by E A Lake
Morgan closed her eyes for a second and began to tremble. Perhaps we'd thought this was going to go a little easier than actual. Perhaps it was time to use her secret weapon, whatever that may be.
"We'll have enough people along to protect you." Morgan's reply was slow and steady, as though she was trying to keep from erupting on her friend.
"Protect me?" Charolette replied in a snotty tone. "Or pray for me?"
Damnit, who'd told her that part? It had to have been my mother or aunt. Most likely my aunt; she and Charolette had become friendly in the last week or so.
"You're coming," Morgan replied. "Just get it through your thick little skull that you're coming."
Charolette snorted and glanced at me. "She's so lame; she knows she can't make me."
Morgan grinned and approached the younger woman, whispering in her ear. I couldn't make out what was being said but when Charolette's smiled faded, I knew it was something good.
"You wouldn't," Charolette snapped.
Morgan stood back, crossing her arms with a satisfied expression. "Try me."
"It's all lies anyway. Just gossip made up by petty, jealous women with nothing better to do."
"Fill me in," I said, fully interested.
"About a year ago," Morgan began, "maybe a little longer, there was a helper girl who stayed up at the house. What was her name again?" She looked at Charolette and received a tight smile in return.
"Reba, and she was 16 and sweet and so lost in all of this."
Morgan nodded thoughtfully. "Reba; that's right. Well, Charolette and Reba got to be close real fast."
"And that's all," Charolette added quickly. "Anything else she says from this point forward is just a fairy tale."
"Well, they went everywhere together," Morgan replied as if recalling the past oh so clearly. "And everything they did they did together, always holding hands and giggling all silly like."
"Because we were both young and still enjoyed life," Charolette said, going back to her dishes. "We were silly...and we were happy."
"Now, there was talk about the two of them, but I thought it was nothing but gossip, as Charolette called it. Just older women sticking their noses where they didn't belong."
"Just like I already said," Charolette interrupted, seeming bulletproof of any incrimination of any misdeeds.
"Of course, there is the little episode that one night out by the woodpile," Morgan said airily.
"Made up," Charolette countered.
"Well, not necessarily." Morgan paused, but our friend refused to look at her or even take a break from the dishes. "Sara said–"
Charolette gasped as her head whipped around to face Morgan. "What?!"
"Don't worry, princess. She only told me and Liv and Sasha. Your little adventure to lover-land is safe with us."
"What?!" Charolette cried.
"What?!" I cried as well.
"You know what she saw, Charolette," Morgan purred. "If you don't remember, I can refresh your memory."
"We knew she was there. We were just playing her," Charolette defended.
"Oh, so you don't mind if I continue then?" prodded Morgan.
Instantly, the last shred of Charolette's calm demeanor left and she became a frightened young girl.
"No," she said, trying not to shake but she was...badly.
"Maybe you can tell me if Sara embellished the tale at all. She said it seemed innocent enough until she noticed your tongue on Reba's neck and your hands–"
"Stop!" Charolette shouted, flailing her arms towards Morgan. "Please stop."
Morgan took her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. "Say the words, Charolette. Just say the words that Quinn wants to hear and your little secret dies with me."
"I'll go," she sighed, barely audible.
"What was that?" Morgan asked with a grin. "I don't think Quinn heard you."
She wiped away a tear and peeked at me. "I'll go with you Quinn; I'll go with you to meet Shaklin."
Dang, I actually wanted her to remain stubborn for a few more minutes to see where the story went. True or not, it had peeked my interest.
"That's my girl," Morgan said, hugging Charolette. "And you don't have anything to worry about; Robert will never hear a word of this from anyone of us. I promise you that."
Peeking at me, I noticed Charolette's weary yet relieved expression. "It's all lies, like I said. You just didn't need to hear it, that's all."
I suppose, but wondered what a little more of the story would’ve hurt.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETY-SEVEN
I stared at Art and Petri playing Go Fish at a wobbly table in the corner of the office. Lunch had come and gone and those two fools were on their sixth stupid game, laughing and chortling while we waited for Ed and his minions.
My father had left shortly after breakfast to meet with his associate pastors. While I knew little about the pair, Ed assured me of their collective powers of persuasion. Tom was a great leader of men, he spouted. The man was known to bring hardened criminals to tears with his sermons and talks. Ed even went so far as to claim that his number two man could lead the Pope into war. I doubted it greatly, mostly because I'd never said more than hello to the man.
But Tim was his ace in the hole. That man, Ed spouted, could get people to join together. He possessed a natural flair and charm that made people want to follow him anywhere. All I hoped is that he could round up a thousand people to follow him to Pimento and then on to Shaklin's place.
"You're cheating again," Petri bemoaned as Art claimed another victory. "I ain't figured it out yet, but you're cheating, old man."
"Petri, I don't think there's any way to cheat at that game," I replied, wondering where the hell Ed was. "He's just beating you with luck."
"Luck? Huh! Goes to show what you know," Art scoffed. "I been playin' this game for 60 years now. I've developed quite a strategy. I dare any man, woman or child to take me on. They never win."
I shook my head and went back to staring at the door. I was surrounded by a group of morons. Art thought he had a winning strategy at a child's game; Petri thought if he brushed his teeth once a week, Sara might take notice of him. My Aunt was pushing pot on any person who exhibited any signs of pain. It could be as bad as a broken back or as mundane as a hangnail; Audra didn't discriminate.
Then there was my father and his group of followers, a rather small group. He'd promised me at least a thousand people with which to face my foe and yet he'd delivered less than 50. Instead of using guns, he recommended we pray. The whole lot of them, I decided, wanted me dead. Ha! The joke was on them. We were all going to be dead in a few days if things didn't change.
At least we had Charolette convinced to come along with us when we went and made our demand for the return of our friends and my sister. Currently that just meant it would be easier for Shaklin to grab her, saving him the boring ride to Pimento and back to his place. How thoughtful of us.
I needed some positive news from Ed, and I needed it soon.
Pushing out of my chair, I strapped my gun to my waist. "I'm going to see what's holding my father up. You two hold down the fort, okay?"
I got no response from either. Nope, they were already enthralled in a new game and were giving it all of their attention because staring at cards and answering a question would be too difficult. Morons.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETY-EIGHT
I ran into Ronnie halfway to the place where I expected to find my father. The look on his face told me there was a problem. I was so sick of problems.
"Got a minute, Quinn?" he drawled as though he had all the time in the world.
"Make it quick," I quipped. "I've got a life expectancy of about three days unless my father comes up with better support for us."
One thing about Ronnie always bothered me: he lacked much of a sense of humor. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Better put, most corpses had better humor than my neighbor.
"We got a small problem I thought you'd want to kn
ow about," he continued without cracking a smile. "Charolette is over at Robert's place and she's trying to convince them they need to run away together."
"What?"
He shrugged and spit out a gooey string of tobacco to his right. "Yeah, I know, right? It's not like Robert can ride anywhere or even walk more than a couple of blocks, but you know that crazy girl."
I pinched my temples tightly between my thumb and middle finger. "I thought Morgan was watching her. I'm surprised that dipstick even left the house. She isn't supposed to be outside without a guard since Robert and Cooley got shot."
"She sent Morgan over to get me. I walked them over to Robert's. Morgan's been barking at her the whole time. She ain't going anywhere, but I thought you'd still want to know about it."
"Okay, thanks," I replied, anxious to find Ed.
"Can I ask you something, Quinn?"
Damnit; why did I seem to be the only one in town with a sense of urgency?
"Go ahead."
"Do you think Robert's wound is a little odd?" He stared at me with a cocked head like it was something I should have thought of. "You know, inner thigh just south of a man's working parts."
I didn't think I knew what he was getting at. "I just assumed..." His sour expression cut my words short.
"Quinn, someone was trying to shoot Robert's balls off."
I thought for a moment he was kidding, but when a man fails to crack a smile after a great joke, well…
"Somehow they knew that Robert and Charolette are sweet on each other," he continued. "They're watching us, Quinn. I can't tell you how or even who, but Shaklin's got people watching us."
He was right. Which meant that we had a problem.
Ronnie and I decided he'd be in charge of trying to find our spy, or spies, and I'd keep working with Ed and his group in rounding up more people. As for Charolette, she wasn't going anywhere. If she had to be outside by herself for more than 30 seconds, she'd run for the house so fast her shoes might catch on fire.
But Ronnie's observation brought up something I hadn't considered until that point. If we were being watched, Shaklin would know our next move. And if amassing a large force was our next move, we needed to assemble them somewhere other than out in the open in Pimento.
Ed and I needed to talk about even more than I’d realized.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETY-NINE
I found Ed and his cohorts in a large abandoned building on the west side of town. Rumor had it that building was to become their church. I didn't care, though they should have. This place stunk like old, wet, moldy grain.
"Ed, I need to talk to you about something first before we get down to brass tacks," I said as the three of them gave me their full attention. My God, Tom and Tim were dressed alike again. Both had on white shirts with dark slacks and top coats. They were quite a pair.
"What's up, son?"
"Ronnie and I were just talking and he thinks Shaklin may be watching us. After some thought, I have to say I agree with his assessment."
Ed nodded, rubbing his whiskered chin. "That would make sense, knowing him. And it's not like you can hide much in an open town like this. For all we know, the man delivering lumber for the new church could be a plant. The woman and her child passing through on their way to Farmersburg could be some of his people. There's really no way to stop that kind of thing."
Good; we agreed, so the next part should’ve been easy.
"Any people we assemble needs to be done on the west side of Farmersburg then," I replied, noticing all three men agreeing. "I told Ronnie to have Petri run down there and let Lucas know we’re going to be using the old theatre building and parking lot in a couple of days. I said there might be as many as a thousand..."
I let my words hang, hoping my father would pick up and finish my thoughts. When he didn't jump in, I rolled my hand, encouraging his response.
"That sound about right?" I looked to the brothers for support. "Gentlemen?"
"Sheriff Reynolds," Tom replied, stepping forward. "You have our complete Christian love and support."
"By support, you'd better mean a whole shitload of people."
He gave me one of those tight smiles that either said he didn't appreciate profanity or he didn't agree with my projected body count.
"We're sending my brother this afternoon to round up as many followers of Christ as we can," he continued in a rather promising tone. "Now, I can't tell you if that will be several hundred or several thousand. But we will have the people you require to conquer Mr. Shaklin with prayer."
Tapping my foot, I bit hard into my lower lip. This one was well trained in the art of bullshit, and I pretty much knew who his mentor had been.
"Prayer is great, Pastor Tom," I replied slowly. "But what I'm really looking for is intimidation. Maybe we should plan on more of the angry mob angle and less on the alter call idea."
"I have found, in my young life," he replied, moving closer to me and placing a hand on my shoulder, "that everything is possible though prayer. Just as your father has told you, we will kneel en masse before the enemy and their weapons will cause us no harm."
Whoa, he was as looney as my father. I wondered if he'd be up front in the prayer group as one of the primary bullet stoppers.
I shot him a curt smile and approached his brother. "So, tell me Pastor Tim; just how you gonna get a whole bunch of people for me in the next 24 hours and get them down to Farmersburg? And be as honest as possible, I don't care if you need to blackmail people to join. We need the bodies."
His response would be my greatest disappoint to date, one that would finally validate just how screwed I was.
CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED
"Well, ya see," he mumbled, barely audible. "I know a couple folks back in..." His lips kept moving, but between his soft tone and terrible enunciation, I couldn't understand a thing. Maybe he was just one of those soft-spoken southern gentlemen.
"You're going to have to speak up," I said politely. "Can you repeat most of that, just a little louder. Probably all the shooting I've done these past four years; probably has affected my hearing."
Tim nodded and drew a deep breath. "Like I was saying, there's a couple of men and women who can..."
And then I lost his words again. It seemed that with each passing syllable he became less and less understandable.
"Really loud," I encouraged. "Shout it if you have to."
That's when the real shit hit the fan.
"I... I....I," he began. "Know a couple of fel... fel... fel..." He stopped abruptly, patting his lips with his right hand, his face beginning to take on a crimson glow. He waved his brother over.
"What Tim is saying," Tom began so eloquently, "is that he knows some people up in Terre Haute by the church, not part of it but people we trust–"
I raised a finger cutting the better-spoken brother off. "I'm not worried about what he's saying as much as I am about how he's getting it across. He stutters."
"Well, that's only when he tries to talk loud," Tom rebuffed. "If you'll just listen to him in his normal tone–"
"Which didn't sound any better, might I add. He mumbles badly and loses volume as he goes on."
"It's an acquired thing." Tom brushed away my concern like it was minor. "After a couple of weeks, people usually understand him just fine."
A couple of what? We didn't have weeks. We had three days.
"Is he better when he's talking to people he knows?" I asked anxiously. "Like maybe these people he's going to see?"
"If they know him, they'll understand him. There's usually one or two in every crowd that can make out the majority of what Tim's saying." He shrugged it away like it was nothing. I mean, what was the difference, meet in Farmersburg or meet in Pittsburgh?
"Ed, can I talk to you for a minute?" I seethed. "Privately perhaps."
"Anything you have to say can be said in front of my most trusted friends here," Ed replied easily. "God knows your thoughts, so there's no need to hide them from men of G
od."
"Do you see a problem here?" I asked tightly, jabbing a finger at Tim. "How is this your secret weapon? How is Stuttering Steve here gonna get us what we need? I see a problem, not a promised solution."
Ed looked offended. He actually glared at me like I had said something wrong. And then, because my dad was one hundred percent certifiably crazy, he smiled.
"Tim, as I've already told you, is a man of God, son. With the Lord behind us, we can accomplish anything and everything. We have no fears; Tim will provide the desired results. I promise you that."
Well, that solidified it. In three days’ time, I'd be dead and Ed would meet his God face to face...full of bullet holes.
CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED ONE
At dinner that night, I could only play with my food. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong in the last week had. I was surprised to find my housemates so upbeat.
"I'm thinking of planting a garden next spring out back," Charolette announced in a happy voice.
"Funny," I countered. "I heard you were going to be sneaking off tonight." I couldn't help but to scowl at the happy young woman.
"I was just nervous," she replied, taking a small bite of mashed potatoes. "Robert and I had a nice long talk and we got my nerves all calmed down."
I rolled my eyes and tried to bite my tongue. "You meant to say you realized that Robert wouldn't be able to travel anytime soon so you scrapped that plan." Okay, I never was very good at biting my tongue.
"She's not going anywhere, Quinn." Morgan jumped into the conversation with her new-found happy attitude. "And I heard Pastor Tim left to round up reinforcements this afternoon. Things are really coming together for you."
I stared at my wife, feeling my face all askew. "He sent Mumbling Mel to Terre Haute. It'll be weeks before anyone understands what he's looking for up there. My remains will be half-rotted by then."