Sample Chapter

GOD SANCTIONS MEN HAVING MULTIPLE WIVES

What follows is chapter 1 of The Polygamist. This is a free sample chapter taken directly from the book. Enjoy!

Sample Chapter 1 from The Polygamist
The passenger nonchalantly paid his fare and exited the cab, which had stopped at the Dunkin’ Donuts shop on E Street. He glanced at his watch—5:20 A.M. As he crossed the parking lot, he noticed it was bathed in sulfurous light that emanated from the lot’s pole lights casting a yellowish glow over him. He was clad in jeans, a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders, and jogging shoes. His long blond ponytail, under his San Diego Padres baseball cap, hung down below his shoulders. After purchasing coffee and a glazed donut he walked two blocks to the entrance of Veterans Memorial Park and took his seat on a bench just inside the gates.

At 5:45, he watched the Saint pull to the curb across the street in a black four-door Buick Regal. The Padres fan didn’t know whether his mark was a saint or not, but in this operation the marks were called Saints. The Saint nodded ‘good morning’ to the Padres fan as he entered the park. The fan sipped coffee and finished the donut. He watched the Saint, a six-foot, 175-pound man, as he stretched and bent forward and backward, then removed his long-sleeved T-shirt, tied it around his waist and began his brisk jog on the trail. The fan smelled salt in the air, drifting in from the Pacific on a light breeze, as he checked the caliche jogging trail. Tall eucalyptus trees bordered the park perimeter.

The next morning the Padres fan was at the park at 5:15 A.M. This time he wore a satin-finish jogging suit. He was no longer wearing the blond ponytail wig. A black sweatband held back a shock of black hair. He jogged the path the Saint had taken the day before, looking for just the right spot. He found it: a water fountain about a hundred yards from the entrance of the park on the last leg of the trail. This is where the Saint had stopped his jog, removed his shirt from around his waist, slipped it over his head and bent over the fountain and slowly sipped the cool water.

The fountain was located in a semicircle of flowering shrubs just a few feet off the jogging trail. The Padres fan walked back to the entrance of the park. There he saw the black Buick Regal pull up curbside across the street. Without being seen, the fan disappeared behind one of the stone pillars. He waited and watched the Saint do his preliminary twisting and stretching. The sun was not yet visible above the horizon, but with the false dawn it was light enough to see. As the Saint began his jogging, the fan started his stopwatch and retraced his steps to the fountain. He stood in the area camouflaged by the arbor of bushes. Twenty-three minutes later, the Saint appeared in the bend of the trail. He slowed to a trot and finally walked into the alcove, shaking his arms and kicking his legs in a cooldown. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and drank loudly from the fountain, letting the stream sluice over his face. As he walked to the park entrance, he wiped his wet face on his sleeve.

On the third morning the Padres fan had seen two other joggers, a young couple and their golden retriever, begin their jog. They entered the park ten minutes ahead of the Saint. The fan hoped this wouldn’t create a problem, but if it did, he would have to improvise. He smiled as he remembered Clint Eastwood’s phrase from the movie, Heartbreak Ridge. Eastwood’s character told his recruits to “Adapt! Overcome! Improvise!” The fan had done it before. He could do it again. He got out of the Honda Civic he’d rented and scanned the area, looking for anyone else on an early morning binge of physical fitness. No one. He began to walk, swinging his arms in a power walk. He turned into the park and checked his stopwatch. Instead of following the trail, he cut across the park through patches of grass and several stands of trees, so that he placed himself on the last leg of the trail just ahead of the bend lined with trees.

He estimated the Saint was four minutes behind him. He began his power walk again and as he walked he felt for the scabbard under the left sleeve of his brown sweatshirt. Taped to his arm, it held an eight-inch stiletto. He heard footfalls crunching around the bend behind him. Is it one jogger or two? he wondered. He concentrated. The natural inclination was to turn and look back. He didn’t. His heartbeat increased as he tried to decipher the jogger’s steps. One or two? He decided it was one and so he began a serious posture of power walking. Swinging his arms high, breathing deeply, he appeared lost in his own world of cardiovascular training.

The Saint passed him in a minute and a half, his head bobbing from side to side, paying no attention to the power walker. As he approached the fountain area, he slowed and turned toward the fountain. The Padres fan silently pulled the stiletto from the scabbard with his right hand. He held it parallel to his arm and continued to walk but slower now so as not to alarm the Saint.

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