Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(59)
I finally got to light my cigarette. I saw that Carradine’s two friends, the yoga acrobats, had taken off. Probably afraid a fed would take away their weed. “You’d do that just because we won’t help you?”
Vonda chimed in. “And force a fifteen-year-old girl to marry a dirty old man?”
Carradine ignored her. “Listen, Fortunati. I know you’re up to no good. My boss knows you’re up to no good. It’s only a matter of time before we track down your suppliers, nail them, and find out where Chiles’ armory is.”
I made a motion to grab his stupid shirtfront again. “Listen, you lowdown anusbrain—”
But Mahalia stepped between us. Her hands were up, blocking me from accessing the slimy fed. She faced Carradine. “I’ve got something for you. But in return I want you to not only promise not to give away our location, but I want you to give us warning when you’re planning a raid.” Everyone went silent. “You are planning a raid, aren’t you?”
“Well, of course! That’s the whole goal here. The raid’s gonna make my entire career, like I’ve been telling you. Man, I’m going to get that promotion. I’m going to spend a whole month drinking drinks with little umbrellas down in Antigua.”
Mahalia steered the starry-eyed fed back on track. “I’ve got some very good intel for you. But it’s a trade-off, see? Just give us this one week. After this week we’re going back to Avalanche and try to lead normal lives, if Allred will let us. But once I give you this intel, I want you to ride your little Segway back to your yurt and never darken our doors again.”
I added, “Until you let us know when the raid’s going to take place. So we can get some of her sister-wives out of there beforehand.”
Carradine wiped off the lenses of his goofy glasses. He nodded. “I’m listening.”
“Do you agree?” asked Mahalia.
“Well, it depends on the accuracy of your intel. There are lots of factors to consider here. Giving you advance warning of the raid puts me in a weak position. Who knows what your sister-wives are going to squeal? I can guarantee not to give away your Burning Man position, but—”
“There’s a gambling operation in the back of the coffee shop!”
Everyone turned to look at Vonda. The teen had suddenly stepped forward between Mahalia and me. From the look on Mahalia’s face, she didn’t know about the gambling op either.
“Really?” said Carradine, stepping forward to. “That’s intriguing. Tell me more.”
We listened while Vonda detailed the bookmaking scene for Carradine. We even sat in our camp chairs while she told how Wrangler Mowat, a mild-mannered bishop in their ward, sat in the back of the coffee shop with his algebraic formulas and took bets. Vonda seemed fairly well-versed in stake units and odds multipliers, and her mother glared at her.
“It helped me with my math,” Vonda explained, hanging her head. But she perked up again when she told Carradine, “It’s a high-stakes sports betting place. Guys come in with concealed weapons. Ordinary Mormons on the outside, gambling fiends on the inside. Some teenagers I know take their dad’s credit cards back there, and rack up the debt.”
Eventually, Carradine agreed not to nark on our location, and to give us a heads up about his raid, but only about two hours ahead of time. I understood he couldn’t risk having a loyal or freaked sister-wife go running to Chiles with that information.
“I don’t suppose,” he said, “you could give me the names of any recently departed brethren. You know, someone whose name is likely to be a password. That way we can get through the gate a lot more quietly.”
“Shiz,” snorted Mahalia. “For all I know, my name is a password now. Would you like a root beer?”
So we sat there another hour, this unlikely group, just as though we were chatting around a campfire. We stayed in Black Rock City to the end, Bronson Carradine included, watching the giant cornucopia burn, after Mahalia placed a photo of her dead husband inside the temple. I left a photo of my brother Chad. I admit it was a copy of a photo. The original was too dear for me to leave to burn, and I wasn’t too sure how much I believed in the “woo woo” concept of trashing a temple to your loved one’s memories. But after the temple burned, I actually did feel much better. I did feel that Chad had somehow been released or freed. He was still with me all the time, but he’d been allowed to move on, if that makes any sense.
I took a lot of things away from Black Rock City. But the most important seemed to be a new concept of love. I remember hearing that true love is finding a person who loves the things about you that you love about yourself. I realized I’d always had a low self-image, a worthless combat veteran, a biker who ran a quarry. But Mahalia seemed to love everything about me. She was fascinated with my MC, my geology, my Afghanistan tales.
I realized I did have something to offer besides a killer body and a talent for getting chicks off. At first I felt shy when she’d praise me. It didn’t take long for it to grow on me, and I started seeing myself through her eyes, more clearly.
I was seeing everything more clearly.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MAHALIA
There followed a week of serenity for us. For awhile it looked as though we’d be left in peace. More and more I was seeing that my journey was a book I could edit. I had the power and the control to change the script in a way that would shape my own needs and cravings. I wanted to take responsibility for my leaning toward the dark, because I knew Gideon contained dark elements. I knew he was a “bad” man in the eyes of many. I myself had overheard his dealings with Allred. I’d even seen him shoot a man to death, although he was entirely justified.