Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Georgie
“That’s him.” My voice is a terrified rattle in my dry throat.
I never expected to be wearing boxer shorts and a pair of Crocs five sizes too big the next time I saw The Prophet.
In fact, I never expected to lay eyes on Orlyn Moffatt again.
I have so many questions. “Why is he tied up like that?”
With Jefferson and Joaquin on either side of me, I shiver in the alleyway with a blanket wrapped around me, staring into the back seat of Joaquin’s Lexus SUV. The Prophet lies there in the back seat, unconscious, with his hands zip-tied behind his back.
“He’s a slippery fucker. That’s why,” Joaquin says.
“And why is he unconscious?” Do I want to know?
Joaquin scratches his head. “Uh, because he’s more compliant that way?”
“Joaquin, did you kill him?” Jefferson’s question makes my stomach roil in panic.
“No, I didn’t kill him,” Joaquin says, sounding offended. “He wouldn’t shut up so I gave him a night-night shot.”
“Shit. How much did you use?” Jefferson asks, tapping on the glass.
Joaquin shrugs. “A little ACP goes a long way for a skinny guy like that.”
“I’m sorry, ACP?” The only thing coming to mind is arroz con pollo. I have food on the brain.
“Acepromazine,” Jefferson explains.
Oh. I know what that is. This is not good at all. “That is the stuff they sedate pigs with on the compound. But that comes from the vet. Are you a vet?”
“Yes. I’m a veterinarian,” Joaquin says. “Let’s go with that.”
Jefferson shakes his head. “I don’t know whether to be pissed or impressed.”
“You were busy,” Joaquin says.
“Where did you find him?” I ask.
“That’s classified.”
I cluck my tongue.
“I had it under control,” Jefferson seethes.
I turn to Jefferson. “You had what under control?”
He doesn’t answer before Joaquin interjects. “You need to learn to ask for help sometimes.”
“I told you, I had this.”
“You didn’t.”
I wave my hands around. “Children! Stop fighting and explain to me right now what the hell is going on? Joaquin? What do you mean Jefferson was busy?”
Jefferson clears his throat and I turn around to face him. “Well?”
“Joaquin is under the impression that I was so busy looking for you that I wasn’t focusing enough on finding Orlyn Moffatt.”
I think about this. “Is that true? Was I a distraction to you?”
Jefferson reaches a hand out to cup my face. “No. You were not a distraction.”
Joaquin coughs something that sounds like “Liar.”
“Shut up.”
“Why don’t you just say thank you for the help?”
Jefferson growls, on the verge of exploding. “Because I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“One victory in 24 hours is enough, don’t you think?” I remind him.
Joaquin pipes up with, “Oh, it’s still your catch, brother.”
We both turn to Joaquin.
He adds, “What, you think I want to get involved in all this cult bullshit? He’s your catch. You get the bounty.”
We both watch, dumbfounded, as Joaquin unlocks the car and slides behind the wheel. The man raises an eyebrow and revs the purring engine. “It’s not a Charger, but it’s a sweet ride. Get in, losers; we’ve got a delivery for the sheriff.”
We must pass a dozen campaign signs on our way to the sheriff’s department, advertising Elder Mark’s candidacy for sheriff. A dozen more signs read things like “Keep Polygamists Out of Office.” “No Polygamists in Darling Creek.”
All of it makes me want to vomit and wish I was invisible. I don’t want my friends and families persecuted for who they are, but I also don’t want to see someone like Mark Lund in positions of real power.
I stay in the car with Joaquin while Jefferson hauls the zip-tied, disheveled, and groggy Orlyn Moffatt to the county courthouse.
“I want my lawyer,” the oily fucker squawks as people turn to stare.
“Don’t care. I’m not a cop,” Jefferson says in a flat, lethal tone as they march up the steps.
After they disappear through the doors, I turn to Joaquin. “Thanks for helping him,” I say.
“Had to be done.”
“You could have collected the reward yourself.”
“I’m not a bounty hunter, but nice try guessing.”
“It was worth a shot,” I say.
He chuckles and fiddles with the buttons on the touchscreen until he finds the hip-hop station he likes.
“Can I ask you a yes-or-no question?”
“Sure.”
“Promise you’ll tell me the truth?”
“Hmm,” Joaquin replies. “That depends on if you’re going to try to guess my job.”
“It’s not about your job. I don’t think.”
“Fine. Ask away.”
“Have you ever killed someone?”
“No comment.”
“You agreed to tell the truth.”
“‘No comment’ is not a lie.”
“What about Jefferson? Has he ever killed someone?”
“It’s better if you don’t know the answer to that.”
I let that sink in. I wonder what my life will be like from now on, tied to someone who might or might not have killed someone.
“He’s dangerous, but he’s good,” Joaquin says after a while.
I turn to him. “What?”
“He’s a good guy and he deserves to be happy. He gets obsessive about his side quests—the latest being you—so you’ll have to pull him back once in a while to show him the big picture.”
I think about this. He’s talking like Jefferson and I are a committed, long-term item. I like how that feels. Yet, I think I can see the obsessive side of Jefferson that Joaquin is talking about. Can I handle that?
“Also, he’s rough around the edges. If he ignores you because he’s babying that ridiculous car of his, just kick his ass a little bit.”
I gasp. “Oh, I would never…”
“I mean that figuratively. He forgets to eat, and when he does, he eats like shit. So you’ll have to make him eat a vegetable every now and then.”
“I can handle that.”
“Jefferson wasn’t raised right at all. He was removed from his parents’ custody for neglect when he was eight years old. That’s where we met. We looked out for each other in a pretty shitty group home, and we’ve been like brothers ever since. He doesn’t usually get attached, but in the end, he always sticks up for victims. That’s also you.”
“I’m not a victim.”
“Whatever. I’m just telling you the way it is.”
“He’s a hero,” I say.
“Don’t tell him that. He’s too humble. He’s also driven, hard-headed, and doesn’t give a shit if he puts himself in harm’s way. That’s why I finally decided to do what I had to do.”
“Why was it better that you find Orlyn than Jefferson?”
Joaquin turns to me and says, “Because our man Jeffy finally has something to live for.”
I blink. “Which is?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “You, baby girl. It’s you.”
I turn away and face the courthouse lawn, processing what he just said.
“And he’s not gonna have you out of his system anytime soon. So I suggest you buckle up and make an honest man out of him.”
Jefferson exits the courthouse as half a dozen men in polo shirts walk in hurriedly, followed by a team of what looks like very expensive lawyers. My heart nearly stops when I see among the crowd the faces of my father, Uncle Nevyn, and four other elders from the church.
On the lawn, a small group of people have assembled, holding up colorful protest signs demanding that the polygamists leave Darling Creek. Some are pretty vulgar, and some invoke street justice.
“Oh man,” I say.
Word about Orlyn’s apprehension has spread fast.
Remaining in this state of limbo, in hiding, while the tension grows and grows around town seems like the wrong thing to do.
I have to choose a side. Even if that means I’ll never see my parents again. Or my siblings. Unless they decide to leave, it’ll be impossible.
I open the door and throw my arms around Jefferson when he approaches the car.
“Baby, what are you doing? Get in the car,” he says, squeezing me tight.
“I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to pick a side.”
With his hands on my hips, he kisses me. My lips have been missing that.
“Of course you’re on a side. You left, didn’t you?”
I nod. “But there’s only one way to make sure I can never go back.”
He waits for me to continue, urging me on.
God, I hope I don’t have to be the one to ask. “They won’t want me back in the church if…”
I wait, and the facts finally click in Jefferson’s brain.
“If you get married,” he says.
I bite my lip and wait for what he says next.
A smile creeps across his face, and he gestures with his chin in the direction of the courthouse. “Well, hell. Right this way, sweetheart.”