He’s made his point, felt his shot hit its mark, so he moves on. “Maybe it would’ve been in your best interest if he’d let me see you before it had to come to this,” he continues, pulling a handkerchief from a breast pocket, and snorting into it for a moment, before continuing. “Sorry, sinuses,” he apologizes before getting back to the point. “I was trying to tell you that I’ve gotten complaints about you, and they were saying things. Pretty awful things. I only wanted to warn you, you know?” He pauses, perhaps to give me a chance to defend myself, maybe pin the blame for my silence on Judas. I refuse to do so, saying nothing.
He changes tacks. For the moment. “You know a Mr. Lassiter? Head of the Citizens Opposed to Carnal Knowledge group?”
Of course I do. They’ve been a few steps behind us the entire tour. And I’d know Lucifer’s handiwork anywhere, his juvenile sense of humor making itself evident in his self-righteous group’s acronym. I’m sure he finds it quite amusing. If his group ever figures it out, I somehow doubt they’ll see any humor in being members of C.O.C.K. I’m also not about to point it out, either.
“I do,” I reply, and offer no more.
“They don’t like you much, do they?”
“I’ve gotten that impression, yes. I’m sure they mean well, Sheriff, but they don’t understand us, or what we’re trying to do…”
“Maybe you can explain it to me?” He sits back slightly, crossing his legs at the ankle, one hand adjusting the brim of his ten gallon hat before he takes it off completely, and holds it in his lap. “What are you all about, Mr. Stone?” I give him a warm but fleeting smile. “I’m afraid I could never explain us to your satisfaction.”
“You could try.”
“I could…” I counter lightly, but offer no more.
He sighs, pinching up the brim of his hat, frowning down at it as he turns it within his hands, and then back up to me. “I really need you to cooperate,” he says.
“This group is after your blood.”
“There’s nothing they can do to me.”
“They can put you away for the rest of your life. Isn’t that bad enough? Keep you away from…your followers?” I can hear the words he’s trying not to say, for some reason, as if he’s afraid by saying it I’ll be either embarrassed or angry.
Either choice is ridiculous. Besides, I know what he says isn’t going to come to pass. I know better. I can’t tell him that, naturally. I owe him no explanations.
What will be, will be.
“I have done nothing,” I assert softly, “can they say the same?”
“Mr. Stone, you are a baffling man,” he admits in frustration, rubbing thoughtfully at his jaw. “You know, I could arrest Jarvis, too, is that what you want? To have him in the next cell? I could do that very easily…” His eyes are narrowed as he stares straight into my own, testing me. I conceal the trembling of my soul at his last words. He’s bluffing, and I know it. He only wishes to see my reaction. I cannot allow that. I will protect Judas, no matter what.
With my very life. Perhaps there may be a way in which he can leave this place, get away before his final act is carried out, although I admit to not knowing how or where that is to be. My Father very wisely doesn’t allow me to know that part of the script, perhaps fearing my interference. Or simply to save me the pain of knowing how his life will end.
Well, even not knowing, I intend to interfere, somehow. I just haven’t figured out how. All I know is I can’t allow Judas to die. He deserves a real life, a better life and death than this. And I intend to move Heaven and Hell to see he gets it.
For once. This time. I won’t fail him again.
My lips are moving, I feel words, perhaps ill-chosen words, threaten to spill forth when a sound draws our attention. We both turn in the direction of the noise, watching as the door to the jailhouse opens with an insistent clatter. In strides the object of our conversation himself, and I can’t help the smile that flies to my lips at the sight of him, followed quickly by amazement.
He looks just like he has walked off the runway of an Armani fashion show, decked out in a navy pinstriped suit, with the palest of blue shirts beneath it, set off by a silver tie, with diagonal stripes. His blond hair is well-coifed into a number of small braids that frame his handsome face most magnificently, and the overall effect is enough to leave me momentarily stunned as my lover makes his grand entrance, walking into the very lion’s den. He spies us immediately and struts toward us, taking up a position just on the other side of the bars, sets one hand on his hip, glaring at Kaplan defiantly.