Nailgun Messiah (Micah Reed Book 1)

by Jim Heskett

  “House meeting?”

  “Nope. It’s visiting day.”

  “Visiting Cyrus?”

  Garrett nodded.

  Micah could see one big problem with this proposed road trip. “But I can’t. I haven’t filled out an application to go inside the prison, so they won’t let me in. Something like that has to be done a week or two in advance.”

  Garrett sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Lilah already set that up for you.”

  Micah rubbed some sleep from his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  “Magda took your driver’s license.”

  Micah’s hand instinctively shot to the nightstand where his wallet sat, and he opened it to find his license looking back at him from the windowed pocket. Magda had stolen his license and then put it back, without him knowing?

  “She forged my signature?”

  Garrett shrugged and disappeared, so Micah stumbled out of bed and slipped into yesterday’s clothes, then he did a zombie walk to the bathroom to splash some water on his face.

  Taken his license, without his permission. Why would Magda do such a thing? Were they worried he would have said no? He would have said no, but that was beside the point.

  “So not cool,” he said to his reflection in the mirror.

  Micah didn’t like having to do anything official, especially if it had the chance to bring him public visibility. He didn’t even like going to the DMV. You never knew what low-level government employee might also be on the payroll of some cartel member in hiding. And with facial recognition software these days, it wouldn’t take much for someone to match his old face with his new name.

  If they used his license to put his name in the prison system, there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. No telling which law enforcement agencies would have access to that database. And who among them might sell Micah out to his old employers.

  As he spat toothpaste into the sink basin, he reminded himself to stop being so paranoid all the time. He had a new name, new driver’s license, new social security number, and he didn’t look all that much like the person named Michael McBriar who used to work for Luis Velasquez’s Sinaloa cartel. Getting sober had done a lot to improve his appearance.

  In the den, he found everyone gathered, except, of course, for Eagle. All present were dressed and ready to go. Pile of something—probably breakfast burritos—wrapped in foil, in a pyramid on a plate. Smell of eggs wafting through the wood varnish stink of the room.

  Lilah’s smile seemed unpracticed and genuine today, which was new. She often curled up the corners of her mouth in an approximation of human emotion, but this time, it didn’t look fake.

  Visiting day. She must have been thrilled.

  They were actually going to meet this mythic leader of the religion. In the two-plus weeks Micah had been here, Cyrus had seemed like a ghost that everyone never stopped talking about. All the charity work he did. Taking in poor kids from the neighborhood and giving them food and clothes. Breaking up fights in downtown Denver. No one had anything but praise for this guy.

  The idea of meeting him in person seemed strange, like finally meeting a celebrity after hoping and wishing for years. But, if Micah remembered the math correctly, he was getting out of prison in less than a week. Why were they visiting him now?

  “The men will go in Rodney’s car,” Lilah said. “Hannah and Magda, you’re with me. If we have to stop for gas, we will wait until we’re out of Denver. We’re already running late, so let’s get it together, now.”

  Rodney nodded at Micah, and Micah could see all kinds of meanings in that simple bob of the head. Less than a day since Micah had learned who Rodney really was, and they hadn’t said a word to each other. Even though Micah knew Rodney’s secret, Rodney had the real threat of laying federal charges on him if anything went wrong. Micah didn’t like being under the thumb of a federal agent.

  Most feds he’d known were real assholes.

  Magda excused herself to go to the bathroom, and Micah saw his chance. Rodney traced Micah’s movements as he followed her up the stairs, but he couldn’t pay attention to that now.

  Magda used the bathroom, and Micah hid in his room until she was done, then he followed her to her room. With one last look down the hall to make sure no one was coming up the stairs, he ducked into Magda’s room while she was digging through a small collection of shoes under her bed.

  “Mags.”

  She didn’t respond. Kept shuffling through her shoes.

  “I know you won’t talk to me,” he whispered, “but please listen. Don’t go with everyone to the prison. Stay back. I’ll stay back, too. We have to talk about something serious.”

  She stopped digging through the shoes, but didn’t turn her head. “What could we possibly have to talk about? Why would you want to rob me of a chance to see Cyrus?”

  Micah blanked. He’d come this far without much of a sales pitch. Should he tell her about Rodney and the ATF’s plan to raid? Magda hadn’t said anything about Micah hacking into Lilah’s laptop, but this was a big deal. It would be so easy for her to run to Lilah and reveal everything.

  If she told, then that would mean disaster for everyone. Lilah would explode with rage, and Rodney might hold to his promise and bring Micah up on charges.

  “I can’t say yet. But it’s important. Please, Mags. You have to stay here with me today.”

  Magda settled on a pair of shoes, slipped them on, and sailed past Micah without a word.

  Downstairs, the grandfather clock clanged its warbling bells.

  ***

  The drive from Nederland to Limon Correctional Facility took close to three hours. Micah sat in the back seat alone, while Garrett sat shotgun as Rodney drove. They spoke little during the trip, only chatting here and there about Frozen Dead Guy Days, as Garrett filled them in on the history of the insane festival. He said the best part would be the parade of decorated hearses and coffin racers on Saturday, the main day. Also that the second day, Sunday, was mostly people standing around the town and drinking beer. But that the pancake breakfast at the Community Center was a worthwhile highlight.

  Micah stared out the window and cleaned dirt from his fingernails. Missed his guitars. The finger calluses on his fret hand had already softened. He’d have to build them back up again, when this was all over.

  As they neared the prison and Micah could see those tall guard towers and the high fences topped with barbed wire, he couldn’t help but think of his own time in prison, after the trial. He’d only served eleven months in a special wing, which wasn’t like time in a regular prison. He was there with other WitSec prisoners, and the guards weren’t so bad. He had access to television, plenty of outside time. Isolation from genpop, who didn’t take kindly to snitches.

  But no visitors. That was the beginning of getting used to a life where he couldn’t contact anyone. The beginning of his new life as another person.

  And here he was, after doing the most stupid thing imaginable—revealing himself to his sister—getting ready to walk back into another prison. To hear the slam of the doors and smell that mix of antiseptic cleaners and body odor and watch the steely looks on the guards’ faces. Feel the anger and despair coming off the imprisoned.

  But at least he could walk out of this one.

  Then another thought came to him, and he felt terribly stupid for not thinking of this before. What if someone from the cartel was here at Limon Correctional? It’s not as if the feds had told him which prisons his past associates were being sent to. What if someone spotted him?

  Panic set over Micah at the thought. Everything would crumble to the ground if even one person from his old life recognized him. They pulled into a parking spot and Rodney and Garrett got out, but Micah’s limbs felt glued to the seat.

  “Micah, you coming?” Garrett said.

  What could he do? He had to go along with the plan, or Lilah would know something was up.

  Micah gulped air and got out of the c
ar, feeling a little weak. The breakfast burrito in his stomach wasn’t sitting so well anymore.

  When they gathered in front of the entrance, Lilah handed Hannah her passport. Micah watched a wave of unease and anxiety pass over her face as she held the little book in her hands. The baby in her belly wasn’t going to stop growing. She and Garrett would have to do something about it soon, or Lilah would find out.

  They all entered the visitation area and stepped through the metal detector one by one. When Micah’s turn came to place the contents of his pockets into the plastic bucket, he hesitated. In his pocket was a four-month AA chip, and he didn’t want anyone to see it. But then that hesitation seemed silly, because he’d already told Lilah that he was sober, so why should it matter? That was just some niggling belief that being in AA was a shameful secret to keep.

  Micah dropped his chip, keys, and some loose change into the bucket, then stepped through. On the other side, they took seats in a waiting room while a thick woman in a uniform blandly recited rules about touching the inmates, about appropriate volume levels in the visiting room, and a list of other things. Hard to pay attention to her, since she talked in such a monotone.

  When all the pomp and circumstance ended, the guard ushered them all into an antiseptic room with tables and chairs, with guards posted every few feet around the edges. A dozen inmates in their khaki outfits sat at tables, some of them with wives, parents, and kids, some of them alone, still waiting for the break to the monotony of their day.

  At least in Micah’s WitSec prison wing, none of the other prisoners got visitors either. But he used to watch the cars arriving and leaving, families coming to visit the genpop inmates. Wondered what that must have felt like, to know that kind of powerlessness when your loved one was locked up.

  Lilah broke into a run toward one of the lone inmates, which made the guard bark at her to slow down. She didn’t seem to care, though, and her gleeful expression morphed into euphoria as she closed in on his table.

  This man seated at the table must have been Cyrus. He looked late-forties, gaunt and haggard with long, scraggly hair down to his shoulders. Beard with streaks of gray around his chin. But in the middle of that wrinkled and pale face sat two brilliant blue eyes, like a child’s.

  His head bobbed when he saw Lilah, and she wrapped her arms around him. She seemed happy, in a way Micah had never expected to see her. The smile on her face returned brilliant white teeth.

  But Cyrus didn’t seem to mirror that same level of joy. He only nodded at the rest of the group as they approached the table. He’d barely looked at Lilah.

  “You have a new one,” he said as he looked at Micah. “Come, friend, sit down with us.”

  Micah, Rodney, Magda, Hannah, and Garrett took their seats around the table, and Lilah borrowed a nearby chair to sit next to Cyrus.

  He smiled at all of them, making eye contact one at a time. He winked at Magda and Hannah, while reaching across the table to pat both Rodney and Garrett on the backs of their hands.

  “Garrett,” he said, smiling at the young pothead. “How is the job? Have you made any progress on moving to the day shift?”

  Garrett rolled his shoulders in a shrug. Seemed annoyed. “No, and I don’t think they’re going to. My old boss all but promised it to me, but he quit and everything changed, and now it’s like they forgot all about me.”

  Cyrus wrinkled his brow, staring deeply as he contemplated. “Be patient. I’m sure they are doing the best they can. In the meantime, take pride in your work, and let that be your reward.”

  “Thank you,” Garrett said, and Micah could see a new light in Garrett’s eyes. He looked happier.

  Cyrus continued taking stock of everyone else, and when he landed on Micah, Cyrus looked puzzled. “What is scripture?”

  Micah panicked. He had no idea there was going to be a pop quiz. “It’s a roadmap,” he said, hoping there would be no follow-up questions, because he had no idea how to explain what he’d said.

  Cyrus tilted his head from side to side, considering. “I like it, but that’s not the way I’d put it. I’d say it’s a car. Any fool can learn enough to put his foot on the gas to make it go and how to pump the brake to make it stop, but only a skilled mechanic can get under that hood and figure out how it really works. That’s where the magic lies.”

  The gleam in Cyrus’ eyes baffled Micah. How could this man, who seemed so pleasant and even-tempered, be from the same belief system as Lilah, who was proving to be a psychopath?

  “All of us,” Cyrus said, “every one of the faithful is a passenger in that car. We’re a community of sinners, we are. I feel it every time one of us sins. I have ulcers, and my back aches from morning until night. But this is what I bear to be able to interpret the scripture.”

  “To drive the car?” Micah said.

  Cyrus nodded. So, Cyrus was both mechanic and driver, although he hadn’t seemed to have caught the sarcasm in Micah’s question. Lilah hadn’t either, because she was grinning at Cyrus like a teenage girl who’d come face to face with her primary crush.

  “I don’t want you to worship the person,” Cyrus said. “Worship the teaching. Worship the truth. It’s not always an easy distinction, but that’s why we study. We make mistakes so we can do better next time.”

  Micah examined Lilah, her eyes wide with rapt attention. He had a flash of memory of her wrapping her hands around Garrett’s throat, maybe squeezing hard enough to kill him if Eagle hadn’t intervened. Seemed like an entirely different person now.

  “But,” Micah said, “doesn’t the Bible talk about peace? What would the Bible say about violence as a means of delivering the message?”

  Cyrus smiled. “When I saw God, I saw he was made of unblemished flesh. And He’s the only being who can claim that. We’re all sinners, friend. But when He gave me the key to the scriptures and how to take in the whole Bible, He told me there would be many who would not understand. They would see the truth as an act of war.”

  “But God doesn’t preach that violence is righteous,” Micah said.

  “Depends on the interpretation. I see all the Bible at once, instantaneously, panoramically. All the events are happening right now and in the future.”

  Micah pursed his lips. He couldn’t quote the Bible back at him, and Cyrus had a way to turn the conversation in whatever direction he wanted. Besides, what had he hoped to accomplish? For Cyrus to tell Lilah to stop beating people?

  “I just wanted to welcome you, friend, and look in the eyes of everyone else. I can see you are all well, and that makes me happy. Now, since we don’t have much time, I’d like to talk to Shekinah alone.”

  Micah felt confused for a second, until he realized that Cyrus was talking about Lilah. Why was he calling her Shekinah?

  As everyone at the table got up and left, Micah took one last look at Cyrus. This man had something that would make all of these people willing to endure hardships to be close to him. And apparently, something to attract the attention of the ATF. That was not a good combination.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Lilah watched the rest of her companions leave the room, then she scooted her chair around the table so she could face Cyrus. She reached her hands across, near his but not touching so they wouldn’t draw attention.

  Her skin felt at peace, not crawling, not filled with the bugs burrowing and feeding on her cells. A warm kind of energy radiated from Cyrus, and every pore of her flesh drank it, a thousand times over. She was whole.

  “I’m looking forward to finally seeing this house you’ve been telling me about for years,” he said. “But, I was wondering why you kept visiting day this time, since I’m only here a few more days.”

  “I know, but it makes me so happy to see you,” she said. “And I have so many questions.”

  “You can ask me anything you want, Shekinah. But don’t sit there goggling at me like a fucking idiot. Have some respect for yourself.”

  She fought the urge to cry. He could be so l
oving in one breath, and so cruel in another. His words carried such power that she could feel each one enter her ears individually.

  Lilah sat up straight and pulled her hands back. She sensed the coldness of the distance of their skin, eighteen inches apart on the table. Her body cried for it, to be closer to him. “The website is not doing well. It’s not attracting any attention to us like you said it would. I’ve been unable to get on the news, to get media mentions, or any of the other things we planned.”

  He cocked his head and glared at her, chunks of grayish black hair falling over one of his eyes. “What have you done wrong?”

  A flush came to her cheeks, and an intense desire to cry to release some energy. But she refused to do it. She would not cry in front of him. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I did everything you told me to do. It’s just not working.”

  “And did you not expect someone would sabotage things?”

  He gritted his teeth and smacked the table, which made a nearby guard jump to attention.

  “Inmate!” the guard shouted. “One more time and you’re done.”

  Cyrus leaned back and raised his hands in a show of surrender. The guard stared him down, then after a few seconds, relaxed.

  Lilah took deep breaths, calmed herself. She didn’t want to make Cyrus angry and get him in trouble. Not when he was so close to coming home.

  He leaned forward again, but kept his tone civil. “Did you think someone wouldn’t be out there, telling the news stations and blogs not to write about our website? How could you not know this?”

  She sputtered, not sure what to say about that.

  He inhaled until his chest rose, lifting his shoulders and then exhaling in a strong push. “Damn it, Shekinah. Of course they would try to stop us. Why didn’t you think of that? How could you so blindly dump our plan out into the woods and not think the wolves would try to tear it limb from limb?”

  She didn’t know, and Cyrus’ questions rumbled her stomach. She wanted to cry and puke and run to the bathroom to wash her hands. She felt dirty. Impure. Stupid. Inadequate.