by Steph Post
Ramey’s cellphone rang just as she saw the vehicle pull in, and she knew what Shelia was going to say. She flicked her cigarette out the window and answered the phone.
“I see it.”
Shelia, sitting in her Rabbit parked at the gas station on the corner, was breathless. Ramey could hear the alarm in her voice.
“The Escalade. The silver one that just pulled in.”
“Yep. Just hold on, Shelia, let’s see if it’s him.”
No one was getting out of the SUV parked at the end of the diner’s side lot. Ramey’s eyes darted back to the restaurant windows. Stella was tracing her Hot Wheels car along the window. Cassie was pouring coffee for the man at the counter wearing a red baseball cap. The man next to him had opened up a newspaper. An older woman, with a paperback in one hand and a fork in the other, occupied the booth closest to the door. Ramey looked back to the Escalade. There was still no movement. She glanced over to the gas station and could see Shelia in her car, leaning over the steering wheel as she watched the diner intently. Ramey shook her head.
“Maybe it’s not him. Or if it is him, maybe there’s too many people around. And it’s only the afternoon. Maybe he’s going to wait ’til tonight.”
Shelia didn’t respond, but Ramey could hear her breathing heavily into the phone. Ramey turned back to the SUV. The back passenger door slowly opened and Shelia’s voice rose a notch closer to hysteria.
“There! That’s him. That’s Weaver.”
Ramey gave the man a hard look. He was wearing dark jeans and a bomber jacket, despite the unforgiving heat. He had shiny black hair hanging straight down to his shoulders, but it was when he turned, and his hair swung away so that Ramey could see his face, that she understood. It was craggy, pockmarked, with a thick, jagged scar cutting down his cheek, but most of all, his face looked cruel. Dead. As if Judgment had already come upon Weaver and he knew he was marked for hell. He looked like a man with absolutely nothing to lose and only pain to give. Ramey now knew why Shelia was so terrified.
“It looks like he’s going in alone. Ramey, can you see a gun?”
Ramey narrowed her eyes against the glare ricocheting off the windows, cars and pavement, but it was hard to tell.
“He’s not carrying anything in his hands. But he’s probably got a piece somewhere.”
“Well, yeah.”
Ramey watched Weaver closely as he stepped onto the sidewalk and opened the glass front door. What was he doing? Was he going to just walk in the restaurant and murder Cassie and Stella in broad daylight? Just like that?
“Shelia, go. You need to go now.”
Ramey looked over to the Rabbit. Shelia was still sitting behind the wheel. Their eyes met and Shelia shook her head.
“I don’t know, Ramey. I don’t know if I can do this.”
Ramey was afraid she was going to hear gunshots any second.
“Yes, you can. You can and you will. This was your idea. You found out where Cassie worked. You said we should come here and wait. Well, we did. And we’re here. And he’s here. You were right. So go.”
Shelia didn’t move.
“Yeah, but the rest of the plan. That was your idea, that was…”
Ramey didn’t have time for it. She was worried that Cassie and Stella didn’t have time for it.
“Shelia, so help me God, get your narrow ass out of that car and into the diner or I’m gonna come over there and shoot you. I will shoot you, I swear it, and save Weaver the trouble. Do you understand?”
Shelia hung up. Ramey threw the phone down and reached for the door handle, but then she saw Shelia slowly getting out of the Rabbit. She pulled at the hem of her fringed denim skirt as she jaywalked across the road, stopping traffic in her high-heeled sandals. She was headed for the diner. Ramey watched her cross the side street and enter the restaurant. Weaver had sat down on a stool at the counter, though Ramey couldn’t tell what he was doing. Shelia was standing just inside the doorway, adjusting her red suede halter top. As soon as Shelia flashed her smile, Ramey reached for her purse. And the .9mm inside it.
SISTER TULAH clasped her hands on the paper-strewn desk in front of her and wrinkled her brow. Sometimes it was hard, even for her, to tell the Elders apart. She thought the man standing in front of her desk was Menahem, but he could just as easily have been Zechariah. The Elder hanging back in the doorway of the office, though, was most certainly Elah, the youngest of the four men. His crooked harelip scar gave him away. She glanced at him briefly, but then ignored him, addressing only the hunched old man before her.
“Tell me.”
The man’s wrinkled cheeks stretched as the puckered hole that was his mouth opened and closed. When he spoke, the rest of his body, including his head, remained completely immobile.
“Give me now wisdom and knowledge, that I may go out and come in before this people: for who can judge this thy people, that is so great?”
Tulah almost groaned. She was definitely talking to Menahem. All of the Elders communicated exclusively through Bible verses, but some were more expansive than others. If allowed, Menahem would probably recite the entire Book of Ecclesiastes if she asked him whether or not he thought it was going to rain. Though she had gotten back to Kentsville the night before, Sister Tulah was still tired from The Recompense. She had slept most of the morning and hadn’t gotten a chance to attend to business until the afternoon. She hadn’t even spoken to Felton yet. In driving up to the furniture store, she had only passed by the church and caught a glimpse of her nephew, sweeping the front walkway.
A malicious grin spread across Sister Tulah’s face.
“Felton. Start with Brother Felton. Just how disastrous was his attempt at sermonizing Sunday evening?”
There was no expression on the Elder’s face and no emotion in his voice.
“How is Sheshach taken. And how is the praise of the whole earth surprised. How is Babylon become an astonishment among the nations.”
Sister Tulah pressed her thin lips together tightly. That was certainly not good. The last thing she needed was for Felton to astonish the congregation with the prowess of his preaching. She would have to get a full account later. If Brother Felton hadn’t managed to make a fool of himself, she would have to find another way to humiliate him. Tulah brushed Felton from her mind and turned to the more pressing issue at hand.
“And what about our little ATF friend? Is that noisome fly still buzzing around?”
“That which the palmerworm hath left hath the locust eaten; and that which the locust hath left hath the cankerworm eaten; and that which the cankerworm hath left hath the caterpillar eaten.”
It took her a moment to figure out the meaning behind that one. She adjusted her eyepatch and pursed her lips.
“So, he’s still around. Is he doing anything besides asking questions he shouldn’t and attempting to dig up information that is best left buried?”
“When thou art departed from me to day, then thou shalt find two men by Rachel’s sepulcher; and they will say unto thee, The asses which thou wentest to seek are found.”
Sister Tulah leaned forward on her elbows. She knew that the agent had been asking the locals about her and she knew also that he had spent several days at the library, most likely researching her affairs. But this? Actually meeting with someone? Tulah was livid. No one in the town would dare willingly meet with an ATF agent who was looking into her.
“Who? Who was the other man? Who’s talking to the agent?”
“He shall neither have son nor nephew among his people, nor any remaining in his dwellings.”
The chair beneath her creaked as Sister Tulah fell back into it, stunned. Felton. Could he honestly be talking to the special agent? Her mind raced back to the last imbecilic move her moronic nephew had made without her knowledge, when he had enlisted Sherwood Cannon to rob the Scorpions. His motive had been to triple Tulah’s money and she had believed him. There had been no other reason for him to attempt such a risky and foolhardy vent
ure. Tulah shook her head. Brother Felton had gotten too big for his britches lately, but he would never willingly betray her. There had to be an explanation. Perhaps Felton had gotten it into his softshell brain that he could somehow trick the ATF agent. Pull one over on him. Sister Tulah banged her hand down on the desk and crumpled a paper up in her fist. Whatever his reason, it was one more headache she’d have to deal with. But after she took care of the ATF agent. Getting rid of Special Agent Grant was the number one priority. She looked up into the reflective lenses of the Elder’s dark glasses.
“Don’t go near Felton. I’ll deal with him accordingly. But I think it’s about time we rid Kentsville of a certain annoying pest, don’t you?”
The Elder bowed his head in assent. Sister Tulah heaved herself to standing and braced herself against the edge of the desk. She was tired. If she ever, ever got all of her business taken care of, she needed to take a break. Tulah leveled her gaze at the Elder and spoke.
“And number thee an army, horse for horse, and chariot for chariot: and we will fight against them in the plain, and surely we shall be stronger than they.”
The Elder bowed his head deeply.
“And he hearkened unto their voice, and did so.”
Sister Tulah’s mouth stretched into a wide, grotesque grin as she waved the Elder away.
“Good. Now go and make it happen.”
SHELIA DIDN’T give herself time to think twice. She was vaguely aware that the two men at the far end of the counter had raised their heads at the sound of the bell on the door tinkling, but she didn’t look in their direction. Nor did she glance at Cassie, standing behind the counter, flipping eggs on the flat top grill. The only person Shelia had eyes for was Weaver, and he hadn’t bothered to look up. Shelia tugged at her skirt and pushed out her chest before sitting down on the empty vinyl stool next to his. She leaned her elbow on the filmy counter and ran her fingers quickly through her hair. Her heart leapt up into her throat, threatening to choke her, as Weaver slowly turned to face her. His voice was low and guttural.
“You decide to save me the trouble of hunting you down?”
Shelia had spent most of her life charming men, and at this point, instead of allowing herself to consider what she was actually doing, she let instinct take over. Shelia popped her eyes wider and smiled, her lips curling upward in a sultry promise.
“You wouldn’t actually hurt me, would you?”
Weaver’s expression didn’t change.
“You have no idea what I’m going to do to you.”
Shelia’s eyes flitted away to the counter and then back up at Weaver. She kept that same smile on her lips.
“Well, what if I offered you something better?”
“Better than watching the light fade from your eyes?”
Shelia kept up the one-sided game. Her only hope was that Weaver really did think she was as dumb as she looked.
“Could be better. I know of a lot of fellas who think it’s a pretty good time.”
Weaver laughed loudly and brought his palm crashing down on the counter, rattling the silverware setups. Cassie turned with a plate in one hand and gave him a reproachful look before setting the eggs and bacon down in front of the man wearing a baseball cap. Shelia watched a ripple of determination pass over Weaver’s face and knew that she had only seconds to snap his attention back to her. She needed to make the promise of her death more appealing than Cassie’s. Shelia laid her fingers lightly on Weaver’s gaunt, hairy wrist.
“How about I make you a deal, sugar? How about we go on back to the john and I make you feel like you’ve never felt before?”
Weaver’s frost blue eyes darted back to her.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He hadn’t pushed her away, though, so maybe he was considering the possibilities. Maybe he believed she was stupid enough to think she could make a bargain for life. Here she was, offering herself up, Bambi to be slaughtered, and she’d even let him knock her off somewhere where it wouldn’t make too much of a mess. Weaver could kill her quietly and then come back out and figure out how to take out the mom and the kid. Shelia raked her nails lightly over the back of his hand. Come on, come on. He had to go for it.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Shelia lowered her eyes flirtatiously and started to get up from the stool. Weaver suddenly had her wrist gripped in his hand and it was all Shelia could do not to gasp. He jerked her closer to him.
“All right, sweetheart. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He let go of her bruised wrist and stood up. Shelia quickly glanced around the diner; no one was giving them a questioning look. If anything, they probably thought she was just another lot lizard making a quick buck. Weaver was ahead of her and Shelia noticed with a wry smile that he was favoring one leg. Just beyond the cash register was a short hallway leading back to the kitchen and single bathroom and Weaver disappeared around the corner of it. Shelia brushed her hand against the side of her skirt, feeling for the tiny penknife she had jammed into the narrow denim pocket. It was useless, but reassuring. She came around the corner, trying to calculate how much time she had, how much longer she would be able to keep it going.
Weaver had her by the throat before she could even work it out. In one rapid movement he had her up against the wall of the dim hallway, one hand over her mouth, the other squeezing her windpipe. She was out of time. Weaver brought his face close to hers and Shelia stared up into the beast behind his eyes and was no longer afraid. Ever since she was sixteen years old, Shelia had known that she would die this way, at the hands of a man who was looking down at her with hatred or disgust, at a man who thought he had power over her and wanted her to know it. But she did not know it, did not believe it, and never would. Even in her last moment of breath, Shelia knew that she held all the cards.
RAMEY HAD been trying to keep her back to the diner’s windows, but the moment she caught a glance of Shelia disappearing down the hallway behind Weaver, she spun and bolted through the front door. The bell jangled furiously, but Ramey didn’t bother to silence it. She went straight to the counter and leaned over, waving frantically at Cassie to come to her. Cassie warily set down the coffee pot in her hand and approached Ramey, glancing back and shrugging to the men at the other end of the counter.
“Can I help you?”
Ramey grabbed Cassie’s shoulder and pulled the woman toward her so she could whisper loudly in her ear.
“Get your kid and get the hell out of here. Now.”
Cassie was struggling against her.
“What the…”
“Now!”
Ramey shoved her back and yanked the gun out of the back of her jeans. Everyone around her froze at the sight, except for the little girl, standing in the center of the diner, with a bright green stuffed alligator hitched up under her arm. Stella didn’t freeze. Stella screamed at the top of her six-year-old lungs and Ramey lurched into motion. There was no chance of surprise now; she just had to get to Weaver as soon as possible. Ramey careened around the corner of the hallway only to come face-to-face with Weaver and the barely struggling Shelia in his grip. She raised the .9mm and fired.
Confusion exploded around her as the three of them grappled in the narrow confines of the hallway. Weaver already had his Beretta out, and while she had been able to get the one shot off and hit him somewhere in the shoulder, she’d been forced to duck to avoid the bullet coming for her. Ramey saw Weaver bend forward in pain as Shelia rammed her knee between his legs, and she halfway regained her balance enough to take another shot. He still had Shelia by the throat, but was able to twist away so that the second bullet skimmed past him. Before she could fire again, though, Weaver had let go of Shelia for a moment and slammed his body into hers, forcing her against the opposite wall. Ramey fired again, but the bullets only went into the ceiling as Weaver grabbed her forearm and smashed it repeatedly into the wall. The bones in her wrist and hand cracked and she couldn’t hold on to th
e gun. It fell clattering to the floor.
Weaver grabbed by her the back of the neck and shoved her to the ground, slamming her face into the floor. He kicked her once in the stomach and then brought the Beretta around to aim. Ramey was blinking blood and grit out of her eyes, but even through the chaos she saw the gun coming toward her. She tried to scramble to her feet, but then the Beretta was on the ground next to her and Weaver was howling in pain. Ramey looked up to see Weaver clutching at the side of his head and Shelia spitting out a bloody chunk of flesh. Weaver turned away from Ramey and punched Shelia squarely in the face. Ramey heard the knock of her head against the wall and then Weaver was limping past her. Ramey tried to grab for his legs, but was having trouble seeing straight and her fingers only grazed fabric. She heard the swinging of the kitchen door at the end of the hallway and focused on the sound. Ramey pushed herself to her feet and stumbled after him.
There was still blood in her eyes, but by the time she made it through the door, her vision was partially coming back. Enough for her to duck the flying skillet meant for her head, anyway. She slipped on the wet, greasy floor, but launched herself at Weaver, standing in front of an industrial refrigerator in the back of the kitchen, his face and neck splattered with blood from the ragged remains of his ear. He reached for another pan and Ramey dodged this one too, but tripped on one of the rubber floor mats. A shockwave of pain snapped through her wrist when she caught herself against the edge of the stainless steel countertop. A rack of baking sheets clattered to her feet as she braced herself up with her elbow and kept after Weaver. She didn’t have a gun. He didn’t have a gun. He’d been shot in the shoulder. She’d been kicked in the ribs. Her wrist was fractured. His ear was dripping blood. She kept going toward him, her mind and body out of synch, the desire to stop him, to end him, driving her muscles forward. She was led by her rage, by her instincts, by her loyalty, by her fierce and near-feral love.