Micah shook his head.
“Me neither. I mean, okay, Unitarian, Methodist, those vanilla faiths—fill your boots. But some camp in the forest, people dressed in robes praying eight hours a day…”
She threw her arms up in evident frustration. Micah noted the burn scar carried down her left arm and peeked from the sleeve of her T-shirt.
“Sorry. I’m probably boring the piss out of you.”
“My piss remains in my bladder,” he told her. “I find this interesting.”
That was not one hundred percent true. Micah had heard stories like this a dozen times. But those stories had not been told by Ms. Ellen Bellhaven, from Parts Unknown.
He said, “You try the cops at all?”
“Sherri barked up that tree already. Like I said, custody of Nate fell to Reggie after my sister went to jail. He’s a mailman, for Christ’s sake. Police hear that—stable job, money in the bank—okay, they figure the kid’s fine.”
Could be he is fine, Micah thought. Sure, he is getting a bellyful of scripture, but there are worse things. He is with his father, not huffing diesel fuel out of a jam jar.
“What is your stake in it?”
Ellen looked at him funny. The sunlight fell through the oak leaves and settled on her arresting face.
“You said you hardly even know your nephew,” Micah went on.
“And that matters?”
Micah squinted at the sky. He felt itchy all over. Ah, fuck it. “Beer?”
He punched holes in a can and left it on the tailgate. Ellen came closer to pick it up. She ran the cold can across her forehead. She took the gum out of her mouth and stuck it on the top and took a sip.
“Thanks.”
She pulled a dollar bill from her pocket and dropped it into the grocery sack. Micah took it out and put it into his pocket.
“My sister said you would do it for money.”
“You got much?”
“Our father was pretty good at making money.”
“Why not go on your own?”
She said, “I thought about it. The truth? It freaks me out. The place where they are, this Little Heaven? Really isolated. A bunch of Bible bashers stewing out in the middle of the woods. Hell, I might turn into a pillar of salt.”
“They are harmless, I am sure. Why not hire a wilderness guide?”
She drank deeply. The muscles of her throat flexed. She did not answer his question. But Micah knew that if the boy was in a rough spot, she would want him removed. Any guides would be out of their depth in that circumstance.
“I’d go if you go,” she said.
“You cannot walk out with the kid.”
She set her jaw. “I’ll pay you to try. No, forget I said that—just to get me there, okay? I want to see the place. Peace of mind, yeah?”
Micah shut his eye. The sun warmed the eyelid not covered by the patch.
“No.”
“No, you can’t do it?”
“Cannot is not so much part of it.”
Ellen Bellhaven put the can down. She unwrapped another stick of gum and folded it into her mouth. “Why not?”
Micah got up and shut the tailgate. Ellen took a few steps back. He opened the door and slung his body behind the wheel.
“Hey,” she said. “Hey.”
He started the truck and set it in gear.
“I’m staying at the Budget Inn,” she called as he drove away. “Just think about it, for Christ’s sake!”
4
MICAH HAD NO INTENTION of thinking about it. But he did.
Which is to say, he thought about Ellen Bellhaven. Which forced him to think about her offer.
My sister said you would do it for money.
Which was true. Micah had done much more ignoble things for the coin of the realm. He wasn’t picky, as a rule. But the idea of shepherding a woman into the woods so she could check up on her nephew struck him as a chapter ripped out of a Hardy Boys book. The Legend of Little Heaven’s Gold.
But then, considering he did do pretty much anything for money, and providing Ms. Bellhaven had the means to pay…
He was trying to talk himself into it. Idiotically, he found that he wanted to spend more time with Ellen. Still, wasn’t it easy money? Guide her to this Little Heaven and let her get a peek at the kid. So long as the boy’s arms weren’t covered in fang bites from handling cobras and he didn’t have a crucifix branded on his forehead… well, they could just toddle off again, right? How hard could it be?
Micah dwelled on it for a day. Then he brought it up with the other two. He shouldn’t need them on this job. But there was that old chestnut: Better to bring a gun and not need it than to need a gun and not have one.
“So what—this guy and his kid are shacked up with a bunch of Freedomites?” Minerva said once Micah had outlined the situation.
“Something like that,” said Micah.
Ebenezer spanked his hands together and high-kneed around in a little circle. “Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna-Krishna-Hare-Hare!”
“How much we talking?” Minerva said.
Micah said, “I am given to understand her family has money.”
Minerva said, “So why not just rob her?”
Micah frowned. “It will only take a few days.”
“We can have a wienie roast,” said Eb, warming to the idea. “And tell spook stories. Isn’t that what you Yanks do on campouts?”
The two of them were game. Micah left it at that. Ellen Bellhaven had probably left by now, anyway. Packed up and returned to wherever she had come from.
She was gone. Micah was sure of it.
5
MICAH PULLED into the graveled lot of the Budget Inn. One car was parked in the lot. He noted its out-of-state plates.
He was heading inside to check with the clerk when he heard his name.
“Micah! Hey, Micah!”
Ellen stood on the second-floor balcony. Dressed in the same Carhartts but a different shirt. The sun glossed her hair and made it shine like a mirror—which was a stupid, dainty detail to take note of. Micah chided himself for it.
He said, “How much to take you?”
She gave him a number. It was quite a high one, with more than two zeroes.
Wouldn’t anything be high enough? an arch voice whispered in his head. Wouldn’t her giving you the time of day be enough?
“We leave tomorrow. My partners will come.”
She slapped the balcony railing and hooted. “Goddamn it, Micah. I was just about to give up on you.”
You are making a fool of yourself, said that arch voice.
Well. Maybe so. He liked to think he never made the same mistake twice. He didn’t have much experience with women—one mistake was within his rights, wasn’t it?
6
IT WAS PAST MIDNIGHT. Little Heaven lay in darkness.
The Reverend Amos Flesher slept with a purple-headed erection.
Someone was touching him in his dream. Small, soft fingers running up and down the shaft of his penis. Unsexed fingers, not identifiably male or female, boy or girl. But they were very knowing, those fingers. Oh yes. Playing over the crown so teasingly, coaxing him toward climax—oh please, pretty pretty please!—only to slow their rhythm the instant before release.
Next the fingernails dug into the sensitive tip, pinching the slit where some semen was just starting to leak out—