Tracy seated himself in the pews in plain sight. He arrived early to the church. You could always tell something about a town by their church. Episcopalian. Post-Lutheran. Protestant. Reformed Baptist. Southern Baptist. NeoMethodist. Osteenian. He'd know once the church service started. The electric organ and lack of a drum set or other musicians told him quite a bit. Some sort of Baptist. He was sure.

The congregants sang their hearts out. Though the town teemed with detestables, this church boasted a semblance of unity. All manner of low class, middle, and even a few high-class citizens of New Oklahoma filled the church. Mostly natural born Rubruns, but others too. Even a few bots. There was little distinction to be made. No groups stood out. They all intermingled. Like friends. Family. Comparable to his own church back home on Earth.

The worship leader shouted more than sang. The organ player made use of tasteful chord extensions, utilizing all ten fingers expertly, elevating the choruses of each song to new heights. The congregation swayed with the tempo. A woman on stage with a rich soprano voice belted the anthem with all her heart. Her mouth opened so wide, she might eat the microphone.

Tracy tried to mouth the words, so as not to stick out. But his true goal lay in warming up to the good people of Noke'la. If this town had a lick of honesty, he'd find it in the church. Or one would hope. If Roy made any kind of impression here, someone in the congregation would know. And hopefully they'd seen through Roy's guile and would have no qualms ratting him out to Tracy, or at least slipping him some information as to his whereabouts. For all he knew, Roy could have moved on already.

Tracy scanned the crowd for friendly faces, socialites whom he could offer casual questions after service without raising eyebrows. A small boy in the pew in front of Tracy turned around, resting his face on his small hands on the top of the pew so that only his big saucer eyes regarded the marshal with curious intensity. Almost as if the boy saw through his disguise. Tracy winked at him and offered a smile. The boy's mother turned to regard Tracy as well. The woman's beautiful flawless face framed by thick luscious hair struck him with a warm smile. She tugged on her son's arms, forcing him to turn back around, legs dangling on the edge of the pew, rocking back and forth in boredom.

For his part, Tracy wasn't worried about being spotted. He'd snatched a Mexican style poncho off of a drunk in an alley in the early morning, which draped over his torso, ending just over his thighs. The inconsistency of the hologram restricted him to precise, slow movements. The deepfake hologram altered his face beyond recognition. The deepfake tech wasn't perfect though, and any sudden movements would cause his holomask to flicker, spasm, or even strobe through various emotive expressions.

Even as they sang, the church filled to the brim with late comers, and ushers motioned to Tracy along with everyone else on his row to scoot down and get comfortable with their neighbors as more people squeezed into the pews. And when those were all maxed out, people stood on the outer walls, from the front all the way to the back.

Although the air outside was cold, the building grew uncomfortably humid. Still, the members sang with much gusto. To remain unmoved by their joyous exuberance would have been impossible. Tracy found himself smiling and filled with anticipation. Surely uplifting choruses from a packed and uncomfortable crowd such as that were some indication of the level of preaching he was about to digest.

As the music came to a crescendo, a man in the front pew made his way to the pulpit. With his back turned, Tracy could only tell that he wore a tailored saffron suit of straight edges and sharp angles. Even from the middle of the room, the reverend's ecstatic clapping cut through the wall of sound as he applauded the worship portion of the service along with everyone else in the room.

They seated themselves, as did Tracy, careful not to butt elbows or knock knees with the folks on either side of him, but it was hard with his oversized log of an arm. The back of the pew in front of him held mounted Bible tablets. He almost reached for it, but none along his row did. His eyebrows furrowed. What kind of church didn't start with a Bible reading? He eased back and shrugged internally, fixing his attention on the Reverend.

His heart almost stopped. His eyelids blinked several times.

No. It couldn't be. But then the reverend opened his maw, perfect sharp teeth gleaming, and his charismatic growler of a voice reverberated in Tracy's chest, burrowing into his heart, staining his soul.

Sweat beads gathered on his skin, which grew cold.

Tracy scanned the crowd anew. Everyone still wore smiles, eyes twinkling, brows lifted, necks straining to get a better look. They lapped up each word like fiends hooked on a regulated fix, whose delivery was not snorted, inhaled, or injected, but digested in the form of warm words that wormed through the earholes, weaseling down into the heart, corrupting it from the inside, rotting it to the core.

The reverend's debonair demeanor was convincing, authentic even. But he had fooled before. And now it seemed he fooled again.

Tracy could not believe his ringing ears, but the man commanding the attention of hundreds of Noke'lans was none other than Rip-Roaring Roy, wanted in four American states, fugitive at large.

The reactions of every person he had asked, the inquiries about Roy which resulted in hostile cold shoulders replayed in the lawman's mind. The puzzle pieces fell into place, completing the picture. His stomach churned. He felt boxed in. The humidity grew worse, the thickness of the hot air choking him. He did not know why, but he needed to get out, get away. His tongue dried up, demanding a drink. He wanted to scream, to holler, to interrupt the raving of a madman, to tell the people to flee. But he couldn't. He'd make a scene, and Roy would escape. Again.

So Tracy sat, stiff as a board, all his aches resurfacing, squeezed in the pew with the ridiculous oversized arm draped over his lap, trapped by the slick sermon assaulting his ears, echoing from every corner of the church.

The irony wasn't lost on Tracy, that he wore a mask in the audience to capture Roy, but Roy wore a mask to hold the audience captive. Well played, Rothspalt. Well played. Tracy had to admire the gall, the stones that man carried, to not hide amongst the people, but to stand up and lead them. A chuckle of unbelief at the absurd nature of it all brought a painful grin to Tracy's lips.

Until then, Tracy hadn't realized how much the dossier of information he'd been given on Roy was outdated. At least by two years, and based mostly on his modus operandi and actions back on Earth. It had read, quote: The last positive visual ID put Royce in Coprates two years ago. Our sources confirm he is currently alive and well, operating in or around Coprates. Target is to be captured alive and returned to Earth to appear in the court of law.

The hammers of Judge and Jury jabbed into his sides, hidden underneath the poncho, reminding him of his calling. Every time he shifted away from one side, the other revolver dug through his shirt into his skin like a hawk's talon, as if prodding him, urging him to rise, draw, and deliver a fatal shot to the charlatan performing on the platform.

But Roy wasn't wanted dead. Tracy had to bring him back alive. Otherwise this whole mission was a waste, from the thousands upon thousands of tax creds spent to retrieve Roy, to the summons and selection of a future grand jury, and to the parents and loved ones of those whom through Roy had performed heinous deeds and then butchered them to hide the truth. All of that ruined, a miscarriage of Justice, lost forever.

Tracy knew the stakes. This wasn't his first fugitive apprehension. But if he wasn't careful, it would be his last. He gritted his teeth, filled his ears with stoppers of hardened resolve, and formulated his next move.

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Throughout the sermon—if you could even call it that—the heat threatened to wither Tracy. He fought the urge to squirm and shift, but his height made his long legs difficult to manage in the narrow pews, pressed in on either side by congregants. And if he got up and left, he'd leave a distinct impression on Roy and all the attentive listeners. That was quite the opposite of anonymity. Notoriety was a no-go. Not until he had Roy cuffed and on a ship heading back to Earth.

Unlike Tracy, the boy seated in the pew before him squirmed, unable to sit still. The mother tried her hardest to control him, but Tracy noted she was alone. There was only so much a single mother could do. Tracy reached into his pocket and withdrew the HotThrusters, handing the mini dropship to the boy. The boy's brows shot up, and a smile spread across his round face. The woman acknowledged the gift with a backwards glance and a nod. Tracy felt more than happy to distract the boy from the warped utterances pouring forth from the pulpit.

By the time the sermon ended, Tracy's buttocks tingled with numbness, and his joints ached from the awkward angles he forced them to hold.

Congregants stayed after the last song to mingle, most hoping to catch talking time with Roy, even if for just a moment. A crowd formed around the reverend. Tracy noticed that for his part, the acting reverend did not initiate conversations, only reacted to those who stopped to converse with him. He appeared to wear a plastered smile, but his eyes burned with contempt. Why didn't they notice, Tracy wondered? Couldn't they feel the twinge in their gut? Didn't they sense the lingering wretchedness, the odor of abomination crawling all over Roy?

But then something changed. Roy stepped lighter, less rigid. His shoulders and back released their tension. Tracy followed his gaze to the gorgeous woman with the small boy. The fugitive's lips cracked into a grin, like he was hungry and in heat at the same time. Tracy shuddered, remembering the alleged body count in Roy's wake. The look he ravaged the woman with was one of pure, starving lust. In that moment Roy seemed more animal than man, a predator about to pounce on his prey, close his jaws around the catch, and feast on the poor living soul.

If premeditated intentions were under his authority to judge, Tracy would have ripped his revolver from its holster at his hip and sent all seven blasts ricocheting through Roy's perverted heart and mind, severing his filth sodden soul from his body.

But as Roy spoke to the woman, Tracy noticed that unlike the others, she exhibited none of the admiration they did. She spoke with him, courteous, but guarded.

Tracy caught her name, Coraline . She turned her hips and shoulders away from Roy, as if ready to retreat at the opportune time, a graceful doe at the mercy of a famished wolf. If she did not feel comfortable around him, why was she here? Obviously she and Roy had been acquainted for some time. Another older plump woman and her scrawny husband cut into the conversation between Roy and this Coraline. Tracy learned her name was Beth. The plastered smile returned to mask Roy's face. He didn't like Beth.

Coraline's son got antsy, and she picked him up to keep him from wandering off. For a moment as she held the boy, Tracy saw a disdain creep onto Roy's face. It was there for a breath, and then gone in a flash.

So, Roy liked the woman, but not the squirming responsibility she came with. Interesting.

All of these things Tracy gathered from body language, vocal tone, word choice, and the dossier of foreknowledge on Roy that he studied.

A realization sparked, blooming into a flame of an idea. This woman that held Roy's attention, but so obviously rejected his advances, she was the one Tracy sought.

Roy had other business to attend to, but promised to see Coraline soon. She nodded without comment and left, her and her son walking with Beth and her husband.

The fugitive spun on his heels and caught Tracy staring.

Tracy threw on a broad smile and strode towards Roy as if he'd been waiting all afternoon to meet the preacher.

"Mighty fine preachin' Rev," said Tracy. He raised his voice a few notes and adopted a more Rubrun accent. "I didn't want to barge in on you talkin' to that sweet lady."

Tracy held out his gloved hand. Roy grasped it and he gave him a firm handshake. Their eyes met, and for the briefest second, Roy seemed suspicious, as if able to see under the deepfake mirage, behind his eyes, and to the man beneath the badge, the man that only Tracy's wife knew. Tracy's heart leapt into his throat. But, his holomask was still intact and he checked himself.

The flash of intuition came and left Roy's face, so quick, Tracy was sure he imagined it.

"I didn't catch your name brother, and I don't believe we've met."

Tracy rattled off the first name that ran through his mind. "Credence Cleanpool. I's new to New Oklahoma. Just got off the dropship yesterday. Came here to start fresh and stake my claim, like an honest man. Had me a good look around town and noticed the church. Figured, why not?"

Roy fixed his attention on the smartarm.

Tracy adopted the character of a talkative simpleton. "Ugly ain't it? But a used cyberarm was all I could afford. What was the word the technosmith used? Aha. Refurbished. That sounds a lot nicer than some second hand scrap."

Roy nodded with a smirk and no comment.

Both men wore masks and played characters now.

"Nice to meet you, Credence. You'll have to excuse me. I have matters to attend to, but I'll be seeing you around town."

Tracy returned the nod, watching Roy walk away, letting an open scowl overtake his expression.

Tailored suits and passionate words might fool some, but Tracy saw through the guise. He could not believe Roy'd pulled the wool over the whole town's eyes. His hands sought his gun and handcuff on instinct, but his mind pulled them back.

He couldn't catch Roy. Not here. Not today.

Smiling congregants moved past Tracy. Most if not all were armed. And the ushers moving about on the perimeters of the room were armed and instructed to protect Roy, no doubt. They'd gun Tracy down in a heartbeat.

His only chance lay with that woman. With reluctance, he rushed out of the church to catch Miss Coraline's trail.