Crescent City Connection

removed before we can go on. Little Shavonne Bourgeois, an angel in our midst, will be the instrument of that delivery, which will be done before the sun sets tomorrow. I can promise you that. Before the sun sets tomorrow. Do you believe me?”
    A great cheering went up that left Daniel cold. Yet not wanting to call attention to himself, he went along with it. “Some of us may not live. Are you ready for that?”
    Cheering again.
    Daniel felt his hands go cold. What was happening here?
    “But most of us
will
live. We will leave this place with a police escort. Yes! And we will have with us our daughter, Lovelace Jacomine, from whom we have been so long separated, and we will also have vanquished that instrument of Satan himself, Detective Skip Langdon!”
    He waited for silence. “Sometimes, in fact, I’m not sure Langdon is
not
Satan. But then I remember she is only a woman. And I know that we will destroy her. Like the children of Israel, we will go into the wilderness. We will take shelter in another safe house that our brothers and sisters have prepared for us in a faraway city—” this was news to Daniel “—and we will accomplish this because the Lord is with us.”
    Daniel couldn’t stand it. “But, Daddy, how are we going to get there?”
    “Do you doubt that we will, boy?”
    “No, I just—”
    “There is always one among us. A doubter. Possibly a traitor. Let me tell you about my son. My son is a brilliant strategist. He led both of our commando raids today. The first was not successful and resulted in the death of our brother Darnell. Yet this was not the fault of our brother—my son Daniel. He acquitted himself well in that raid.”
    This time, Daniel realized, the cheering was for him.
    “He was prevented from his mission by the female demon, Skip Langdon, well known to all of us. We quickly recouped and made plans for the removal, once and for all, of Detective Langdon. And my son was sent on a second mission, a benign mission in which our little sister Shavonne was to be assisted in coming to us. A mission to be accomplished with no bloodshed. And yet there was bloodshed! Specifically against my orders.
    “Anyone, even my own dearest son, can make a mistake. And my son did. My son shot a man, inflicted pain for no reason. Now Errol Jacomine does not play favorites. Errol Jacomine is willing to admit that when his own dearest, most cherished son has made a mistake, even that son must be punished. Is there anyone here who agrees with me?”
    Daniel had not realized how ominous cheering could sound.
    His father said, “Daniel, it isn’t my decision.”
    Daniel stood up, furious. “The hell with this. I’ve about had it, anyway. This is it. I’m leaving the movement.”
    “You’re what, son?”
    Daniel didn’t answer. He strode toward the door, and had his hand on the knob when someone grabbed him from behind.
    “Dashan! Come on, this is me, Daniel. You got to be kidding.”
    They tied him to a chair and questioned him.
    “First things first, boy. What did you mean you’re leaving the movement?”
    For the first time, Daniel felt fear, understood that his father hadn’t been kidding when he said he didn’t play favorites. Low profile was best. “I didn’t mean anything. I was upset.”
    “If you were leaving, you must have had someplace to go. Where were you going, boy?”
    “Nowhere. Back to Idaho.”
    “You were going to Langdon, weren’t you? You are the betrayer.” His father’s voice rose, full of hellfire. And then he lowered it, almost to a whisper. “Weren’t you even going to kiss me first, boy? Like Judas?”
    Daniel didn’t reply.
    “Daniel, Daniel, what are we going to do with you?”
    Leave me alone. You’re right—there’s nothing for me out there.
    But he held his peace.
    “Son, we’ve got a tradition in the Following. And that’s who we are—we might be The Jury, but we’re still God’s children. Still the Blood of the Lamb Evangelical Following. You haven’t been with us for most of our history, so you don’t really know our traditions. Sister Kathleen, tell him our tradition.”
    Kathleen was a woman of fifty who looked ten years older. She was a white woman who seemed beaten down by life, tired before her time with childbirth and work. She said, “We choose our own punishments.”
    His father said, “Do we still have our paddles, Matthew?”
    “Yes, Daddy. Or we could use belts.”
    “Need those to keep our pants up.” His father