by Don Winslow
Neal read Graham’s eyes. He had seen the expression a thousand times, ever since he was a kid. It said do your job.
“It is now time,” Carter said, “for you to prove your loyalty and bond in blood with vour brothers.”
Neal felt the sick, dizzy feeling of terror. This has to be a nightmare, he thought. Any second I’ll wake up screaming.
“Prepare!” Carter ordered.
The boys drew their daggers and stood at attention. Strekker stepped behind Graham and threw him to his knees.
Wake up, Neal told himself. He saw Graham’s jaw tighten and lock.
Carter stepped off the altar, stood beside Neal, and handed him the pistol. Hansen came up on his other side.
“Shoot him,” Hansen instructed in a whisper.
“No.”
“You have to,” Hansen said. “We all have before. You have to kill in front of your brothers to prove your loyalty.”
“I’ve proven it already.” Come on, God. If you’re up there, it’s time to get in the act now. Time to get off the sidelines and make a play. Please, God.
“You won’t be alone,” Hansen urged. “We’ll each stab him after you do it. The final dagger will be yours. That’s what bonds us.”
Neal could feel Graham’s eyes on him, the eyes that said do it, do your job. That’s what I’ve always taught you. Yeah, but you also taught me to think.
“You guys have this all wrong,” Neal said. “He’s one of us. He was in on the job, remember?”
“Sometimes,” Carter said, “ZOG sends agents to trap us. They appear to help us and then testify against us later in ZOG show trials. I prayed to Yahweh and he told me this man was sent by ZOG. But he will not live to set the hounds on us, to reveal our haven. There will be no one to testify. Unless you are a ZOG agent as well, Neal Carey.”
You heard the man, son, Graham thought. Do it. There’s no point in both of us dying. Let’s get it over with. I’m scared shitless here.
Neal avoided Graham’s eyes and looked over his shoulder. Strekker was grinning. Grinning.
The pistol shook in Neal’s hand.
“We caught him snooping around the compound, Neal,” Hansen whispered.
Neal looked back at Graham. Graham stared at him.
“It’s true, kid,” Graham said. “The feds had me on a counterfeiting charge. I couldn’t do another long stretch, not in federal. I agreed to set you up on the robbery.”
Neal read the words behind Graham’s words: the boy, Neal. The boy may still be alive. Focus on the boy.
Neal gripped the pistol handle and raised his arm. These guys aren’t this crazy, he thought. This must be some kind of a test; the gun must be loaded with blanks. They must have given Graham his “confession,” to test whether I’d execute a traitor.
“Do it, Neal,” Hansen whispered. “Then all things will be revealed to you.”
So I pull the trigger, it’s blank, we all have a laugh, and they bring Cody out here. Do it. Pull the trigger.
He pointed the pistol at Graham’s chest.
And if it’s not a blank? Focus on the boy. The boy.
You always taught me precision, Dad: do a thing right the first time and you won’t have to do it again. That’ll leave you time for the important things, like sitting in your easy chair, drinking beer, and watching the Rangers blow a two-goal lead. God, Dad. How many times did you save my life? From the moment you rescued me from the streets to now? How many times?
Neal looked into Graham’s eyes, trying to tell him, I love you, Dad. I love you.
Graham nodded. Then he smiled and said, “Come on, son. Do it. The Yankees suck anyway.”
You are one brave, tough SOB, Joe Graham, Neal thought. He wiped the tears from his cheek with his forearm and aimed the gun again. God. let me be accurate and fast.
He swung the pistol around just as he reached out with his left hand, grabbed Carter by the neck, and hauled him into a forearm choke. He brought the barrel up to Carter’s head.
“Anybody moves, I kill him.”
Nobody moved.
Cal Strekker started to laugh. “There are no bullets in the gun, Neal. It was just a test.”
He dropped into a fighting stance, knees flexed, dagger blade held sideways by his waist. “Looks like you and me is finally going to finish that dance, Neal.” Strekker lunged forward.
Neal started to shift his aim, but Hansen grabbed his wrist and then Strekker was on top of him. Strekker pressed the dagger against Neal’s ribs and took the pistol from him with his free hand. He put the pistol barrel to Neal’s head and said, “I think you flunked the test, Neal buddy.”
Strekker pulled the trigger.
A dry click.
I can still talk myself out of this, Neal thought, even as his knees turned to water.
He heard the door open and saw a drunken women lurch into the room. Doreen stood at the back for a second and surveyed the scene.
“This is some kinky goddamn party you boys is having!” she bellowed. “Remember, I charge extra for this kind of stuff!” She weaved down the aisle.
Her eyes narrowed when she saw Neal. “Hey, I know you! You’re that uppity son of a bitch who was looking for Harley!”
But I don’t think I can talk my way out of this.
“Who are you?” Hansen asked Neal.
Neal was trying to come up with a suitable lie when Doreen staggered into Cal’s arms. “And you,” she said. “You promised to take me to see Harley and Cody. When do I get to see that son of a bitch and my sweet little boy?”
“Right now,” Cal answered. He held her firmly by the back of the neck and drove the dagger into her stomach.
Neal saw Doreen’s eyes widen and her mouth drop open. He watched her stagger backward and heard her gasp. He saw her hold herself and look down where the blood was flowing over her splayed fingers.
Then her knees buckled and she collapsed. She lay rasping on the floor as Cal said, “Harley and your sweet little boy are in hell, honey. And I think you’re almost there.”
“Whore of Babylon!” Carter bellowed. He spat on her, stepped over her writhing body, and walked out.
Hansen followed him, yelling behind him, “Lock those bastards up! I want to find out what they know!”
Neal felt his arms being pinned behind him.
Randy looked at the woman still quivering on the floor.
“Shit, Cal!” he yelled. “I didn’t even get to—”
“So go ahead,” Cal said.
He grabbed Neal and threw him toward the door.
Steve Mills poured a slug of scotch into Karen Hawley’s coffee. She tasted it, made a face, then took another taste. One more of these and she just might accept the Mills’ invitation to spend the weekend.
Besides, it was so damn comfortable in the Mills’ living room. A big old log blazed, hissed, and spattered in the fireplace. The lamps cast a soft glow in the room and the Indian rugs seemed to mute the already quiet evening.
Karen sat on the couch, her stockinged feet tucked underneath her. Peggy sat beside her, sipping a glass of red wine and watching the fire. Steve was in and out of the big chair, alternating between bartending and fire tending.
And there was Shelly. Karen looked over at her as she lay by the fireplace with some thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of chocolate chip cookies. That might be another reason to stay, Karen thought. To try to engage Shelly in a late night conversation about everything that had happened. Peggy had told her that Shelly was doing all right, but just all right. Peggy and Steve had thought about taking her to Reno or even San Francisco to talk to a professional, but Shelly had said it was silly. She didn’t need a therapist because of a bunch of jerks.
But she was quiet. Quiet and sad, which was to be expected, of course. They decided just to give her time. And keep talking about it. That’s what Shelly probably needed, what they all needed, and most likely the unspoken reason for their get-together this night.
And I need to talk about it,
Karen thought. She had buried it deep, the hurt, the anger, the disappointment. They had talked about everything else, about racists, white supremacists, the Hansens, the True Identity Church, Cal Strekker. But they hadn’t talked about Neal Carey. Nobody had mentioned Neal.
“I didn’t even know,” Karen said after another sip of coffee, “that you were Jewish.”
“I barely knew it myself,” answered Steve. “My father was an atheist. We didn’t talk about it.”
“His old man was thrilled when we got married by a justice of the peace,” Peggy said, and she and Steve chuckled at the memory when she added, “My parents weren’t so delighted.”
Steve said, “I mean, we didn’t go to synagogue, we sure as hell don’t keep kosher … I don’t wear one of those beanies—”
“Yarmulke,” Shelly corrected, not looking up from the puzzle.
“Shelly brought some books home from the school library,” Peggy explained to Karen.
Well, that’s a good sign, Karen thought. “Do you see Jory in school?” she asked.
“I think he dropped out.”
“Such a waste,” said Karen. She decided to jump in with both feet. “And how are you doing, kid?”
Shelly craned her neck up from the puzzle. “I’m doing okay. I’m not very happy … and I don’t feel like a teenager anymore and I’m mad about that … but I’m doing okay. How are you doing, Karen?”
Well, I guess you’re not a teenager anymore, Karen thought. And I guess I owe you an adult answer. “I’m doing lousy. I feel awful about what happened, I feel awful Neal was … is … part of it. To tell you the truth, Shelly, he broke my heart.”
“Mine too.”
There was a long silence before Peggy said, “The valley doesn’t seem the same anymore.”
“It isn’t,” answered Steve. “It’s infected. It’s sick.”
“God damn Bob Hansen,” Peggy said.
Karen had never heard that kind of anger from her before. Sure, she’d heard Peggy bitch about Steve smoking, or seen her blow up at Shelly for some teenage sin, but she’d never heard the cold bitterness she now heard in her friend’s voice.
Steve said, “I think Bob just couldn’t handle it after Barb died. He was angry and confused and looking for something to hold onto, and unfortunately, the first thing he came to was this church and this race thing. You know Bob, when he does something, he does it all the way.”
Peggy rolled her eyes and looked affectionately at her husband. “Steve would make excuses for the devil.”
“Well, he’d need some help if you got on his tail.”
“I don’t know,” said Karen, “it just feels like we should do something.”
Steve answered. “We’re doing it. We’re going on with our lives, just like always. Only better—because this year I’m buying Christmas and Hanukkah presents. Double holidays from now on. Hell, maybe I’ll find out great-grandma was a Buddhist or a Hindu or something, and then we can have those holidays too.”
Shelly looked up from her puzzle and gave him an “Oh, Daddy” look.
“Well, I said I was a Jew,” Steve answered. “I didn’t say I was a good Jew.”
“Speaking of which,” said Peggy. “Tomorrow night we’re having a little celebration.”
A celebration? Karen thought. She didn’t feel much like celebrating, but she knew that’s exactly when you should. And maybe there was something to celebrate. After all, she’d found out about Neal Carey before it was too late.
She lifted her cup and said, “So, long, Neal. Good riddance.”
11
Neal’s hands were cuffed to a ring bolted into the wall of the small bunker. They’d taken his watch, but he figured it was somewhere near morning. He sat shivering on the concrete floor, listening to joe Graham nag at him.
“You should have pulled the trigger, son,” Graham was saying. He also was chained to the wall.
“I know.”
“You should have gone through with it.”
“You’re right.”
“I’ve told you a million times, the job comes first.”
“Let me ask them,” Neal said through clenched teeth. “Maybe they’ll give me the gun back—loaded.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes. Then Neal asked, “Are you scared, Graham?”
“Out of my mind.”
Me too, thought Neal. But so far it just doesn’t seem real. They’ve thrown us into the old prison bunker, chained us to the wall, and just left us in here to freeze. And there’s nothing we can do about it.
“What are we going to do?” he asked Graham.
“Well, when they come in, and they will, they’re going to start working on us. They’ll probably start with one of us first and let the other watch. The guy watching sees what’s happening to his partner and starts thinking, Do I really want them doing that to me? Maybe I can make a deal. So that’s what we do.”
“Make a deal?” Neal asked.
“Sure. You give them the whole story, a little bit at a time, so they’re convinced they’re beating it out of you. You give it to them too early, they think it’s a lie. So take a few lumps and then start to tell them everything. A little bit at a time.”
Neal couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “If we tell them everything they’ll probably kill the boy.
“The boy is dead.”
“I don’t believe that.”
If Graham could have reached Neal he would have grabbed him and shook him. Instead he looked at him long and hard and said, “Son, the boy is dead. You have to face that. We didn’t get to him in time. Maybe there were things we did that we shouldn’t have, or things we didn’t do that we should have. I don’t know. But the boy is dead, Neal.”
“It’s nothing we did. It was me.”
“Who gives a shit?” Graham yelled. “Jesus, will you grow up? Cody McCall is dead, and we’re probably going to join him real soon. The only chance we have is to try to drag this out long enough for Levine to look up from his account books and realize he hasn’t heard from us in awhile and he’d better come looking. And when Ed comes, he’ll arrive with a bad attitude and an army. And I want to live long enough to see that. So drop the it’s-all-my-fault crybaby shit and start thinking about how you can make them torture you for as long as possible.”
You’re right, Dad. The only chance is to talk and drag it out. But you’re wrong about the boy, Graham. I just goddamn know that Cody is alive. And that should be reason enough to hang on.
The door opened and Randy came in carrying two sawhorses. Cal Strekker came in behind him. He had a sledgehammer.
“See, what we did with Harley,” Cal said, “was we laid him on his back on the floor, set one horse under his knees and the other under his ankles. Then we tied his ankles to the second sawhorse. That way Harley’s legs was stretched out nice and tight. Then I swung this hammer down and … whoo.”
Neal felt every nerve in his body jump out from his skin. It was Graham who had the balls to ask, “What did you have against Harley?”
“He wouldn’t give up his boy,” Cal answered. “That got the reverend questioning Harley’s commitment to the cause, which got the reverend praying, and old Yahweh must have told him that Harley was a race traitor. Carter came in here himself to ask Harley the questions. Harley confessed.”
“Before or after you broke his legs?” Graham asked.
Cal grinned. “Long time before that.”
Neal was trying to work up enough voice to ask about Cody, but Graham shut him off with a look and said, “But you kept at him anyway, didn’t you?”
“Yahweh said,” answered Cal. “Or Carter said Yahweh said, which amounted to the same thing. See, Harley had been bonded in blood, so Carter said he was the worse kind of traitor. Said the devil was in him and that we had to make the devil howl. And we did.”
Cal sat down on one of the sawhorses and told them all about it. He enjoyed telling the story, seeing the terror in their eyes, feeling them flinch
and sicken, watching them as they came to the realization that the same things were going to happen to them.
So he told them how they’d left Harley chained in the bunker and gone out and got a billy goat and come back in and the reverend told Harley to have sex with Satan’s animal. And how Harley refused, so they brought the boy in, held a gun to his head, and asked Harley again, and this time Harley just couldn’t do it fast enough and Carter said that it proved he was in league with the devil. So they took the boy out, and then they wrapped a rope around the chain on Harley’s cuffs, and ran that through the pulley on the ceiling, and hoisted Harley up and took turns on him with a knotted rope till Harley passed out, so they left him hanging there and the cuffs rubbed his wrists raw and his hands got all swollen because there was no circulation.
Cal told them how they came back later that night and the first thing Harley croaked out of his throat was to ask about his boy, and Carter said that Yahweh would take care of the child and Harley started crying then, just blubbering—like to make you sick—and Carter told Harley to confess that ZOG had sent him and Harley did. They let him down then, cuffed him behind his back, and forced him on his knees, and Carter stuck a broom handle up him and then they left him there like that. And when they came back Harley was bleeding like you wouldn’t believe, and moaning, and Carter said he was talking to Satan but they needed to hear Satan howl. So they broke Harley’s fingers, then his arms. And that was when they did the trick with the sawhorses and the hammer and they thought he was going to die right there, and Randy here was such a pussy he said maybe they should just shoot him then. But Carter said that Satan would take him in his time and Carter went back to California. And Harley was a tough bird and just wouldn’t give up the ghost and he was groaning all the time and letting off such a stench, and that’s when they got to talking about how there really was more than one way to skin a cat. So Cal started taking a knife to him and peeling off big strips—you should have heard Satan howl then—but they didn’t get too far and Harley just finally died.
“But it took what, Randy?” Cal asked. “Couple of weeks?”
“More like three, I think, start to finish.”