Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(66)

And he had a gun to Allred’s forehead. “All right, you f*cking twisted, warped polyg,” he roared.

But Allred drew a gun I didn’t know he had. He pressed the barrel to Gideon’s chest and must have pushed hard, because soon Gideon was out of sight, outside on the stoop. “You’re not taking anyone from me!” Allred was shrieking in a high, ladylike voice.

Sister-wives’ eyes peered over the tops of counters and stoves, but I was the only one who dared come out of hiding. I stood in the doorframe and yelled, “Gideon, don’t risk it! He’s got a gun!” I stated the obvious. But Parley Pratt and a few other men had materialized out in the mall behind Gideon, their hands on guns in holsters, or patting their pants to indicate they had a gun. Either way, I didn’t want Gideon risking it.

But Gideon held his piece steady to Allred’s head. He spoke in a low voice now. “You motherf*cking child-raping sicko. You’re handing Mahalia over to me, and we’ll never have to meet again. We’re out of your life. I got the deed to the mine and as long as you hand over my woman, I’m keeping the bodies in my rearview. I’m not a squealer so let’s just keep this between us, shall we?”

Allred kept shrieking in that mewling tone. “Go tell Australia the people living at sea level will be wiped out by a tsunami! Let every nation stop tormenting my Zion, lest pestilences be visited on them too!”

Gideon looked a little consternated by Allred’s rant. Three enormous black SUVs with dark windows came racing up the drive to Allred’s mall. Gideon didn’t lower his piece one inch, but Allred stepped onto the stoop to see what was happening.

Men, feds, leaped out of the vehicles with guns drawn. It was just like on TV with those ATF vests, little speakers in their ears, and their mirrored shades. Bronson Carradine was among the eight or so men, in the middle of the pack with his gun drawn as well. I went around Allred’s side so Gideon could grab me, but Allred grabbed me first.

He waved his gun at each fed in turn. “You, you, and you! Out of my Zion! My full power will soon be felt and my holy power will knock you down!” He thrashed me down the steps as he spoke. The feds came to a standstill. They were like a swarm of bees suddenly stopped by a cloud of poison. Parley and his men had backed off and were now in the center town square on a patch of lawn.

Allred continued squealing his mumbo jumbo. “Let everything be a pure, noble and holy way of delivering my people!”

It didn’t matter that about ten weapons were pointed at us now. The fact remained, Allred had a hostage, so no one could shoot. I watched Gideon helplessly as Allred dragged me away, Allred’s gun now digging into my side. Pure rage boiled in Gideon’s eyes. Maybe some of his rage was impotence, helplessness that he could do nothing, too.

I was a citizen of heaven, a pilgrim. It seemed it was my time to return there now.



GIDEON

I was angry and relieved when Carradine and his men came squealing up.

They distracted everyone long enough for Chiles to yank Mahalia down the steps and up their stupid f*cking main street. I wanted to kill and bro hug Carradine both at the same time. True, I couldn’t have done much. The arrival of the feds had broken our Mexican standoff, allowing Chiles to get away, for now. I had to stand there like a feeble, powerless moron while Chiles half-dragged, half-marched my woman away.

She was wearing one of the unattractive potato sack dresses, but she was my shapely old lady—my f*cking property. The other fundies followed Chiles down the street like some f*cking shootout at O.K. Corral. The feds followed, one of them shouting through a little white bullhorn. “Stop this instant and lay down your weapons. We have warrants to arrest all of you.”

Of course they were doing no such thing, having no real motivation to do so.

I had no choice but to join the line of feds. This was something I might’ve seen myself doing back in my MARSOC days, but not since. I told myself I was just walking alongside them, being more on their side than the fundie’s side. A few feds fanned off into a side column to hold at bay crowds of dozens of other polygs who had wandered out to see what the f*ck. Carradine, myself, and maybe three other feds followed Chiles as he shrieked unintelligible shit about Bolivia and Ecuador cleansing their nation.

He wanted Nicaragua to be more humble, it seemed, as he dragged Mahalia into yet another unmarked building.

Carradine told me from the corner of his mouth, “This might come down to a hostage situation. We might have to use a distraction, smoke bombs, a stun grenade, whatever.”

I didn’t like the stun grenade. It would momentarily immobilize Chiles, but would also temporarily blind Mahalia. The concussive blast had been known to give people heart attacks or third degree burns from the flashbang. In some cases, structures had been set on fire and people had died when they’d refused to or been unable to come out,

Then I recognized the building. A small cardboard sigh in the corner of the window said “lattes now!” and I realized it was the coffee shop Vonda had told us about, where the gambling went on. Fundies were now fleeing it like cartoon characters with their arms stuck straight out, their terrified feet almost blurs.

“O People, repent ye!” Chiles was yelling from the coffee shop doorway. “I have let this servant stay in bondage to prove I am coming! I will send pure cleansing power to prove my strength, and leave no root or leaf in this territory standing!”