Back in the day, my old voodoo mentor Earl Marlowe and me did a lotta money magick for clients. One time we were in a North West London graveyard summoning the spirits to charge a money mojo for a long-time client.
Then from behind us came a none-too-friendly voice.
“What you two mofos doing here?!” said the voice. “It my patch. You ain’t welcome. I should shoot yo’ asses. Only thing stoppin’ me is trouble with the police.” (He pronounced police “poh-lice”).
It was Prophet Marcel, a juju man working out of the Kensal Green area. He was waving a .45 auto at us, aiming it in the sideways position.
Always cool in heavy situations, Earl turned around and said:
“Well, man, I think you need to put that gun down, coz you shoot me and you know I gonna come back an’ haunt your ass. Get so you can’t take a shit without my black eyes staring at you. Rare event you get yourself a woman, I’m gonna be there looking on, an’ unless you like bein’ watched, yo’ dick gonna go soft as bathtub sponge.”
Prophet Marcel didn’t like that. So he opened fire on us. Luckily his aim was wide on account of him holding the weapon sideways.
Earl and me dived for cover behind a line of gravestones.
Guns are seriously illegal in the UK. So it wasn’t too wise of Prophet Marcel to loose lead at us. But it happens.
Just when I thought he was gonna hit us with another salvo, a black cat walked out from behind one of the graves near us. Despite the gunshots, the cat seemed to have no fear. It walked up to Marcel and stared right at him.
I noticed his gun hand began to shake, and his eyes went wide.
“That cat’s eyes is flashing like the fires of hell,” he screamed. “That ain’t no ordinary cat. That’s cat is the Devil!!!”
With that he rammed his firearm into his pants, turned around and ran for all he was worth.
The cat switched its gaze to us, then nonchalantly strode away, eventually disappearing in the undergrowth.
I went over to where the black cat had been sitting. Lying on the ground was a pendant and a wad of cash – picking it up I estimated there must have been a good grand there in £20 notes.
“Marcel must’a dropped it,” said Earl. “It’s out lucky day!”
I then picked up the pendant. “It’s an old brass thruppenny bit,” I said. “Drilled out and put on a chain.”
Earl laughed and said, “Well that’s gotta be our lucky money talisman considering we’re up a grand – although, to be fair, we did earn it, what with being shot at.”
After that we always used a brass thruppenny bit in our money workings – even if they were sometimes hard to come by. And we’d take them down to the graveyard to call up the spirits and get the coins charged with power. Boom! Those lucky money pendants always kicked up the cash!
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