Neal Barrett Jr. (30 page)

“No, of course you don’t.” The preacher let out a breath. “I fear our dear Brother had delusions of higher station. He wished to take Michael’s place. We knew about it, of course. And you’re right. It had nothing to do with you or your own … intentions of violence here.”

Howie’s mouth felt dry as dirt. He forced himself to look at the preacher. “I don’t guess nothing I can say is going to help. I’m sorry I brought trouble on you. I didn’t want to do that. It’s just I had to do what I—”

“You had to kill Harriver Mason,” Jones interrupted. “Yes, I know you did, boy.” He paused and studied Howie a long moment. “You owe me no apology, Howie Ryder. None at all. You did what you had to do. The Lord spoke, and He delivered your enemy unto your hands. His will is done, and you have served Him well.”

Howie stared in disbelief. “What the hell are you trying to say? You don’t
care
? You don’t think I did nothing wrong? I kill a man and mess up your peace talks, and that don’t bother you at all?” He laughed aloud at Ritcher Jones. “I hope you’ll tell them army bastards out there that
God
said everything’s all right. I got an idea they haven’t thought about that!”

Jones sighed and looked at Howie. He found a stool in the corner and brought it around before the chair.

“There is much here you don’t understand, young man,” Jones said. “I know you cannot mean the things you say. You mock the Lord’s words, because you lack the knowledge to know them. You are His instrument, son. You were brought here by Him to do this deed, and no power on earth could have stopped you.

Jones leaned in close to Howie. “Why do you think the Lord placed me in Tallahassee, exactly at the moment you yourself would be there? He did, and He lifted the veil from my eyes and I
knew
you. I knew you had to be Howie Ryder. These things do not happen by chance, they are willed by the Lord.”

Howie felt cold all over. “You—knew who I was? You knew right then? But how could—”

Jones shook his head and smiled. “A great many people know who you are and what you look like, Howie. You are quite a legend in some circles. Most especially those who fought on either side in Colorado. I should think you would know that, from your venture in New Los Angeles.”

“Goddam, what are you pullin’ on me?” Howie blurted.

“Word reached me soon after you left for town. I was most concerned, Howie. You had the Lord’s plan to fulfill, and I didn’t want you to come to any harm.”

The preacher’s words struck Howie like a blow. “You— you
brought
me here. You son of a bitch, you
wanted
me to stick a knife in Mason!”

“1 was only an instrument, like yourself.”

“Don’t give me no Church talk, mister,” Howie said. “Just tell me
why
. It don’t make any sense. If you wanted the bastard dead, you could’ve had him killed yourself. Why’d you need
me
?”

Jones looked pained. “What good would that have done? Harriver Mason dead by any hand but yours would serve no purpose at all. Howie, I don’t pretend to know why you killed Anson Slade—yes, I know you did it, though I didn’t see it done. But I did see the plain look of murder in your eye when you saw him, when I told you his name in the tavern. I knew the truth of what happened at Silver Island, and I guessed, at that moment, that you knew as well. Later, of course, I saw your aversion to meat. But that instant, that moment when you first saw Slade—there could be no other reason for your obvious hatred of the man. I knew then, Howie, that the Lord was speaking clearly to me. That His Light would show me the way. If you hated Anson Slade, if you were driven by such a need to see him dead, then you would certainly wish the same for Harriver Mason. By the way, the Loyalist people here know nothing of Slade. I saw no reason to add another murder to two. Two is quite enough.”

Ritcher Jones paused and frowned thoughtfully at Howie. “Who was it, boy? A girl you knew, a brother or a sister who went to Silver Island?” He waved the words away. “No matter, and that is not my business, now is it? That’s a personal matter with you.”

Howie wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in his belly. “It ain’t right,” he said, squeezing his eye shut. “It don’t make sense. Dammit, you can’t do stuff like this to people.
Just—using
them for something.”

“It
is
right, son. God’s plan is always right, whether we see His way clearly or not. It was all written plainly in His hand, waiting to be read. Before I left California, I knew, from things I heard from important men in the Loyalist camp, that Mason was out of favor. He had risen too high, and wished to rise higher still. And more than that, he was becoming an embarrassment to the Loyalist cause. A secret is hard to keep, and too many of Lathan’s Rebel officers knew of Silver Island, and disapproved of what had taken place there.”

Jones spread his hands. He seemed to be looking at some wonder far away. “Do you see it all clearly now, Howie? How the Lord saw a need, and brought this all to pass? Mason stood in the way of peace. The Loyalists would shed no tears at his passing, but they dared not do the deed themselves. Mason still has friends in high places, including the President himself. But if an outsider should kill Mason, a man already wanted for the murder of one of their own, Colonel Jacob … Do you see how the Lord works His will? I knew, soon after we met, that you would play a part in His work. And you
have
, boy. A very important part. When the Loyalists announce that Mason is dead, the Rebels will he pleased, and more amenable to bringing about the peace. They won’t have to know who did the deed itself, only that it was done. There are
certain—incidents
they desired as well, and the Lord has provided for their needs. That doesn’t concern you, of course, but I will tell you that all has been achieved. High Sequoia means to bring about the peace. And you must not, in any way, Howie, feel that you have damaged the upcoming talks. Dear boy, you have helped to make them
work
. The Lord has blessed you, son. I hope you see that He—”

You goddam fool!” Howie exploded with such a fury that Jones rose from his stool and backed away, forgetting that Howie’s ropes bound him to the chair.

“All that
talk
you fed me about having a future at High Sequoia, how you wanted me to do something with my life. And all the time what you had in mind for me was dying. You didn’t want me to
be
anything except dead!

Jones looked startled, as if Howie had somehow betrayed him. “But I meant what I said to you, boy. Every word. I wanted you to have a part in High Sequoia, to achieve your goals here. And you
have
. Don’t you see? This is what I wanted for you, to do something with meaning, something that would bring you true glory. What does it matter if you gain that glory on this side of life or on the other? God Himself put the words in your mouth at supper last night, Howie. When you said you felt a sorrow at Camille’s passing. And He spoke again through Lawrence to bring you the answer—that the Lord has far greater tasks for us on the other side. You have done your work here, and you shall receive His glory for it. I envy you, Howie. How I yearn to stand before Him!”

“Let me loose from this chair and sure as hell send you on your way.” Howie said.

Jones smiled. “If I can offer any further spiritual guidance before it is—time, I would welcome the chance.”

“You can get your ass out of my sight,” Howie said bitterly. “I had about all the damn sermons I can take.”

Ritchey Jones straightened his robe and moved to the door of the cell. He stopped then and looked at Howie.

“You haven’t mentioned the matter, Howie, but I know it’s on your mind. While Sister Lorene’s attentions to-ward you were initiated at my request, her—feelings for you became quite real. I assure you this is so. She is a most loving person, full of God’s Joy and Light.”

“Get out of here,” Howie shouted. “
Goddamn you, get out
!”

Howie yelled at the preacher’s back, cursing him long after he disappeared. And when rage gave way to sorrow and the hot tears scaled his cheeks, he knew he didn’t ever want to know, that he didn’t want to face Lorene and search her eyes, and see if he was there, or maybe learn there was nothing there at all….

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

M
oments after Ritcher Jones left, a brother came in and let Howie loose from his chair. Another stood guard, just outside the bars, a rifle held loosely in his arms. Once Howie’s bonds were gone, the Brothers who’d cut him free retreated quickly from the cell, and the pair disappeared down the hall.

Howie had to laugh at the gun. They’d had him in the chair maybe eight or ten hours—even with the ropes cut away he couldn’t move. His whole body felt dead. Gripping his knees, he tried to stand up straight. Pain tore down the length of his spine; he choked back a cry and fell helplessly to the floor. He didn’t try to move again; he lay quietly in the dirt, cursing Ritcher Jones and everyone else at High Sequoia.

H
e tried to bring it all back, think what he might have done to make it turn out different from the way it had. It was shameful to think how simple it had been to draw him in. Jones had played him for a fool from the start. Once he’d found out who Howie really was, the rest had been easy. The preacher had simply held out Mason as bait, then hooked him with Lorene. After that—

No, now that ain’t right, he told himself quickly. I would’ve come anyway. I did it for Carolee. To get even for her. It didn’t have nothing to do with Lorene…

Only it did, he knew that. It was too damn late to start denying what was true. And the cold truth was, he didn’t care what she’d done or why. He wanted her again, wanted desperately to hold her and love her as hard as he could. Touch her all over just once before they took his life away. Maybe Jones had lied. Maybe Lorene was just doing what he’d told her to do, and she didn’t feel anything at all. Hell, Jones had lied about everything else.

That didn’t matter anymore. Feeling bare flesh next to his was a hunger he couldn’t put aside. And Ritcher Jones knew it, too. He knew Howie Ryder better than Howie knew himself. The thought brought a sudden burst of anger and shame. Ritcher Jones knew. There wasn’t a son of a bitch alive knew more about sin, and what it could do to a man. He knew Howie had to have Lorene. And if Lorene wasn’t there, why, Marie would do as well. That was the worst part of all. That the preacher could look inside his head, and see stuff Howie didn’t want to see himself.

H
e knew it had to come. He’d hear their boots in the hall and then the troopers would appear. Three, maybe four. There’d likely be an officer, too. And when he saw them, he’d know. That there wasn’t any time left to live, that everything was over and done. So he let himself think about it coming, walked through it in his head, thinking maybe that would make it work, that it wouldn’t be all that bad if he knew just how it would

And when it happened, nothing helped at all. He didn’t feel courageous or resigned; instead, he was scared out of his wits, numb all over with fear. When the soldiers appeared, he retreated to the far end of his cell and pressed his back against the wall. They would have to come and get him. That was the thing to do. Make them come the extra ten feet. Steal an extra minute of life. Maybe two. Something would happen and everything would change from the way it was.

There were two troopers and an officer. The troopers held their rifles at port arms before their chests.

“You going to give us any trouble?” The officer stopped a few feet inside the cell and gave Howie a wary look. He wore captain’s tabs on his freshly pressed greens. “It’s gain’ to happen either way, you know that. We can leave here easy or hard.”

“I won’t give you any trouble,” Howie said.

The captain looked over his shoulder. The troopers stepped forward smartly, one on either side of Howie.

“Let’s go,” the captain said. “Just keep between them two.”

Howie didn’t move. “Listen, is it a hanging or a gun? I want to know that.”

The captain nodded, as if he fully understood this concern. “It’s a hanging.”

“I been inside here a spell. I don’t even know if it’s daylight or dark.”

“It’s day. About sunup.”

“Thanks,” Howie said. “I kinda figured it was.”

T
he hallway was dimly lit and smelled of earth. The passage curved sharply to the right, and Howie had to duck to avoid a root as thick as a man. They were underground, then. He had been out cold when they brought him in. Somehow, he felt better knowing where he was.

It made a lot of sense, Howie reasoned. Everything looked real nice at High Sequoia. The Church would want to keep something ugly like a cell out of sight, so they’d burrowed beneath one of the giant trees. Lawrence was good at that, hiding all the bad stuff where no one could find it.

The first sight of daylight hurt his eyes. The greens were too harsh; even the muted sunlight from high above was too bright. A high wooden fence circled one side of the giant tree. The path was scarcely four feet wide; Howie couldn’t see past the trooper and the officer ahead. Where would they do it? He wondered. Out of sight somewhere, a place where most of the Churchers would never go. Hell, Ritcher Jones would find them a good spot.

Howie didn’t doubt for a minute that few of the Brothers and Sisters had any knowledge at all of the events going on in their midst. Ritcher Jones and Michael, Lawrence, a few others they could trust. That was the thing about a place like High Sequoia. Lawrence and God told you when to eat and pee and go to bed. You didn’t ask questions and you did what you were told. There were rebels in the ranks now and then, like Brother James, but he didn’t count. James didn’t want to change anything, he simply wanted a place at the top of the heap.

Howie’s thoughts were on James, and the sound of a pistol he’d never even heard, and the picture was so clear in his mind he imagined it was happening again. It happened so fast he had no time to blink, no time to even move. Three rapid sounds, as if someone had coughed close by. The trooper ahead of Howie stumbled, tried to catch himself, and dropped to the ground. Howie saw the captain on his knees, moaning and trying desperately to crawl away. The coughing sound came again and the officer collapsed and lay still. Howie stopped cold. He heard another stifled cry and jerked around. The other guard was flat on his back, staring at the sky. Chan stood over the trooper, a pistol in his hand. It was the same kind of weapon Brother Michael had carried, a revolver with an awkward black pipe on the end of the barrel.