Play with Fire

chapter Thirty-Four

THE METROPOLITAN AREA (such as it was) of Sheridan, Wyoming, boasts about thirty thousand souls. Quite a few of them must belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, since there are three Mormon centers of worship within the metropolitan area.

The night was clear and cold, so they had the heat going in the stolen Ford Explorer. The street where they were parked was in an affluent, well-lit neighborhood. But Ware had still found a patch of shadow for them to wait in.

“I thought all the Mormons was in, like, Utah,” Mark said, from the back seat.

“Utah is their home ground,” Ware said. “But they’ve spread out quite a bit since things got started in the 19th Century – not surprising, since their ‘faith’ encourages big families.”

“They breed like f*ckin’ bunnies, is what you mean,” Elektra said from the front seat.

“Inelegantly but accurately put, my dear,” Ware said. “They’re all over the world now – but the closer you get to Utah, of course, the greater the concentration.”

Jeremy squinted at the big white house with green trim that was halfway down the block from where they sat. “Doesn’t look like much, if a f*ckin’ bishop lives there.”

“Your mind is still stuck in the Catholic model, Jeremy.” Ware told him. “No palaces or fancy hats for the Mormons – at least, not at this level. Although their hierarchy in Salt Lake City is as grandiose as anything you’ll find in the Vatican.”

“Jeremy used to be an altar boy,” Elektra said. “Until some priest started f*cking his little bunghole. Although I kinda think he liked it, at least a little bit.”

Jeremy muttered something in the back seat, but Elektra had sharp ears. “Did you just call me a cunt, Jeremy? Did you? Last night, you seemed to think my cunt was the finest–”

“I think it’s about time for your counseling appointment, my dear,” Ware said firmly. “You wouldn’t want to keep Bishop Hayes waiting.”

The young woman was silent at once.

“Go on, now,” Ware said. “You know the signal once you’ve got him unconscious.”

“Blink the porch light twice.”

“Exactly.”

As Elektra crossed the street, Jeremy said, “I thought you said that bitch was no good for this part of the work.” His voice was petulant.

“Ordinarily she isn’t – but I’ve given her a cover story that suits her persona very well,” Ware said. “The fallen woman, a former prostitute, seeking redemption through the True Faith. It’s a story as old as Mary Magdalene – although that lady’s tawdry reputation is undeserved.”

Mark took a few moments to parse Ware’s last sentence. “You mean she wasn’t a whore? That’s what I always heard.”

“No, Mary never traded sex for money. She was more of what today we’d call a star f*cker, enamored of the so-called Messiah.”

“How come you know stuff like this, Theron?” Mark asked.

“I read a lot.”

Mark and Jeremy silently pondered the notion that someone would actually read a great deal – voluntarily. After a while, Jeremy asked, “What about those people who you said was looking for us – that Texan guy and the witch? You said you were gonna take care of them.”

“Oh, I have,” Ware said. “I hired the services of a most reliable subcontractor. He said the problem would be taken care of very soon. Sort of a ‘final solution,’ if you will.”

He chuckled at that, and the other two joined him, although they had no idea what Ware had said that was so funny. Then it was silent inside the vehicle until Ware said, “The porch light – see it?”

“Blinked twice,” Jeremy said. “Guess she’s got him.”

“Then it’s time for us to go get him,” Ware said, and put the vehicle into gear. “The Bishop has a date with my knife.”