House of Blues

knew.
    "She gone."
    " When do you expect her?"
    " You ain' got no bi'ness with Nikki."
    Skip produced her badge.
    The man was suddenly sullen. "I find you
somebody," he mumbled, and was gone.
    He came back with a middle-aged woman Skip knew—Ruby,
she thought, the one addicted to painkillers. "Yes? Can I help
you?"
    She could have just questioned Ruby, but her
curiosity was piqued. "I'm looking for Nikki Pigeon."
    " Ms. Pigeon is not a member of our
congregation."
    " Is she an employee, then?"
    "I'm afraid I really have no information. I'd be
happy to refer your inquiry to Daddy, if you like."
    "Daddy."
    "The Reverend Mr. Jacomine."
    "Thanks, it won't be necessary."
    Something was up here. Yesterday Nikki had been a
member. She went back to the office and ran a records check on her.
Nothing.
    The DMV provided a two-year-old address, which hardly
seemed worth checking out. Skip had the distinct impression Nikki'd
been living at the Following house.
    Sighing, she settled back with the phone book, open
to P. Eight Pigeons. Not bad. She dialed Tanya, on Baronne, and asked
for Nikki.
    Tanya didn't answer, just turned away and hollered,
"Nikki! Phone."
    A moment later she was back. "Nikki ain' home."
    " Thanks."
    Skip could hardly believe her good luck. Tanya's part
of Baronne was only minutes away, in Central City, possibly the most
depressed, decrepit neighborhood that wasn't actually a project. It
was an area where it seemed as if every other building was abandoned,
a place where hope was hard to hold on to. No wonder Nikki had left.
She must have had a compelling reason for returning.
    Nikki answered the door herself, in baggy jeans and
T-shirt, mouth swollen, a sharp contrast to the neat, prim church
lady of yesterday.
    " I saw you comin' up the walk, said to my
sister, tha's one lady I want to talk to. You call here earlier?"
    "Yes—you weren't home."
    " Ha! Thought those assholes tracked me down. How
you find me?"
    " Looked you up in the phone book." Skip
smiled and shrugged. Nikki laughed.
    " Did, did you? Whyn't you come in? I want to
talk to you."
    Skip stepped into a dark living room, curtains drawn,
very little furniture, no rug. Though no one was in the room, the
television was going full-blast. A photo of Martin Luther King stood
on the mantel.
    Nikki gestured for Skip to sit, and pointed to her
injured mouth: "I'm gettin' mad about some stuff."
    "Who did that to you?"
    "Who you think? The Rev. Mr. High and Fuckin'
Mighty, tha's who. I'm gon' git that bastard."
    Go, Nikki! But she kept her face impassive. "Oh?"
    " You know what they doin' over there? They
plannin' somep'n. What, I don't know. But somep'n. Gotta be. Why else
put together an army of zombies?"
    "I beg your pardon?"
    "Well, tha's just what I call 'em. They ain't
killin' anybody and bringin' 'em back to life. But Daddy—tha's what
we call him—"
    "You mean Errol Jacomine?"
    "Yeah, him. But that's not his real name."
    Bingo.
    "Oh, really? What is it?"
    "I'm not sure. I jus' know it's not Errol
Jacomine."
    "How do you know that?"
    "He talks about it. Talks about how he used to
be somebody else, back before he was born again; how he did a lot of
bad things and then he got saved and realized he needed to help
people who were worse off than he was. Said he got a new name to go
along with his new life. We'd be surprised, he said. Shee—it. I
wouldn't be surprised at nothin'. The man's violent." She
paused, fingering her split lip. "Evil. I honestly think he's
evil. I don't know if I ever met anybody else I felt that way about."
    "Why do you say that?"
    "Because he gets people, like, under his
control. And he makes 'em do stuff."
    "What kind of stuff?"
    Pigeon lowered her head. "Sex."
    Of course. Guru-itis. "What else?"
    "Work on, you know, whatever he wants us to.
Causes and shit. Like work the phones for some politician he wants to
get elected. You know? That kind of shit. Then, the politician gets
elected, I bet he makes him do what he wants."
    " Nikki, why'd you decide to leave?"
    " 'Cause I've had enough of this shit. See this
lip? You know why he hit me? 'Cause I spilled that tea on you, tha's
why."
    " Oh, my God. I'm so sorry."
    " Well I'm not. Tha's what woke me up. All this
time I've been takin' his shit, just takin' it and takin' it, sayin',
'He' a good man, he don't mean to hurt people, he just does it for
their own good.' Can you believe I could be that dumb?"
    "Everybody's that dumb about some things."
    "See, what he does, he makes you