most of the mansions, some with impressive Greek pillars. I wondered how we were going to find this woman, Adelaide, but as it turns out, it wasn’t difficult. A trolley’s clatter diverted my attention to the left. When it passed, there it stood—Adelaide’s House of Voodoo and Hoodoo.

  Out of place and really run down, a smaller than small, ramshackle mess of a hut was squished in between two of the large mansions. On a rickety front porch, underneath the scribbled sign advertising “Ten-Dollar Voodoo Tarot Readings,” a heavy-set, old Cajun woman rocked in a chair. She smiled and waved at us like she knew we were coming.

  Freddie pulled the chopper over, I motioned to Snaggletooth to stay put, and with hesitation we walked toward the old woman. She wore a multi-colored batik head-wrap with a matching dress and sat up straight and proud. Dark sunglasses hid most of her face, so it was hard to tell, but I guessed her age to be around eighty.

  “No, sweet child,” she said with a deep laugh. “I’m well past a hundred years old. I ain’t no spring chicken anymore.”

  Holy Caped Crusaders! The woman could read my mind. I stuttered, “How’d you do that? How’d you know what I was thinking?”

  “Child, I’m just beating you to the punch with your questions. See now, everybody that meets me the first time, well, they tries a guessing my age.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now, how can an old woman such as myself help you boys? You here for a Voodoo Tarot reading? Hmm?”

  Tempting.

  “No, some guy told us you may be able to help locate the Hoodoo Queen, um, Serafine,” I said.

  “I knew you weren’t here for a reading. I was just messing with you to see what you’d say.” She laughed softly to herself. “I’ve been conjuring and voodooing since I learned to crawl. The parents said I had a special gift. Special abilities I don’t even understand sometimes. I can’t tell you the hows or the whys of what needs to be done in the future. I only see life for what it is in the present. I know you need Serafine’s vision.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And we need a lot of luck.”

  “That’s not all ya’ll be needing,” she drawled and straightened out her dress. “Now Serafine live deep in the Bayou among the gators like you. I can tell you where to find her and how to get to her home on the bayou and all that, but that’s not the only reason you been sent here. Lord knows, it ain’t for no mumbo jumbo. You be needing some fake teeth and I have a pair for you,” Adelaide said, her tone assertive. “You cannot be running around that New York City with that smile of yours. Bad �
��nuff you got yourself a tail and them eyes glowin’ redder than a possessed chili pepper.”

  Freddie looked just as stunned as I was. His big trout mouth twitched like a spaz.

  “Ms. Adelaide,” I stuttered. “How do you know where we’re going?”

  Adelaide shrugged her shoulders and tapped her head twice. “Not much goes on around in the world I don’t know about, son. I saw everything in my visions. Thing is, I’ve got your best interests in mind. I also know Ms. Serafine is expecting you. You and she like two peas cozied up in a pod.”

  “Is Serafine part alligator, too?” asked Freddie.

  “No, child, Serafine ain’t no alligator, but they are her guides. She got strong ties with Orunmila.”

  “Who? Who?” Freddie and I asked in unison. We sounded like a couple of barn owls.

  “Orunmila is the Santeria God of wisdom, owner of divination. He gives insight to find solutions to all problems. He has a deep connection with the gators, just as Serafine does.”

  “A God with a connection to alligators?” My eyes widened with anticipation. “Why is she connected with him? What makes Serafine so special?”

  “You’ll soon see what she like,” Adelaide chuckled curiously. She put her hand on Freddie’s shoulder. “Now follow me into my lil’ old shop. We needs to get Maverick here sorted out, Freddie. Your brother from another mother has some important things that need a doing.”

  My heart thumped five hundred beats a second.

  We hadn’t told this woman our names.

  Adelaide got up off her rocker, opened up the front door, paused, then went inside. I’d never been inside a house of Voodoo, or Hoodoo, and didn’t know quite what to expect, but for some reason or another, I was pumped. Freddie and I crossed over the threshold of the doorway, careful to avoid stepping into a pile of ground-up red dust scattered just before the doorway. I didn’t have to ask its purpose.

  “I use the red brick powder to protect myself from enemies and to draw customers to my business,” said Adelaide. “Mind your step.”