Voodoo Love Song

This has got it all. Great characters, sparkling dialogue, suspense, mystery, humour, exotic locations, and the wonderful free-spirited Huey. What a creation she is, and where can I get me one? – Patrick Fox, Trinity

Rapier wit, utterly amazing dialogue, and some of the most engaging characters I’ve ever read. I fell in love with Huey. – Gerald Johnston, Write Way, Wrong Way

I was hooked from the very first paragraph. The banter between Huey and Paul kept me in stitches. I really couldn’t help but fall in love with them. The story itself was thrilling and just plain fun. – Dawn Judd, Breakout Books

Voodoo Love Song

A Novel

By Richard Daybell

Copyright 2012 by Richard Daybell

Smashwords Edition

For Linda,

who always laughs

in the right places.

Real zombies don’t eat people, you know.

I’m relieved.

Don’t be.

Chapter 1

Say, let us put man and woman together,

Find out which one is smarter

Paul wasn’t sure, but the five-foot duck waddling through the throngs of laughing, crying, shouting, whining children appeared to be waddling toward him – a duck with a destination and, perhaps, a mission. Chances are it had spotted him scowling in a land where grinning is the norm, and it, by God, meant to do something about it.

Enjoying the Magic Kingdom? asked the duck upon reaching him. Despite its carefully sculpted plastic smile, this duck wasn’t going to cheer anyone up; its voice dripped sarcasm.

Of course, I am, Paul answered, adopting his very own duck attitude. Isn’t that why you’re here? By the way, didn’t I somewhere get the idea that you’re all supposed to be pleasant and cheerful?

I’m not even supposed to talk. Just wave. The duck waved and, in silence, could have passed for pleasant and cheerful, albeit of a fabricated sort.

Then why did you talk to me? Paul asked.

Because you look bored – like you positively hate the place.

Ah, you’re not just an ordinary duck, you’re a member of the happiness squad, here to lift my spirits.

No, answered the duck. I thought you might have a cigarette.

That’s an interesting deduction.

Well, do you?

Yes.

May I have one? the duck asked, sitting next to him on the bench.

Certainly. I’ve never seen a duck smoke before. Rabbits maybe, hedgehogs maybe, but never a duck. Some people might find that a bit weird.

I think most people would agree that what’s really weird is someone talking to a duck.

You could be right, said Paul, extending a cigarette pack. Be my guest. I’m filled with anticipation, uh . . . is it Daisy?

Huey, said the duck, taking a cigarette. Or maybe Louie. No, it’s definitely Huey. Will you take my head off, please?

Paul reached over to take hold of the duck’s head but the duck jumped up and said: Whoa, not now. It’s the evil chipmunk. Gotta go.

The duck waddled off at full throttle as the chipmunk came running past Paul. The chipmunk quickly caught the duck by the back of its jacket, but the duck wheeled around and delivered a right cross to the chipmunk’s smiling face. The chipmunk fell to the ground, and the duck disappeared into the crowd. Paul stared at the ground, hoping the chipmunk would quietly go away, and that he would not be pulled into the middle of an interspecies squabble.

A few minutes passed, and the Kingdom appeared to be back to its normal happy self, when Paul felt a tapping on his shoulder, and a voice from behind said: Quack.

He turned around and grinned at the duck. Duck Palooka’s back.

You can take my head off now.

Paul grasped both sides of the duck head and pulled upward. Brown hair tumbled out of the duck, and a face appeared, complete with sparkling brown eyes and a broad smile. Paul placed the duck head on the bench beside him and lit her a cigarette.

Huey puffed at the cigarette and coughed a little. Now that’s so much better. Do you know what it’s like inside a duck head?

No, I guess I don’t, Paul admitted. Do they really allow you to smoke here? Aren’t you all supposed to be ever so squeaky-clean and – not meaning to imply that you’re not, but . . .

Strictly forbidden. And yes, we’re supposed to be too squeaky to smoke. We’re all supposed to be fucking little Fauntleroys.

I suppose that’s another way of putting it.

And why are you here all alone? she asked. Are you a child molester or a kidnapper casing the joint? Waiting to grab some unsuspecting little cherub?

I’m not here alone. The others are off seeking thrills, the two little ones doing their best to break their mother’s will. Maybe they’ll be kidnapped.

What a way to talk about your children.

They’re not mine. Huey looked at him questioningly, and with hesitation he added: They’re just hers. I’m not their father.

And you hate them. I knew you hated kids. And I knew you’d have a cigarette. See?

Your logic escapes me, said Paul. And I don’t hate kids. But I do get worried when I’m so outnumbered by them.

I know. There are certainly a lot of the little snot-nosed brats running around, aren’t there? Whispering to each other: kill anyone over ten. God, what if they turn on us? We wouldn’t have a chance.

Why do you work here if you feel that way? And how did you ever manage to get a job here with that attitude?

I slept with Mickey Mouse. Paul broke out laughing and Huey continued: I take it you don’t believe me. Let me tell you he may be just a mouse, but . . .

You! Take that suit to the Personnel Office immediately. It was the chipmunk who, Paul noted, was very squeaky-clean and wasn’t smoking. It is exactly 9:47. You are off the payroll as of ten o’clock.

In spite of the nasty words and supervisory demeanor, the chipmunk looked quite cheerful and therefore, Paul reasoned, must be forgiving. It was my fault, he said, in a noble effort to rescue the damsel in distress.

Don’t waste your time, said the damsel. He’s just a fucking chipmunk. You do have a thing about talking to animals, don’t you, Doolittle?

She hit me, the chipmunk whined to Paul. She called me an effing chipmunk. You heard her. And she’s . . . she’s smoking. She is so fired.

I’m not fired, said Huey. I quit.

You can’t quit, said the chipmunk, whining again. I’ve already fired you.

Decking you was my little way of saying ‘I quit, asshole.’

That’s not fair. You’re fired. You’re fired.

Okay, crybaby, I’m fired. Huey turned to Paul and continued: This rodent offers a vivid demonstration of how clothes make the man. She turned back to the chipmunk. Why don’t you just run along now and play with your nuts?

The chipmunk stammered, and Huey continued: Don’t worry. I’m on my way to Personnel. The chipmunk stormed off, mumbling to himself, and Huey said to Paul: I’ll be back in a minute, if you’ll wait. She waddled into the crowd; it was a nice waddle.

Paul sat idly watching passers by and noticed that they all looked back at him, some with curiosity, others with hostility. Ten feet away on another bench, a woman flushed with obvious anger stared Disney daggers at him. A teary-eyed toddler sat next to her sobbing. He fidgeted, trying to ignore them, wondering how he could be the source of such emotion. Inadvertently, he rested his arm on the duck head sitting next to him on the bench and understood. He looked defiantly back at the woman and fought the urge to shout at her that she could have explained to the kid that he hadn’t really beheaded Huey Duck.

When the former duck returned ten minutes later, her startling metamorphosis drove all thoughts of duck heads, angry women and crying children from his addled mind. He stared. No, he ogled. Plastic feathers had given way to tight jeans and a T-shirt that didn’t say anything. It didn’t need to.

I’m a civilian, she said, plopping herself on the bench beside him. Sorry I took so long. I had to bring the chipmunk down a few pegs. He didn’t think anyone knew what he was doing with Snow White behind the haunted house. This feels good. Maybe I’ll litter now. She waved off the cigarette Paul offered. I don’t really smoke. I just had this urge.

I somehow feel responsible.

Because you gave me a cigarette? Guilt really comes easy for you, doesn’t it?

Will you find something else?

I could find something else by noon if I wanted to, she answered. But I’m not going to. I’ve got better things to do. Haven’t you ever decided, well, I’ve been here long enough; it’s time to move on?

I guess so. But I’ve never actually moved on.

That’s too bad. You should have.

Maybe. But commitments, you know. Paul mumbled his reply.

Oh yeah. The wife and kids you don’t like. I mean the kids you don’t like and the wife. I assume you like her.

Mmmm.

Love her?

Paul hesitated. Uh . . .yes.

Wow. Talk about a storybook romance.

I guess it’s really none of your concern.

You’re right. How come you stay together? And don’t tell me it’s for the sake of the kids.

You wouldn’t understand.

"Probably not. When do they return?

God only knows, Paul answered. It’s liable to be hours.

Good, said Huey, standing. Then there’s really no reason you can’t give me a lift, is there? Otherwise, I’m stuck here the rest of the day. And I’ll be spending the day dodging a certain chipmunk who’s going to be all over my tail."

Well, said Paul hesitating but knowing full well that he wouldn’t or couldn’t turn her down.

I’ll buy the gas.

That’s not necessary. How far is it?

Not far. Here, stick my head in the bag, she said, opening her large knapsack.

What?

My duck head. You never know when it will come in handy. Call it severance pay. Paul picked up the duck head, which was still smiling, as though unaware of its fate, and pushed it into the knapsack.

Will you carry it? she asked. You look respectable – like a person who would never dream of stealing a duck head.

Okay, Paul agreed. But since I’m committing a heinous crime on your behalf – a crime against cleanliness, goodness and Disneyness – maybe I should know your name.

Why? What’s wrong with Huey? I like it. I had an Uncle Hugh once. People called him Huey. He was a nice man, but he died. It was the first time I knew nice people could die. What’s your name?

Paul.

I don’t like it.

I’m sorry.

Maybe I’ll call you Uncle Scrooge.

That’s not particularly nice.

It’s better than Goofy.

That’s true. But how about the lucky cousin Gladstone?

Maybe you need to get lucky first. Her smile was innocent, but her big brown eyes were wicked. Until then, it’s Scrooge.

Paul had no idea of what Huey’s definition of not far might be, but he found it a pleasant way to spend the time; and his enchanting passenger was better company than the unchained adolescents and artificial creatures that inhabited the amusement park. He felt a little guilty deserting the others, but if he didn’t make it back on time – if they did come looking for him rather than continuing their thrill-seeking odyssey – they would just return to the hotel and meet him there.

What do you do for a living Uncle Scrooge?

Documents. I read documents, write documents, shuffle documents. I guess I’m a faceless bureaucrat in a Dilbert world.

And once a year you tear yourself away from that excitement and head for the magic land of prepubescence. Have you ever considered shooting yourself?

You’re rather lippy for someone who’s using the hospitality of my automobile.

That’s what makes me so endearing. Take this exit.

What makes you think my life is so miserable? said Paul, following the exit to the right.

Did I say that?

You suggested I shoot myself. And what do you know about me? I have a family, a regular job, and visited Disney World against my better judgment. That makes me stack up with millions of Americans, but you’ve somehow determined that my life isn’t worth living. Maybe you’re just shallow.

Shallow? said Huey in disbelief. Did I ask you what sign you were? That’s shallow. Pull in here. I don’t twitter or tweet or Facebook. Shallow? I’m so fucking deep it’s scary.

Well, so am I, countered Paul, bringing the car to a stop.

So are you what?

Fucking deep.

Oooh, I love it when you talk like that, said Huey, opening the car door.

This is the train station.

Very observant, Scrooge. You may make it in this crazy world after all.

Don’t you need to pack a bag or something?

Everything I need is right here, said Huey, patting the duck head that peered out from her knapsack. What else would anyone need besides a few dollars, a toothbrush, a duck head and this? Reaching into the bag, she pulled out the bottom of a bright red bikini.

Where are you going, if I’m not prying?

You are, but it’s all right. Going west, young man. Key West, that is.

I’m jealous.

You should be, she taunted. I’m taking the train to Miami. Then I’ll rent a car – convertible, of course – and just keep driving south until there’s no more road.

Why are you going to Key West?

Huey looked suddenly bewildered, lost, as though she didn’t know the answer to the question. It was just momentary, and when she spoke, the self-assurance had returned. I’m not going to tell you.

That’s fair.

Want to come with me? said Huey, brightly. Seeing my cute little red ass on a big sandy beach is to die for.

I’m sure it is.

Then why not come? Throw that bureaucratic caution to the wind. Live life on the edge.

You think I should just leave everyone and everything? A little caution isn’t such a bad thing, you know. After all, fools rush in....

Where wimps fear to tread. But it’s the fools who have all the fun.

But why would a fool such as you want a wimp such as I to tag along?

You amuse me, that’s all. You’re good company. I’m not trying to seduce you or anything.

It sounds – but I couldn’t possibly – commitments, you know.

I know, said Huey. I was forgetting the wife and kids. Do they have a cell phone? You could call and tell them you’ve been kidnapped. Or you’ve got amnesia and can’t remember who you are.

I don’t think they have a cell phone. Would you like me to wait to make sure you catch the train?

No, it doesn’t leave for another half hour. You don’t need to come in – unless you might change your mind. Conch chowder and key lime pie.

Paul was silent.

I’m sorry, said Huey. I shouldn’t push. It would be a terribly foolish thing for you to do. Well, thank you for the ride and for your company. I enjoyed it. You’re a good man, Uncle Scrooge. Say goodbye to Mickey and Minnie for me.

She kissed him briefly on the cheek and dashed off. He watched for a moment before turning his car toward Ann, the two kids and the Magic Kingdom.

Sitting on the train, staring out the window, Huey trembled. Once again her stomach knotted, and she thought she might lose the coffee and toast that had been her breakfast. What’s pulling at me? she whimpered, then looked around, afraid she might have actually spoken the words. It’s that dream, that hideous dream. Again last night. She had been in the center of a smoky room crowded with people, lying on something cold and hard, a bench or low table perhaps. A towering, cadaverous man with icy blue eyes hovered over her, silent, emotionless, sweating. As he forced himself on her, he became a snake, a snake as large as the man had been – and it was crushing her. None of the people gathered around made a move to help; they just stood watching, smiling. Then the pain stopped, and she felt no weight upon her. She could move now