C
HAPTER
T
WELVE
Near Vaughan, Mississippi
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Vaughan, Mississippi is noted for being the site of Casey Jones's famous train wreck, and in the “before time,” there had been a Casey Jones Museum there. On the evening of the sixth day after Tom and Sheri left St. Louis, they were making camp about five miles north of Vaughan, when they encountered their first trouble. Tom was standing by his bicycle, and Sheri was about to spread out their sleeping bags when someone suddenly leaped out from behind a tree and grabbed her.
“Tom!” Sheri shouted.
Tom reached under the bicycle seat and got his pistol.
The man who had grabbed Sheri had one arm around her waist, while in his other hand he was holding a knife to her throat. Tom raised his pistol and pointed it at the intruder.
“Let her go,” Tom said.
“You better put that little popgun down, mister, before I cut your woman's throat.”
“Why would you do that? If you kill her, I'll kill you.”
“Didn't you hear what I said? Put that gun down, or I'll cut her up bad.”
“Do the Bud, Sheri,” Tom said calmly.
Bud was the parrot Tom's parents had once owned, and Sheri knew exactly what he was talking about, because when Bud wanted attention, he would sometimes bob his head back and forth.
Sheri leaned her head to the right, and the punk who was holding her, caught by surprise, suddenly had one half of his head exposed. Without a moment's hesitation, Tom pulled the trigger. His bullet struck the would-be mugger just above his left eye. He went down, dead before he hit the ground.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked, holding the smoking pistol in his hand.
“Well, I'm glad to know that you would have killed him if he had killed me,” Sheri said.
“It's the least I could do for the woman I love,” Tom said.
Sheri laughed. “I don't know why I'm laughing. Maybe it's to keep from screaming.”
“Nah, you did very well, you did exactly what you had to do,” Tom said.
“Damn, did he ever have a bad case of body odor,” Sheri said. “What will we do with him?”
“I'll drag his sorry ass out into the woods so we don't have to see him tonight,” Tom said. “Why don't you open us a can of sardines?”
“Last night was sardines,” Sheri said. “Tonight it's kippers.”
“They're coming out of the same can, aren't they?”
“Oh but Tom, my sweet. It's all a matter of perception, don't you know?”
Tom chuckled. “Then kippers it is.”
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SPS Headquarters, Arlington, Virginia
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The two Janissaries who had arrested Margaret Malcolm were Americans by birth, having been born Clint Anderson and Keith Darrow. In order to join the SPS they had converted to
Moqaddas Sirata
Islam, and had taken the Muslim names of Husni Mawsil and Shurayh Amaar. Shortly after joining the SPS, they were selected by Reed Franken to be members of the elite Janissary Corps.
On the day after the arrest, trial, and execution of Margaret Malcolm, the Janissaries held an award ceremony. With every member of the elite force present, the Janissary commander, Omar Faquar, called his troops to attention, then asked Mawsil and Amaar to step forward.
Mawsil and Amaar moved to the front of the formation, then stood at attention. Faquar lifted a paper and began to read.
“With the blessings of Allah, the all powerful, Husni Mawsil and Shurayh Amaar are here to be cited for meritorious service.
“Officers Mawsil and Amaar, while on patrol, did find a woman whose name is not worthy of mention, dressed as the whore she was. Further investigation by Mawsil and Amaar determined that the whore had but recently seduced an innocent young man. Acting upon this information, Mawsil and Amaar arrested the woman, who was subsequently tried, convicted, and executed for adultery.
“For their meritorious service, Officers Mawsil and Amaar are awarded, by order of the Great Leader, President for Life Mehdi Ohmshidi, the Crescent for Bravery, Third Class.”
Mawsil and Amaar stood proudly as the medals were pinned to their tunics. Their fellow officers applauded, and congratulated them.
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Muslimabad
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The “innocent young man” who had been beguiled by Margaret's provocative attire was named Billy Donner. It was easy to find out about him, because he had given several interviews in which he discussed how the wanton woman had seduced him.
“It was my fault”
[Donner said] .
“As soon as I saw her dressed like she was, I should have turned my back on her.”
“It wasn't your fault, Mr. Donner”
[the interviewer said].
“It is a well-known fact that Satan works his way on men and boys by residing in the souls of women, all women. It is for that reason that women must wear the burqa, so that Satan be contained. Margaret Malcolm, by refusing to wear the burqa, released Satan to ply his ways.”
From the interview Chris learned that Donner worked in a convenience store less than one block away from where Margaret had been raped. He waited one month, then, to make certain that he still worked there, Chris went to the store to buy a can of coffee.
“Say, haven't I seen you on television?” Chris asked Donner.
Donner smiled. “Yes. I'm the one who was seduced by the woman they stoned.”
“How did that happen?”
“I had just gone out back to empty some trash in the container when I saw her. And, well, like they said, it was the way she was dressed. Satan took hold of me.”
“Pretty, was she?”
“Oh, yeah!” Donner said with a smirk. “Only, she was pretty like a whore, if you know what I mean.”
“I'm sure I do. So after you raped her . . .”
“The law says it wasn't rape.”
“Really? Because from what I read, you forced yourself on her.”
“Yes, but that's a mere technicality, don't you see? I told you, it was the way she was dressed. The two SPS who come along seen that right off. Why, they didn't do nothin' to me, but they sure hauled her off to jail.”
“Were you surprised they didn't do anything to you?”
“Well, yeah, I was at first. But then when they told me that it wasn't my fault, I understood.” Donner laughed, then reached down to grab himself. “That kind of makes any woman who ain't wearin' a burqa fair game, if you know what I mean.”
“If it means what I think it means, you'll be doing it again.”
“You better believe it. Next time I see a woman who ain't wearin' one of them burqas, well, it's Katie bar the door. 'Cause I aim to get me some of it.”
“I guess the new
Moqaddas Sirata
law authorizes that, all right,” Chris said.
“Yeah. You know, at first,” Donner looked around the store to make certain he wouldn't be overheard, “At first, I didn't like the way things was. I mean, take for example no beer, no football or basketball or baseball. But it's turned out real good. You might not believe this, but in the before time I wasn't all that lucky around women. Seemed they didn't like me for some reason. But now it don't matter whether they like me or not. If I see one I like, why hell, I'll just take her.”
“Rape her, you mean?”
“No, no, like I told you, it ain't rape. If they ain't wearin' one of them pup tent things, why, what they're doin' is seducin' me.” Donner grabbed himself. “And poor ole' me, I just can't help it, when I'm seduced.” He laughed.
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“I know it's asking a lot,” Chris said to Kathy York, the young woman who had been Margaret's best friend. Kathy was the one Margaret had been on the way to see, on the day she was raped. “And I can understand if you don't want to do it.”
“I'll do it,” Kathy said.
“I want you to know what you are getting yourself into. This is the son of a bitch who raped Margaret, and I intend to kill him. That means if you help me, you'll be an accessory to the murder.”
Kathy shook her head. “It won't be murder, it will be justice.”
“You're a good woman. No wonder you were Margaret's best friend.”
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That same day, at closing time, Kathy was standing by the trash container that was behind the convenience store where Donner worked. In these hard times, it wasn't that unusual for people to go through trash containers, especially behind stores, to see what they could salvage. What made this a little different, is the way Kathy was dressed. She was a beautiful girl, with long dark hair, and big brown eyes. Her face was visible because it wasn't behind a veil. Her voluptuous shape was clearly evident by her short skirt which showed a long stretch of legs, and she wore a very low-cut blouse.
The back door opened and Chris, who was concealed behind the trash container, saw Donner coming out back with a bag of trash.
“Here he comes,” Chris hissed.
Kathy bent over toward the Dumpster, causing her skirt to rise up some, and cling tightly enough to her as to outline her derrière, just as Donner came through the back door of the store.
“Well now,” Donner said. “What have we here?”
“Please, sir,” Kathy said. “I'm not doing anything wrong, I'm just looking to see if I can find something to sell for food.”
“If you're going to look through my trash container, you're going to have to pay for it,” Donner said as he began to unzip his trousers.
“No,” Kathy said. “Never mind, I'll find another container to look through.”
“Too late, whore.” Donner chuckled. “I've done had me one woman, and guess what. She's the one that got arrested. Maybe you heard about it. They stoned her 'cause of the way she was dressed. And it wasn't as bad as the way you're dressed now. I tell you what a nice guy I am. After we have our fun, you can go on your way, and I won't even report you for seducing me.”
Donner reached out to grab the front of her blouse. He jerked it down, and her breasts spilled out.
“Oh, yeah, I'm goin' to like this.”
“I don't think you will,” Chris said, stepping up behind Donner. Reaching around with his knife, he sliced through Donner's carotid artery. Donner put his hand to his neck, as the blood literally spurted through his fingers.
Chris stepped around in front of him, then pulled a silver flask of whiskey from his pocket. He took a drink, then raised the flask toward Donner in a macabre salute.
“I was in love with the woman you raped, you sorry son of a bitch. And I want my face to be the last thing you see before you go to hell.”
Kathy had brought a burqa with her and now she stepped around behind the Dumpster and slipped it on over her clothes. Leaving the alley, they walked back to Chris's apartment building. Then, making certain no one saw her, Kathy went into the apartment.
Kathy took the burqa off, with a sigh of contentment.
“Who the hell came up with this monstrosity?” she asked, tossing the burqa into the corner, then sitting on the sofa.
“Don't you know? It is the dress of the enlightened.”
“Enlightened, my ass.”
“Would you like to engage in a little sin?” Chris asked.
“What?”
Chris laughed, then poured two glasses of whiskey before he came back to sit on the sofa beside Kathy. He gave one to her.
“Oh, you meant this kind of sin,” Kathy said with a chuckle. She took a sip of the whiskey. “Sure, I'll sin. But I thought you meant something else.”
“And if I did?”
Kathy took another swallow of her drink, and stared at Chris through smoky eyes.
“
Do
you mean something else?”
Chris put his drink down, then pulled Kathy into his arms, kissing her deeply.
“I'm sorry,” Chris said. “I had no right to do that.”
Kathy touched his cheek and held her fingers there for a long moment as she looked at him with a small smile playing across her lips.
“You shouldn't apologize for doing something that we both wanted,” Kathy said.
“It's just that Margaret . . .”
“Has been dead for a month,” Kathy said. “And I have a strong feeling that she would approve.”