Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(61)

“Sweet Jesus. He got away with it?”

“Yes.” That one terse word told me everything. He exhaled in a whoosh and said quickly, “Once I get this mine business sorted out and sell my Bullhead house, I want to buy another house that’s for sale down on Little Wing Street. Kimball and her kids can stay there, maybe protected by Sam or Sledgehammer. We need our privacy. I know you’re used to being crammed in with other people, but I’m not. I like to spread out.” He grinned and squeezed my hand back. “We’ll keep Dingo, of course.”

“That sounds fine. I’ve got an interview today in St. George. Bookkeeping for some trucking company.”

To my surprise, Gideon said, “No. I want you to focus on this nonprofit shelter.”

I frowned. “What nonprofit shelter?”

He stood, patting his jean pockets to feel for his wallet, his phone. “The one on Little Wing Street you’re going to run.”

“What?”

“You’re going to get more sister-wives out of Cornucopia, aren’t you? This sounds like a human welfare situation that you can get 501 exemption for, no?”

“Well, yes.” I’d never thought of it that way before. I could benefit Gideon by being a nonprofit tax write-off. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? “But Kimball wants to get a job. She wants to help. There are some babysitting jobs in St. George she could do.”

Gideon frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why go all the way to St. George and leave your kids alone? She’ll just wind up paying a babysitter the same amount of money she’s making. No. Tell her to stay here and be a mom. She can help you with the Little Wing project. We’re going to repopulate this ghost town.”

“You’ll be mayor,” I joked.

Vonda came out then. “Mom, Dingo’s going to give me a ride to school.” It was her fourth day at the new St. George school, and so far, she loved it. She’d made a few friends, even. I wasn’t so keen on her riding on Dingo’s * pad, but if I did it, I couldn’t forbid my daughter from doing it. “Hey, Dingo told me a Mormon joke.”

Dingo appeared behind Vonda, a motorcycle helmet in his hand. “Yes. Listen to this. Take my wives. Please.”

Gideon burst out in a guffaw, but I didn’t get it. In fact, Gideon held his stomach, it was so funny. The three of them were lost in their own hilarious world, and I was vexed. I thought about my secret hair appointment in Cedar City. I was going to cut off some or most of my waist-length hair as a symbol that I wasn’t attached to Allred or Cornucopia anymore.

“It’s all right,” Gideon finally wheezed. “The busses don’t go where you live, Mahalia. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

“We all love you,” corrected Dingo.

“Hmph,” I said.

Gideon said, “Dingo, meet me at the mine when you’re done at Vonda’s school. We’ve got a sit-down in Bullhead with Papa Ewey and the rest. You can’t come to the table, but you can meet some of the other Prospects down there, serve beer, that sort of shit. I’ve finally got to face the music about Breakiron.”

Vonda asked, “Wasn’t that that big colossal asswad you used to hang around with? You gave him a beatdown in Cornucopia in front of The Prophet’s office.”

I shot Gideon a warning glare. We’d kept the details about Breakiron’s demise from her. No sense in her fearing my old man. Gideon said, “Oh, he decided the club no longer held any value for him. He took off for parts unknown.”

“The Streaked Wall Bench,” giggled Vonda.

Gideon and I shared glares now. I asked, “What about the Streaked Wall Bench?”

“There are bodies in there.”

Gideon took a step toward Vonda. “No, there aren’t. If anyone says that, tell them it was an old miner who fell into the pit a hundred years ago and that’s it.”

“Old miner,” repeated Vonda dutifully, but I could tell she was repressing a laugh.

When they left, I put on my new red dress. It came to just above my knees and was held up only by narrow, one-inch wide straps. Some of my ample cleavage was even on display, and I loved it. Gideon had bought me red shoes to match. It was still hard getting used to the two-inch heels, but practice would make perfect.

My truck’s radio was turned to rap when I started it up. Vonda. She was reveling in everything the newfound world had to offer, but rap wasn’t on my agenda. I turned it back to the R&B I loved in Provo. I passed by the High Dive bar. A few Lazzat Un Nisa “scoots” were parked outside at this early morning hour. It struck me that the bar would make Gideon and his Assassins a great clubhouse, if only they could get rid of that Skippy Cavanaugh creepazoid. I was learning new words from Vonda, too.

The hairdresser recommended by my sister did a wonderful job. I’d succeeded in keeping this appointment a secret from Gideon, and I couldn’t wait to show my short hairdo to him. Then I realized he might not be back until late if he had that “sit-down” in Bullhead City.

I was flying high on dopamine, the feel good chemical. But nothing could wreck my mood as I went shopping for four very excellent T-bone steaks. Perhaps I couldn’t surprise Gideon by doing a strip tease through the kitchen doorway, but I could at least have a good dinner waiting for him, even if it was cold by the time he returned.