The second killer died while eating lunch. Halfway through a meal at a local restaurant, he started complaining of pains in his stomach. Rushed to the hospital, he died soon after, shrieking in anguish. An autopsy indicated he also died from multiple viper bites, all inflicted inside his body.

  Duvalier, no stranger to the dark forces of voodoo, reacted predictably. Justice meant nothing to him. His Tontons demanded Papa Benjamin's head. He offered them exactly that. The dictator posted a reward of ten thousand American dollars for the houn'gan's decapitated body. In Haiti, where the dead sometimes walked, only a headless corpse meant absolute safety.

  Papa Benjamin fled to the United States, one step ahead of his supposed executioners. Several unexplained deaths later, he arrived in Chicago, ten thousand dollars in his pocket and no one on his trail. Duvalier later passed into history, as did the Tonton Macoute. Papa Benjamin remained.

  Obviously satisfied no hidden assassins lurked in the shadows, one of the bodyguards signaled to the others waiting outside. Willis Royce, Bocar of the Children of Danballah, entered, followed by his personal protector, "Ape" Largo.

  A notorious gambler before his miraculous conversion five years earlier, Royce still dressed like a pimp. Almost as tall as his bodyguards but tending to fat instead of muscle, he wore a full-length black fox fur coat that nearly dragged on the floor. His face was an advertisement for every sin of the flesh and spirit. Only his eyes were hard—black and suspicious and very, very cold.

  Papa Benjamin had never met the cult leader though he had seen the man a number of times on television. He was not impressed. Royce called himself Bocar, the title given to a master of the darkest secrets of voodoo. He claimed all sorts of mystical powers. Perhaps he knew a few of the secret words. But seeing the man in person, Papa Benjamin felt sure that Royce never "went under the water."

  Mentally dismissing the false Bocar, Papa Benjamin found himself instead staring at the man's infamous bodyguard and confidant, "Ape" Largo. In all of his nearly eight decades, he had never seen a human being so ugly.

  Standing a little over five feet tall, Largo resembled nothing less than a cross between man and gorilla. Huge arms, banded with muscle and covered with curly black hair, dangled from incredibly vast shoulders. His limbs stretched so long that his fingers almost touched the ground. A huge barrel chest rested on short bowed legs. His neck, little more than a thick band of flesh, connected his freakish torso to a misshapen bullet head.

  His features consisted primarily of a mouthful of teeth, a flat nose and piggish eyes almost hidden in wrinkled folds of skin. Two massive eyebrows met directly above his nose and curled back to meet his closely cropped black hair. There was no questioning how "Ape" Largo earned his nickname.

  Local rumor had it that Royce's assistant served as the Bocar's personal death squad. Five, perhaps six, unsolved murders were directly attributed to his brute strength and animal nature. However, no one dared accuse the monster in public and the police seemed unaware of his gruesome activities. The other two bodyguards intimidated most people. Largo scared them.

  "I've come to make peace," said Royce suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice echoed and reechoed in the vastness of the peristyle. "This bloodshed must end."

  Papa Benjamin, sitting in a folding chair right next to the center post, nodded sagely. He had no idea what Royce was talking about, but there was one sure way to learn. He motioned to one of the long wooden benches that hugged the walls of the room. "Sit," he said, politely, "and we will talk."

  Royce gestured to Largo. Without a word, the massive bodyguard walked over to the nearest bench, grabbed it in the middle with one hand and raised it into the air. Effortlessly, he brought the long wooden seat over to within a few feet of Papa Benjamin. He lowered it carefully so not to disturb the earthen floor. Royce nodded in wordless thanks and sat down. Largo took his place, standing directly behind his boss, his huge arms folded across his chest.

  The other two bodyguards remained at the doors. With their metallic sunglasses hiding their eyes, they could have been asleep on their feet with no one the wiser.

  "I'm not a greedy man," said Royce nervously. "I'm willing to share and share alike. There's more than enough loot for everyone. No need for violence. After all, we both worship the same gods."

  "Tell me what you want," said Papa Benjamin, trying to keep his temper under control. Every word this liar spoke rubbed salt into open wounds.

  "For years, people in-the-know warned me of your power," Royce continued, his voice shaking now. "Foolishly, I laughed at them. I considered voodoo just another scam like all the other religions. Promise the suckers a better future and in the meantime rob them blind."

  "And now?" asked Papa Benjamin, curious in spite of himself.

  "I know the truth," said Royce, in a whisper barely heard. "The Great Serpent lives. Forgive me. I beg you. Remove the curse."

  For a moment, Papa Benjamin sat silently, trying to make sense out of nonsense. Finally he spoke.

  "The curse?" he said, with a cruel laugh. "I placed no curse on you. Whatever horrors assail you, they are not of my calling. I would not dirty my hands with your blood."

  "You're lying," said Royce, his voice rising a notch. "You're lying. You want it all."

  "All of what?" asked Papa Benjamin, angrily. "For thirty years, I have struggled to guide the faithful of this city in the true worship of the voodoo Mysteres. At most, my followers number a few hundred. How many flock to your ministry, oh mighty Bocar of Danballah? Ten thousand, twenty thousand? More than that? How many dishonest politicians take your money and curry your favor? How many crooked policemen look the other way when you pass among them? How many children have drifted into drugs and prostitution in the name of the voodoo gods? I want nothing of yours. I spit on your money! I spit on you!"

  "Wait," said Ape Largo, unexpectedly. The bodyguard's voice sounded like sandpaper being dragged over a steel pipe. "Angry words never solved anything. At least listen to what we have to say. Whether or not you had anything to do with them, these murders affect you as well as us. So far, the killer has only attacked our followers. Yours could be next."

  "Speak, then," said Papa Benjamin, already regretting his outburst. He noticed that Largo kept one huge hand on Royce's shoulder, preventing the cult leader from rising. The bodyguard intended this conversation to continue whether his boss liked it or not. Perhaps the servant possessed more brains than the master.

  "Someone—no, make that some thing is murdering my people," said Royce dramatically. "At least five died on Monday. He slaughtered another dozen or more last night. He strikes fast, and then disappears into the night."

  "Or more?" asked Papa Benjamin.

  "After he kills them, he chops up their bodies and scatters the pieces," answered Largo. "We've found that many heads so far. But matching up arms and legs and torsos takes time. Our count might be off by a few."

  "He devours their souls," said Papa Benjamin slowly, searching old memories for the right words. He suddenly felt very cold. "As a child, I heard of such killings. My father, himself a powerful houn'gan, told me of the 'Red Sects' who lived in the mountains and practiced human sacrifice. Followers of the Pethro Mysteres, they called themselves Cochons sans poils.

  "Tell me," he continued, directing his remarks more to Ape Largo than Willis Royce, "did this killer leave a mark on the floor? Perhaps he drew some symbol on the walls?"

  Wordlessly, Ape Largo circled the bench and knelt on the earth floor between the two older men. With one finger he traced five designs in the dirt.

  "At every location, we discovered the same design. The Dark Man painted these in the blood of his victims," said the bodyguard. "In each case, he used a decapitated hand of a dead man as his brush."

  Papa Benjamin bent over to stare at the tracings. "He draws power from their blood. For blood is life. Each death makes him stronger."

  Papa Benjamin shook his head in bewilderment. "I do not recognize any of these veves. They represent no astral force I ever encountered." Then he hesitated for a second, thinking about what had been said. "You called him 'the Dark Man.' Why?"

  "One girl escaped this monster," said Largo. "Out of all the people attacked, she was the only survivor."

  Tersely, the bodyguard described Lisa Ray's adventure of the night before. "She constantly referred to her attacker as the Dark Man. That name seemed as good as any."

  "A giant dressed entirely in black; invulnerable, unstoppable," repeated Papa Benjamin. Fragments of dream rushed through his head as he spoke. The Mysteres often worked in strange and terrible fashion. "You suspect . . . ?"

  "Baron Samedi," answered Royce, drawing in a deep breath. "The Rada gods want their revenge. The Lord of the Cemetery seeks to destroy me and all my followers."

  "What about the police?"

  Royce laughed, a short bark of derision, signifying his thoughts of the Chicago law enforcement authorities. "Are you jiving me? You think the police care about me? They're looking the other way. Dumb honkies can't wait to spit on my grave."

  "My patron exaggerates a little," said Largo, showing a mouthful of teeth. His face twisted into so frightful a sight that it took Papa Benjamin a few seconds to realize that the bodyguard was attempting a smile. "However, the police offer little in the way of hope. This monster strikes at random, leaves no fingerprints, and disappears without a trace. Personally, I think he scares the shit out of them. I know he affects me that way."

  "And Ape don't scare easy," said Royce, with a shiver.

  "I will try to help you," said Papa Benjamin, somberly, "but for a price."

  "Name it," said Royce.

  "I want twenty-five thousand dollars in cash," said Papa Benjamin calmly, with only the barest trace of a smile on his lips. "Not a penny less. In small, unmarked bills, as they say in the detective movies."

  Royce turned to one of the two goons stationed at the doors. "Get it," he said. "Just the way he wants."

  The cult leader faced Papa Benjamin. "It'll take a little time. Even I don't keep that kind of loose cash lying around." Then his tone grew cold. "For this money, you will remove the curse from me?"

  "I offer no guarantees," said Papa Benjamin, his voice equally frigid. "If I had my way, you would suffer the same fate as your disciples. But my oum'phor badly needs repair. My congregation wants to start a preschool for their children but there is no money. The food pantry for those too poor to fend for themselves is empty. Your 'contribution' will help pay for these things. I am a man of my word. What I can do, I will do."

  Willis Royce lapsed into a sullen silence. Papa Benjamin glared at the cult leader, his heart heavy with anger. The voodoo gods had answered his prayer for aid. This money solved many of the problems faced by his congregation. But helping garbage like Royce went against all of his principles.

  Unexpectedly, Ape Largo broke the silence.

  "Extrapolating a little from your remarks, I take it you suspect this assassin comes directly from the spirit world?" he asked in his gravelly voice. "Are we dealing with a man 'mounted' by a god or an actual supernatural manifestation?"

  Again Papa Benjamin was impressed by the bodyguard's obvious intelligence. His harsh voice could not disguise his choice of words. He was well educated, a trait not shared by most of his comrades. The man intrigued Papa Benjamin.

  "You know, then, what it means to be 'mounted' by one of the Mysteres?"

  "Only from the descriptions that I've read," said Largo. "I never actually witnessed such an event. I gather the event corresponds with the Christian concept of possession. A god literally takes control of a worshiper's body—speaking through him, directing his every action."

  "And more," said Papa Benjamin. "The Mysteres can impart that follower, the 'cheval' incredible powers—"

  "Including superhuman strength and immunity from bullets?" broke in an angry Willis Royce. "It ain't possible."

  "Anything is possible," replied Papa Benjamin, firmly. "However, I understand your doubts. I find that part of the girl's story hard to believe myself. We shall soon know the truth."

  He raised up the small leather bag from the socle. "The bones will reveal all. They never lie."

  "You read the bones?" asked Ape Largo, his eyes fixed on the pouch.

  "You are dealing with a true houn'gan, child," said Papa Benjamin, the sarcasm thick in his voice. "Not a self-proclaimed prophet of a makeshift cult formed only to line his pockets."

  He gently shook the sack, setting the contents rattling. "My father gave me these bones. His father gave them to him. And so it always was, back to Africa. By the word passed down to me from my sacred ancestors, these bones came from the holy city, Ife', where voodoo began. They are powerful charms. With them we can learn the nature of your enemy. And once that is known, we will know how to placate the god who controls him."

  "Well, let's get started," said Royce, spotting his other bodyguard reentering the room. "Here's your money."

  "First we count, then we work," said Papa Benjamin firmly.

  "What's wrong?" asked Royce. "You don't trust me?"

  "My trust is earned, not bought," replied the voodoo doctor. "Your word means nothing to me. Count."

  12

  Twenty minutes later they were ready to begin. "Remain quiet unless I give you permission to speak," said Papa Benjamin, his gaze taking in the other four men in the room. "I need complete silence to read the bones."

  Gesturing Royce and Largo back, Papa Benjamin knelt down in front of the center post. Resting his elbows on the socle, he carefully opened the leather bag containing the bones. Gently, he shook the contents into his right hand.

  Incredibly ancient, the bones glistened white in the artificial light. Though he had handled them a thousand times, a sense of awe still gripped Papa Benjamin at the touch of the skeletal remains.

  Beneath his breath, he spoke the words of power. Most voodoo ceremonies were performed aloud, with the congregation joining in as both participants and chorus. However, reading the bones was one of the secret rites, known only to a select few.

  With a flick of the wrist, Papa Benjamin flung the bones onto the brickwork. Waiting a few seconds after they came to rest, he peered intently at the patterns they formed on the socle.

  "I see shadows," he said almost immediately. "Powerful forces move in the background. They stand behind you, Willis Royce, these dark shadows. Is my vision correct?"

  "Well, certain wealthy men help finance some of my operations," said Willis Royce cautiously. "They put up a lot of the cash involved in the project threatened by the Dark Man."

  Swiftly gathering up the bones, Papa Benjamin tossed them down for a second time. "There is blood here, much blood. And I sense an evil not of our world. One man controls this force."

  "But which god works against me?" asked Royce, forgetting the caution for silence.

  "None of the gods," answered Papa Benjamin, a thin trickle of sweat running down his forehead even in the coolness of the building. "The bones speak of ancient sorcery, magic from a time before Ife'. This Dark Man belongs to the night. Death walks hand in hand with him. My magic can do little to stop him. If he finds you, nothing on earth can save you."

  Papa Benjamin gathered up the bones and cast them for a third time. For a long time he stared at the pattern they made. Then he turned and looked directly at Royce.

  "Treachery and betrayal surround you. Trust no one. Your enemies know your every secret. One who calls you friend controls the Dark Man."

  "One of my own men?" said Royce. He glanced around suspiciously at Ape Largo, then at the two bodyguards by the door. "I don't believe it. Nobody dares double-cross me."

  "Believe what you want," said Papa Benjamin. Carefully, he collected the bones off the socle and dropped them back in their sack. "I only read what the bones revealed. Now leave me alone. I've wasted too much time on this matter."

  "What the hell," said Royce angrily, rising from the bench. "You mean that's it. I get five minutes worth of fortune-telling for twenty-five big ones. Not much of a deal to me."

  With a snap of his fingers, the cult leader waved forward the two goons in the doorway. As they shuffled forward, Ape Largo dropped back off to the side, away from the action. His gaze darted back from his boss to Papa Benjamin, but he made no move to interfere.

  "Show grandpa here your toy, Morris," said Royce, with a harsh laugh. "Maybe that will start him talkin' again."

  With a grin, the slightly taller of the two bodyguards pulled a long switchblade from his boot. With a flick of the wrist, he flipped the knife open, revealing a six-inch blade of polished steel.

  "You cannot threaten me," said Papa Benjamin, with only the slightest tremor in his voice. "Remember our bargain."

  "Bargain?" said Royce. "I don't remember making any bargain. You boys remember any bargain?"

  No one said a word. The two goons edged a bit closer to Papa Benjamin. Ape Largo remained where he was, his huge arms folded across his chest.

  "Time for us to take our money and leave," said Royce, gesturing to his men.

  "I forgive you for your lack of knowledge, mighty Bocar," said Papa Benjamin, his voice loud and quite steady. If anything, he sounded amused.

  "Only a voodoo adept trained in Haiti knows that you never renege on a contract made on sacred ground. The Mysteres forbid such conduct in their presence."

  Papa Benjamin's voice sank down to a whisper, but one that could be heard throughout the peristyle. "They take special offense when you try cheating one of their servants. Because they are so sensitive, the voodoo gods grant their houn'gans certain extraordinary powers.

  "For example," he continued, "a powerful papa-loa possesses an invisible grip."

  Papa Benjamin stretched his left arm straight out, palm up, fingers spread open. "In this fashion, acting through the invisible world, I can grab hold of your testicles . . . and squeeze."