Pillar of Fire

by R. R. Irvine

  “Do you want us to come with you?” Bill said.

  Traveler shook his head. “There’s beer in the cooler, though it may be warm by now.”

  Charlie automatically reached for his missing medicine bag, which had been confiscated by the St. George police. Both he and Bill claimed that its contents were part of their church ritual, for spiking the sacramental jug Barney kept on hand for them at the Chester Building. Beer was part of their sacrament only when nothing stronger was available.

  “When we reach the reservation, my brothers will replenish us,” Charlie said.

  Wearily, Traveler got out of the car, wedged a business card between one of the chain links and rang the bell. Before the echo faded, the storm door banged open and out rushed two frenzied rottweilers. By the time they’d covered the hundred feet or so from the house to the fence, they’d snarled enough froth to look rabid.

  Traveler backed up a step. Behind him, Bill and Charlie rolled up the windows despite the oppressive heat. Traveler stood his ground, keeping his empty hands in plain sight. Sweat began running into his eyes but he made no move to wipe them.

  The rottweilers gave up snarling to pace back and forth. A moment later their tails wagged when the storm door opened again and a man came out, a short-barreled shotgun cradled in one arm. He snapped his fingers and the dogs sat.

  “I’m looking for Karl Cederlof,” Traveler called.

  “You’ve found him.” Cederlof came up behind the dogs and stopped. He was a tall man, six-two at least, with stooped shoulders that seemed to apologize for his height. He was wearing a wide-brimmed straw cowboy hat that shaded his eyes from the sun.

  “I’m a private investigator,” Traveler told him, blinking against the sweat. “I stuck my card in your fence if you’d care to read it.”

  Cederlof retrieved it without taking his eyes off Traveler. He didn’t look at it until he was behind the dogs again. “Moroni Traveler,” he read loudly. “Is this one of Orrin Porter’s fucking jokes?” His tone of voice brought the dogs to their feet.

  Slowly, Moroni raised his hands. “I have nothing to do with Moroni’s Children.”

  “Easy,” Cederlof told the dogs.

  “The fact is, I’ve been hired to look into the situation in Fire Creek and since I’m told you own much of the land around there, I thought it might help if I spoke with you.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “I’m sorry. That’s confidential.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “We can start with Moroni’s Children.”

  “They’re squatting on my land, did they tell you that? I signed a paper saying those people could live in my houses and on my land rent free. Ever since, I’ve been waiting for the day that bastard Porter shows up again with another paper in his hand, deeding him everything, including my soul.

  “Did you ever look in that man’s eyes?” he continued. “He smiles at you. His lips curl, but you can see he wants you dead. When he smiled at me I told him he could have everything, lock, stock, and barrel. ‘Where do I sign?’ I said. ‘I’ll deed it over to you right now.’ You know what he said to that? ‘It won’t be necessary. Land only encumbers a man.’ He laughed then, looking me up and down. Measuring me for a coffin, I thought.”

  To keep him talking, Traveler tried a sympathetic smile.

  “I thought it was all bullshit before I met him,” Cederlof went on, “all that talk about him being the reincarnation of Orrin Porter Rockwell. Another bogeyman to scare kids, I thought, then I saw him for myself. Besides, that land’s not worth a damn anymore, what with the radiation and the cancer. Nobody’s willing to graze the land or drink milk from Fire Creek cows.”

  “Maybe Porter’s all bluff,” Traveler suggested.

  “Tell that to Mayor Gibbs, when you find his body.”

  “Could we move out of the sun?”

  “If you want to keep talking, we stay right here.”

  Using one hand, Traveler pulled up his shirt far enough to wipe his eyes. “Why are you willing to tell me all this?”

  “Because when I saw you standing out here, I realized I was a dead man anyway, if that’s what Porter wants. The fence can keep the dogs in but it can’t keep bullets out.”

  Without uncradling his shotgun, Cederlof knelt down to scratch one panting dog and then the other. “All right,” he said. “Home.”

  They wagged their tails, then trotted back to the house and disappeared under the porch.

  “It’s the coolest spot around,” Cederlof said, “and there’s water for them, too. I rigged up their own faucet under the house. All they have to do is nudge it with their noses.”

  “I could use a drink myself.”

  Cederlof shook his head, though Traveler had the feeling it had nothing to do with Traveler’s comment. “Mayor Gibbs drove up here to see me a week or so before the election. He said he was thinking of moving out of Fire Creek and wanted to check out Parowan for himself. But that wasn’t the real purpose of his visit, no, sir. ‘Brother Cederlof,’ he says to me, ‘since you were the only one in town with brains enough to get out rather than face off with these people, I thought I’d ask your advice.’ That wasn’t like Jake Gibbs to start doubting himself or asking for advice either. Of course, the cancer had a hold of him by then, that’s for sure. Anyway, he says to me, ‘Did this guy Porter do everything but make threats?’ When I said no, he tells me what’s going on. Porter had come to him just like to me, with a smile on his face and a paper in his hand. Only this time he wants Mayor Jake to resign from office and withdraw from the election. For ill health, the paper said.”

  Behind the fence, Cederlof paced back and forth, stopping now and then to kick at red rocks. When one of them rolled halfway to the house, a rottweiler’s head appeared from beneath the porch, its growl loud enough to carry all the way to Traveler.

  Cederlof waved to the dog, who disappeared again. “Mayor Gibbs laughed in Porter’s face. That’s what the mayor told me anyway. ‘Brother Cederlof,’ he said, ‘the joke’s on him. I would have been out of Fire Creek a long time ago if my health had been good. As it is, there’s no way I’m going to resign. If I did that, there wouldn’t be anything to do but sit on my front porch and wait for the cancer to eat up what’s left of me.’ ”

  Cederlof sighed deeply. “All of us are afraid of something, Mr. Traveler. You, me, the dogs. It’s just a matter of finding that fear. ‘Do you have a secret fear?’ Mayor Jake asked me that last time we talked.”

  He paused to glance over his shoulder. “ ‘With me,’ I told him, ‘it’s dentists. I’d do anything to stop them drilling my teeth.’ When I asked Jake what frightened him most he said, ‘When I wouldn’t sign the paper, Orrin Porter told me he knew my worst nightmare. How he knew I don’t know. But he did.’ ”

  Cederlof shuddered. “ ‘Worse than a dentist’s drill?’ I asked him. He never answered, but he didn’t have to. I saw the fear in his face. ‘Don’t be a fool,’ I told him. ‘Resign.’ I would have. I’ll tell you one thing. If Porter shows up here, I’ll sign anything. You can be sure of that.”

  “Then why bother with the fence and the dogs?”

  “How do I know he’ll come with a paper in his hand? If he’s coming with a dentist’s drill, I want enough warning to put a bullet in my head.”

  18

  BY THE time Traveler got back on the interstate heading south toward St. George, Bill and Charlie had finished the beer and were singing in the back seat.

  “I’m out in Utah in the Mormon land,

  I’m not coming home, ‘cause I’m a-living grand.

  I used to rave about a single life,

  Now every day I get a brand-new wife.”

  When the verse ended, Charlie said, “I am going home. The nearest reservation will do.”

  “It’s not on the way,” Traveler told him. “And I told you before, it’s not Navajo.”

  “We can pick up the old Highway 8 out of St. George.”


  In the rearview mirror, Traveler saw Charlie put an arm around Bill.

  “From the Shivwits reservation,” Charlie said, “I can show you where to pick up a back way into Fire Creek.”

  Bill nodded. “It sounds good to me, Mo. You can drop us off while you and Martin do your work and then pick us up on your way home. That way we’d be out of your hair.”

  An hour ago Traveler would have jumped at the suggestion, but that was before he’d spoken with Karl Cederlof.

  “I don’t have time for detours. Martin doesn’t have anyone covering his back.”

  “What did that guy back there say to get you so worked up?”

  Instead of answering, Traveler only shook his head. For all he knew Cederlof was crazy, the victim of nothing more than nasty smiles and veiled threats. Even so, Traveler hadn’t doubted him for a moment when he said he’d put a bullet in his own head rather than fall into the hands of a man claiming to be the reincarnation of Orrin Porter Rockwell.

  Bill said, “Martin always says he covers your back.”

  Traveler clenched his teeth, checked the mirror for signs of the Highway Patrol, then gradually increased his speed. Fifteen minutes later, he exited I-15 at St. George and stopped at the first public phone he could find. It was late afternoon, time for Sunday dinner.

  Ruth Holcomb answered after one ring.

  “It’s Moroni Traveler. Let me speak to my father.”

  “He’s come and gone. He’s spending the night with Jason Thurgood, ‘under the stars,’ they said, ‘sitting around a bonfire.’ ”

  Traveler took a deep breath to keep from banging the receiver against the wall. Keeping your back covered was one of Martin’s rules of survival, right up there with the avoidance of church entanglements.

  “My father wouldn’t take off like that,” Traveler said.

  “He told me you’d say that. But you haven’t met Jason Thurgood. When you do, you’ll understand why he and your father hit it off so well.”

  “Where’s Orrin Porter?”

  “I don’t know. I expected to see him, what with people saying that he likes to keep an eye on Thurgood, especially when Jason spends the night in the desert.”

  Traveler pounded the side of his hand against the wall of the booth hard enough to dent the metal. “Who else is on this so-called pilgrimage?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Your father seemed perfectly happy with the arrangements.”

  “I’ll be there in two hours.”

  “It won’t do your father any good if you run off the road somewhere.”

  Traveler took another deep breath. His lungs had that burning sensation that came after a long run.

  Behind him a car door slammed. He glanced back to see Bill and Charlie out of the car and standing in the shade of a spindly piñon pine. If he took them with him that would be two more backs to cover, but if he detoured to the reservation, God knew how long it would take him to reach Fire Creek.

  He checked the sun. “I should be there before dark,” he told Ruth.

  “I’ll keep dinner warm,” she said and hung up.

  Traveler rounded up Bill and Charlie and headed west on St. George Boulevard toward the center of town. He bypassed the Four Seasons Inn, whose tennis courts and lavish swimming pool looked too grand for the likes of Bill and Charlie, and settled on the Zion Rest Motel. To forestall any check-in problems, Traveler used his church credit card to get them a room. The clerk didn’t look happy at the sight of Bill and Charlie, but he didn’t argue either, especially when Traveler signed an open-ended receipt in advance.

  Traveler made one more stop, a downtown bank where the automated teller accepted the church card and promptly paid out three hundred dollars in crisp twenties. When he divided the cash between Bill and Charlie, they looked worried.

  “We already owe you twenty-five hundred,” Bill said.

  “This is church money.”

  “Who has to repay it?”

  Traveler shrugged.

  “We’ll accept it as a donation,” Bill said.

  “We’ll use it where it will do the most good, on the reservation,” Charlie added.

  “You two stay here at the motel,” Traveler said. “I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.”

  “There’s no need to give us a second thought, Mo. We’re right where we want to be, near the souls of Charlie’s ancestors.”

  19

  TRAVELER STOKED himself with anger and caffeine, drinking one Coke after another on the drive back to Fire Creek. By the time he parked in front of Ruth Holcomb’s he had the shakes. So did the Jeep, which had picked up shimmies and a rattle when he hit fifty miles an hour on the last stretch of corrugated dirt road. The inside of the vehicle, like Traveler, was coated with red grit.

  Stopping short of the front steps, he raised a dust cloud trying to brush himself off. He was wiping his hands on the grass when the screen door banged open and Ruth Holcomb came out to greet him.

  “I ought to turn the hose on you,” Ruth said, looking cool in her red shorts and baggy T-shirt. She smiled, trying to make a joke out of her comment, but her eyes betrayed her. Something was wrong.

  Traveler clenched his fists. “Is Martin all right?”

  She laid a restraining hand on his arm, confirming his instincts. “I could tell you were upset on the phone, so I did some asking around in town. It comes to this. Many of the Children fear for Jason’s safety. I do too sometimes, because of all the rival cults in this part of the state. They’d like nothing better than to bring down Moroni’s Children. Which is why the Children look after Jason so carefully, especially when he goes into the desert. ‘Like a prophet from the Bible,’ Orrin Porter told me when I found him down at Shipler’s. ‘But these days a prophet needs a bodyguard. So we watch over Jason from a distance, taking turns.’ ”

  “You said we,” Traveler pointed out.

  “I’m not a member of the Children, but I’m one of Jason’s fans.”

  “You’re trying to tell me that Orrin Porter is out there watching him, aren’t you?”

  She shook her head. “It was his turn, but he declined. He said he didn’t think a man like you would understand his intentions.”

  “He’s right.”

  “Orrin sent both his wives in his place, though if you ask me, he probably wanted them out of the way while he tends to Norm Shipler’s daughters, Eula and Vyrle. Porter crooks his finger at them and they roll over, and not just figuratively either.” Ruth sighed. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s best to take your happiness before it’s too late. Maybe—”

  “Am I missing something?” Traveler interrupted. “If Porter’s wives are watching over Jason, I don’t see any problem for my father.”

  “Porter has some kind of hold over those women. I don’t trust them. The way they fawn on Orrin makes me blush sometimes. I sure as hell wouldn’t turn my back on them.”

  “If we left now, could we find Thurgood and my father?”

  Shading her eyes, Ruth looked west. “Maybe in daylight, but the sun will be down in half an hour. Only a lunatic would wander around in that desert in the dark.”

  “Where can I find Orrin Porter, then?”

  “Your friend Mr. Tanner called again and still wouldn’t leave a message. He left two numbers you can call.”

  “He can wait. Now tell me where Porter is.”

  “Like always, down at Shipler’s. Shipler’s Video by now, which is what Orrin calls the general store after the regular closing time.”

  By the time Traveler walked the block and a half to Shipler’s, Marshal Peake was waiting out front, trying to look casual, without succeeding. The two women sitting on the curb in front of Cavin’s Feed and Seed across the street weren’t having any better luck.

  In answer to Traveler’s questioning look, Peake raised his hands to waist level, then turned them over palms up like a supplicant. “Ruth Holcomb called me and told me to keep an eye on you.”

  “And the ladies acro
ss the street?”

  “Maybe they’re keeping an eye on me, though I haven’t asked.”

  Before Traveler could respond, Norm Shipler appeared in the open doorway, leaning heavily on crutches. A cast covered his left leg from hip to toe. He glared at Traveler, shook off an offer of help, and then edged sideways across the threshold and onto the sidewalk, where he rocked momentarily before catching his balance. His face glistened with sweat.

  “What happened to you?” Traveler asked him.

  Shipler raised one crutch far enough to point it at Traveler. “You did.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I asked you for help and you turned me down.” Shipler readjusted his crutches until his back was to the women across the street. “They’ve been watching me ever since. The word is I was restocking shelves inside the store when I fell off the ladder. It hurt like a bitch bastard when Jason Thurgood set the break, let me tell you.”

  “Tell us what really happened,” Peake said.

  “I don’t ask anyone for help, not anymore.”

  When the marshal reached out to him, Shipler backed up, losing his balance. Traveler caught him under the arms and whispered, “Give me a name.”

  As Shipler squirmed to break free, all color drained from his face. His chest heaved. “Take my advice, Traveler, and leave town before you get the same treatment I did. ‘Doing God’s work,’ they call it.”

  “Who?” Traveler asked.

  Shipler pushed away from him and lurched down the street. The women opposite made no move to follow.

  Traveler stared at the marshal. “What are you going to do?”

  “No one ever testifies against the Children.”

  “Does it work the other way around?”

  Peake pulled at his lower lip. “The way I see it, if you break someone’s leg without a lot of witnesses around, no one’s going to say a damned thing, me included.”