Here's the beginning of You Have to Believe, the 6th and final story from my new book, "Coming Into Focus: Another Collection of Stories." New Orleans police detective Devon Delacourt finds his life unraveling after saving a young co-ed from being sacrificed during a cult ritual in City Park. Soon he will discover things he never dreamed possible and his ability to believe in himself and what's happening to him will determine whether or not he survives.
“Devon Delacourt, we know what you need and where you can find it.”
The off-duty police detective let out a small sigh. He’d come to this bar on a lark, having never been there before, but hoping it’s out of the way nature would give him the solitude he needed to think things through. The burly, mocha-skinned, Creole man rubbed his shaved head and put his beer mug on the bar before casually looking over at the three women standing to his right. He smiled involuntarily when he saw them. They were certainly an interesting trio, all over 6 feet tall, exotic and uniquely different from each other. Devon didn’t think he’d ever seen them before but still felt as if he knew them from somewhere.
The first was a slender, buxom, blonde Asian, with dark eyes, her hair in braids and wearing a red, glittery, knee-length skirt, matching blouse with fishnet stockings and red, platform shoes; the second was an incredibly toned, dark-skinned African-American with large, blue eyes, her kinky, red hair in Micky Mouse pig tails, wearing dozens of ornate bracelets, rings on every finger and a bright orange evening dress with matching choker and high heels; the third was a curvy, raven haired, pale, Caucasian with green eyes, wearing pink overalls with only a lace top underneath with matching pink, punk rock, spiked wrist bands, a pink scrunchie keeping her wavy locks in a high ponytail and multiple piercings including her ears, lips, eyebrows and labrum. The three ladies edged closer to him, looking at him with hunger in their eyes.
“I appreciate the offer, ladies,” Devon said. “But, I’m not looking for any company tonight. Thanks anyway.” He began to turn away but the closest woman, the one in the overalls, grabbed his arm tightly.
“We are not peddlers of the flesh, Devon Delacourt,” she said, her eyes growing cold. “We serve a higher purpose.”
“Jehovah’s Witnesses?” the detective said incredulously. “I’m not looking for a sermon either. And how do you know my name? Have we met?”
“You are in need,” the Asian woman said. “We three know this as we know all things. We three can help you discover your true nature. We three can show you the path.”
Delacourt looked around the bar, thinking he might be on one of those candid camera/practical joker, reality TV shows. There were only 4 other people in the place, including the bartender. “Look, I really don’t have time for this nonsense, okay?” He pulled out his badge and showed it to them before taking another swig of beer.
“We know you, Devon Delacourt,” the African-American woman said. “Who you were, who you are and who you will be.”
The police detective’s eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a sneer, “I like a good joke as much as the next guy but I’m gonna need some identification now. What’s this about and who the hell are you?”
“We are those that see, the three that know. If you need names, you may call me Lacy,” the African-American woman said. “This is Chloe.” She pointed to the Asian woman. “And this is Moira,” she said gesturing to the Caucasian woman standing right next to him. “We are known to all men but are bound by no allegiance. We simply are where we need to be.”
“What?” Devon said, utterly confused and getting agitated. “If it’s not sex or religion, what are you selling here?”
“We want nothing,” Moira said. “But we have much to offer you.”
“Your path to resolution is nigh,” Chloe stated. “You need only discover its true course.”
“I honestly don’t know what the Hell you’re talking about,” the detective said, his voice strained. His left hand started to shake and he felt slightly dizzy. He moved the hand under the bar so no one would see. “Please, just leave me alone. Please!”
“If that is your wish, Devon Delacourt,” Lacy lamented, backing away. “We cannot force you to see.”
“When you are ready to begin your search, you will need to start here,” Moira said, handing him a business card.
Devon took the card with his right hand and put it in his shirt pocket without looking at it. “Thanks. I appreciate the concern but I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need any help.”
“As you wish,” Chloe said, turning away from the police Detective. “When the time is right, the truth will be waiting.” The three ladies walked to the back of the bar, lingering by the pool table for a few moments before disappearing out the back entrance.
“What the fuck was that about?” Delacourt muttered to himself, shaking his head.
“You’re a smart man to send those three loonies on their way,” a voice came from his left.
Delacourt pivoted to see a man sitting two barstools over. The man raised his drink toward the detective as a punctuation mark to his statement. Devon hadn’t see anyone come in but the police officer figured he arrived while he was talking to those three, strange women. The newcomer was a young man, no more than 25 with a narrow face, long nose, deep set, blue eyes and slicked back silver hair. He wore white jeans, a white T-shirt with a green hoodie over it. The hoodie had ornate, white edging around the hood, wrists and zipper.
“You know those…ladies?” Devon asked.
“Not personally,” the man replied. “But I’ve been around enough to have seen them before. I’ll tell you, when they get their hooks into someone. it’s nothing but a world of hurt coming your way.”
“Grifters?” Delacourt inquired.
“No, not really,” the silver-haired man answered. “They feed you their stories about what you’re meant to do, what your destiny is, or what you’re capable of and I’ve seen it send completely mess people up, sends them down a bad, bad road, y’know?”
“I guess,” the detective said, finishing the last of his beer before standing up. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a twenty, placing in on the bar under his empty mug.
“Well, that’s enough excitement for me,” he said, before turning back to the other patron. “Thanks for the heads up, man.”
“No problem, Detective,” the man said, taking a sip of his drink. “Anything for one of New Orleans’ Finest.”
“See ya around,” Devon said as he walked out the door.
“Not if you know what’s good for you,” the silver-haired man said. He looked at himself in the mirror across from the bar and smiled. His reflection shimmered for a moment and then disappeared. A bewildered bartender and a half-full vodka martini were the only witnesses to mark his passing.
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