WEEKLY WORLD NEWS PRESENTS: THE FORTUNE SMELLER (PART 4)

THE FORTUNE SMELLER – SWAMPLAND TALE OF SCENT AND SECRET

SENT MEMORIES

Doris nodded and reached into a large storage pocket that hung from her armrest, withdrawing a floral sleep mask and a pair of foam ear plugs. She stuffed the plugs in her ears and positioned the sleep mask onto her forehead. 

Drew Clay scoffed as the sheen of sweat in the amber light turned him to melted wax. “Wait, so you’re tellin’ me you ain’t a fortune teller, but a fortune smeller? I’ve sniffed up a fortune or two in my day too missy, it ain’t that hard. Hey, are you going back into a coma? Is that the only way this is gonna work?” 

Unable to hear, or ignoring his comments, Doris stood before us in the center of the room and lowered the mask over her eyes. 

She smiled and raised her hands in a dramatic flourish: “Hear me. What you’ll witness now is the work of not a psychic, but a far more primal type of soothsayer. A sommelier of sweat, I like to think of it. Each of us emits a unique bouquet of symbiotic bacteria, microflora, metabolites, hormones, toxins and other bodily effluvia. I take in this river of scents, and can tell many things, far beyond a person’s mere vintage.”

Doris pointed blindly at the melting action figure of The King of Craps. In an increasingly theatrical tone she said, “The opposite sex is easier to interpret, given our contrast. You’re first, gator bait. Come here, beside me, and raise your arms to the sky.”

The Fortune Smeller – SENT MEMORIES

Having hung up his blazer, Clay took his place and complied by exposing the drenched pits of his white undershirt. 

Doris leaned toward the foul concavity with caution, apparently at the perfect level height for this endeavor. Clay glanced around the room at us, his eyes grinned with superstitious anticipation that belied inner entreats for a new pair of shoes. This may not be what he’d expected, but he was fully along for the ride. 

With a sniffing cadence not dissimilar to Sugar’s cyclical snuffling, Doris began to swirl her head in a slow circle as she nosed the glandular grand cru. She began to tease out the intermingling minutiae as she went, wafting slowly with an open hand.

“The way you smell is–sniffasniff–funny…through no fault of your own. There’s–sniff–light neuroticism, masked anxiety–sniffsniffsniff–high testosterone…compensatory extroversion–sniffsniff–you’re a philanderer. You used to drink quite a bit, but not for a couple years now. A–sniff–Taurus…bullheaded, overconfident–sniffsniff–your bravado will serve you well in a place like Lake Charles–sniff– but it’s beyond your control, and your greatest weakness. You also eat far too much meat.

The Fortune Smeller – SENT MEMORIES

“Now what’s this–sniffasniffasniffsniff–ooh my, musty garlic…rotten eggs–sniff–no no…désolé cher, your liver is failing soon. In…maybe a few weeks.”

A hushed gasp from the room, and Clay held his smile, “She ain’t tellin’ me anything I don’t already know. That’s how come I can tell it’s the truth.” A trickle of unwiped sweat or tears issued from the corner of his noticeably jaundiced eye. 

Drawing up the mask and removing the ear plugs, Doris sighed sympathetically at Drew as he wiped his face with his shirt and returned to his seat. “I know I’ve upset you. I may not be able to see the future, but I always tell the truth, as much of it as I can detect.”

Still smiling he replied “I may have preferred the mystery, I’ll admit it, but at least now I know for sure my time is limited. C’est la vie. Now I gotta figure how to spend what I got left. Maybe I’ll devote more time to my other passions: fly fishing, and Warhammer 40k.” 

Doctor Gandha cleared her throat and began opening her medical bag. “Andrew, if you’ll indulge me for a moment, I brought along a revolutionary tool that can confirm this diagnosis. Behold, my life’s work, the bioelectric nose. If you’ll remain there a moment, it just takes a little time to calibrate.” She drew forth the robotic nose and began to adjust tiny knobs on the backside of it, causing the nostrils to glow a sterile whitish blue. 

The Fortune Smeller – SENT MEMORIES

The King of Craps poked his tongue into his cheek and blinked slowly in disbelief. “Miss Doctor, if you’ll kindly put away that…device, I reckon I’ve endured enough humiliation this afternoon. I require no confirmation, and medical equipment makes me squeamish, forgive me.

“I have complete confidence in the result. Thank you for the reading Miss Lafitte, your reputation is well deserved. And thank y’all for the ride in. Wouldn’t mind a lift to the lake on your way back.” Doctor Gandha deflated slightly and flicked off the nose, packing it away as its gentle whirring died off. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Doris put a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “Mr. Clay, before you go there is one more thing. We may not have met before, but my mother was acquainted with you from the last time you came to Lake Charles years ago. I wasn’t certain it was you until I did my reading, but she told me to watch for your return. She said you left something with her that she wanted you to have back. Allow me a moment to retrieve it.” 

The Fortune Smeller – SENT MEMORIES

The King of Craps sputtered as he took his golden coat from the rack, working through the shock to explain how Ms. Lafitte was surely mistaken. He’d never been here in his life, let alone met Maux Lafitte. Before the sputtering could resolve itself into words he froze, stunned, as his eyes settled on a particular photograph on the wall by the coat rack. Doris rifled briefly through a large wooden chest in the corner.

That photo showed a younger, less sallow Andrew Clay, seated on the same couch he’d sat on moments prior, across from a smiling Maux Lafitte, wizened and petite. His hat was in his lap, his shorn skull undented and fully intact. 

The Clay of the present removed his hat, feeling the crooked indentation on top of his head. When he turned to face Doris, she was holding a sun-bleached pair of fuzzy dice, the type that would hang from a rearview mirror.

“Mama said you gave this to her before you drove off in your big truck. You weren’t pleased with what she had to tell you, and said you wouldn’t be needing it anymore. You must have made an impression on her, as she made sure to tell me on multiple occasions that the man with the golden jacket would be back for it eventually.”

The Fortune Smeller – SENT MEMORIES

The King took this unrecognized icon from Doris’s outstretched hand and stared at it with no discernible expression for a moment. Then he laughed, quietly at first, then loudly, before tossing the comically oversized dice through the air. They landed perfectly in the center of Sugar’s dog bed, where she quickly set upon them with a gleeful snarl, thrashing them around by the string until they were entangled in her wire halo.  

“Thanks for hanging onto it for so long. It appears I won’t be needing dice, charms, or luck of any kind in Lake Charles after all. The rat can chew it to her heart’s content.”From his back pocket he pulled a thick wad of bills barely contained in a gleaming money clip, thumbed out about half the stack, and placed it on the coffee table. “A tip for y’all, feel free to divvy it up while I go out for some air. Smell ya later, Doris.” Donning his hat and coat, The King of Craps let himself out for a pensive puff.

We each waived our portion of the money and insisted Doris take it for her time, despite her protests. “Well who wants to go next?”

Madame Connerie raised her hand, “I’ve seen enough. I’m fully convinced and satisfied. Thank you for your hospitality, darling. I’ll send you a copy of the book when it’s finished, we really must be off before the rains come to wash us away. And Doris… do take care of yourself out here.”

“I’ve been out here long enough to know how to stay safe, Madame. Plus I’ve got a vicious guard dog after all.”

Dr. Gandha cleared her throat again as we rose to our feet before venturing, “Doris, if it wouldn’t be too invasive, I’d like to take a quick nasal swab to return with me to the lab. I’m very interested in the mechanics of your amazing ability, and I feel that understanding it could yield enormous benefits for science and humanity.” 

The Fortune Smeller – SENT MEMORIES

“Doc, you might not assume so, but I’m a student of science myself. My life was an uncomfortable mystery for a long time, and it’s been a goal of mine to understand it as best I can. I’d be happy to let you take the sample, provided you share the results with me.”

Dr. Gandha smiled as she awkwardly applied a latex glove to her sweaty hand. “Deal.”

That swab would later travel with Parni Gandha to her lab at Duke, where agitation by steel centrifuges and a series of chemical reactions would reveal more than double the olfactory receptors contained in the length of an elephant’s trunk.

The Fortune Smeller – BENEATH THE SURFACE

We said our farewells and descended the wooden stairs, as Sugar’s dice-entangled halo nearly took us out at the knees. “Shoo, couillon! Go piss and dig your holes!” Doris hissed after the cataracted pom.

Madame Connerie joined Clay leaning against the bulk of the WWN van, and appeared to offer him an additional reading at no charge, which he politely declined. It may have been the first time in her long career that the bemused psychic had been turned down. She in turn declined his offer of a slim cigarillo. 

Sugar pawed frantically at a new spot in the yard, and by the water’s edge Doris Lafitte assumed a lotus position, her hands in her lap. She appeared to be lost in meditation, taking long deep breaths through her nostrils, exhaling through her mouth.

“Is it the tributary you’re smelling? The bayou?” Asked Dr. Gandha from behind her with interest. 

With a far off voice, Doris replied, “Yes, the river.”

“What do you smell?”

“The slow flow carries runoff from the city and the lake, filtering through the bayou. Municipal waste, industrial byproducts, miscellaneous trash, cigarettes, colorful plastic, rusty bicycles, fish, animals, algae…but also the sweat from people swimming earlier. Pralines, and fresh cracked pecans. Spices. Damp moss, and wildflowers. Earthy mud, and smoke from quenched cooking fires. It all blends together into something new. Creole. A mixture. It’s like a link to the whole city. When I sit out here and smell the water, I feel less…alone.”

Taking a step closer, Dr. Gandha said, “Doris, I know you’d do without the added complications, the sensitivity, the isolation. But your ability is just so…extraordinary. So singular! If it were me I wouldn’t trade it for the world!”

The Fortune Smeller – BENEATH THE SURFACE

A moment of silence passed, and Doris scoffed. “Parni, how about you try sniffing armpits for pocket change in your dead mom’s shack for a while and tell me again how extraordinary it is. I’m damned to be a swamp hermit for the rest of my life.” 

Gandha looked mortified at the offense she hadn’t intended to cause, and Doris quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, doctor. I’m sure you can understand the stress, the loneliness…I would trade it for the world, because it’s the only way I could be a part of it.”

Dr. Gandha nodded. “I understand. It was a pleasure to meet you, Doris. I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon.”

As Dr. Gandha started toward the van, Doris spoke once more from her trance, “Parni…Dr. Gandha. Please be careful out there in the bayou. I read online they found some kind of Manigator out in St. Martinville not too long ago. I can smell plenty of gators and people out there in the swamp, but it’s hard to tell where one stops and the other begins.” 

The Fortune Smeller – BENEATH THE SURFACE

The Doctor laughed heartily. “Oh Doris, your sense of humor is almost as keen as your sense of smell! You truly are a treasure. I hope to see you again soon.”

Doris didn’t laugh. She simply nodded, and turned back toward the water.

We piled into the news van and reversed away from the spidery old house in the swamp. Before we swung around back onto the rutted dirt road back to Lake Charles proper, Drew Clay jabbed an elbow into me and pointed at something through the windshield. 

As thunderheads blotted out the last remnants of afternoon sun, it was hard to tell, but it looked like the glint of buried gold winking from the bottom of a hole dug by a blind old lapdog. 

Of course I couldn’t just leave her to her own devices, no matter how ludicrous the idea of Doris being stalked by her former lover-turned-Manigator might seem to any rational person.

Having met the cursed woman, spent time in her home, dined with her, familiarized myself with her environment, it was a simple enough task to maintain a psychic tether so that I might check up on her as I dozed away on our rough journey back to Lake Charles. And so I worked my spinnerets, descended over the trembling dew drop of her psyche, and delicately dipped into her consciousness. 

The Fortune Smeller – BENEATH THE SURFACE

Peering through those lovely brown eyes I beheld a rough but gleaming gold doubloon, held aloft in her delicate hand. A visage in profile, scratched and eroded to a mere silhouette, nonetheless marked it as genuine. Our head turned back toward a shallow hole the dog had dug, where a partially unearthed mound of similar coins was visible. 

Was it really luck that had entangled itself in the rat’s halo? Did such a thing truly exist in this world? Or was it merely the blind dog of pure chance? Whatever the source, it had wrested a fortune from the worm-laced earth beneath Doris Lafitte’s ancestral home. How much more was there?

I heard her now, thinking to herself. She was thinking of him. If only Lou could swing his metal detector around, it’d make digging all this up a much more efficient and lively affair. Someone with whom to share the wealth. As if she could go anywhere to actually spend it. But still, such a hoard suggested many potentially life-changing possibilities.  

The Fortune Smeller – BENEATH THE SURFACE

Was it cursed pirate gold? What effect would that have on someone already cursed as she was? If she somehow traded it for a more normal life, would the curse spread to others, beyond the borders of Contraband Bayou? We closed our eyes, and yet the image of the coin and all its weighty repercussions remained centered in our mind’s eye. 

Alongside the image of the coin, an uneasiness. Anxiety. Could she sense my presence? After all, I’m sure it wasn’t the first time a well-meaning old psychic had kept an eye on her from inside her head. 

No, that wasn’t it. Her thoughts drifted back to Louisiana, her lost love, the one she left behind without a word. That bizarre, beautiful man. Eccentric, strange in all the right ways, fascinating. But most important of all, he cared. So much. 

“Mercy, mercy, pudding pie,

You got something that money can’t buy…”

Ugh, that stupid song. An earworm, cropping up uninvited, tickling those tender synapses that just wanted to clock out, curl up, and chill out. The past, the present — so sharp and distracting, like static pops over the vast gray uncertainty of the future. 

As if in solidarity, Contraband Bayou drew the rippling gray blanket of storm clouds over its head and grumbled. Moments later, its torrid fever broke; the rain was sudden and heavy, like a burden loosed, like a good cry. I heard Sugar’s wire halo trembling as she shook the rain from her fur and dashed up the stairs inside. 

The Fortune Smeller – BENEATH THE SURFACE

Doris sat still, like a lotus flower, allowing the rain to drench her entirely. She didn’t realize she’d been crying until she tasted the saltwater. 

An unseen frog chirped, and plunked into the water nearby. We opened our eyes, peering through the torrent. Strangely, though the doubloon sat firmly grasped in Doris’s hand, now enfolded in her lap, the mental image of it burned so intensely in our subconscious that it still seemed visible before us. 

No, not an after-image. Fireflies? A headlamp?

An eye? 

Whatever the source, the faint golden circle drew closer, just above the rippling surface of the water.  

Doris’s keen nose was awash with the petrichor of rain, and her narrowed eyes were no better than my own.

Through the endless sigh of water and earth’s union, she could almost hear a voice:

“Lookie, Lookie, Lookie Lou,

I’m gonna keep my eye on you

My sweet treat, Tweedly Dee…”

This time I would not be silent. From within her mind, I screamed:

“Doris!! Run!!”

STAY TUNED FOR 

THE FORTUNE SMELLER: BRIDE OF MANIGATOR

NAVIGATE THE FORTUNE SMELLER: PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4