Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(67)

Holy shit on a crucifix. That didn’t sound good.

Chiles vanished inside with Mahalia while my men roared up on their Harleys. I’d instructed them to give me twenty minutes to extricate my love, and to come if I wasn’t back. The feds didn’t know who to hold at bay now. They pointed their weapons this way and that until Carradine spoke into his little mic and calmed them all. They went back to pointing their pieces at women dressed like Quakers as I told my men,

“He’s got her inside that coffee shop.”

Sledgehammer nodded. “This could be a f*cking endless standoff. I’ve seen cases go on for at least twenty-four—”

Everyone jumped two feet and at least one piece shot wildly when a sudden piercing, ear-splitting siren sounded. Sledgehammer clutched Dingo’s sleeve, Dust Bunny clutched mine. Luckily the trigger-happy fed had shot up into the air—where the bullet eventually came down, no one ever found out.

“It’s coming from there!” shouted Dingo, pointing to the coffee shop.

I yelled, “Must be the siren they rigged to warn people cops were coming. They’ve got a bookmaking op in there.” Vonda had said the alarm was on the side of a soda machine in the front.

Now people poured out of buildings in droves. In fact, it was hard to believe that many fundies could fit in these buildings, that’s how many streamed out and onto their front lawns. I saw what Mahalia was doing. The more witnesses, the less likely it was Chiles would do something crazy. Or wait. Would that make him more likely? Some people loved an audience.

But when the siren stopped, I could hear people remarking.

“Mahalia Warrior’s in there!”

“He’s got Mahalia!”

“He’s been keeping her captive in different houses.”

“Why’s he doing that?”

There were even a few murmurs that Chiles might be, shall we say, not entirely right in the head. It was women who made these remarks. Men would never dare defy or question that loony tunes. It took women to get up the balls to say things like,

“He’s been acting a little weird lately.”

“He kept her naked in there, beating her.”

“Sometimes I question his judgement, especially lately.”

“Oh my God, what’s he doing?”

What was who doing?

I’d allowed the chatter to distract me. Dust Bunny pointed, and when I turned, all I saw was one of Carradine’s pants legs as he hot footed it into the coffee shop.

Well, I’d be good goddamned if Carradine was going to one up me. This was my op, my woman. Carradine was sort of a horse’s ass, too, so I made a beeline after him.

Chiles was holding Mahalia like a human shield, his barrel to her head. It was almost like in a bad movie when he shrieked, “You’re not taking us alive! We have no fear of the afterlife! We know it’s our time for the full cleansing of our Zion!”

For her part, Mahalia yelled, “I know no such thing! I’m not ready to die, Allred! Please, please, for the love of God, put that thing down and let us all work out a peaceful agreement.”

I had to hand it to her, the woman had courage. Most hostages I’d seen were lucky to still be standing tall enough to shit their own pants.

I told Carradine sideways, “Listen. I’ll jump over to that magazine rack, like I’m going to ambush him from there. The second he takes the gun away from her head, you can shoot—”

Carradine never heard the rest of what I planned to say. He made a sudden sprint toward Chiles. I never did figure out what his intentions were, to be honest. Was he hoping to just make a giant lunge? To offer himself up as a sacrifice so while Chiles was shooting him, I could shoot Chiles?

That didn’t even happen, though. Because the second Chiles shot Carradine through the forehead, he returned his barrel to Mahalia’s temple. That sight of her face is permanently ingrained on my memory banks. Her normally large, round eyes bulged in horror. A spray of blood had even airbrushed her face as Carradine flopped forward on the ground, his fingertips just inches from her toes.

“I’ve been warning everyone to prepare!” shrieked Chiles, hauling Mahalia behind a wall.

The wall probably separated the coffee shop from the gambling area. I creeped toward it, listening intently.

“Prepare for what?” I shouted. I wanted to draw Chiles out, to keep him talking.

“My priesthood has been holy since the days of Joseph Smith,” he trilled. “Beware to everyone how they treat me.”

“Why is that, Chiles? Why do they need to treat you better?”

It didn’t matter what he said. None of it made sense anyway. I listened like a safecracker to the tone of his voice reverberating from behind the wall. It was made harder because it was an open wall, like a partition that would separate bathrooms from the main restaurant, so his voice was thrown over by a potted plant in the corner.

Chiles obliged me by raving some more. Chances were, he didn’t even have the barrel to Mahalia’s head anymore, since he was apparently safe behind the partition. Was that a chance worth taking?

“There needs to be an awakening! Lest we repeat the errors of our past mistakes, I will be judge and ruler, and none can stop me now.”

I took aim and shot at the height I estimated his head to be.

Chiles actually made an “agh!” sound, a strangled noise of pain. There came the thumping of bodies, only one hitting the thin carpet.