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Freddie Tibodeaux
Apr 17th, 2006, 07:30:41 PM
Freddie had a view of Wrigley Field from the shop window, if he leaned against the window and squinted. His market district shop was a few decades past its prime, but he'd gotten the lease for peanuts. Considerin all he needed was a fan, an ol' couch, a spice rack, and a booze cabinet, he felt high on the hog.

It cert'nly beat the lower ninth ward, and most def'nitely Angola.

Of course, it wasn't somethin Freddie much cared to think about outside his prayers. God hadn't give him too many excesses in his life, but Freddie always felt like he owed the man upstairs for leavin half of his hand-out to waste.

He'd hitched to Chi-town after his parole was up and spent a season in Memphis just to stay near Big River. There was 'nuff work as a day cook to make rent, and he could gig in any corner dive by pickin hand-me-down delta blues on his acoustic. It wasn't an easy life, but after servin a dime in Angola, you appreciate things more.

The problem with Memphis was the problem with N'awlins. The town stank. It wasn't Big River, and it wasn't the home cookin. That was the stink of death. Both cities were dyin. Dyin in population. Dyin in heritage. Ev'rything seemed speckled by a snowstorm of neglect and filth. Course, as Freddie made his way up the river, the stink didn't so much go away as he got used to it. Even here, ev'rything was grey and brown. Maybe it was crazy thinkin to think he could solve it all with a bus fare and a night's sleep. People is people. The reason why people's that way is between those people and God. Some people's hearts' sick, like a big ol' hole in it, and ev'rywhere they go, life's there to poke holes in it if they let it.

That's the Traiteur talkin in Freddie, and he knew it sure 'nuff. He could talk to God through the intercession of the saints and talk to the Ol' Man himself. His mama's mama was herself a Traiteurs, and she'd give him the gift after God put her in her bed with a stroke. That was the way God told her it was the time, cause once a Traiteur tells the tellin of their gift, it ain't theirs no more. Freddie took his grandmama's gifts and let God do the talkin to him. Now, God was talkin about a great big sick in this city, like the one in Memphis and down the line in N'awlins.

Freddie looked at the inverse of the letterin painted on his big glass window that read "TIBODEAUX'S ALTERNATIVE MEDICINE" and frowned. A Traiteur's callin wasn't a vocation, but a man ain't fit on whiskey and blessin's alone. He'd been scratchin for a life for years, and he hoped God could understand that these be changin times.

Freddie Tibodeaux
Apr 18th, 2006, 10:59:47 PM
After drawin the blinds to keep the settin sun out, Freddie poured a dollop o George Dickell fine sippin whiskey over two ice cubes in a low glass, and settled down low in his chair, puttin his drink across him on the coffee table. He lit him up a smoke, which he tucked in a corner of his mouth while he ran his fingers over a well worn rosary. He blew out two nostrils fulla smoke and began a prayer to God in French. He asked the Ol' Man to ease his heavy heart and point him along his travels, and bring down Saint Paul the Apostle to kick a ruckus up 'head of him and drive them snakes off the path with a sword of fire.

He said his amens, just as the ice started to mellow his whiskey to his likin. He ashed in an ol turtle shell on the table that been fitted as an ashtray, and had himself a fine drink. The alcohol was a kind of personal gris gris - a potion for the mind. God talked in all kinds of voices, and it be up to a true Traiteur to hear 'em all through all that noise.

As Freddie done finish his drink, he heard a patter of footsteps comin up to his shop door.

Father Barton
Apr 22nd, 2006, 10:59:07 AM
His foot steps where probably easily heard on the creaking steps. Not that Father Barton was trying to be silent or anything, no covert ops wasn't his style. He had arrived in Chicago two days ago as per a friend’s request and a message from God. where souls needed to be saved and destroyed in this foul city.

He had a list of names from god and mystery to solve for a friend. He would do the church a great service by judging the names on the list and punishing those who deserved it. First Name on his list from god was one Freddie Tibodeaux. John did not know the man all he got in his vision was of a man down on his luck and turning to sin and claiming he found god there. It had taken him two days to find this Tibodeaux character. It seemed he was he was a new import into the windy city.

A knock came at Tibodeaux's door then and ruff voice came shortly after the knock.

"Mr. Tibodeaux are you there?"

Father Barton was dressed in his common priest uniform not hiding from anyone that he was a priest of the great church. What was a bit out of place was his long black trench coat and pair of sporty shades not common to a lowly priest.

Freddie Tibodeaux
Apr 23rd, 2006, 08:32:08 PM
"Who it be?"

Freddie cut his prayer short by signin the crucifix, smoke from his cigarette leaving a lil trail of the path as he snuffed it in the turtle shell.

Course, it be awful early for any payin types to be askin for him by name. Freddie had him a bit of bad blood in his past that ain't all stopped at Angola's walls. Freddie kept him a bit of steel, off the books and by the by as to not bring the law on his head, for just such a bad day. His Kimber 1911 creaked in the dog leg, flush on his side and under his jacket.

As Freddie got a gander at the man through the glass, he gentled down some, unlocking his front door. Course, priests was not the usual bedfellows so to speak, which got the man of the cloth a might funny look from the Traiteur.

"Bonjour, Father."

Freddie widened the door, beckoning the priest inside.

Father Barton
Jun 22nd, 2006, 12:28:39 PM
John nodded as he stepped into the mans house. John thought of himself as the hand of god but he didn't believe himself above any man so he gave them the benefit of the doubt before he came a knocking on gods call. Although he had to admit most of those he visited deserved going to hell where he sent them.

"Mr. Tibodeaux do you know why I am here?"

Always his opening line when he came to someone's door, it never got old. The question sent shivers down some men and women’s spins because it insinuated they would know why a man of the cloth came to their house. Especially to those who where non-believers. It was spoken so dry and direct with John staring into their eyes as he spoke it.

Freddie Tibodeaux
Jul 11th, 2006, 10:05:27 PM
"I'd be hopin it be to invite me into your Parish."

Course, Freddie don' think so. Men of de cloth persuasion didn't much make housecalls to outta town folk.

Father Barton
Jul 12th, 2006, 11:49:39 AM
John chuckled lightly at Freddie's answer. Now why would god want someone like this man to be apart of his church? No God was truly selective about those he chooses to forgive and allow into his church. With that John reached into his long Jacket a slight snapping could be heard from the holster strapped under his armpit. John then produced a .50 cal desert eagle in left hand. The gun was a shiny silver with a black grip. With the gun in hand John's hand fell to his side he made no attempt to point it at Freddie.

"Actually I'm here to deliver Gods Judgment upon you Mr. Tibodeaux."

John was extremely calm like he had done this all before. He had done this a hundred times before. It was all natural to him but he never killed the sinner out right he always gave them a chance to repent. Rarely though john ever accepted the penance as sincere.

"Do you know what your sin is Mr. Tibodeaux?"