When they approached the side door, Michael stopped and allowed her to step in front of him to enter. She rolled her eyes because she knew it wasn’t chivalry. He was avoiding touching the rusted door handle.
Once inside, she was forced to blink several times in an attempt to help her eyes adjust to the dimness. A limited number of single lights bulbs strategically placed throughout the space provided the only illumination. Several metal folding chairs were lined up in front of a rectangular table where a poster board sat on display with ten neatly numbered and scribed statements, but the print was too small to read from a distance. If that was all she had to go by, she would have assumed that they wandered into an Alcoholics Anonymous or other community group meeting, but for a large red and white flag that hung on the back wall. It depicted a man atop a large white horse holding a cross over his head.
“Is that man wearing a white hood with a pentagram and a horned skull?” he asked, pointing.
Elizabeth lowered his arm. “Yes, Michael, I believe he is.”
“What is this place?”
“Welcome to the local chapter of the Order of the White Knights.”
“What the hell?”
“Exactly,” she said before she moved forward and took a seat in the back row.
He followed and sat next to her, sitting as close as he could, so that they were practically sharing a seat.
In her internet research, she learned that the Order of the White Knights, with its ideology a cross between white supremacy and Paganism, had a well-organized website clearly designed to increase its membership with information on the group and printable application forms. It also featured the online ability to pay monthly dues and purchase merchandise including T-shirts, buttons, and bumper stickers, but what Elizabeth found most helpful was the listing of current events, including the bimonthly meeting for the local chapter.
She looked about the group of people who were conversing in small circles, and she noted that they all had a similar look. They were predominantly male, most with shaved or cropped hair, black boots with jeans, and multiple tattoos. The few women that were mixed in shared a similar style minus the short hair. She recognized some insignias on the T-shirts that ranged from insensitive to hateful and wondered where these people lived in the outside world. During the day, were they her neighbors, people she would encounter in the coffee shop, or pass on the street and think nothing of them?
Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t notice the cloaked man who stepped in front of the table.
“Okay, everyone, take your seats.”
The group followed his command and moved to their seats, none sitting in the back near them, for which she was grateful. As the man bowed his head, the members joined him and recited a prayer in unison, and she wondered who they were praying to. Not wanting to be conspicuous, she lowered her head and pushed Michael’s down when he continued to stare at the cloaked man.
When the group prayer abruptly stopped, the leader began reciting the ten edicts that she guessed were listed on the poster board, which promoted individual liberty, a natural order in the universe (which not surprisingly put them at the top), and a healthy mix of the Second Amendment, and the assembly followed in harmony. When the recitation was complete, the man tipped his head back and stretched his arms up with the assembly mimicking the action. Elizabeth thought it odd because the little she knew about the group, looking down would seem more appropriate.
“If I am sacrificed tonight, I will never speak to you again,” Michael whispered harshly.
“If they sacrifice you, then you will probably be dead, so I wouldn’t expect you to speak to me.”
“In that case, I will come back and haunt you and throw out all those ridiculous turtleneck sweaters and those god-awful flannel pajamas.”
Elizabeth raised her head and stared at him. “What’s wrong with my pajamas?”
“Don’t think you’ll be getting any action with the lady detective wearing little pink flower pajamas with bunny slippers to match.”
Elizabeth thumped him in the back of his head.
“Ouch! You messed up my hair!”
“There won’t be much to worry about after they remove your head!”
When the room became painfully quiet, Elizabeth realized the congregation had stopped chanting and now openly stared at them. “Sorry, my friend here just gets a little excited by the whole satanic supremacy thing,” Michael said, waving his hands in front of him for emphasis.
The cloaked man approached them. “Perhaps you’re a little lost? The Abercrombie and Fitch meet and greet is down the block.”
“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth said. “We didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just looking for someone.” She hadn’t really planned on what she would do or say once she found the meeting location; winging it seemed like a good idea at the time.
The man remained in front of them, arms crossed, exposing several tattoos, including an 88 on one hand and a horned skull on the other. “Who?”
“White Demon,” Elizabeth said, and even Michael seemed to be at a loss for words.
“Who is White Demon?” the man asked, his irritation clearly evident.
“I was hoping you would know. Maybe your leader?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” The hands of his crossed arms gripped tighter.
She knew she was on borrowed time and tried again. “How about the key to the castle? Do you know where that is? Or maybe you know where I can find the horse plant?”
The little patience the cloaked man had expired. “I would appreciate it if you would both leave and allow us to practice our free expression, as guaranteed by the First Amendment, in peace.” She could barely see the man’s face with the heavy hood draping down, but guessed he wasn’t smiling.
A rumbling of agreement came from the crowd, and Michael stood, yanked up Elizabeth, and dragged her out, not stopping until they reached her car.
“Well, that was a good time. We’ve been exiled from Satan’s den. Didn’t see that coming tonight.”
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth passed the empty reception desk and found Amy orchestrating a group of men wearing matching red T-shirts with a company logo on the back.
“What’s going on?” she managed to ask Amy in between orders.
“Your mom’s here.”
“Of course.” She should have known that when she walked in and found the place thrown into chaos. She hoped to avoid her for as long as possible and maneuvered her way to her office, having to climb over a small cabinet in the process, and closed her door.
After throwing her bag to the ground, she swung her door back open. “Mom, where’s my furniture!”
Her mom emerged from behind a very large man holding a desk above his head. “Hello, dear,” she calmly said.
Elizabeth took a deep, fortifying breath and asked, “Mom, where is my furniture?” She pointed to her office.
Her mother waved her hand in disgust. “Oh, that flea bitten stuff is in the alley.”
“What!”
Elizabeth stormed out the front door and marched around the building to the alley, where she found BD sitting next to an overflowing metal trash can, dejected. “I’m so sorry,” she said as she rubbed its top. She spoke sweet nothings to her chair as she rolled it back into SILC and stopped in front of her mother. “The rest you can do with as you like, but BD is off limits.”
“Dear God, she needs a date,” her mother said as she escorted BD back into her office.
Elizabeth sat on her floor, hunched over a small stack of papers in her lap, with the intent of catching up on other matters that she had neglected the last few days. Given that her prior evening went rather poorly, she decided to move past the Order of the White Knights, chalking it up as a colorful experience. Nothing about the organization seemed to fit the few clues she had, like where to find the key to the castle, or better yet, what castle?
As penance for her evening’s faux
pas, she took Michael to his favorite French restaurant where he collected big, ordering the most expensive meal. After topping off the best bottle of wine they had, he was feeling no pain, and she was once again in his good graces. Given the feel-good state she left him in the night before, she imagined that he got the hangover he was looking for too.
In line with her pledge to be more productive that morning, Elizabeth sat with a cumbersome legal brief in hand and tried to decipher the author’s arguments that used many words, yet had nothing to say. It was talking in circles at its best. To humor herself, she turned the paper upside down. Ah, that’s better.
She went in search of pen and paper to write down a citation for later reference. The sound of her phone ringing caused her to jump, and she abandoned her search for writing utensils and turned her attention to the missing phone. Crawling on her hands and knees in her skirt, she scurried to the other side of the room, unable to precisely pin down the location of the muffled sound.
“Should I come back?”
Elizabeth turned her head to the voice in her doorway and realized that all she needed was a leash to complete the image. She knew there was no dignified way out of the situation. “No, come on in. Playing leapfrog alone just isn’t as much fun.”
Camille stepped inside and didn’t hold back her chuckle. “I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s so minimalistic.”
“You think so? I thought who needs material things, chairs, desk? Anyone can work in that environment, but this…” She gestured around her empty office. “This is the real deal.”
Elizabeth’s phone rang again, and she lunged to her left and pulled open a box. “Hello? Yes, this is Ms. Campbell. No, I didn’t order a water fountain. I am afraid it’s a misunderstanding.” She hung up the phone and yelled toward her door. “Mom, no fountain.”
She turned back to Camille. “So, where were we?”
“I just finished my shift and thought I would swing by and bring you Jackson’s wallet. I tried calling, but, well, you know.” She gestured toward the phone that Elizabeth placed back in the box.
Her mother walked in the room. “Did you say something, dear?”
Elizabeth rubbed the tension in her forehead. “Mom, we can’t put a fountain in the clinic.”
“Of course not, it’s for the lobby.”
“Mom, there’s no room.”
“Honey, you just lack imagination.”
One of the workers called her name, and her mother left as quickly as she entered. She was in her element.
“Your mom?”
“Yep, Beatrice Campbell. She apparently not only runs my life, she also now runs the clinic.”
“You mind if I have a seat?”
“Please,” Elizabeth said, gesturing to the floor.
Camille sat crossed-legged, not dressed in her usual stylish outfits, but instead sporting practical light blue hospital scrubs. She looked better than the last time Elizabeth saw her outside the courtroom. She seemed lighter.
Elizabeth leaned back on her hands with her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Her skirt made it impractical to sit any other way.
“So you worked the night shift?” Elizabeth asked.
“I’m a nurse at Saint Vincent’s. Being the new kid on the block, I get the shifts no one else wants.”
Elizabeth played with a paperclip that seemed to be stuck in the ratted carpet. “Nightshift is looking kind of good right now.” Elizabeth didn’t want to rush Camille, but she was curious about her visit. “So, what’s on your mind?”
“I was just coming by to drop off the wallet.” She paused and thumped the palm of her hand against her forehead. “Which is sitting in the glove compartment of my car.”
“Glad I’m not the only one. I’ll walk out with you to get it. I could use the break.” As though to emphasize her point, a loud whining noise from a drill sounded from the room next door.
They dodged planks of wood being carried by sweaty men and made their way out the clinic door. On the walk to the car, Elizabeth explained her exploits in trying to find the meaning of WHITE DEMON and the other cryptic words, and she sensed that Camille was disappointed that she was giving up on that angle. To appease her, they ran through various possibilities, but were no closer to an answer by the time they reached the parked car. As Elizabeth had already done, Camille resigned herself that they might never know, and they decided the better strategy was to focus on the missing wallet and knife and prepping Jackson to take the stand. Although Elizabeth didn’t favor putting a defendant on the stand and subjecting him to cross-examination, she had to prepare that it might be a possibility.
As they reached the car, Camille searched the glove compartment, while Elizabeth peered inside a metal newspaper dispenser that was stationed nearby to catch the daily headlines in the community paper.
“Anything of interest?” Camille asked as she came up behind her and handed over the wallet.
“Let’s see, you can get your dog washed half off this Saturday, there’s a gun expo at the convention center, and next door, Bounty Ministries is having a revival. There’s a possibility. Oh wait, and here.” Elizabeth picked up a flyer from the top of the dispenser that advertised implants on a budget with two large breasts dominating the paper, and she admired the absurdity of it for a moment.
Camille picked up a flyer of her own. “Thinking of a new look?”
“They offer a payment plan.”
“The number’s easy enough. Just call DD NEW BOOBS for a new you.”
“Thanks, like that won’t be stuck in my head for the next week.” She returned the flyer to the top of the dispenser, thanked Camille, and gave her a quick wave before shoving the wallet into her coat pocket. After a few steps in the direction of the clinic, she stopped and returned to the flyer and picked it up again. Below the letters DD NEW BOOBS were the corresponding digits for the telephone number, she guessed in case a person had trouble spelling.
Camille stood at her open car door and called over. “Really, you don’t need it.”
Without taking her eyes off the paper, Elizabeth said, “White Demon is a phone number. Call White Demon. Turning the numbers into letters was probably the easiest way for her to remember the telephone number. The other words might have been the address or directions.” Elizabeth knew in her gut she was right. “Do you have your phone?”
Camille dialed the letters WHITE DEMON and put her phone on speaker. Elizabeth rushed to her and huddled over it, and they listened to it ring.
After the fourth ring, a breathless voice came on and muttered a name that neither could understand and they both hesitated, unsure what to say, and the person on the other end hung up. Elizabeth took the phone from Camille’s hand and hit redial, and a cranky voice answered, “This not funny. I call police.”
“I apologize, sir. I was trying to get the name of your establishment.”
The irritated voice repeated a nearly indiscernible name, and Elizabeth only caught the word “market.” She cringed because she hesitated to ask him to repeat it and decided on another approach. She asked for the address while motioning to Camille to write it down. With impressive speed, Camille dove into her car and reemerged with a pen and small pad of paper. Elizabeth had to give it to her; the woman was organized.
The annoyed voice on the phone recited an address and hung up, clearly not willing to entertain any additional questions. Camille wrote down the address, and they both stood staring at it.
Elizabeth spoke first. “Guess I’ll be taking an unscheduled trip to South Heights this fine morning.”
“You’re not going there alone?”
Clearly, this woman has no idea the places I have found myself in recent history. “Yes.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You just came off a shift. I can handle this.”
“Let’s put this into perspective. You are driving to South Heights, where the only white people are the police, in your four-hundred-dollar suit, in yo
ur fancy car, to ask the locals about White Demon.”
Okay, when she puts it that way, it doesn’t sound so good. “You have a suggestion?”
“You find something else to wear, and we drive in my Honda Civic, and you let me do the talking.”
* * *
Camille pulled into a vacant spot on the street in front of a liquor store, where several heavily tattooed men loitered. Elizabeth stepped out wearing black workout pants and a T-shirt that she found in her gym bag in the trunk of her car. She ignored the remarks about her physical features and what services they could provide and deposited several coins in the meter before rounding the car to join Camille. “Gee, they sure know how to make a girl feel loved.”
“Regular Romeos. Okay, Juliet, let’s go.” Camille led the way down the block, clearly having a better sense of the neighborhood than Elizabeth. She kept up with Camille’s quick pace, dodging broken bottles, refuse, feces, and an occasional sleeping person on the way, and stopped once they reached the desired block.
“Ready?” Camille asked as she gestured to a store on the other side of the street that matched the address. A faded sign hung above it with washed out lettering that was as indiscernible as the man on the phone. Elizabeth moved forward past a small tent and several cardboard boxes that were strewn on the sidewalk. Above them, spray paint littered the walls, most of which Elizabeth couldn’t decipher, but she did recognize a large penis. Why is it that painted penises seem to be a theme in my life lately?
They stopped in front of the store and peered through the window that offered an eclectic display of laundry detergent, colorful candles, and packages of noodles that looked to be at least a decade old. Elizabeth entered first pushing in a glass door covered with advertisements and a small bell at the top rang to alert the storekeeper of their presence. They each walked to separate sides of the store browsing the shelves, one side catering to low quality clothing items including T-shirts, socks, and shorts; and the other side had staple items, cereal, canned goods, and toiletries. Elizabeth riffled through some of the items, but found nothing unusual or demonic. It seemed to be a one-stop shop for local households. They met at the back counter, where cigarettes, lottery tickets, and over-the-counter medicines were out of reach for the customer.
Secrets of the Last Castle Page 5