By the time the kids started working at the voodoo shop, Miss Cara had been completely rehabilitated. She had been drug-free for five years, regained custody of Spider, and even was a narcotics anonymous sponsor at the Grace House meetings on Camp Street.
As a matter of fact, she was Jesi’s sponsor. Jesi had been drug and alcohol-free since Bobby had been locked up two years earlier. Actually, she’d had a couple of relapses until Miss Cara moved her in with Spider and herself at St. Vincent’s. Part of Jesi’s rehab was to dedicate her life to gainful employment. She worked a few nights a week as the night desk clerk until eight in the morning at St. Vincent’s, went upstairs and slept, then worked during swing shift 2:00 PM to 9:00 PM at the voodoo shop on Bourbon. The rigorous schedule gave her little time to turn to drugs but gave her plenty of time to spend with the boys, giving her a sense of family. In the real world, she felt like she was just an ex-junkie waiting for the streets to reclaim her. In the boys’ eyes, Miss Jesi could handle anything. So, she made it a point to stay in their lives as much as possible and be Miss Jesi, not the person she had been.
Well, on one eventful morning in November, Buddha was sitting with her down at the front desk playing Scrabble waiting for Spider to come downstairs so they could ride to school. She put down all her letters and declared, “Zoecium, BAM BAM! I win again! Plus fifty points for a seven-letter word.”
“Gimmie the book. Zoecium is not a word.”
“Yeah it is, look it up!”
Buddha flipped through the Scrabble dictionary then slammed it closed. “Dang. It’s a word.”
The bell rang and Buddha looked up at the big guy who strode over. The tall counter came up to the chest of the large man who, despite his early-fifties, balding hairline made more pronounced by his military-style crew cut, was extremely muscled. His V-shaped upper body caused the cheap JCPenney’s suit coat to pull tight across his shoulders and expand under his armpits. It was because of this cheaply-made, forty-dollar suit that Buddha saw the butt-end of the Packmire grip from the shoulder holster housing a police-issue .9 millimeter automatic.
“I’d like to pay for another month, Ma’am. John Bernos.”
Jesi flipped through the files until she came across his folder. “Yes, Sir. 885 dollars.”
The man pulled out his wallet and a gold badge reflected off the lights as he pulled out his money. Spider ran down the stairs and yelled, “Bye, Buddha! We’re late!” Buddha jumped over the high counter and had to twist in mid-air to keep from landing directly on top of a 10-year old kid. As a result, he didn’t land soundly and sprawled across the floor.
“Watch where you’re going, Baldy!” the little boy scowled.
“Man, I’m sorry little dude. I didn’t see you.”
“I’m not little, either, Cue Ball!” The little guy was wearing a McDonna Elementary School uniform that had been ironed and starched with military precision. His black hair was parted on the side with every hair in its proper place. He wore an angry scowl that looked foreign on his baby face outfitted with dimples and a cute set of black-rimmed glasses that amplified his blue eyes.
Buddha dusted off and said, “Sorry, Sir,” to the police officer as he jetted after Spider.
The light from the antique chandelier in the old hotel caused the ruby in Jesi’s Marilyn piercing above her upper lip to twinkle as her bright red bow-tie lips beamed in a charming smile. “Oh, you are a precious little boy!”
The boy’s face turned red and tightened into the meanest face his pretty little features could manage. “Dad, can I wait in the car?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“Sure. Go ahead.” BEEP BEEP The alarm chimed on the dark blue Crown Vic parked in the hotel Fire Lane. “My son, Max. He’s the smallest kid in his grade and he’s sensitive about it.”
“That was my godson, Spider, who just ran outside. He’s always been the smallest, too.”
The officer’s face became hard. “Yes, I’ve seen him around and I wondered what kind of people would let a 12-year old boy get a sleeve of tattoos.”
Jesi’s blood pressure soared and she couldn’t help but respond with sardonic wit. “Well, I guess in the South we realize that a perfectly groomed, unblemished child can still be a rude little monster. We don’t throw away the gift because we don’t like the wrapper it comes in.” Jesi ripped a handwritten receipt from the little pad. The private detective took the receipt and walked out the door without a word. Jesi yelled, “And he ain’t twelve, he’s fifteen! AND PARK IN THE FIRE LANE AGAIN, I’LL HAVE YOU TOWED!”
Miss Cara descended the stairs with two mugs of coffee in her hands. She handed one to Jesi. “Brought you some coffee. What’s all the yelling about?”
“Some jerk wanted to act all high and mighty about Spider’s tattoos ‘cause his kid was a cookie-cutter rosy-cheeked brat.” Jesi took a sip. “Hey, this is good.”
“It’s got cocoa in it. Don’t think I didn’t notice those boys breaking out in tattoos ever since Country Mike gave Miguel that damned gun.”
“Cara, some girls like tattoos. As I recall, my cousin Guillermo, Spider’s dad, had more ink than a dictionary.”
Cara blushed and changed the subject, “I put a little bit of cinnamon in the coffee, too.”

The real surprise at the voodoo shop wasn’t how well the boys fit in, it was how well Spider fit in. He could catch three shoplifters a day while stocking shelves and still find time to hustle tourists off Bourbon Street into the shop. The job was not very demanding because the shop operated with very little structure. The front, or store area, was filled with thousands of trinkets; voodoo dolls, charms, stone and wood idols to ward off evil spirits or promise romance. A beaded curtain displaying a picture of the Virgin Mary separated the store from the psychic’s shop in back. Mrs. Muriel Dyson, “Marie Laveaux”, appeared to be in her early forties with huge, thick bifocal glasses that amplified her hazel eyes to the size of silver dollars. That, combined with her one lazy eye that wandered the room, made her features hard to narrow down to an exact age. Despite her appearance, she warmed to the boys on their first day. “You must be the Ice Cream boys I’ve heard so much about.”
“Gangsters. They call us the Ice Cream Gangsters,” Spider replied.
“Well, this city was founded by gangsters. They were probably a little taller than ya’ll, but I won’t hold that against you.” She turned and rummaged through a disheveled stack of papers and pulled out a piece of yellow notebook paper then turned to Tex. “You must be James.”
“Tex is what my friends call me, Ma’am.”
“Then I’ll call you Tex because we’re going to be friends. You’ll work back here with me. I always start the Prince’s Apprentices.”
“Apprentice?”
“That’s what the note says.” She feathered her fingers on Tex’s long skinny braids, then pulled one of her dishwater blonde braids out of her huge purple pouf of a stocking cap. “Did you pray these braids yourself?”
“Pray them? No, my Aunt Natalie has a beauty shop on Carrolton. She does them for me.”
The witch shook her head in disbelief. “Oh no, that won’t do. A Brujo prays his desire and intent into his braids. It’s the source of his power, like Samson or Bob Marley or the Prince Love. But we’ll get to that. I can tell by your aura you’ll do fine.” She turned to Buddha leaving Tex dumbfounded, absently twisting a braid. “You must be Mark Jenkins, the little Buddha.”
“Just Buddha.”
“Yes, of course. It says here you are artistic and have a propensity toward writing. Most of our advertising is canvased, so if you would like to make flyers and hand them out or put them on posters… Also, Jesi says you make t-shirts. I think I saw one about freeing the Country of Mike? I am not familiar with the Country of Mike, but I am sure the effort was very humanitarian. So, Art, Advertising, that’s all you.”
She turned to George. “George. We have two bikes out back. It says here your Mom asked the Prince for you to be given a job outside?”
“Did she now?” George said sarcastically.
“We have several locations that sell our candles, oils, incense, jewelry, and majick supplies. The cashier will have a list of deliveries and supplies to be picked up. You’ll enjoy riding around the French Quarter all day.”
She turned to the fourth gangster. “And you must be Mr. Hernandez.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“You will be in charge of customer service, shoplifting and loss prevention. Shoplifting is bad this time of year. Take inventory in the front of the shop and make sure that a steady influx of tourists come in from Bourbon Street.”
“That seems like a lot of responsibility.”
“Not for a store manager!”
“Store manager? I’m only 15 years old!”
“So is my Volkswagon, but it does an exemplary job. The Prince says you will, too.”
“Does the Prince know everything?” Spider snapped.
“The Prince knows secrets even the trees have forgotten, so I follow his instructions implicitly.”
The next couple of days went by normally with the boys meeting every day after school at the old state palace theatre to meet Tex at the streetcar, but instead of looking for ways to hustle up ice cream money, they travel down Burgundy Street to St. Peter and turn on Bourbon to work diligently at their jobs. Despite Spider’s early misgivings, the Prince had placed each boy in the perfect job. Buddha had half the French Quarter in t-shirts that said “Marie Laveaux’s The Voodoo that We do so well”. Tex, with the help of Mrs. Muriel, had taken out his pencil-thin braids and replaced them with thick Rasta dreadlocks. George had spent so much time making deliveries and putting out Buddha’s advertisements he had worn out the shop bike and resorted to putting miles on the freestyle bike. But the perfect match was Spider. Even though customers would often look incredulously as the minuscule manager, he fixed every problem. Business was booming and theft was almost non-existent.
Spider was sitting out on the front stoop with is log book going over shop numbers and talking to Buddha when he quickly stopped the conversation and stared in through the door.
“What you looking at?” Buddha asked.
“I think a thief.”
The cashier was showing 3 little boys the jewelry selection behind the counter. One of the boys shuffled through an assortment of silver bracelets, then handed them back. He next filed through a display of rings, then handed them back. The cashier watched the boy intently, listening to his story about buying a gift for his mom with his allowance. He handed all the jewelry back.
“Oh, he’s good,” Spider breathed.
“I’m watching him, Spidey. He didn’t even touch his pockets. The kid looks like a fourth-grader. He can’t even see over the counter,” Buddha argued.
The kid appeared displeased with the shop’s selection, then he and his friends walked along the long glass cases towards the door of the shop. The cashier was busy putting the jumbled jewelry back in order in the cases. As they passed the register at the end of the case nearest the door, Buddha’s cat, who had grown fond of sleeping right on top of the counter (apparently emboldened by the fact that the Prince told her not to), jumped down and followed the boys out. It jumped into Buddha’s lap where he sat on the stoop. Spider said to Buddha, “Still think he didn’t steal anything?”
“Dude, he’s a shrimp. You’re just paranoid.”
Spider stood up form the stoop, dusted off his pants, and said in his loud manager’s voice, “Sir, please excuse me. I think you forgot to pay for something.”
Tex, hearing Spider, appeared in the door. The cat looked up at Buddha and said, “Stand up, they’re gonna run,” then jumped out of his lap.
The boys scattered. Spider zeroed in on the would-be thief while the others split away from him, turning left on St. Louis past Chris Owens. The little burglar turned right, with Spider on his heels and Tex and Buddha following behind. Then they turned left on Dauphine, where the road was blocked off by construction barriers. The little looter ducked under the barrier while Spider had to climb over, losing valuable time. The boy was only a dozen yards away from reaching Conti Street where he could dissolve into the safety of hundreds of tourists. Just before the bolting burglar reached safety, a hairy, tattooed arm attached to a squat, stocky, overalls-wearing man snatched the boy off the ground by the back of his jacket. The vigilante, who was built more like a fire hydrant that a crime fighter, swept the boy up so fast his legs continued to run, not quite grasping his suspension.
By the time Spider caught up with the immobilized imp, the man was holding the boy straight out at arm’s length to avoid the boy’s fruitless limbs flailing around attempting escape.
“RAMBO!!” All three boys said in unison.
“I thought you were locked up,” Buddha panted.
“No, I been out in the swamp, shrimp season.”
That was how he’d acquired the name Rambo in the first place. Kenneth Hickman Jr. had grown up uptown with Bobby and Julian and the rest of the neighborhood. During the school year, he lived with his mother on Annunciation Street. During the summer he would stay with his dad deep in the swamps of Grande Chaneur in Lafooch Parish. By the time school resumed it would take Kenneth Jr. a couple of months to fade his out of his mostly camouflage wardrobe, which inspired his fellow students to give him the name.
As far as society was concerned, Rambo was a character of ill repute; a lascivious burglar and a person lacking in moral fiber. But as far as the boys went, Rambo was good people. They had grown up around Kenneth and he had helped them build clubhouses and bike ramps and regaled them with extraordinary tales of criminal enterprise. Rambo and Spider’s dad had been best friends since the first grade at McDonna 13. They had even worked together at Guillermo’s motorcycle shop. But after his best friend’s death, Rambo had slowly deteriorated. He just felt more comfortable in jail or in the swamp that in a world without his best friend.
“So, what were ya’ll chasing this badass for?”
“Burglar,” stated Spider as he pulled a bracelet and ring out of the boy’s jacket pocket along with a McDonna 13 school I.D. and library card.
“Thief. Man after my own heart,” Rambo proclaimed.
“Good one, too. I didn’t even see him,” Buddha added.
“So are you snitches gonna call the cops?” the still-dangling boy taunted.
Rambo laughed, “I doubt it. Buddha and Spider are on probation.”
“No. We’re gonna call his parents.” Buddha grinned.
Spider looked at the card and continued, “Mr. Max Bernos of the fourth grade who resides at 1630 Magazine, Room 86.”
“Well, if your plan is to call my dad, you can just let me go now. I ain’t giving you the number and I doubt you guys are going to go all the way uptown just to tell on me.”
The boys started laughing, and Max snapped, “What are you laughing at? Quit it!”
Buddha pulled the hoodie off his head, then took off the knitted skull cap Mrs. Jesi had made him and Max’s eyes went wide as coffee cups. “Cue ball from the hotel!” The dejected delinquent tasted defeat as he said, “So, what do we do now?”
“First we go back to the shop,” Spider answered.
Rambo lowered the boy, watching the scene unfold and holding him by one arm, and interjected, “Hey, look Spidey, I went by the shop because I got some bicycles for sale…”
“Sorry, ‘Bo. My mom says we couldn’t get any more stuff from you ’cause she’s scared it might be stolen.”
“Me? I’m your Pyran, Spidey!”Pyran is a French term that means Godfather. When a baby is Christened or baptized or whatever, a Godfather and Godmother have to stand and say that they will also guard and protect the child. Jesi was Spider’s Godmother and Kenneth Hickman Jr. was his Godfather.
“Alright ‘Bo, let me clear it with the Prince, but I’ll have to see the bikes.”
“Well, I got violated on my probation. I have to turn myself in tomorrow. I have the bikes in my storage up on Napoleon Avenue, but I’m gonna need the money when I get out in ninety days to get me on my feet.”
“Oh yeah, I’ll make sure we don’t get new bikes before that.”
Max said, “I’m sorry to interrupt the convict reunion, but I am being held against my will.”
The boys laughed and started escorting the prisoner back to the shop.

Jesi, who was coming in shift late due to an antique mickey mouse alarm clock, looked up from her register with a cigarette coated in lipstick still hanging precariously from her lips. She found herself face to face with Detective Bernos. The detective, upon seeing the girl, pulled a cigarette pack from his cheap suit, pulled one out and lit it.
“I can see you still can’t follow directions.” She pointed to a sign that read No Smoking in the Shop. She tossed her finished cigarette butt in the trash.
“Ma’am, maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”
Jesi looked to George, who was arranging candles in a box for delivery and said, “Please check to see if there is a blue crown vic in the fire lane. If so, call the tow company.” George disappeared outside.
“Ma’am, there is no need to be spiteful. I am sorry about before. I have done some asking around and I am sorry to hear the full story of your Godson and the reason for all the tattoos. I might have been hasty.”
“HASTY? You might have been an ass. And why are you asking people about the boys? Are you some kind of stalker?”
“No, Ma’am, I’m doing an investigation.”
“OH! Well, in that case, you need to talk to Mrs. Landry at Juvenile Probation. She is two of their’s probation officer. Any contact with police must be cleared through her.”
“I am not a police officer, I am a detective.”
“Well, in that case, may I ask you to leave the shop? We reserve the right to refuse service to rent-a-cops.”
“But, Ma’am…”
Jesi scribbled a number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “I can help with this, however.”
The detective looked at the phone number, “What is this?”
“The number of the people who just towed your car.”
“Damnit! This whole city is crazy!”
Detective Bernos stormed out of the shop and down Bourbon Street towards a cab who could help him retrieve his car. Spider sauntered in the back door of the shop with the Detective’s son. As Jesi took him out to the back patio for a stern talking to, Spider stopped the college girl who had been working the register earlier. Taking the jewelry out of the display, he said, “Buffy, see how each of these trays has a number?”
“Yes, fifteen.”
“That’s because each tray has 15 pieces of jewelry.”
“This one only has 14.”
Spider pulled out the bracelet and said, “That’s because that little guy stole the fifteenth.”
“How did..? I was looking right at him!” Her face went from shock to worry.
“I know. It wasn’t your fault. Just make sure you count them every time you put them back.”
She looked relieved. “I appreciate it, Spidey.” She gave him a once-over. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
The blonde college student replied, “Too young for me.”
Spider blushed and locked the display cases back up to hide his embarrassment. Jesi came to the front and asked Spider, “Can you get Buddha to run the register while I bring Max home?”
“Sure. Is he repentant?”
“He’s sweeping the back patio. He said his dad works until nine every night, so I told him he has to come clean up every day for a week and we’ll call it even.”
A little while later the little guy followed Jesi outside to her black Vespa scooter. She handed him a helmet and he climbed on behind her.
“Just hold onto me so you don’t fall off.”
“I’ll be ok,” he barked.
Jesi popped the clutch and Max had to grip her leather Misfits jacket to keep from falling off. His grip never slacked as she wound in and out of traffic like a rally driver. As Jesi jumped the curb into the parking lot of St. Vincent and screeched to a skidding halt, Max finally released his white-knuckled death grip on her jacket. He slipped off the Vespa feeling like he had cheated death a dozen times. Jesi looked at the pale boy still doing his best to look tough despite all of the blood having drained from his face.
“Let’s get it over with, “ he sighed.
“Talking to your dad?”
“Yep.”
She cut him a mean look and he corrected, “Yes, Ma’am.”
“First, I have a couple questions to ask you and you’d better be truthful of I’ll have Buddha print up flyers with your picture on it that say Known Bed-Wetter.”
“I have never…” he began, but then he realized she was teasing him and softened. “Yes, Ma’am, I’ll tell the truth.”
“Why did you really steal that jewelry?”
He thought about lying, then noticed the look in her eyes and decided to come clean. “First, those two kids told me if I did, they’d let me in their gang.”
“Gang?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“See how those two ‘gang members’ took off and left you high and dry? Would you want to be brothers with someone like that?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Do you think if someone tried to attack Spider, Buddha, or George, Tex would abandon them?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“No. Those boys would fight ‘til they’re hamburger for one another. That’s what friends do. Those other boys weren’t your friends.”
Max gave a sullen nod.
“Second question, and this is the most important. That ring really was for your Mom, wasn’t it?”
The little boy clinched his fist and turned lobster red, but continued, “Yes, Ma’am, her birthday is coming and my dad would never let me buy her a gift.”
“Why not?”
“Because she left us. My Mom said my Dad was obsessed with an old case of his. She said he cared more for someone else’s dead wife than his living one.”
“Why didn’t you go with her?”
“Her new husband doesn’t like kids. He has dogs instead.”
Jesi exhaled. “You know, Buddha said he could tell you were telling the truth about shopping for your Mom. It’s why you were so convincing to the cashier.”
Tears rolled down his red cheeks from his ocean blue eyes.
“Spider said all the work you are gonna do at the shop is payment for this.” Jesi opened her hand and held out the ring that the boy had stolen. “Write her a letter and get the address and I’ll mail it for you when I work the front desk.”
The boy could no longer hold his composure. He leaped at Jesi and hugged her so hard that his tears mashed into the leather of her jacket. “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me!”
“It’s alright, Max.”
“Fish.”
“What?”
“My pals back in Chicago called me Fish. I hate to be called Max.”
Jesi laughed, “Fish it is!”
“Thanks, Mrs. Jesi.”
She patted him on the head, messing up his perfect hair which had remained in place even after taking off the bike helmet. “Fish, this is a new place and a new school where you’ll make new friends. Look, if at times you don’t believe in yourself, just believe in me ‘cause I believe in you.”
Max hurriedly ran upstairs just seconds before John Bernos pulled into the parking lot. Jesi hollered out from the front steps, “Detective Bernos! I bet you won’t be parking in the fire lane again!”