Mr. Clarinet полностью

"They blame Vincent Paul for everything here—everything bad that happens," Chantale said. "All the crime. A bank gets robbed?—it's Vincent Paul. A car gets jacked?—it's Vincent Paul. A gas station gets held up?—it's Vincent Paul. A house gets broken into?—it's Vincent Paul. Bullshit is what it is. It isn't him. But people here, they're so dumb, so apathetic, so scared, so—so damn backward—they believe what they want to believe, no matter how stupid and nonsensical. And these aren't the illiterate masses who are saying this, but educated people who should know better—the same people who run our businesses, the same people who are running the country."

"Well, judging by the state of this place, that's no surprise." Max chuckled. "What do you think about him, Vincent Paul?"

"I believe he's mixed up in something very big, something very heavy."

"Drugs?"

"What else?" she said. "You know about the criminals Clinton's sending back to us? Well, Vincent Paul always sends someone over to the airport to pick up whoever's coming home."

"Where do they go?"

"Cité Soleil—you know, the slum I told you about yesterday."

"He who runs Sitay So-lay runs the country. Ain't that the way it goes?" Max said, remembering what Huxley had told him.

"Impressive." Chantale smiled as she passed him the water. "But what do you know about the place?"

"Some." Max nodded and repeated much of what Huxley had told him.

"Don't ever go in there without a guide—and an oxygen mask. You go there on your own and get lost? If the people don't kill you the air will."

"Will you take me?"

"No way! I don't know the place and I don't want to know it," she responded almost angrily.

"That's too bad because I wanna go there tomorrow. Check it out," Max said.

"You won't find anything—not just by looking. You need to know where you're going."

"Ain't that the truth." Max laughed. "OK. I'll go there on my own. Just tell me how to get there. I'll be all right." Chantale looked at him, worried. "Don't worry, I won't tell your boss."

She smiled. He took a pull on the water and tasted her cinnamon on the spout where her lips had been.

"What else can you tell me about Vincent Paul? What is it with him and the Carvers?" Max asked.

"Gustav bankrupted his father. Perry Paul was a big wholesaler. He had a lot of exclusive deals going with the Venezuelans and the Cubans, and he was selling things very cheaply. Gustav used his influence in the government to put him out of business. Perry lost everything and shot himself. Vincent was in England when it happened. He was quite young, but hatred's a genetic thing here. Whole families will hate each other forever because of their great-grandparents' falling-out."

"That's fucked up."

"That's Haiti."

"What was he doin' in England?"

"Getting an education—school, college."

Max remembered the man's English accent the previous night.

"Have you ever met him?" Max asked.

"No." She laughed. "What I'm telling you's what I've been told, what I've heard. Not hard fact."

He scribbled a few notes.

"Where to, detective?"

"The Roo doo Chumps da Mars."

"Rue du Champs de Mars. What's there?"

"Felius Doofoor."

Chantale said nothing. When he looked up at her, he saw she'd gone pale and looked scared.

"What's the matter?"

"Filius Dufour? Le grand voyant?"

"What was that last thing in English?"

"Out here it isn't the politicians or the Carvers who have the real power, it isn't even your president. It's people like the man you're going to meet. Filius Dufour was Papa Doc's personal fortune-teller. Duvalier never did anything important without consulting him first," Chantale lowered her voice as if she didn't really want to be heard. "You know Papa Doc died at least two months before it was announced to the public. He was so scared of his enemies discovering his body and trapping his spirit that he ordered that they bury his body in a secret location. To this day no one knows where it is—except for Filius Dufour. He was said to have conducted the burial ceremony. Just like he was said to have married Baby Doc to his mother on the day of Papa Doc's death out by the sacred waterfalls—some sort of rare voodoo ritual that very few people in the world know how to perform; it ensures the smooth transfer of power from father to son. After the Duvaliers fell from power, everyone who was associated with them either went into exile or went to jail or got killed—everyone except Filius Dufour. Nothing happened to him. Everyone was too scared of him, what he could do."

"I thought he was just a voodoo priest."

"A houngan? Him? No. A voyant is like a fortune-teller, but they go much deeper than that. For example, if you really want a woman you can't have—say she's happily married or not interested in you—you can go to your houngan, who'll try and fix it for you."

"How?"