Exit Kingdom (9 page)

It’s Fletcher, Moses knows, recognizing him from the description Ignatius gave.
And it’s not surprising, such a torn and bloodied little man. A relay of brutality – inflicting
on the world the same mundane suffering he feels daily.

Moses hesitates not a second. He rushes forwards while the men are still startled and confused by the corpse of their companion lying on the ground, gets one big arm around Fletcher’s neck
and spins him to hold him from behind, the gun
in his hand shoved against Fletcher’s temple.

What Moses hopes for is some loyalty on the part of Fletcher’s men – and it’s a risk, because loyalty is a quaint and toylike notion in this ravaged place.

But there must be some impulse that touches on loyalty, because when Moses tells them to drop their weapons, they lower them at least.

Moses pressed the barrel of the pistol harder against
Fletcher’s head, and it feels like it will slip away on the greasy film that covers the man’s skin.

Goddamnit! Fletcher says to his own men. Do it! Drop the guns, you pricks, or I’ll kill you myself!

So it’s not loyalty so much as fear. But it works in any case. They drop their weapons.

Now who the fuck are you? Fletcher asks Moses, trying to angle his head to see the man who has him
by the neck. And what do you want? You might as well wish big, cause you’re gonna be dead
by dawn, you cocksucker.

Moses looks out over the horizon, the sky diffuse with brilliant umber.

It’s already dawn, he says close to the man’s ear.

Fuck you, you literal prick.

Now Moses can see Ignatius and the other congregants carefully peeking over the edge of the wall, watching the
exchange with solemn interest.

Moses backs away, dragging Fletcher with him.

I’m taking my brother and the girl, Moses says loud enough for everyone to hear. That’s our Chevy in the front. We’re taking it. Understand?

Fletcher’s men look uneasy about what to do, so Fletcher gives them commands.

Let’s just hold off on takin action at the moment, he tells them. Let’s all just wait
till I don’t got this goddamn pistol on my brain. How’s that sound? This asshole
can’t keep huggin me all day.

Moses pulls Fletcher back to where his brother sits on the ground.

Can you stand? Moses says.

Just barely, Abraham says.

Lean on the girl, he says. Then he says to the Vestal Amata, Help him up.

So the four of them hobble their way around to the front of the mission,
Fletcher’s men following at a respectful distance. But when they turn the last corner to the front gate, there are
more of Fletcher’s crew waiting. A caravan of eight or ten trucks and vans, lined up in a neat row, and figures posed around each with rifles and pistols aimed at Moses and his small,
stumbling group.

Now what, smokey joe? Fletcher says to Moses. You gotta let go of me at
some point.

Yeah, Moses says. About ten miles up the road.

The fuck you are.

Moses moves them to the Chevy and then calls out to Fletcher’s crew surrounding them.

Now look here, he says. We’re gettin in this car. First the girl and my brother. Then your bossman. He’s gonna sit in the front seat with me. I’m driving away, but my
brother’s gonna have a gun pointed at his head the
whole time.

He hesitates. The snarling faces of the men suggest that he is relying too heavily on their love of Fletcher. He wonders if they would mow them all down where they stand if it weren’t for
the loss of profit from the girl herself.

I’ll tell you like you told the padre and the people inside, Moses calls out. I got no truck with you or with your boss. You stay back, you let
us get out of here – and if I
don’t see you behind me, I’ll drop him by the side of the road ten miles down the freeway. Then you can chase us down all you want if you got the time and inclination.

How do I know you’ll let me go? Fletcher says.

I don’t like lookin at you, Moses says. And I won’t kill you cause I ain’t a killer of wretched things.

There are about thirty of them, the
caravan’s crew, and they all wait on Fletcher’s word. For a moment, the little scabbed man is silent. His sombrero is tilted to the side in goofy
asymmetry so Moses can fit under it too.

Everything is quiet, and Moses can hear the metallic thudding of the slugs inside the caravan trucks – no doubt moving back and forth in their miniature black cells.

All right, goddamnit, Fletcher finally
says to his people. Wait fifteen minutes and then come after me. I don’t wanna be sitting by the side of the road all goddamn day.

Watch your hands, Abraham says to Fletcher, pushing the barrel of the pistol against the back of the man’s head.

But Fletcher isn’t going for any weapon – he’s just reaching up to pick nervously at the scabs on his neck and the side of his face.

Ugh, Abraham says. Why don’t you just leave yourself alone?

Fletcher ignores him and speaks instead to the girl.

Who’s your friends, Tillie?

You won’t let him harm me, will you? the Vestal says to the brothers.

Listen at her talkin now! Fletcher says, laughing heartily. Ain’t we graced to carry a little princess in our motor carriage!

Hush up, Moses says to the man.

But Fletcher doesn’t hush.

She was
my
hire and salary, he says to Moses. And she was took from me unlawful. You want to pay for her release, we can talk terms. I ain’t an unreasonable man. But she was my main
event, so she don’t come cheap, and she certainly don’t come free.

I ain’t payin you, Moses says. I got nothing to pay you with.

Fletcher looks around the car, sneering.

No, he says. I don’t guess you do. This is sure enough a sorry little band of rescuers. You realize we’re gonna kill you, right? And we’re gonna kill you sloppy.

Hush up, Moses says again.

They drive west along the highway, Moses glancing every few seconds into the rearview mirror. No one is following them yet. One of the advantages of desert travel – you can see miles of
where you’re
going and miles of where you’ve been.

She’s more fuss than she’s worth, you know, Fletcher continues. Trouble with a capital T. But I guess you ain’t seen that side of her yet. I don’t know what kind of show
they had her doing there at the mission, but she was never dressed in no white robes for our performances. Seems like she picked up some airs these past couple weeks.

Moses can see
the girl in the rearview mirror. Her head is turned sharply away from Fletcher, and she is gazing out the window as though pretending not to be present at all. But Moses can see
her jaw shut tight, the muscles in her face clenched rock-like.

When they have been driving fifteen minutes, Moses pulls the car to the side of the road at the base of a stony outcropping. He leaves the motor running
and gets out and goes around to the
passenger side where he opens the door.

Get out, he says to Fletcher.

Happily, Fletcher says. It’s a lovely day for a nice sit.

The greasy man climbs out of the car and leans down to say farewell to the girl.

See you soon, fancy lady.

Come on, Moses says and leads him away to the shaded base of the outcropping where he tells him to sit.

Now you listen up, Moses says. We’re takin the girl. She ain’t part of your show any more. She don’t belong to you. You understand that?

You think she belongs to you? Fletcher says.

She don’t belong to anybody.

You got that part right, at least. Hell, take her. She can make you some money, but she’s bad business in the long run. I mean, Jesus, even the dead don’t want her. It’s
a bad
sign when those that’ll eat anything won’t even take a nibble from you. She’s a curse I’m glad to be got rid of.

Moses is staring at the man, considering these words, when he hears the car door open and close behind him. Then the girl herself is at his shoulder, and they both gaze down at the ridiculous
oily man in the sombrero.

What’s going on? she asks.

We’re just havin
a little palaver, Moses says.

What’s there to talk about? she says.

All manner of things.

You’re killing him, aren’t you? You swore to protect me.

See? Fletcher says. You see the bitterness in her heart?

I ain’t killing him, Moses says.

How come?

You see it now, sure, Fletcher says. Get shut of her while you can.

There was a bargain, Moses says to the girl. A bargain
between us and them – and it’s gonna get upheld.

Respectable, Fletcher says. A man of his word. Let’s all be men of our words.

I never made any bargain, says the Vestal Amata.

There is something hard in her, something angry. Moses wonders what exactly he has sworn to protect, and he wishes to know it for what it is. He wishes to sound the depths of it so as not to get
drowned in
its tides or ripped to pieces on its shoals.

No, Moses says to her. You’re right. You never made any bargain. So you kill him.

The two gaze upon each other. She realizes she’s being tested. Their eyes lock, and Moses feels as though he is being watched by a giant caged animal – a panther pacing back and
forth waiting for its moment to strike.

Give me the gun, she says, holding her
hand outstretched.

But he doesn’t give her the gun. Instead, he kicks around the base of the outcropping until he finds what he’s looking for. A loose stone roughly the size of a bowling ball. He hefts
it up and holds it out to her.

The shot’ll signal to them something’s gone wrong. You want to kill him, you gotta do it this way.

Hey, Fletcher says. Hey, wait a minute.

He rises
to his knees, but Moses points the gun at his head.

Stay down, Moses commands.

We had a deal, Fletcher says to Moses. You can’t just let her do it. That’s akin to doin it yourself.

Akin to it, but not exactly the same, Moses says.

He can see the sudden fear in the man’s eyes. There is no doubt in Fletcher’s mind that she’ll kill him.

And, indeed, she takes the rock from Moses.
The weight of it nearly topples her, small as she is, but she steadies it against her chest.

Jesus Christ, Fletcher says, raising one hand over his head and knocking the sombrero off to protect him from the stone and another palm towards the pistol to protect him from the bullet. He is,
at the moment, a truly pathetic thing. Jesus Christ, he says again. Tillie, don’t.

The Vestal Amata
uses all the strength in her small arms to raise the rock over her own head. She pauses for just a moment. Moses looks to see what’s in her eyes, and resolution is what he
finds there. Deep, unquestioning resolution.

At the last moment, Moses reaches out, seizes the rock from her hands and tosses it to the ground where it gives a deep, earthy thud that makes Fletcher fall forward into a
foetal position as
though he has actually been struck.

What happened? he says.

What happened is you got a stay of execution, Moses says. Now sit tight till your people come for you.

Moses takes the girl by the arm and heads back to the car.

This is your last chance, Fletcher calls out to Moses as they walk away. He has regained his confidence now that there is no rock hanging
over his head waiting to bash his brains in. You give
her back now, and we won’t even charge you to take her off your hands.

And he laughs.

Before they reach the car, Moses seizes the Vestal Amata by the shoulders and looks down into her unflinching face.

You were gonna do it, he says. You were gonna kill him in cold blood.

That’s right, she says. And you weren’t.

He wasn’t no threat to you – not then.

He shot your brother.

Is that what you were gonna do it for? On behalf of Abraham?

No. I was going to do it on behalf of myself. And on behalf of decency.

Decency, Moses repeats and guffaws. That’s a mighty big concept for such a little redheaded thing like yourself.

Little nothing – I’m the Vestal. Or haven’t you heard?

Your name
ain’t Amata. He called you something different. Tillie.

Amata’s the name that monk gave me. Tillie the Vestal just didn’t sound right to him. I didn’t use to always wear white robes either.

I guess you didn’t.

What’s that supposed to mean?

That trick back there with the slug. How’d you do it?

Her voice suddenly takes on a deep southern twang, as though in imitation of Moses
himself. Though Moses can’t decipher the shifts in her dialect – can’t determine which voice
is performance and which is real.

It ain’t no trick, brother Moses, she says. I’m speciallike.

You ain’t a holy woman.

Do you know what’s holy and what ain’t? You sure bout that?

I got a few ideas on the topic.

Well, don’t expect a deep dissertation on the matter from me. Let’s you
and I visit a slug town together and see which one gets along better with the locals.

You also got a trick to save you from throttling by living men who just get tired of your talkin?

Ladies and gentlemen, she addresses the desert around them, my sworn protector. Take a bow, Mosey.

Moses turns and walks the rest of the way back to the car. The Vestal follows a little behind.

Everything
taken care of? Abraham asks from the back seat.

Everything’s fine, Moses says.

Good, Abraham says. Cause someone better fish me the whiskey out of the back. The next time we stop you’re gonna have to dig a bullet out of my leg.

The Vestal is convinced that Fletcher is still after her, and Moses has suspicions in the same direction. So to disguise their trail, they drive
west along the highway for two
hours, then double back ten minutes and take the road north.

They move slowly, she says, Fletcher and his people – because there are so many of them. But they’ve got an Indian with them. A Zuni. He’s a good tracker.

What do you recommend? Moses asks.