Warn Me When It's Time

by Cheryl A Head

  “I can bring back some more lemon for your swordfish if you like,” she said to Robbie with a honeyed voice.

  He’d already taken a bite, and swallowed hard. “No, this is just fine, thank you,” he managed to say. He watched her leave again.

  “You got a girlfriend?”

  “Not really. I’m too busy.”

  “I guess that systems administrator work does keep you hopping, plus you got the Turks work, and your social media stuff.”

  “Yeah, and there’s this other group that wants me to sign up with them. They’re the real deal. Not like the Turks.”

  Robbie took another bite of the swordfish steak and downed a few fries drenched in ketchup. He pushed the broccoli to the side of his plate.

  “You said I could ask you questions.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why, as a white man, would you be okay with all the brown and black and yellow mongrels invading our shores?”

  Don sighed.

  They talked for an hour and a half about life in the United States, the countries Don had seen and fought in as a marine, the reason why terrorism, in any form, is cowardice. Don talked about his grandfather who had been an immigrant and learned English so he could help his parents navigate life in America. Don was no expert on the questions the boy asked about race, but he tried to remember the things he’d learned from Charlie and others he admired. He told Robbie the story about the young Muslim teenager who had saved Rudy’s life. He also told him about his Little Brother, Derrick.

  “I volunteer with Big Brothers. I spend time with him twice a week. His father isn’t around, and his mother doesn’t have a lot, but he wants to go to college and be a doctor. He loves math and science. He can’t really talk about that in his neighborhood because the fellows would call him a sissy or a sellout.”

  “A lot of these niggers don’t have fathers . . .”

  Don slammed his hand on the table. “Don’t use that word around me, Robbie.”

  The kid looked sullen and folded his arms. “All I’m saying is they’re all on drugs or out making babies. All the Blacks want to do is smoke dope and party. They’re bringing our society down.”

  Don folded his arms, too, and leaned back against the padded bench. “Is that what they say on those videos you look at? What about Asians, you hate them, too?”

  “All the coloreds. All of them are changing America,” Robbie said between clenched teeth.

  Don looked at his watch. It was almost seven-thirty. “Look I have to wind things down. I’m meeting someone here at eight, but I want to talk to you some more about this. I think you’re a smart kid.”

  “I’m a man,” Robbie said, adjusting his shoulders.

  “You’re right. You’re a young man, but I’m an older man and I think I know some things you don’t. For instance, you need to watch some different videos.”

  Robbie rolled his eyes, but seemed more relaxed.

  “Are you willing to have another conversation some time?”

  Robbie nodded.

  “Okay then, let’s order a quick dessert. You aren’t against desserts, are you?”

  Robbie’s smirk turned into a tight smile. “I’m fine with desserts. Do you think they have, like, a strawberry shortcake?”

  “I’m positive they do,” Don said, waving the redhead to the table.

  # # #

  Don paid for dinner with his Mr. Curtis credit card, left a nice tip, and then he and Robbie walked to the entrance of the restaurant. They shook hands with the promise to talk the next day. Don watched the kid twist his way through the Saturday night gamblers who were swarming the place. Don headed in the direction of the quarter slots. He knew they were Charlie’s weakness.

  Before he’d made it to the gambling floor, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun around and took a step back. A tall man with blue eyes was staring at him. Don’s hand was already fingering the Ruger at his back.

  “I know you,” the man said.

  “No you don’t.”

  Neither of them was smiling. Don sensed this was not a friendly encounter about being mistaken for an acquaintance.

  “What do you want with Robbie?” the man asked.

  Don blinked. “Who are you, his father?”

  The question caused the blue-eyed man to also blink. He shook his head. “No. No, I’m a friend.”

  “Well, I’m a friend, too,” Don responded.

  “Are you with the White Turks? I hear you guys have something coming up.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Don’s hand tightened on the pistol grip.

  The man gave Don a quizzical look, blinked again, then turned and quickly walked away.

  Careful to make sure the man wasn’t following him, Don worked his way across the casino, retraced his steps, and circled over to the rear slots. He spotted Charlie at a quarter machine. The seat next to her had a sweater draped over it. Don asked if he could sit and Charlie pantomimed her reluctance to let him do so.

  “Are you good?” Charlie asked, hitting buttons.

  “So-so. I just had dinner with Robbie. He’s a mixed-up guy.”

  “Redeemable?” Charlie said over the noise of the machines.

  “Maybe. He’s smarter than I gave him credit for.”

  “Judy likes him.”

  “Who doesn’t she like?”

  Charlie turned her head toward Don. He was stuffing several twenties into the cash slot. The machine rewarded him with a display of his buying power and urged him to play the max bet. He did and the machine registered a ten-dollar win.

  “Well, all right!” Don said.

  “I like the beard. It grows fast.”

  “I’ll be a wolfman by next week.” Don kept his eye on the slot screen. “There were no surprises in the meeting with that Walt guy yesterday. He gave me cash. I was in and out in about fifteen minutes. Today, Agent K and I did a walkthrough of the parade job. He thinks it will be easy.”

  “Great,” Charlie said. “Judy told me to tell you Rita and the kids are fine. Rudy thinks you’re on a business trip, and he wants you to bring him a baseball cap.” Charlie peeked at Don who kept his eyes straight ahead. “I’ll see you later. James has invited me to ride with him to the parade job. We’ll be out of sight, but nearby.”

  Charlie pressed the cash-out button. The machine simulated the sound of falling coins, and she waited for the cash slip to appear.

  “Wait a minute, Mack. A guy approached me tonight. He followed either me or Robbie. He asked who I was, and if I was with the Turks.”

  “What’d he look like?” Charlie said slowly, standing and putting the sweater across her shoulders.

  “Lean, clean shaven, maybe mid-thirties. He had blue eyes. He came out of nowhere. I thought I was going to have to pull my weapon.”

  “Okay. I’ll let James know.”

  Charlie made a show of looking at her ticket, then retreated down the aisle.

  Don stayed at the quarter machine another fifteen minutes. He occasionally looked around for the blue-eyed man as the sixty dollars he had started with dwindled down to seven dollars and fifty cents. He punched the cash-out button and moved to the dollar slots. He sat at one machine for a moment then abruptly moved to sit on the other side of the aisle. Once he was sure he wasn’t being followed, he left the casino only thirty dollars in the hole and counted himself lucky.

  # # #

  Robbie was already on the Turks’ message board when Don fired up his laptop at eleven o’clock. He ate a bowl of cereal and watched the kid chat with a few other members about an Al Qaeda video. It apparently showed the beheading of a Christian missionary in Afghanistan. The members talked about revenge and used racial slurs, some that Don had heard before, and some not. A lot of the posts tonight were followed by RAWA, which Don had learned from Agent Garrow was a rallying call for a race war. He was about to sign off when another message popped onto the screen.

  Posted by: SEEINGBLUE.

  Hello. BI
KERDUDE

  BIKERDUDE Reply to: SEEINGBLUE.

  How’s it going tonight?

  SEEINGBLUE Reply to: BIKERDUDE.

  I thought you didn’t eat red meat?

  BIKERDUDE Reply to: SEEINGBLUE.

  I don’t. Only chicken or fish for me.

  SEEINGBLUE Reply to: BIKERDUDE.

  1 Timothy 4:3-5

  SEEINGBLUE’s post received ten likes.

  Don had to look up the scripture reference: Who forbid marriage and require abstinence from foods that God created to be received with thanksgiving by those who believe and know the truth. For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer.

  Don didn’t like what he was seeing. The guy seemed to be bullying the kid about his food preferences. He decided to get into the conversation.

  SEMPERDON Reply to: SEEINGBLUE.

  You don’t have to eat red meat to be a Red-Blooded American.

  BIKERDUDE Reply to: SEMPERDON.

  LOL

  Don’s post received twenty-five quick likes. He suspected SEEINGBLUE was the blue-eyed man from the casino. He’d seen Don and Robbie leave the steakhouse. Maybe it was a warning to Robbie that he was being watched. The man ignored Don’s post and continued his conversation with the kid.

  SEEINGBLUE Reply to BIKERDUDE.

  Looking forward to the Sunday Surprise you mentioned. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.

  BIKERDUDE Reply to SEEINGBLUE.

  June is busting out all over.

  Robbie’s comment elicited a dozen likes and several responses of RAWA. Don thought about an appropriate last post for the night. Days before the so-called Sunday Surprise, the FBI would be gathering up some of these crazies on charges of conspiracy to commit murder, arson, a dozen hate crimes, and second-degree murder in the death of Hassan Pashia. Agent Garrow had clued Don in on another acronym used by some of the Christian fundamentalist groups. Don decided to turn the tables on this blue-eyed, Bible-quoting fanatic who was pressuring Robbie and promoting violence.

  SEMPERDON reply to: BIKERDUDE.

  WWJD?

  Chapter 23

  Robbie had to work a half-day on Sunday. He didn’t mind it. It was easier to get things done without the sales staff and bosses badgering him with their stupid requests. Some even called him to change the cartridges on the printer. He was tired of telling these snobs that the people in the mailroom took care of the printers.

  Today he did regular maintenance on the system, cleaning out cookies, sweeping for viruses, and blocking sites that employees were not to use. On the first week of his new job, he had discovered the general sales manager was connecting to a porn site a few hours every day. When he’d told the network manager, he told Robbie to block the site from use. He was discouraged from following the guidelines in the employee handbook, which required a notification to the HR manager. Robbie later copied the guy’s social security number along with his bank routing info.

  After completing the work he was being paid for, he checked on his volunteer work. Volunteer might not be the right word for being an FBI informer. Agent Saleh recommended that Robbie use his work computer for this tracing rather than his own computer, but it really didn’t matter. He had set up a half dozen VPNs and other anonymity tools to cover his tracks.

  The trace on the Croft guy’s computer had revealed some really interesting stuff. He was involved with political and social circles in Lansing, London, Germany, and Washington, DC. He sent regular payments to an overseas account at HSBC. It hadn’t been difficult for Robbie to trace the withdrawals against the account to deposits to several members of the Stormfront leadership. But the most interesting information was that Croft knew Spader, his blue-eyed Stormfront contact. There were only a couple of email exchanges, sent last November after the US presidential election. Croft had sent a link to Spader connecting to a news report about a German right-wing populist group plotting the assassinations of Angela Merkel and Barack Obama. Spader had replied with a thumbs-up.

  Robbie had kept the information about Croft and Spader’s acquaintanceship to himself. He’d decided to keep a few more things secret as well. Like his new online romance with Kathy, whom he had connected with on a bike touring site, and the funds he’d diverted from Croft’s HSBC account to one he’d established at a bank in Amsterdam. So far the funds had paid for a fake passport and a couple of gifts for Kathy. He hadn’t actually met her in person yet, but she seemed to like the gifts.

  Robbie felt things were looking up. He had a life now where he had choices. That’s all he had ever wanted.

  He shut down his desktop, stuffed his laptop and notebooks into his backpack, and took the stairs down to the street where he’d locked his bike to the rack at the corner. He squatted to insert the key in the lock and a shove knocked him down onto his face. Robbie struggled to turn over, but his backpack caught on the rack as someone kicked him in the ribs. On the third kick, he managed to grab the assailant’s pants leg, then they were both on the ground grabbing and thrashing at each other.

  Robbie didn’t recognize the brown-skinned boy wailing on him, but he managed to get the better end of the deal because he had a few pounds on the boy, and his helmet protected his head. He head-butted the kid directly to the face, connecting with the boy’s nose, and causing an immediate spurt of blood. The boy had been screaming and crying, and now he was bleeding and lying on his back. Robbie took advantage and pinned the kid to the sidewalk and whacked him over and over until two men passing by pulled him off the boy.

  “He killed my father, he killed my father,” the boy screamed, blood and snot dripping down his face.

  “What’s he talking about?” one of the men asked Robbie.

  “Hell if I know,” Robbie said, backing away. He grabbed his bike, rolling it in the opposite direction, and hopped on the seat. The boy was still screaming as he gained speed. He didn’t look back.

  # # #

  Charlie was reading the Sunday papers when Judy called. Mandy was at work, and Hamm slept on the mat at the door. Somehow he knew it was almost time for Mandy’s return and she would have treats for him when she arrived. Charlie was glad to speak to Judy because she’d been restless and anxious all day. Even a forty-minute workout in the basement gym hadn’t eased her tension.

  “Is this call business or pleasure?” Charlie asked.

  “Business. I’ve spent the last hour on the phone. I called Rita to chat and to give her some encouragement. Don’s absence is really starting to wear on her. She’s thinking of staying with her parents until he comes home. It’s getting too lonely for her at night.”

  “That’s probably not a bad idea. It might be another five days before he’s home.”

  “Has anyone spoken to him today? He must be nervous about tomorrow. I know I’m nervous, and I’m not going to be anywhere near the place,” Judy said.

  “To tell you the truth, I haven’t been able to settle down at all today myself. It’s only nerves. We’re all on edge.”

  “I had another call, too,” Judy said. “Robbie called, really upset. He had a fight on the street. A brawl apparently. Somebody attacked him. He was knocked down, and he and the guy were punching each other until two strangers saw the fight and came over to break it up. He said it was a young kid who came out of nowhere. The kid was yelling, “you killed my father!”

  “Kamal Pashia,” Charlie said.

  “That’s what I thought. You might want to call Kamal and see if he’s all right. Robbie’s a wreck. He started cursing and spewing that hate talk about minorities. I tried to settle him down and when I couldn’t, I hung up on him.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Judy. I’ll call the family now. I’ll let you know what I hear.”

  # # #

  The Pashia family insisted Charlie come to the house, hoping she could give Kamal some words of advice to comfort him. He’d come home bruised and battered. His nose had st
opped bleeding, and the family doctor had packed it and bandaged him. When Charlie arrived, Mrs. Pashia was so upset she’d gone to bed. Amina brought her into the family room, along with Kamal’s little sister, to meet with Charlie.

  “In the last few days, Kamal has become sullen and angry. He doesn’t come to dinner, and he won’t tell me where he’s going when he goes out,” Mrs. Pashia said.

  “We recently found a counselor for Kamal,” Amina said. “Someone who could help him with his grief, but Um says today he ran out of the house, angry. He took my father’s car.”

  Amina shook her head and continued. “When he came home, he wouldn’t talk to me, but Um got him to speak. He told us about attacking that white boy. The one my father had helped.”

  “How did he know who the boy was? I didn’t put that in my report,” Charlie said.

  “No. But you showed me his picture. We found an old yearbook with a photo of my father’s class. The boy was in the photo, and his name was in the caption. I showed it to my mother and brother.”

  “But how did Kamal know where to find him? The young man was attacked at his job.”

  “I don’t know,” Amina answered. She looked at her mother. “Did he tell you, Um?”

  Mrs. Pashia’s head dipped to her chest. “He would only say he tried to kill the man who killed his father,” she said with almost inaudible sobs.

  The youngest daughter moved to her mother’s side.

  “I know,” Farah said. “He saw it on Facebook.”

  Charlie pulled up Robbie’s Facebook page. James said he hardly used the platform, but he’d been active recently. There were posts of Robbie posing with a new bike helmet. His relationship status had changed, and he bragged of getting a raise at work. One post was an ugly meme about immigrants. The last post was probably what had set Kamal off today. “Gotta work today. Sunday’s just another day when you’re a man with a life full of choices,” the post read. Attached was a smiling Robbie with a fresh haircut and a thumbs-up. He wore an expensive-looking watch on his wrist.