Through a Glass, Darkly (Assassins of Youth MC #1) (9 page)

“Exactly!” cried Mahalia, and it seemed as though she might be cheering up. “I can sit there amazed for half an hour watching my bird feeder, and even forget to eat myself. I’m awestruck by beauty in all forms, whether it’s an animal, a flower—”

“Or a beautiful man,” said Dingo, gesturing to encompass my entire form.

Mahalia giggled uneasily. Dingo made her so shy she could barely look at me. “Well, I’m a bit of a neophyte when it comes to the male form, unfortunately. I’m more experienced with critters and flowers. Have you seen any of the other boys?”

“There are what you might call pods of them, up in Salt Lake, Park City, Bountiful. They move in herds and run whenever the cops scare them off. Some have gotten good jobs, like Mr. Fortunati said, in construction, since we learned to build things when we were young. But some have, well, turned to more basic ways of earning a living.” He shrugged, not very affected by the sordid nature of some lifestyles. “It is our only option.”

The front doors swung open and Bronson Carradine entered. His cowboy background was in full flower today, as he swaggered in wearing a ten gallon hat and the aforementioned mirrored shades. It was then that I realized what Mahalia was doing here. She didn’t stop in for a 7 Up. She was here to see that sleazebag with the bad comb over.

I’d never seen him smile that widely. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and grinned like a moron at us, but mostly at Mahalia. “Gideon. Dingo. Mahalia. Shall we sit over here?”

I got the picture. Whatever business they had together was none of my concern, and they moved to another table. The last thing I said to her was, “Don’t forget. I’ll get those items for you from our clubhouse.”

“That’d be nice,” she said pleasantly.

Then there was no more excuse for me to stay with her. Besides, it was time for me to go meet my mine foreman. He knew a guy who knew a gal here in Avalanche who had a few houses for rent. Papa Ewey had agreed that maybe it would be frugal if I just went ahead and did that.

Regretfully, I left the bar, bringing Dingo with me. I looked back once to see if Mahalia was watching me, and sure enough, she was. She was pretending to be hanging onto every one of Carradine’s words, but I knew she would rather be with me. It was obvious. To me, anyway.

MAHALIA

I
did not
want to send that sensual, rugged man away. I had no choice. I’d agreed to meet with Bronson Carradine and so here I was, sitting next to one man while pining for the closeness of the other.

The excitement I’d felt at sitting so close to Gideon Fortunati told me that I had a destiny with him. Shivers like the licking of tiny birds raced all up my arms, raising gooseflesh on my neck and stiffening my nipples under the flimsy covering of my red dress. Gideon’s sinewy strength just inches from my bare skin had an illicit, forbidden feeling. Masturbation wasn’t something us wives did often, seeing as how we weren’t alone much, but I knew that when I got home I’d find my tiny vibe, hidden between the folds of some drab black cotton stockings, and closet myself away from the world. I didn’t know if I could respond any longer to the sexual urgings of the tiny little motor—it had been so long I’d been deadening my senses to Allred. I’d been sneaking and taking birth control pills on the sly. Lord knew what would happen to me if that was found out.

I’d think only of Gideon, his rich reddish auburn hair that looked so soft, like a bird’s down, the sensuous curve of his lips, the pleading I saw in his crinkled, smiling eyes. A cascade of Asian tattoos swirled around his neck and arms, pink lilies and violet hummingbirds.

After some chit-chat, Bronson got down to brass tacks. “You said there might be some disaffection going on in your village. People who want out, people who might be willing to help us. You said many men have been disappearing.”

I already noticed the bartender giving us the evil eye. I could tell that Skippy didn’t like Bronson. And probably didn’t like me. “Yes. Men of marrying age have been vanishing. They keep saying it’s to our Texas compound, but who has ever returned from there to testify? And one day, very early in the morning when I was leaving for a meeting in Cedar City, I definitely saw them put someone rolled in a rug into the back of a truck and drive off.”

“So you think instead of sending these guys to Texas they’re just offing them?”

My heart raced, but there was no turning back now. I had no reason to trust Bronson Carradine, but then again, I had no reason to trust Allred. He was planning to take my little girl and seal her to that repulsive Orson Ream. I may not be able to escape, but I could certainly make life a little hard for Allred Lee Chiles, Prophet of the Church of Good Fortune. Nonprofit church, my butt. Allred had many enormous offshore holdings, and every penny in tithes that was taken from the common man went right into his pocket. He doled out those saltbox houses like a cheapskate—and we didn’t even own them. He did.

“Yes, I definitely think there’s some funny business. I don’t know where they’re taking the bodies, but I talked to one of Reed Smoot’s wives not long ago. She hasn’t heard from him since he ‘left for Texas’ either. They want to marry off my daughter!” I blurted out.

Bronson sat up, alert. “How old is she?” he asked softly.

“Fifteen.” I was afraid I’d start blubbering again, like I had when telling Gideon, so I gulped the rest of my soda pop.

“Holy shit,” muttered Bronson. “You know, that sort of shit shouldn’t be allowed to happen. Not if you don’t want it to.”

“Oh, some people
want
it, don’t get me wrong. Some people think they’re doing God’s will, and so on. Mr. Carradine, my daughter wants a life on the outside, and she should have it. Just because her mother was stupid enough to be dragged off to an insulated compound like Cornucopia doesn’t mean
she
should be stuck there the rest of her life. She should not pay for my mistakes.”

Bronson jerked his head. “That kid sitting over there? He’s even going to computer school, adult ed. He was dumped by the side of the road years ago.”

“Yes!” I pointed at the agent. “That’s the sort of thing that goes on. I can’t be the savior of everyone, but I sure as hell can save my own daughter! My sister wife Kimball feels the same way I do. She has three children, still very young, but she lives in constant fear her oldest boy will be driven out and dumped somewhere too.”

Gideon and Jonah left the bar then. Gideon only cast me the shortest of glances. I couldn’t read his expression. It amazed me how much this pained me, watching the door hit him on his way out. It must’ve tied into my own feelings of abandonment, when Field had left me so suddenly when a loader had rolled downhill and smashed him like a bug. The piece of heavy equipment, so witnesses told me, had zigged and zagged as if it had a mind of its own, heading straight for Field. Everyone else had time to get out of the way—not him. His chest was caved in like a two-dimensional piece of cardboard.

Bronson must’ve seen me looking so forlorn, as he asked, “And what about that Gideon Fortunati? He’s doing more than just running the Altar of Sacrifice Mine.”

“Oh, he’s just selling Allred guns.”

I wasn’t thinking. I swear I wasn’t thinking. Not about the guns, anyway. I was too busy watching the swagger of Gideon’s sweet, sweet ass as he vanished, probably forever.

“What?” Bronson’s voice went even lower. “You say guns?”

“No! I didn’t mean guns! I meant
tons
, tons of gold and silver he’s taken out of the mine.”

But Bronson wasn’t buying my feeble save. He rubbed his hands together like he was set to chow down on a big dinner. His eyes even glowed with a voracious gleam that I didn’t like one bit. “And what kind of guns, may I ask? How many?”

I’d already said too much. “I want to tell you something, Mr. Carradine.” Bronson listened now, his ears perked like a rabbit’s. Of course he thought I was going to tell him more about Gideon. “St. Augustine was always troubled by a conviction that the desire in his spirit was a desire for a past forgotten joy.”

Bronson frowned. “Who’s St. Augustine? Which past joy?”

“The joy he knew before he was born into this world, when he was in the cradle of a heavenly bliss. Now this is our current longing, a longing to return to that blissful memory. This is why
anyone
seeks God, or spiritualism—they are trying to return to that euphoric, beatific state where our souls were at one with the wisdom of the ages.”

Bronson tried to chuckle. “Jeez. I sure
wish
I’d ever been at one with the wisdom of the ages. Maybe I’d be richer now. I’d certainly be smarter. I’d have a house in Costa Rica, probably. Now, about these guns—”

“Well, I certainly can’t recall any happy moments in my life, unless you count when I was married before, and I can barely remember that anymore. Mr. Carradine, I want to return to that sense of happiness, and I know I never can while living in Cornucopia. What do you suggest? How do I run away?”

“Well, I haven’t figured it out that far yet. The wheels of justice move very slowly on our end, being the feds and all. If you turn state’s witness we can set you up with a safe house. In the meantime, don’t tell a soul about our conversation today.”

“Oh, of course not.” Was I suicidal? That was the only way I could see telling anyone. And I didn’t want a safe house. I didn’t want to be cut off from everyone I’d ever known, loved, or sat next to, unable to even text my own sisters in Provo.

“We’ll come up with a sort of a sting op, but we’ll warn you beforehand, of course. Get you out of there in time, but quietly, so it doesn’t look suspicious.”

“And how long will that take?”

Bronson waved a loose hand. “Oh, these things take
months
, years, even. We’ve got to get all of our ducks in a row. Marrying a few teenaged girls off to horny old men usually doesn’t light any fires under anyone. We tend to leave that stuff alone, if you know what I mean. It’s so ingrained in polygs, how are we supposed to stop it, with a few arrests? No, it’d be more like the gun thing that would nail him. Do you have any delivery dates, or can you get that information for me?”

“
Mr. Carradine!
” I tossed my balled-up napkin onto the table and stood so suddenly I nearly knocked my chair over. “I don’t have time like that to waste! My daughter is going to be married off within the month!”

Bronson didn’t even stand. That’s how I knew he wasn’t my friend. He didn’t care enough to stand, to try and calm me down. To give me reassurance of any kind. He held his hands out in a helpless gesture. “But that’s how things work, my dear. Believe me. I’ve been doing this for twenty years. Not to sound like I work for a callous organization, but guns get people’s attention far more quickly than sexual issues do.”

I was incensed. I could feel my eyes bulging out of their sockets. Someone was coming in the front door, but I didn’t care. “This is
not
a sexual issue, sir! It’s an issue of misguided power, of using that power to control people, and that’s an issue I won’t stand for!”

I flounced out then, imagining I looked all dramatic like in a movie. Those touring club bikers playing pool all stopped to stare at me, and I nearly smashed frontally into the brick wall of a man at the front door. He grabbed me by my shoulders to steady me, although I didn’t want to be steadied.

“Hey, little lady. What’re you doing out here, outside of your little prison?”

How did this giant peckerhead know who I was? Well, my dress, probably. That was usually a dead giveaway. I tried to squirm back out of his clutches and noticed his breast pocket patch said “Veep.” He was Vice President of Gideon’s club—Gideon’s superior, no doubt! “Unhand me.” Now I really sounded like I was in a movie.

He didn’t unhand me, though. His eyebrows furrowed and his tone became more commanding. “You in here talking to that fed? Sharing state secrets with him? I don’t think your beloved Gideon would be too happy to hear about that.”

I wrenched myself from his grip, all too savvy with the knowledge that what he said was true.

Guilt quickly wracked
my soul, and I went around to Gideon’s hotel room. No one answered the door, so I had no choice but to continue to St. George and do the work I was out here pretending to do. I didn’t really
have
to visit the Shepherds of Guatemala office, but I knew it’d give me an alibi. I’d taken a giant risk going into town to see that agent, and now I felt it was all for naught. Not to mention I might have put Gideon Fortunati into a compromising position. Like, up against the wall.