Read Evil in Hockley for Free Online Page B

run.”
     
    Bobby Mercer drove to Toronto along
Lakeshore to an abandoned building on Front Street. At the truck
entrance he pressed the button on the intercom, gave his name, and
asked permission to enter. The door opened and he drove in then
stopped his car and stepped out. Sitting at a desk in the abandoned
warehouse was Reverend John Dean.
    Reverend Dean stood: he was a
formidable height, over six feet tall, and had a solid frame
sporting wide shoulders. He wasn’t black yet he wasn’t white, his
skin tone somewhere between two extremes. He had jet black hair
that hung to his shoulders in ringlets. Bobby guessed he was about
thirty years old. The man was awe-inspiring especially when he
spoke. He had a low bass voice that seemed to vibrate through a
room and could be felt as well as heard.
    “You honour us with your presence. Is
your visit business or pleasure?”
    The Reverend had another quirk Bobby
liked: a slight French accent that added class to the already
astounding figure.
    “Business today. We got a problem and
need professional help. A man by the name of Harry Tanner
has…”
    “One man?”
    “One man. Some kind of Terrorist
assassin so I hear. Deadly as shit.”
    “All right, but one man or ten the
price is still the same.”
    “No problem. I know the drill. Just
give me the account number and I’ll wire the money.”
    Bobby had seen her before but she
always took his breath away. She was almost six feet tall and had a
figure like a statue. She had the same skin colour as the Reverend
and black hair that hung to her shoulders in ringlets. She wore a
black halter top and a short black skirt. Over it all was draped a
black robe, open in the front, that fluttered as she
walked.
    She was Lenea, a Voodoo
priestess.
    Bobby knew they were both originally
from New Orleans. They were Creole, a mixture of French and African
with a little American native thrown in.
    The reverend said,
    “We’re taking a little detour north, to
help Bobby with a problem. We leave immediately. Is that
satisfactory?”
    In a low soft voice she
said,
    “I don’t like polar bears.”
    The Reverend gave a low throaty
laugh.
    “Not that far north.”
    She left again probably to
pack.
    “Same place?” asked John
Dean.
    “Yup. No change.”
    “Until tomorrow then.”
    With that John Dean turned and walked
away and Bobby got back in his car then drove home.
     
    Bobby Mercer stood beside Joe Sharky
and they watched as a limo and a black sedan entered the parking
lot. A long motor home made it’s way to the south end of the lot
and parked on the grass. Bobby knew this model was worth a half a
million. Two men climbed out of the sedan and directed a truck to a
spot near the motor home.
    The drivers of the motor home, truck,
and two workers unloaded a large tent then pitched it on the grass.
Tables, chairs, and a barbeque were set under the tent which was
about fifty feet square. The entire process took two hours. Finally
John Dean and Lenea climbed out of the limo. Lenea went to the
motor home and the reverend walked into the bar.
    John Dean paced: not the nervous way
Joe Sharky did but a deliberate sizing up of the room. It was as
though he was visualizing every detail, sniffing the air at
different spots, and delicately touching surfaces. He would touch a
tabletop then smell the ends of his fingertips.
    He finally asked for Tony
Moore.
    The room was silent as Tony was
escorted from a backroom into the tavern. He was tied and gagged.
The reverend released him from his bonds and led him to the motor
home. Bobby knew that Tony’s life would take a desperate turn for
the worse.
    It was early in the day. Staff and
customers had not yet come to work. A blood curdling scream came
from the motor home loud enough to frighten birds from their
sanctuaries in the trees. Bobby knew it was the sound created when
a soul was torn from the body. He turned to Joe and
said,
    “I think the reverend is letting you
know he’s on the