It's Not My Cult! by A.X. Kalinchuk

Author:A.X. Kalinchuk
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

CHAPTER 8:

Red Afternoon

Raymond

“Good. You’re here. Let’s talk.” I waved Virgil to the chair across from me inside this Seattle Coffee on a weekday afternoon. Nobody here now but nursing students leaning over anatomy charts, wedding planners who wouldn’t rent an office, and wannabe novelists.

“Let’s talk? You sound like my last girlfriend.”

I didn’t answer this, just waved him to the chair again because once you started down the road of distraction with Virgil, well, you had to pack a lunch.

“You know, there IS something to discuss,” Virgil said, “and I’m not just saying that because you said it first.”

“I didn’t see you drive up.” I’d taken a taxi here after a taking a long confused walk in a place called Heritage Park by the hotel. Shouldn’t a place called Heritage Park have a statue or plaque, or some fucking ARTIFACT of heritage? What did ‘heritage’ mean otherwise? Some real estate developer’s joke?

“Nah,” he shrugged after sitting, “I parked in Egypt.”

“Carsewell has a job for us.”

“Great. I’ve always been told that I thrive on structure. If he’s got a task, let’s have it. I would’ve made a great hamster, unless I didn’t have a wheel.”

“Focus, Virgil. What he wants is messy work we’ve already done.” I sat back, let him think on it.

“You mean a week ago?” Virgil made a face, pointed over his shoulder as if outside stood a tin-hat corpse with a knife in his heart and mouthful of worms. “That gardening upstate?”

“Yeah. That.” I gave him a moment. “Carsewell wants him.”

“That son-of-a-bitch was from the compound?”

“Is. Was. He went batshit a month back. He got here, he sent Carsewell an email saying how he’d kill the false prophet Dosek because that way the faith would come back.”

“Okay, even if it’s a sham religion, this is the shit that fucks with me. ‘I’ll kill you or bomb something to bring back the faith’. What is that?”

“Congratulations Virgil, you’ve discovered 3AM college sophomore philosophy without drugs, alcohol, or tuition.”

“Ha-fucking-ha. So the gardening’s done. Why do we care?”

“Normally, I’d agree. It’s done. Let’s collect a bonus and get ready for the Austen Twins. They want to come back for a rehab refresher. It’s not even a month after they left. Either they like it out here, or they can’t do sobriety.”

“The Austen Twins? Shit, yeah.” Virgil squirmed in his chair, all tickled. “Becca emailed me a few days ago. She said she might come, bring a friend. I can have a foursome. Girls like that always know more girls like that. Party girls.”

“Keep dreaming. So Carsewell wants the rehab program to take off with the young, fucked-up and famous, but it won’t if that tin-hat shit kills Dosek and tells the cops he did it for the Zot faith. Austen Twins will not endorse us then.”

“So. Call for our bonus. He’s gone. Should’ve known someone that crazy could only come from the compound.”

“Thing is,” I said, “I’m hoping they just cleaned the room and forgot about him. The motel, I mean. I wouldn’t THINK they reported him missing.

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