“My daughter, you drove to a pedophile, for 20 grand at the word of Kindred?” Hymn asked again for clarification.
“Yessuh. I did as Kindred directed me to do in your absence.”
Theodore’s last words were halted in his throat as Hymn drove a knife straight through his heart. Theodore’s wife, a silly woman with wild raven hair, didn’t balk, scream, or seem shocked. Immediately, she stepped over her dead husband and came to Hymn’s side.
“Where is Kindred?” Hymn asked the woman.
“The men in dark suits put him in the back of one of the vehicles,” Theodore’s widow informed the charismatic leader. “Funny thing was, Hymn, Kindred wasn’t in cuffs when they put him in the back seat.”
“How many did I lose?”
“All but what stands before you. This is our way of life and this we will rebuild,” she promised, ready to do anything the man asked. Once before she’d disappointed Hymn and Letty was given to Theodore as a wife last year. She hated Theodore and was glad he was dead. The man never listened. The joy of being rid of his stinking mouth made her nearly dance.
“Willow and Dusty Rose?” Hymn asked Letty, although he knew the answer.
“I’m sorry, Hymn. We went to the creek to do laundry, and then all hell broke loose. People were running left and right, and honestly, I don’t know what happened to them.”
Hymn knew.
They escaped.
Escaped from his world.
He would get them back.
His hands reached deep into a great deal of pockets and if not the pockets, he held enough photographs of debauching men, performing debauching acts with underage girls. Willow, Dusty Rose, and Karli would be found. Of that he was certain.
But first, he needed to sink his knife into Kindred’s heart; then he’d find the man who took his family and sink a blade into his.
“It’s quite alright, Letty. On this rock I shall build my church,” he said, holding out his hand for the followers to genuflect in front of and kiss.
Chapter Six – Facsimile
RAPHAEL CARRIED FOUR rubber bins loaded with women’s, missy, girl’s clothing to the patio, one by one. Each container was emptied onto the decking and pushed about with the end of a cane fishing pole to ensure no unwanted tenants had moved into the bin as a squatter. Finally, with the last one out, Raphael was ready to go down and work on his vehicle. The list in his head of things to do before Monday morning rolled in grew incrementally with each step he took.
Ammunition. Check.
Leather gloves. Check.
Dark eye shades. Cracked. Need a new pair.
Burner phone. Down one, given to Willow. Maybe Dusty needed one as well. Extra burner phones in downstairs office. If Dusty gets one, Karli is going to want one too. Just flipping dandy, I’m in the middle of trying to put a bullet in a man’s head, and I get a phone call about goddamn unicorns. What is my life coming to? Is this what Mr. Mann, Stop, and Yield have to deal with? Maybe I should pay them a visit and ask some questions. Maybe not. They aren’t staying.
I want them to stay.
Who the fuck said that?
Raphael hadn’t left the patio when he looked around and gasped. Dusty Rose was trying on the clothing. She’d stripped down to what he barely considered to be underpants and no bra, and was basically naked, outside, where everyone could see the developing teenage body.
“Good God, child, what in the hell are you doing? Put your clothes back on this instant,” he said, making her jump. She fumbled with the clothing, trying to get a dress on over her head to cover her body. The tone of his voice brought Willow running, but she didn’t enter the patio but stood hidden behind a curtain to hear what the new “daddy” had to say.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I wanted to try on the clothes,” she said, her bottom lip quivering. “There are so many pretty things. I’ve never seen so many clothes in such bright colors.”
“I understand, Dusty, but look over your shoulder,” he said, pointing at the shrubbery between the two houses. For years, he’d been promising to put up a privacy fence to divide the properties which were too close for comfort and in the line of sight for prying eyes. One set of eyes had already come forward.
“Hey-O, Hoyt-O!” Jeb Malone called out. “Whatcha got going on over there, some kind of naked party? She looks kind of young for an old man like you.”
“Jeb, this is my oldest daughter Dusty,” Raphael replied, surprised by the sincerity in his own voice. “She forgets that this house does not have the same privacy as the one in Malibu.”
“Malibu? You have a house in...wait a minute. Did you say oldest daughter? That implies that you have more than one. When did you get kids? Hey, you have to have a woman to have kids,” Jeb said, rubbing his Dr. Seuss’s Sneetch-like belly as if he were trying to digest the newly acquired knowledge.
Willow stepped from behind the curtain. She walked over to Raphael, slipping her arms around his waist. For good measure, she looked up at him, puckering up for a kiss on the lips. He was close to thumping her on the mouth, but instead, leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
Karli ran out, happy to see her new Daddy and Mommy getting along so well, but also spotting the clothing, began to strip down to try on a tee shirt she spotted in the pile. All of those clothes folded and haphazardly strewn about the deck including shirts, pants, skirts, blouses, and Raphael lamented that the child managed to locate the one molly-hopping tee shirt with a unicorn on it.
“Dang blasted, Karli, get in the house. We’ll bring the clothes inside,” Raphael said, giving Willow a squeeze, asking her to help the girls.
Not only had Jeb come out of shrubbery on the left, but Stanley Hickson materialized on the right side.
“Well look at what we have here. Raphael Hoyt has a family and kids. Your Momma never said anything about a wife and children,” Jeb said, looking from Dusty to Karli, to Raphael. “You have older children. Where them kids come from, Hoyt?”
“Good grief, you two are worse than gossiping old women,” Raphael said. “Dusty Rose is from a previous relationship and Karli is with my...wife Willow here.”
“Wife! Well slap my neck and call over a vampire! My carotid is pumping a ton of blood to my old brain. Welcome to the Daddy club,” Stanley Hickson, MD, said. “Hey, how old is Dusty? My boy Stan Jr. can show her around the island. He’s about 15. No driver’s license, but he has an ATV and a beach cruiser.”
“Thanks, both of you,” Raphael replied, waving at the meddlesome men and urging his family inside. Nothing had gone as expected today, and he was bordering on shaking a full-sized body until a set of teeth rattled.
“Hey-O, Hoyt-O, my wife would love to know there’s a hen over in this house. You know for recipe swaps and the like,” Jeb said.
“My wife would too. They get so bored during the off season,” Stanley said.
“Maybe your wives should keep each other company,” Hoyt said, pushing his family inside. “Have a great day!”
“We are grilling later if you want to swing over,” Stanley offered.
“I was going to invite them all over to my house,” Jeb said, angered that Stanley had beat him to the punch.