Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(47)

I knew my plan was a bold and possibly stupid one. Was I just moving on my own craving to “save” women from evil men? My love for Mahalia was deep and real. I’d barely thought of Chelsea since meeting Mahalia, and a good thing, too. She’d never been about to leave Papa Ewey. She was all about the status, I knew now. Why would she leave the Prez for a guy who wasn’t even an officer in the club?

“I’ve been hearing things that are highly disturbing,” Chiles started out. He wore his formal cowboy hat and he’d brought Parley Pipkin with him, so this was some official stuff.

And it was so early in the day I hadn’t even put my cut on yet. “Disturbing in what way?”

He folded his hands before his crotch, a protective motion. “You probably know, but let me elucidate for you. That you’ve been kissing and possibly more with one of my wives. You know to whom I refer.”

I had to bluff my way through this. It would’ve been nice if we could’ve gotten a head start on Chiles. But since that wife had seen us in a compromising position at that swimming hole, all bets were off. I had to find out what Chiles knew. “I may have kissed her once or twice. She’s a beautiful woman, Chiles, and it should be no surprise I don’t agree with your manner of handling women around here.”

He squared his shoulders in a manly fashion. “Do I look like I give two good goddamns what you think, Fortunati?”

“Well, you did…until now.”

“You making time with my wife supersedes you saving my life. I’ve heard from one of my wives as well as one of the children that there’s been more than kissing going on around here. Possibly some unnatural biker type stuff, too.”

That piqued my interest. “What sort of unnatural biker type stuff?”

“Stuff,” clarified Parley Pipkin.

Chiles added, “I think you know, Fortunati. And I think it’s time you said goodbye to my largesse. You can pack up your meager belongings and be out of here by noon. May you learn from your errors with the knowledge of divine retribution looming over your head. God will punish you for the mistakes you’ve made, Fortunati.”

“What about our gun deals?”

“We’ll maintain a strict business relationship. The gun deals can continue. But you must go, Fortunati.”

I had to take my punches. I held out my hands in a calming position. “All right, Chiles. I admit I’m fully and completely busted. Your wife is a delicate flower, and I don’t hold with wife beating.”

It was like a sudden storm came into his eyes then. I’ve never seen anything like it—literally, storm clouds formed and passed over Chiles’ pupils. Parley Pipkin even took a threatening step forward. Chiles pointed at my feet. “A whirlwind of judgment shall hail down upon you! No man has a right to tell another man how to treat his wives!”

“Amen!” shouted Pipkin.

That was when I noticed Pipkin was armed. A pistol butt stuck out of the waistband of his pants. I had mine, of course, shoved into the boot I wasn’t wearing.

Chiles blared on. “Bad luck will rain on your head, Fortunati! You have crossed me the last and final time!”

“All right, all right. I get the picture, Chiles. Thanks for your hospitality. Thanks for helping me recover from the gunshot wound I got while protecting you.” Yes, I stooped that low. It was something to say while I went and grabbed my boots, sitting on the edge of the single bed.

Parley hollered, “You were probably just protecting Mahalia Warrior, anyway! Who’s to say you were protecting The Prophet?”

The Prophet held out a staying hand. “No, no, let him go, Parley. We need his gun business.”

“And you need me to run the mine,” I reminded them. As I said this, I pointedly took my Glock out of my boot and placed it on the bed, so I could put my boot on.

“Well, that’s another thing, Fortunati. I deeded you that mine when I was under the delusion you were a friend of mine. No longer do I labor under that delusion. You never recorded the deed at the County, Fortunati.”

That f*cking burned me up. I stood. “So your word is no good, is that what I’m led to believe? You randomly give things away, only to take them back later?” I thought that would tweak him, being called an Indian giver. I was right.

Pipkin’s hand went for his gun. Chiles didn’t motion for him to calm down this time. “You’re out of here, Fortunati. No one touches the wife of Allred Lee Chiles, Prophet of Good Fortune.”

I went for my cut hanging on the back of a chair. I shook it out like it was the Shroud of Turin—which to me, it was. Shrugging into it, I said calmly, “Well. The Bureau of Land Management, not to mention Bronson Carradine and the ATF, might be highly interested in the dozens of bodies buried out at the Altar of Sacrifice.” I smoothed my cut down like it was a tuxedo now, tugging on the hem. “I might be persuaded to ignore those bodies if I was given, say, the entire mine.”

Boy, did that storm in Chiles’ eyes turn into a tornado fast. This time, Pipkin did slide his piece from his pants and aim the barrel at my head. Chiles calmly went to my duffel bag and rifled through it, looking for the deed, I assumed.

“Hey!” I shouted at Pipkin. “For a guy who turned tail and ran the second someone started shooting inside the book bindery, you’re sure quick to draw!” I grabbed my Glock off the bed, but kept it at my side.