by Andy Straka
“Maybe Higgins has mounted a new recruiting drive.”
“Sure. ‘Cept I doubt the brothers who live here would throw him and his bunch much of a grand reception.”
“I see your point.”
“I think we’re going to have to have a talk with Bo Higgins about this one,” he said.
“Let’s,” I said.
We drove back down along the interstate, past the few high-rise hotels and office buildings and state capitol, before crossing the Kanawha again back into the far south side of Charleston, which didn’t border South Charleston. Go figure. The way the topography, the interstate, and the river twisted out here, you knew you still had a long way to go before you got to Kansas.
The West Virginia headquarters of the Stonewall Rangers Brigade on MacCorkle Avenue was not as impressive as the name might imply. The building Toronto pointed out as we drove into the lot looked like the sawed-off end of an old tobacco barn attached to the back end of Bo Higgins’s used-car dealership—BEST DEALS ON WHEELS—RIDE TODAY FOR LESS! An array of late-model sedans, station wagons, and sport utes with a decidedly made-in-the-USA flavor occupied the lot.
The gray sky had begun to brighten some more, revealing a flurry or two, but despite the cold, a door to the small showroom floor hung partway open. Traffic out front on the street at this hour of the morning was all but nonexistent.
“So let me get this straight,” I said, searching for a wide enough parking spot among the mostly occupied spaces. “Chester and you listened to this guy’s spiel. What else did Chester have to say about it?”
Toronto shrugged. “He said he thought the speakers raised some interesting questions, even if they were quite a ways off on the answers.”
“White supremacists raising interesting questions?”
“Well, just when he was talking to me, Chester liked to call them proletariat whores.”
“Proletariat whores?” I was trying to figure what Chester might’ve meant by that when a wide spot presented itself. I twisted the pickup into the slot. “At least maybe these guys can tell us what happened to Elo.”
“Maybe.”
“While they’re in the midst of divulging all their goals and schemes to us.”
“Absolutely.”
“Which we plan to discuss now with this major general head of the whole operation.”
“Not major general. Lieutenant colonel.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”
The man who poked his head out of the showroom to see who’d entered his parking lot was a bony figure with a high-domed head and a coif of white hair neatly combed to one side. His face had that rugged Western look that said he mostly didn’t give a damn; his uniform, despite his apparent rank, was a blue-and-white-checked flannel shirt over blue jeans, black cowboy boots that resembled the pair Toronto had on, and a white turtle-neck. He squinted suspiciously at my truck with its Virginia plates until he recognized Toronto climbing out of the passenger side.
“Jake Toronto, sir. What brings you over here this early hour of the day? Got someone wanting to buy a new truck?” Higgins, now grinning, was marching out to greet us. The air smelled of cold paint and chemicals from an auto body place next door.
“Not exactly, Bo.” Toronto pointed at me as I closed the door of the truck behind me. “This here is Frank Pavlicek. He used to be my partner when I was a detective back in New York.”
“Oh. Sure.” Bo Higgins stepped forward, extending his hand. We shook. His grip was firm but not too overbearing—more like a politician’s than a soldier’s.
“Frank works now as a private investigator.”
“I guess you aren’t after a truck then.”
“Nope.”
“Private investigator.” Higgins nodded, Toronto’s words taking a moment to sink in. The car dealer’s grin went dead. “Works for whom?”
Hardly the backwoods grammar I’d have expected from a crazed militia leader, but I’d read a couple of articles about these people and knew not to necessarily expect a maniacally raving Hitler type. The question was directed at me.
“That all depends.” I smiled.
Higgins said nothing.
“Chester Carew’s wife hired Frank to check into the shooting. You know, see if he might be able to give the police a hand and all. Thought we might ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” Toronto said. He was all charm for the moment, I noted, not usually one of my buddy’s strong points.
“Chester’s shooting?”
“You heard about what happened to him, didn’t you?”
The militiaman rubbed at a day’s growth of stubble on his chin. “Yeah. Read about it in the paper. That was really a terrible thing, wasn’t it?”
“Didn’t see you or any of your fellow brigade members at the funeral.”
“Oh, well, you know about that, Jake. We mourn along with everybody else, but none of us really knew old Chester all that well.”
Toronto nodded.
“By the way, you have any ID on you, Mr. Pavlicek? Maybe a PI license?”
I took out my wallet, pulled out the cards, and handed him both. He looked them over thoroughly, front and back, then handed them back to me.
“Can’t be too careful these days, you know,” he said. “Cops and federal agents running around checking on everyone like storm troopers. Just because a man may have strong opinions about his country and his liberty don’t make him no terrorist.”
“You want to talk inside?” Toronto asked.
“Unless you’re planning to purchase one of my fine vehicles, I don’t see much good in standing around out here.”
We followed him in through the showroom floor where a green-and-white 1958 Bel Air in apparent mint condition stood parked next to a late-model Chrysler minivan. We didn’t hit warmer air until we’d reached the back of the room, where a wood-and-glass door led to a small suite of offices.
“It doesn’t pay to heat the showroom at night,” Higgins explained.
Inside the office door was a small waiting room with a handful of armless polyester-covered chairs.
“Can I get you boys some coffee?”
We each declined.
“All right then.” Higgins pulled out one of the chairs, spun it around so the back was facing us, and sat down with his bony legs straddling it like a horse he’d just mounted. “Have a seat and go ahead and ask me your questions. I’ve got a truckload of used vehicles due in here in about an hour and a truckload of insurance company paperwork to finish before it arrives.”
I took a chair on the wall opposite. Toronto, who’d remained standing, looked at me. “Why don’t you go first, Frank.”
Good cop, bad cop—all right, I’d try to be good. I was still dripping sleep from my eyes, but what the heck.
“Okay,” I said. “Mr. Higgins, it’s my understanding that you are the leader of a certain local militia group—”
“Hold it right there, my friend,” Higgins said. “Commander is the proper term.”
“Commander then—”
“And we’re not a militia. It’s the right of the citizenry within each state to form their own individual militias—check your copy of the Constitution. But since we’re comprised of members from more than one state, we don’t assume the right to call ourselves one. We’re more of a paramilitary club composed of enthusiasts.”
“A club of enthusiasts.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, this club of yours then. You’re its founder?”
“Not founder. But as I said, I do have the privilege of being the commanding officer at present.”
“Sure. You have a military background, Mr. Higgins?”
“No, sir. I was four-F during Vietnam—heart murmur. But some of our members do have direct military experience.”
“And what kind of activities exactly does your group engage in?”
“Training exercises, mainly. Weapons instruction and tactical drills and lectures.”
“How many members
do you have?”
He paused for a moment. “It varies. People come and go. We’ve had as many as eighty-five at some of our gatherings and as little as twenty or thirty.”
“Do you maintain some kind of membership roster?”
“I have a mailing list and we do a roll call, but if you’re going where I think you’re going, sir, that’s private, privileged information.”
“Protected under some amendment of the Constitution, no doubt,” I said. I had to be a little careful here. Didn’t want to antagonize the man too early.
My little dig seemed to wash over him, however. He made no comment.
“Jake tells me that Chester Carew brought him to a couple of your club’s gatherings.”
“That’s right, he did.” Something in his eyes told me he’d just as soon that hadn’t happened, but since it had, he was trying to make the best of it.
“Had Chester been to many of your meetings before?”
“No, sir. He had some, ah, questions about our organization.”
“Questions?”
“Yes. He wasn’t familiar with our activities and some of our training, of course, and wanted to know more.”
Knowing Chester, I was certain he’d asked a lot more questions than that, but I let it pass.
“How did Chester come to find out about your group?”
“We approached him about permission to use a part of his land. He was the only one who hunted up there and we thought it might be a good place to hold exercises.”
“And what was his response?”
“He said no, at first. Didn’t want us bringing weapons in there. Afraid for his birds, I guess.”
“So why wasn’t that the end of it?” I asked.
“Well, we asked him a few more times. Kept after him because his land was really so ideal and convenient for a lot of us. Invited him to a couple of meetings. I guess he must’ve thought about it and had a change of heart, because he eventually said okay as long as he knew when we were coming so he wouldn’t be in the woods hunting with those falcons of his.”
“So you’ve had a few of these exercises, as you call them, on his land?”
He hesitated. “Three so far. And we’ve got another one planned for next week. Don’t know how the widow’s going to take to having us back there again though, so we may have to move it to another location.”
“How about yesterday morning? Were you having some kind of exercise up there then?”
“No, why?”
“Because I was up there and somebody dressed in camos and a ski mask pointed a shotgun in my face and gave me this.” I indicated the bruise and cut on the side of my mouth.
He said nothing.
“Not one of your soldiers, huh?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
I looked through the glass down a long hallway and a screen door opening to a room in back. I could see gray feathers flapping and a dark shape darted through the air in front of the screen.
“What’ve you got in there?” I asked.
“Where?”
I pointed down the hallway. “Down there. In that room.”
He shrugged. “Pigeons,” he said. “I race them.”
“Homing pigeons, huh?”
“Not exactly. Similar.”
“Did you know Hitler was a pigeon fancier? Used them to pass messages back and forth to his spies in England.”
“So? The president of the United States is a jogger and a Republican. Does that mean Democrats shouldn’t jog? For your information our own country used pigeons to pass messages too.”
“Is that right?” Toronto broke in. “Passing some kind of secret codes with your own birds there, Bo?”
Higgins smiled. “If I was, they’d be secret, wouldn’t they?”
They glared at one another.
“Okay,” I said. “These get-togethers of yours. You just talk about guns, military hardware—things like that?”
“Well, yeah, at least formally, that’s all we do. Sometimes a few of the guys’ll get together and talk about other stuff … you know, politics, things like that.”
“But you claim you and your people are not part of any extremist militia movement. No budding Timothy McVeighs in your midst.”
“Hey, like I tell all those federal agents been sniffing around here since those terrorists attacked our nation last year. One of these days, they might just be glad folks like us are around.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Just saying we’re prepared is all.”
“How do you feel about the government in Washington?”
“Huh.” He snickered. “Now you’re sounding like some kind of Red Chinese Commie or something, coming around here and wanting to know all about my politics.”
“No,” Toronto said. “Excuse me, Frank, but I’ve had about all of this I’m going to stomach.”
“Come again?” Higgins appeared stunned.
“Look, Higgins. Don’t try to snooker us with all this talk about your rights. I’ve been and I’ve heard the speeches. You and your little ragtag army spew a lot of venom.”
“No crime in speaking our minds. You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. In case you haven’t heard, it’s still a free country.” He folded his arms and thrust out his chin.
“I think you mean pollute people’s minds, don’t you?”
“I know my people. I know what’s in their hearts. It’s freedom, gentlemen. Freedom and a pure white race. Not too many citizens left in this nation willing to stand up on their hind legs and fight for that.”
“I know some black Americans and a whole lot of others deployed over in Afghanistan and a few other places around the world that would beg to differ with you,” Toronto said.
“Oh, spare me the parade, Toronto. Those boys are nothing but tools. You here to accuse me of something? Is that it?”
“I knew Chester Carew,” I interrupted. “He was a fine and decent man.”
“And he was coming around to where he would eventually join us,” Higgins said. “Too bad he didn’t quite make it. But I didn’t shoot the man and neither did any of my people. And, Mr. Pavlicek, you might be surprised to find out who else is really sympathetic with our views.”
Toronto was slowly shaking his head.
“Mr. Higgins, since you don’t seem willing to part with your mailing list, I don’t suppose you’ll be able to tell us the whereabouts of each of your organization’s members on the morning Chester Carew was killed?”
“Now how the hell would I know that?”
I’d been saving the best until last. I pulled the GPS unit from my jacket pocket. A glimmer of recognition flashed through Higgins’s eyes before they went blank again.
“Took this off of the man who accosted me in the woods yesterday,” I said. “Interesting set of coordinates stored in here. Chester’s land. Apartment project called Roseberry Circle. And guess what? Your place, right here, Bo.”
The car dealer glared at me. “So you say. That doesn’t prove a thing.”
“Maybe not. But it sure does raise a lot of interesting questions, doesn’t it?”
Higgins’s eyes narrowed. “Look, gentlemen, I’ve been polite with you up until now, but I’ve got a business to run and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit here and be accused of killing some guy just because he came to a few of our meetings. Hell, you guys aren’t even cops.… What do you care what goes on up there in Roseberry nigger-land? Probably best you leave.”
He stood up to walk back to the showroom, as if to signal an end to our conversation. But he didn’t get far. It was not the first time I’d seen Toronto lose it. Maybe one of the most explosive. He burst across the room in little more than a stride and with nothing but a couple of fingers applied to the man’s solar plexus had the commander of the local Stonewall Rangers Brigade up against the panel partition leading to the back office.
“Don’t screw with us, Higgins. And don’t disrespect us. You sent a man up there to Che
ster’s woods yesterday. Why?”
Higgins was suddenly having trouble breathing, but he managed to blurt out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right. We’re going to figure out who shot Chester, and if I find out it was you or one of your little cronies, that Constitution you’re always waving around ain’t gonna help you one bit. You dig?”
He nodded, ever so slightly. His cheeks were turning bright red.
“It’s okay, Jake. He’s not worth it,” I said.
Toronto glared at the man a second longer. Higgins’s eyes began to roll back and his lids fluttered. “You’re right,” Jake said. “And that’s too bad.” He released his hold.
Higgins crumpled to his knees, coughing and gasping for breath. There was one of those water coolers with a ring dispenser filled with paper cups in the corner. I went over and filled one with the cold liquid, then brought it back and handed it to the car dealer. His hands shaking, he took the cup without looking at me.
“You’ll be okay in a minute or two,” I said.
Higgins squeezed out a smile. “Just a couple more days,” he croaked.
“What’s that?” I bent over to hear him more clearly.
“Just a couple more days. Y’all will see.”
Toronto grabbed him by the hair. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
I held out my hand to stop him. A low vibration rumbled the walls of the building. Outside through the widow, not fifteen feet away, a long tractor-trailer car carrier loaded with used cars and trucks was rolling into the dealer’s lot. I guess the driver was early that morning. Higgins’s paperwork and the answers to the rest of our questions would have to wait.
9
“What in the world were you thinking? You could’ve killed that guy.”
Toronto didn’t answer, simply stared at the multiple lanes of cars ahead of us as we made our way back through Charleston in the direction of Chester’s land. We’d left Higgins talking to the car carrier driver, then headed down MacCorkle Avenue and onto the interstate in stony silence.
“Talk to me, man.”
More silence. Then finally, “None of this smells right. If Higgins or one of his pals killed Chester, why would he have sent someone back to the scene of the shooting?”