Robert B. Parker's Colorblind

by Reed Farrel Coleman

  The kid had nothing else to say. It was just as well. Jesse was tired and wet and not really in the mood for history lessons.

  16

  Mayor Walker would have preferred to be Congresswoman or Senator Walker. Jesse Stone would have preferred that, too. Connie Walker had never been Jesse’s biggest fan, nor had Jesse ever felt great love for the mayor, but, for the time being, they were stuck with each other. At least the mayor, in spite of strong opposition, had backed Jesse when he hired Alisha. And Jesse had given Walker political cover and taken the media heat during the whole Terry Jester fiasco.

  When the mayor strolled in, Jesse stood up from the booth at Daisy’s to greet her. Constance Walker didn’t look pleased. She was never pleased when she was summoned by Jesse to one of these meetings away from town hall. Connie was a handsome woman, but when she was unhappy, stern-looking didn’t quite do her expression justice.

  “Okay, Jesse, what’s wrong this time?” she asked, sliding into the booth, a cup of coffee waiting for her. “It’s never good news when we have to meet at seven in the morning. And Daisy’s whole-wheat pancakes don’t soften the blow as much as you think they do.”

  As if on cue, Daisy arrived with the mayor’s pancakes and Jesse’s scrambled eggs and bacon.

  “Enjoy.” Daisy dropped the plates and left.

  Connie asked, “What’s up with Daisy?”

  “The look on your face. She knows to keep her distance.”

  The mayor sipped her black coffee, put butter and syrup on her pancakes, took a bite, and made a happy face in spite of herself. It didn’t last.

  “I asked you a question, Jesse.”

  “You heard about the assault in Swan Harbor?”

  “Horrible. Horrible.” She took another bite. “A Harvard prof.”

  “Not exactly. Her name’s Felicity Wileford and she’s studying for her Ph.D. at Harvard. She’s black and the man she was staying with is white.”

  Confused, the mayor tilted her head. “Is that significant?”

  “What I tell you now is off the record and between us. The word slut was written across her abdomen in red lipstick.”

  The pancakes seemed to turn to sawdust in her mouth. “Oh my God. But still, that was in Swan Harbor.”

  “Last time I looked, there was no wall separating us from Swan Harbor.” Then Jesse explained about the Tammy Portugal murder.

  Connie said, “I was living in New York during those years, but that was the whole mess with Hasty Hathaway and his lunatic militiamen. That was a long, long time ago, Jesse. All those people are either dead or in prison.”

  Jesse nodded.

  “Then why was it necessary to summon me here? As horrifying as the assault was—”

  “Someone burned a cross on the Patels’ lawn last night.”

  The mayor’s face went blank. She immediately understood. “Dr. Patel is Indian and his wife is . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I will go see them today. But that’s your old house. Could it have been meant for you?”

  “C’mon, Connie. If it had been a brick through the window or if the word pig had been spray-painted across the front door, maybe I’d buy it. But a cross burned into their lawn with kerosene wasn’t meant for me. And Molly tells me there were some skinhead bikers in town a few weeks back.”

  “She told me about that after it happened, but I didn’t think anything of it.”

  “Nothing happens in a vacuum.”

  “So what are you telling me, Jesse? Something wicked this way comes?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “That it’s already here.”

  “What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “I don’t know, Connie. I thought it was my duty to tell you. And in case you’re wondering, the cross-burning is being reported as simple vandalism. The Patels don’t want their kids to have to deal with the press.”

  “Thank heavens for small mercies.”

  “I don’t think this is over.”

  “You don’t think whoever is behind this stuff will just move on?”

  “Lamb’s blood over the threshold only works in the Old Testament.”

  “Now I am worried,” she said, trying and failing to smile.

  “Why’s that?”

  “When you start citing the Old Testament, I know we’re in for it.” She slid out of the booth, reached for her coffee, and finished it in a single gulp. “Thank Daisy for me. Tell her the coffee and pancakes were wonderful as always. Keep me apprised.”

  Connie Walker turned and left, her heels clacking against the tile floor as she went. A couple seconds later, Daisy came over to talk to Jesse and refill his cup.

  “What’s up with Mayor Hottie? That woman is godawful attractive, but she wears tension like too much perfume.”

  Jesse laughed. “Maybe you could offer her some relief.”

  Sounding as wistful as he’d ever heard her, Daisy said, “Some things, Jesse Stone, are just not meant to be.”

  Jesse thought there was no arguing that.

  17

  Jesse parked his Explorer out in front of the Paradise Hotel and headed down to the video office to speak to Connor Cavanaugh. Cavanaugh, Suit’s old high school football buddy, was head of security and played on the PPD’s softball team. Like Suit, Cavanaugh was a big, friendly guy, though he didn’t have a new wife to watch his diet. Jesse laughed to himself when he stepped into the video room and saw Connor finishing an egg sandwich and reaching for a thick slab of pumpkin bread. Cavanaugh smiled at Jesse, seeming to read his mind.

  “Well, Jesse, Halloween’s coming, got to do something with all that pumpkin.”

  “Better take some of that spare tire off before softball season.”

  Cavanaugh slapped his gut. “I know. If I get any bigger, I’ll be able to play two positions at once.”

  They both laughed at that.

  Cavanaugh asked, “You here to collect your friend?”

  “I wouldn’t call him my friend. He give you any trouble?”

  Cavanaugh shook his head. “Nope. Quiet.”

  “I appreciate you giving him the room.”

  “No sweat, Jesse. We always have a few spare rooms for emergencies, even during this time of year, when folks come up to see the foliage. One of my perks is that I can use them now and then. I can let him have it for another few days, but this coming weekend we’re full and—”

  “No need to explain. I appreciate it, Connor. The kid will make good on it.”

  Cavanaugh shook his head. “That’s unnecessary. I owe you and Suit a hundred favors.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk about it when the time comes.”

  “He’s in one-twelve.”

  Jesse walked over to where Cavanaugh was sitting and leaned against the table. That got Connor’s attention, but the serious expression on Jesse’s face is really what did it.

  He bit into the pumpkin bread and asked, “Something wrong, Jesse?”

  “I’m going to ask you a question that may seem inappropriate.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you know if any interracial couples are registered here?”

  For the first time since they’d met, Connor gave Jesse a wary look. “I don’t know about this, Jesse. I’m uncomfortable answering—”

  Jesse explained what had happened to Felicity Wileford and about the incident at the Patels’ house and said, “So you understand why I’m asking. I’m trying to prevent anything else like that from happening again.”

  Cavanaugh exhaled and put the pumpkin bread down. He seemed to have lost his appetite. “Yeah, I understand. So you think this is only the beginning of the trouble?”

  “I can’t afford not to think that.”

  “I wouldn’t want your job, Jesse, not in a million years. As far as interracial couples go .
. . I can’t remember any. But I guess I don’t usually pay attention to that kind of stuff. If I notice any, what should I do? Should I say something?”

  “No. Just keep an eye out and let me know. I can have the officer patrolling this sector pay some extra attention to the hotel and surrounding streets.”

  “And I guess you can’t panic people or chase them out of town.”

  “I don’t think the mayor would be a fan of that idea, but if we have any more trouble, there won’t be a choice. And, Connor . . .”

  “Yeah, Jesse.”

  “For now,” he said, shaking Cavanaugh’s big hand, “this is just between us.”

  “You got it.”

  * * *

  —

  SLAYTON ANSWERED THE DOOR, hair wet, but dressed in a ragged San Francisco Giants T-shirt, jeans, and his duct-taped Nikes. Although he didn’t exactly jump for joy, his expression was less challenging to Jesse than it had been previously. He even asked Jesse to come in.

  Slayton said, “That Connor guy is all right. He even got the hotel to wash my clothes.”

  “He’s a good man. He says you can stay in the room for a few more days.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  What Jesse couldn’t help but notice was the tidiness of the room. Except for the bed quilt being folded over, it would have been hard to tell the place had been slept in. Jesse had been the same way. Still was. He’d attributed it to his minor-league travels, having to pack efficiently for long road trips on buses and stays in cheap hotels. But he guessed he was always pretty neat. It was part of that self-contained thing.

  “You play baseball?” Jesse said, pointing at Slayton’s T-shirt.

  “Right field and relief pitcher for my high school. Made all-city my senior year as an outfielder.”

  “Why didn’t you pursue it?”

  “Didn’t love it enough.”

  “Giants shirt. I thought you were from L.A.”

  The kid’s attitude came back in full force. “Fu— screw the Dodgers.”

  “I used to play in their minor-league system.”

  But if he thought the kid would ask him about his time as the best shortstop prospect in the Dodgers’ system, he was wrong. What he got from Slayton was a full dose of attitude.

  “Minor-league ballplayer. Minor-league cop in a minor-league town.”

  “Let’s go,” Jesse said, ignoring the comment. “I’ve got to drop you off before I get to the station.”

  Slayton furrowed his brow. “Drop me off? Where?”

  “At your job.”

  “Job?”

  “You got trouble with strong women?”

  Slayton’s chest puffed out and his attitude turned to anger. “No. My mom was the strongest woman I ever met.”

  “Was?”

  “She died about six months ago. She raised me pretty much on her own.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Sure you are. Everybody’s sorry. What does that even mean?”

  “Good question.” Jesse nodded, remembering how people reacted to Diana’s murder. “You said your mom raised you pretty much on her own.”

  “Yeah, I had an asshole stepfather for a while.”

  “What happened?”

  “When I got big enough to kick his butt, I told him if he ever raised his hand to me or my mom again, I’d kill him. He didn’t stay too long after that.” Slayton seemed to calm down once he got that off his chest. “So why’d you ask me about strong women?”

  “When you meet your new boss, you’ll understand.”

  18

  Back at the station, Jesse was waiting for Lundquist when Molly walked into his office.

  “I know this was your office until a few days ago, but knocking is traditional. Besides, what are you even doing here? Aren’t you off today?”

  But Molly wasn’t laughing. In fact, she seemed close to tears. That shook Jesse, because it took a lot to rattle Molly.

  “What is it?” Jesse jumped out of his chair and came around his desk. “Is it your kids?”

  She took a folded piece of paper out of her back pocket and handed it to him. “My husband found that on his windshield this morning when he was heading to work.”

  The slickly produced flier was done in multicolored ink. The logo at the top was an American flag, a rounded-edged swastika superimposed on it. At each corner of the flier was a Confederate flag with an arm raised in the fascist salute superimposed on it.

  Think of your town twenty years ago. It was a peaceful place, a place safe to raise your children with their own kind, a place where you understood what marriage meant and where Sunday still belonged to the one true and Christian God. Remember when your town was a place where you could trust your neighbors and where you could leave your front door open without fear. Is that the town you live in today?

  No. Today your town is overrun with violence and fear. Your town has been invaded and despoiled while you slept. It has been taken from you by greedy bankers and politicians who have sold your beautiful, peaceful town out from under you for thirty pieces of silver. They have opened the sewer gates of the city and let the muck flow into your streets, neighborhoods, and houses. Do you know your neighbors? Would you trust them with your children? Is their god your God? Do they even believe? Are they sodomites and defilers enabled by atheist liberal conspirators whose mission it is to rob America of its supremacy and destiny?

  The Revolution is coming. The time to take back your town, your country, your destiny is almost upon you. The warning shots have already been fired and soon the time will come for you to take up arms against the dark and usurious forces of liberalism, feminism, atheism, socialism, and the corrupt government that wants to take away your guns, a government that takes sides against the people who stand between you and the jungle, a government that supports free immigration and globalization. Listen carefully. The fuse has been lit. When you hear the explosion, take to the streets and take back this nation one town at a time.

  The Saviors of Society

  * * *

  —

  AS JESSE HAD TOLD MOLLY the day he came back to work, he had run across groups like this in Tucson and L.A. There were even some members of the LAPD who’d gotten jammed up for their involvement with fringe groups and militias whose philosophies and agendas strayed pretty close to out-and-out fascism and white supremacy.

  Jesse asked, “Do you know if your neighbors got these?”

  “I don’t know. My husband had to get to work and I had to get the girls off to the bus.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll know soon enough.” He shook his head in disgust. “I don’t like it.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  “These groups are one thing, but this flier . . . it’s different than the ones I’ve seen in the past. It’s not the usual crude, simplistic hate speech you usually get. The language is more nuanced than it usually is with these things.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Because the writer was smart enough to appeal to people’s fear while steering clear of the automatically inflammatory words. Most of the hate here is sheathed in allusion and euphemism, and that makes these people more dangerous. And there’s just enough truth in here to get some traction. The nature of Paradise has changed in the last twenty years. People from the city are moving into town. The nature of the crime is different now.”

  “But this is a good place with good people. You know these people. I know these people, Jesse. I am these people.”

  “We’re never who we think we are, Molly, good or bad.”

  “But they’re talking about shots, fuses, explosions, and revolution.”

  “Uh-huh. Like I said before, free speech cuts in different directions.”

  Molly opened her mouth to say something, but that’s when the station phones st
arted ringing off the hook. They walked through the office door and listened to Gabe answering the phones.

  “I think I have my answer about those fliers getting into other people’s hands,” Jesse said. “You want an hour of overtime helping me handle these calls?”

  “Forget the overtime,” Molly said, pulling up a chair next to Gabe. “This is my town, Jesse.”

  19

  Lundquist walked into Jesse’s office half an hour after the torrent of phone calls had begun. Things had slowed some by then, though calls were still coming in. Jesse had already spoken to the mayor about it and had called Suit in from patrol. After making a copy of the flier for Suit, Jesse sent him over to Molly’s street to get a sense of just how many of the fliers had been distributed and to see if he could determine how big an area of the town had been covered.

  “Jesse, these things could be all over the place,” Suit had said.

  “I don’t think so. These types operate under cover of darkness. They’re not ready to be seen—not yet, anyway.”

  “Not yet. What are they waiting for?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question.”

  Jesse hadn’t wanted to get into it with Suit about what he thought might make the Saviors of Society step out into the light of day. He didn’t think he’d have that luxury with Lundquist.

  “Have a seat, Brian.”

  Before sitting, Lundquist placed a file on Jesse’s desk.

  “That’s the initial forensics and medical report on Felicity Wileford.”

  Jesse asked, “Anything unexpected?”

  Lundquist didn’t answer directly. “She’s in bad shape. Broken jaw. Broken ribs. Punctured lung. And they brutalized her.”

  “What do you mean, ‘brutalized’? Was she raped?”

  Lundquist made a sick face. “In a way. It’s all there in the file. That’s not even the worst of it. The doctors have put her in a medically induced coma, but they’re not hopeful.”