False Gods

by W. Glenn Duncan Jr.

  Chanting. Kimberly on the bed.

  “I can’t hold on much longer. I can’t. I won’t.”

  Pleading. Chanting. Men in silence.

  “I can’t. I won’t. I am the Way.”

  Oswald. Furrowed brow.

  Wesson. Same.

  Kimberly grunts.

  “I am the Way. I am the Truth.

  I will show them the Light.”

  Kimberlys voices morph. Stretch.

  A single keening sound. The edge of pain.

  Kimberly rigid. Hands and arms by her side.

  Body shakes with exhortation.

  “I am the Way. I will show you the Light.”

  Kimberly begins to glow.

  “I am the Way. I will show you the Light.”

  Weapons cache explodes.

  I shuddered awake. My legs had started to run.

  In the dream and on the couch.

  I lay for a while with my eyes closed. I was dog tired, and the upper half of my body ached beyond belief. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep.

  Deeply. Without visions.

  I lay still and willed dreamless sleep to overtake me. This time it worked.

  Maybe the Stones were right.

  Sometimes, just sometimes, you might find you get what you need.

  Chapter 30

  I felt a cool touch on my face and drifted up from a deep blackness. When I opened my eyes, it was dark outside the living room window. A table lamp glowed in the corner and Hilda sat on the couch sat next to me, dabbing my face with a wet cloth.

  “Oh Rafferty,” she said. “Who did this?”

  I licked my thickened lips.

  “The federal government.” When I saw her face, I nodded. “I know. I was so busy waiting for them to fuck me up the ass like usual that I didn’t see it coming.”

  She dabbed again with the cloth and I winced. Lurched into the process of sitting up.

  “I’m okay, Hil. It looks worse than it is.”

  “You’re just putting on your macho face, but okay. I’ll stop playing Florence Nightingale.”

  “If you’d really like to help, I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”

  “Now you want my help?”

  I tried to narrow my eyes at her. The left one was still mostly closed, which I imagine somewhat ruined the effect.

  “Shut up and make me coffee, woman.”

  She tossed the cloth at me as she stood up and I bet she thought I couldn’t see her smile as she walked to the kitchen.

  One of Hilda’s fears is that I’ll get hurt one day. I mean, hurt badly.

  Something that I won’t recover from. Or worse.

  She doesn’t say much, and I’ve always been honest with her about what it is that I do, so it won’t be a surprise, but I know she worries like hell.

  I heard the coffeepot burbling to life. Good.

  “What was her name?” she called from the kitchen. “The girl who gave you that shiner.”

  I said my line of work worried her; not that it earned me any respect. I tried to change the topic.

  “Speaking of girls, what happened with Lucy?”

  “We had a late-ish breakfast in town and then she headed back to Austin. She’s a sweet girl, Rafferty, trying to put her life together after the nightmare of the last few years.”

  “I’m surprised how strong she is, given what happened. Raped by Dariell. Dismissed by her parents. Forced to leave her life behind and being locked up for Dariell’s personal use.”

  When Hilda didn’t respond, I turned my head (slower, please!) to look to the kitchen. Hilda stood upright, one hand on the bench top, the other over her mouth, and she goggled in my direction.

  “What’s wrong?” I cranked my head around (too fast, again!) to look out the nearest window—no threat there—and then made to swing off the couch to go to Hilda. Nothing happened as fast as I wanted it to.

  “How could you …” she said. “You couldn’t have … but you did … did you see …”

  Now that she had her words back I relaxed a little. I wasn’t going to have to deal with an intruder. Or a mouse. Which suited me fine. Right then, even a moderately competent intruder would have the advantage.

  The mouse, too.

  I settled back into the couch.

  “If you pick one of those nifty half sentences, and finish it, maybe I can respond, and then we’ll both know what we’re talking about.”

  Hilda stared at me and spoke, low and slow. “How could you have known Lucy was locked up? She only told me that part of her story the other night. At my place.”

  Whoops.

  Maybe I was more tired than I thought. How else to explain forgetting that the cells I’d seen were in my dreams, and contained Kimberly and others, not Lucy?

  “What did you see out there?” Hilda asked.

  “Nothing. I didn’t get within a hundred yards of the compound before Tony cleaned his rifle butt on my face.”

  “How could you have known that Dariell kept Lucy locked up?” Her voice rose a notch. “What aren’t you telling me, Rafferty?” She raised an eyebrow.

  Hmmph. Easy to do when your face doesn’t feel like hamburger.

  “Pour the coffee hon, and come sit with me. I don’t know if it’ll make more sense to you, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Hilda didn’t interrupt while I told her about my flashes, dreams, whatever the hell you want to call them.

  I was happy about that. I already felt like a fool for seeing these … these things, and recalling them out loud somehow made them more real than I wanted.

  Like I couldn’t kid myself any longer.

  “What do you think they mean?” Hilda asked with wide eyes, when I got to the end.

  “Mean? Hell if I know. It might mean I’m losing my mind. That could be it.” I swallowed the last of my coffee. Felt caged. I stood up, stretched gingerly and pushed out a breath. “I know it’s all just thoughts about the cases rambling around in my head.” As I paced around the room, Hilda fished a cigarette out of her pack and snapped her lighter.

  “You don’t believe in any of that psychic stuff, do you?” she asked, exhaling smoke.

  “I think it’s a bunch of bullshit.”

  “No truth in it?”

  “Nope. All designed to play on people’s insecurities and encourage them to behave in a specific way, usually to the benefit of the so-called psychic.”

  “Sounds like Dariell.”

  “Yeah.”

  I paced a bit more.

  “Forget about it then, hon.” She drew on her cigarette. The smoke trailed upwards and swirled like my thoughts. A thinning skein which got increasingly difficult to see, but never quite disappeared. “Tell me instead about what happened up there.”

  I poured more coffee and told Hilda the whole story about my trip to Lincoln. Hiking in towards the compound, seeing the helicopter and then finding the concealed landscape bowl. Seeing the soldier, getting knocked out, dragged away. Steve Wesson’s attempted interrogation and his backflip to less-than-gracious host. Finally dragging my ass back home twenty-four hours and a busted nose later.

  Hilda sat quietly, sipping her coffee and smoking. It was one of the things I loved most about her. She listened, not because she had to, or because I expected it, only because she knew it would make me feel better.

  It did.

  By the time storybook Rafferty was lying on the couch about to fall asleep, real-life Rafferty had sat down again and Hilda had leaned over to nestle against my chest. She trailed her hand up and down my arm. I ran my fingers through her hair and we both closed our eyes. We sat that way for not nearly long enough.

  “What are you going to do?” she finally asked.

  “I was thinking takeout and then heading to bed.”

  “I meant with the case, dummy.” She ground a knuckle into my side. Good thing Tony hadn’t hit me there.

  “Oh. I’d almost forgotten about it.” I pretended to think. “When I was growing up,
Mom always said that if I was ever in trouble I should go to the police. That seems like a good idea.”

  “Ed’s going to laugh at you, isn’t he?”

  “I expect so, and that’s no mean feat given that I’ve never, ever seen him laugh. I’m glad I can be the one who breaks the dam.”

  “And you’ll ask for their help to find Kimberly since you’re not going back to Lincoln.”

  I pulled back a bit and looked down at her.

  “Where the hell did you get that idea? No, I’m going to see what info I can get out of Ed to make sure Steve and the ATF don’t get in my way when Cowboy and I go back up there to kick Dariell’s ass and bring Kimberly home.”

  Chapter 31

  It’s good to know that I’m right every now and then.

  Ed did laugh.

  Well, he didn’t so much laugh as completely lose his shit. I’d walked into the office on hearing his growled “Come in” and had been sitting in his visitor’s chair for a couple of minutes before he looked up from his paperwork and damn near had a coronary.

  He laughed for long enough, interspersed with coughing and hacking, I could see why Wesson thought he was having a seizure. Personally, I didn’t see what was so goddamned funny, but I let him get on with it. I packed a pipe, fired it up and tried to look bored. It was hard to pull that look off with a swollen left eye, but I gave it my best shot.

  “Hell, Rafferty,” he said when he got himself under control. He wiped tears from his eyes and pulled an enormous handkerchief from his suit pocket.

  Brown, what else?

  He blew his nose with an enormous honk. “That’s some job they did on you. How many of them did you say there were?”

  “Laughing at the misfortune of your fellow man. I’d’ve thought that was beneath you, Ed.”

  “My fellow man? Yeah, you’re right, but since it’s you, Rafferty, I …”

  And off he went again.

  I let him wind down for the second time and asked him for a cup of coffee. I didn’t really want one, but I did want him up from behind his desk. He shrugged and decided it sounded like a good idea.

  A few minutes later, we were drinking standard police issue coffee—hot and bitter—from standard police issue mugs—dimestore and chipped.

  “You ought to talk to Steve, Ed. He’s got a line on some nifty FBI-branded coffee mugs. Get one of those on your desk. It’ll send the right message: You’re a man not to be trifled with.”

  “Fuck are you talking about, Rafferty?”

  “Never mind. So, aside from the obvious mirth that my recent interaction with the ATF brings you—” His lips came up and I thought I’d started him off again, but he held it together this time.

  A true professional, our Lieutenant Durkee.

  “What do you know about this Wesson hotshot and his investigation?”

  “You think he copies me in on his correspondence? Fuck it, I’ve got enough troubles keeping a handle on this section of Texas, I don’t need to add to it by ambulance-chasing Fed cases from the boondocks.”

  “C’mon Ed. You’re telling me that Steve didn’t tell you anything when he called? You get a photo of my face from a stranger—complete with my nose walking out of frame—and you confirm my identity to him, without ever asking who he was or why he wanted to know?” I blew smoke to the ceiling. “No wonder they’ve got you driving a desk. Your instincts aren’t what they used to be.”

  He glared at me. I stood up under the pressure. Sometimes I can be so strong it amazes me.

  “Fuck off, Rafferty.”

  “You know, Wesson said the same thing. It’s enough to make a feller believe the law might be conspiring against him.”

  Ed looked down at his desk and then back up to me with the hint of a smile. He sighed.

  “Okay. I did call in a favor from a friend in DC while I was waiting for Steve to phone.”

  “And?”

  “And, he is who he says he is. Special Agent Steve Wesson. ATF for the last seven years. Rising through the ranks from what my guy says.”

  “What’s he doing in Texas keeping an eye on a church that no-one else knows about?”

  Ed drained his cold coffee and blew out a breath.

  “Wesson is heading the ATF’s Cult Taskforce.” He continued before I could interrupt. “No, I did not make that up. It is a real thing and we here in the Lone Star State have more than our share of disenfranchised loners keen to sell their brand of snake-oil to unsuspecting folks. This guy, uh …”

  “Dariell. Thof.”

  He nodded. “Right. Dariell happens to be the top of their list, particularly with the suspected arms theft. I suppose Wesson told you about that.”

  “You suppose right, Ed. He made it sound like it was a lock and they had Dariell dead to rights.”

  Now it was his turn.

  “C’mon Rafferty. You think if the ATF had enough evidence, Wesson would be cooling his expensive leather heels in the middle of the Texas desert?”

  “So, Steve and his gun-toting minions,” I said, “are playing the waiting game hoping Dariell will show his hand, face, or even better, his weapons stash, at which point they will swoop in and save the day. No doubt, the media will be close behind to capture the heroic efforts of our brave and fearless lawmen.”

  Ed grinned. “Doesn’t that sound more like the fine work of our beloved government?”

  “And, I’m going to take a stab in the dark here … Dariell already knows that Steve and his band of merry men are hiding behind the saltbush and is planning to wait them out.”

  “What do you think? Steve hasn’t been out there for the last two months for the climate.”

  “And the compound’s on private land so they can’t go busting in without cause. The ACLU, not to mention the press, would have a field day.”

  “Right.”

  “Sounds like it’s a waiting game to see who blinks and makes the first move.”

  “Could be.”

  “So it could go on for some time.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Who do you think will break first?”

  Ed sighed. “I don’t know. If anyone lets me in on their plans, I’ll put everything else aside and be sure to call you,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a desk full of paperwork to get through.”

  “I don’t mind at all, Ed. Knock yourself out.”

  Ed’s look was priceless.

  “Oh, you wanted me to leave? Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Fuck off, Rafferty,” he said.

  I let myself out.

  The sky was clear with a strong breeze blowing as I left the DPD. Leaves and litter swirled through the street and flags snapped atop their poles. I found a phone box a few blocks west and checked in with my service. Message from Kathy-Lee wanting updates again.

  I considered putting on a PR Manager to handle that type of thing.

  The thought passed.

  I called Don instead, looking for Lucy. To avoid the bonds of sisterhood strangling my investigation, I hadn’t told Hilda that I had already spoken to her, nor that I was going to push harder this time and damn the consequences.

  Kimberly needed someone to fight for her.

  “She doesn’t want to speak to you, Rafferty,” Don said. “She’s had a hell of a time since you met. She doesn’t sleep and she’s more nervous than I’ve ever seen her. It’s everything she can do to get out of her room in the morning.”

  “Tell her she’s not the only one with problems.” I told Don about recent developments, including the rearrangement of Hilda’s favorite face. I stopped short at recounting my dreams. “There’s something serious going on out there; the ATF share your thoughts about a doomsday scenario. I don’t know how likely that is, but I want to be in and out of there before any of us get to find out. To do that safely, I need to know what the hell is going on inside. Lucy’s the only one who’s seen the inner workings of his world and I need to know what she knows if there’s a chance of stopping thi
s guy.”

  Silence.

  I took a breath.

  “Don. You’ve been chasing Dariell for how many years?”

  “Three.”

  “You want it to be another three? Or more? Help me take this guy out of circulation so he doesn’t hurt any more Lucys.”

  A breath whistled back down the line.

  “I’ll talk to her, Rafferty.”

  “She can call me at the office in an hour.”

  “No promises. I’ll do what I can.”

  I hung up and called Cowboy.

  Told him about heading up to Lincoln again and gave him more detail of what I’d found. I didn’t tell him about the unfortunate treatment to my smiling countenance.

  He would have laughed too, and I’d had enough of that for the day.

  “What’s the play, boss-man?”

  “Looks like we’re gonna have to go in and drag Kimberly out by ourselves.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Unless you feel like pretending be a god-botherer and joining up to get an inside view,” I said.

  “No siree. I went inside a church once and came out married. No telling what might happen if’n I was to do it again.”

  “Alright then.”

  “When you want to git this done?”

  “I need to talk with Lucy before we go. A couple of days, week at the most. How are you fixed for time?”

  “A-OK. We got us some fencing to fix, and a new round yard to put up. That can wait a few days if needs be. You want Mimi too? I ’spect she be itchin’ to come along this time. ’Specially if there’s gonna be shootin’.”

  “Yep. Get yourselves ready and I’ll give you a call when I know more.”

  “Alrighty then. What should I bring?”

  “Everything, Cowboy. Bring all of it.”

  Chapter 32

  I walked back to the office and mulled over how to approach Dariell’s compound. The real trouble was the number of unknowns. I knew there were buildings, but I didn’t know what the hell was inside them. They could contain blankets and prayer books or an antsy born-again with a flamethrower. I didn’t think either of those two options were likely, but I didn’t care about the first and wasn’t ready to rule out the second.