“Sir. I—” Holloway paused. “Well, he mentioned Vick’s name—”
“Consider yourself on report!” Banner barked. “I’ll fill out the paperwork when I have time. You can count on it.” He extended his hand to Ben.
Who, me? Ben thought. And just when the dirt was starting to feel comfy. They clasped hands. Ben’s ribs had no desire to be elevated, but he let himself be pulled upright nonetheless.
“This man is more valuable to us than you will ever be, Holloway,” Banner said sharply. Poor Holloway—Ben was almost starting to feel sorry for him.
Banner straightened Ben up and brushed off his shirt. “Are you all right?”
“I think I can walk. …”
“Good man.” He slapped Ben on the back. The slap was almost as painful as Holloway’s kicks. “What can I do for you?”
Ben thought quickly. “I’d like to speak to the Grand Dragon. It’s about the case.”
“Of course. I’ll arrange it immediately.” Banner turned back for a parting shot. “I’ll be speaking to the Grand Dragon about you, also, Corporal Holloway. I wonder if you shouldn’t spend some time in the Box yourself.”
Holloway didn’t respond, but the terrified expression on his face spoke volumes.
“Come on, Ben.” Banner clamped his thick arm around Ben’s shoulders. “I hope you can forget what happened here. This was inexcusable. You’re a VIP—a Very Important Person—to the members of ASP. From now on I guarantee you’ll be given the respect you deserve.”
Ben wasn’t sure which sickened him more—the way Holloway treated him, or the way Banner did.
24.
BEN WAS ESCORTED INTO the smallest of the ASP buildings. It appeared to be their strategic command post. The outer room was filled with charts and maps, many with colored pins stuck in the various places. Ben might be geographically challenged, but he could still tell the maps were of the surrounding countryside, including Coi Than Tien.
Banner let Ben wait in the outer room with the two privates while he stepped inside. Ben scanned the papers on the desks and table and glanced nonchalantly into the file cabinets. The immensity of the paperwork astounded him. He doubted if the volume of reporting and memo writing could be much greater at the Pentagon. That in itself was sobering—what were these people planning in such minute detail? He would love a chance to sort through these files at his leisure, but since the privates were standing nearby, desperate for a chance to redeem themselves, he decided to keep his curiosity in check.
In a side room, Ben found a printing press that was furiously spitting out paper. He picked up two fliers bundled on the floor. One announced that SCIENTISTS SAY GOOKS STILL IN APE STAGE. The front of the other displayed a comic-book drawing of an Asian male with a leering, malevolent expression on his face. The headline read: THE ONLY GOOD GOOK IS A DEAD GOOK.
Ben opened the flier. “A yellow thieving baboon,” the interior text read. “He will steal your job, your wife, your daughter. He will live on welfare while taking everything you have. He is the enemy.”
“The Grand Dragon will see you now,” Banner announced.
Ben dropped the flier on the floor with the others. As they crossed the hall Banner whispered, “You don’t know how lucky you are. The Grand Dragon is a very busy man.”
“He certainly generates a tremendous amount of paperwork.”
“Big plans in the works,” Banner said ominously. “Big plans. The Grand Dragon hasn’t taken a visitor in weeks. Totally blew off that DA schmuck the other day. But when I told him you were here, he put down what he was doing and told me to bring you in immediately.”
“I’m honored.”
They entered an inner office in the back of the barracks, with the two privates close behind. “Ben, this is Grand Dragon Dunagan.”
Dunagan rose from his chair, removed his glasses, and approached Ben, arm outstretched. He was a short man, balding, with the last remnants of his red hair clinging to either side of his bald head. He had a generally healthy, ruddy appearance, although his beltline showed some middle-aged spread. No more so than usual for a man Ben judged to be in his early fifties.
Ben had expected the physical incarnation of evil, and instead he found himself greeted by a man who could only be described as perfectly ordinary.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kincaid.” Dunagan had the vigorous handshake of a Baptist preacher. “This is a great task you’ve taken on. A noble deed.”
“Call me Ben. I didn’t have much choice, to be honest.”
“Don’t soft soap me, Ben. You’re a brave man to accept this challenge when the forces of Satan gather all around us. Banner and the other boys told me about the beating you took at the jailhouse from that gook-loving deputy. Around here you’re a hero.”
“It was nothing. Really. All I did was lie on the floor and try not to bleed too much.”
Dunagan shook his head. “It’s a shame, you know, how those gooks have got everyone in this town on edge.”
“You blame the civil unrest on the Vietnamese?”
“Damn right. They were the ones who invaded this peaceful country. They slashed their prices and agreed to work for the big chicken-processing outfits for next to nothing. Made it damn near impossible for the white man to compete.”
“Sounds like they’re guilty of being shrewd businessmen.”
“It isn’t just that. They’ve been stirring up trouble since we arrived. Did you see that scorching on the barracks where we store our weapons?”
Ben nodded.
“Firebomb. In the middle of the night. We put it out before it caused much damage, but what if we hadn’t? That whole building would’ve gone up in an explosion you’d hear from here to Branson.” Dunagan folded his arms across his chest. “You tell me who did that, if not the Vietnamese.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Ben said. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Hell. I’m sorry to get on my soapbox like that. You didn’t come all the way out here to listen to my problems.” Dunagan pulled a chair out from under a table and gestured for Ben to sit. “What can I do for you?”
Ben settled himself in the chair. “For starters, I’d like as much background information as I can get about Donald Vick. I’ve spoken to Donald, but he hasn’t been very communicative.”
“Hmmm.” Something seemed to be bothering Dunagan, but he didn’t say what it was. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’ve known Donny for years.”
“He’s been a member of your … organization for some time, then?”
“Donny? No, he’s only twenty-one. We don’t take them much younger than that. But his father was a lifetime member, just like his father before him.”
“Runs in the family.”
“Exactly. Back in Alabama, people have strongly held beliefs, and they tend to pass those beliefs from one generation to the next. Hell, in today’s world, when children are bombarded with all kinds of crap by television and movies and the left-wing press, a father has to do whatever he can to set his kids straight. Otherwise the poor bastards become totally screwed up.”
The Grand Dragon as Dr. Spock. Interesting. “So Vick’s father brought him into the organization.”
“Hell, yes. Like father, like son. Frankly we don’t care much for people who stand off to the side and let others do what needs to be done. You’re either with us, or against us. That’s how I look at it.”
“So Donald grew up under the loving arm of the Klan.”
“Now wait a minute—we’re not the Klan. We’re not unfriendly to the Klan, mind you, but we’re our own separate organization.” He winked jovially. “As a lawyer, I’m sure you understand the importance of maintaining these distinctions.”
Principally the importance of avoiding liability for civil lawsuits filed against the Klan, Ben surmised. What a great bunch of people.
“But yes,” Dunagan continued, “I’ve known Donny since he was knee-high to a billy goat. A fine boy. Raised right.
Loves the Lord God Almighty and is willing to fight for him, too. Bit on the quiet side, but there’s no law against that, is there?”
“No,” Ben said, not that he thought Dunagan was overly concerned about the prohibitions of law. “So Donald is fulfilling familial expectations?”
“Very much so. I knew Donny’s pappy, Lou. He was a tough man. A little hard on Donny, but it was for his own good. He let the boy know what he expected in no uncertain terms. Nothing wrong with that. The world would be a better place if more fathers weren’t afraid to be fathers.”
“You used the past tense,” Ben said. “Has Donald’s father died?”
“Oh, yes. He passed on three, four years ago. Lung cancer got him, rest his soul. Since his pappy died, Donny’s been the man of the family. It’s important that he act like it.”
“If he’s the head of a household, I’m surprised he would leave home and come out here.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t happy about it,” Dunagan replied, “but a man has obligations. When the war is on, a man has to leave the comforts of home behind and do his duty.”
When the war is on? Ben decided to let it slide for the moment. “Just exactly … how far does Donald’s duty extend?”
“Ben, I’m an honest man. I don’t tell lies. If you’ve got a question to ask, just ask it.”
“Okay. Did you order Donald to kill Vuong?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Did anyone else in ASP?”
“Again, no. I can’t say I was particularly distraught about that gook’s death, but no one ordered it. Donny was acting on his own initiative.” He grinned. “Looks to me like Donny had a little too much to drink and let his righteous anger go to his head.”
“I see. Is Donald … fond of you?”
Dunagan twisted his shoulders. “What in hell are you insinuating?”
“You said you’ve known him for years. Are you close?”
“I suppose so. In the manner totally appropriate for two men. What are you getting at?”
“Donald isn’t telling me all he knows about this case. It occurred to me he might be protecting someone.”
“And you think it’s me? I sure as hell didn’t kill that Vietconger.”
“I didn’t say you did. As Donald’s lawyer, though, I have to explore all the possibilities.”
“I guess so. Still, I don’t know of anyone he’s protecting. I think Donny got into this on his own authority. And Jesus Christ’s, of course.”
That would make for an interesting co-conspirator indictment. “Does Donald have any friends here?”
“Not really There are other men in his platoon, of course. But they aren’t what you would call friends. Donny is kinda shy. Always has been. Doesn’t socialize much with the other men.”
“What about women? Girls. Was he dating anyone?”
“I’m not sure.” He snapped his fingers. “Except, now that you mention it, I do seem to recall hearing about him being involved with some girl from town.”
Ben wondered if it was the same woman who visited him at Mary Sue’s boardinghouse. “Do you know who she was?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Who told you about this?”
Dunagan reflected for a moment. “I can’t remember. To tell the truth, I can’t remember any more about it than I’ve already told you.”
“Do you know how Donald met Vuong?”
“I assume they bumped heads at that bar where they had the big bust-up.”
“I have reason to believe they knew each other before that night.”
“I don’t think so,” Dunagan said firmly. “We don’t allow fraternization with the chinks.”
“Still,” Ben said, “Donald was staying in town. …”
“That doesn’t mean anything!” Irritation tinged Dunagan’s voice. “He’s just the kind of boy who prefers to keep his own company. Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Donald’s. I want to represent him to the best of my ability. What do you know about the murder?”
“Just what I read in the papers.”
“You haven’t heard any inside information from your men? Suggestions? Rumors? Gossip?”
“I don’t gossip. Bearing false witness is a crime against God.”
“You’ve heard how the murder was committed?”
Dunagan nodded.
“You said that building outside is stockpiled with weapons. Are you by any chance stocking … crossbows?”
“As a matter of fact, we are. Crossbows are a critical survival weapon. Rifles run out of ammunition and eventually become useless. But as long as you take care of the bow and retrieve the bolts, a crossbow can be used forever.”
Ben decided to be bold. “Do you mind if I check your supplies? I’d like to see if the weapons you’re keeping are compatible with the murder weapon.”
“Too late. The DA’s already done it.”
“Oh?” Ben was surprised, although he realized he shouldn’t be. He knew Swain had been out here. “What did he say?”
“Said the crossbow was swiped from our armory. But the funny thing is—we don’t stock the bolts for it. We’ve tried, but we’ve never been able to locate bolts for that particular model. I don’t know where the killer got them.”
“Do you mind if I examine your purchase orders or supply invoices?”
“I don’t have any.”
“What?”
“Don’t keep up with that trash. Don’t have enough room for it. And I don’t need any more paperwork.”
Ben tried another tack. “Do you mind if I have a word with some of your men?”
“Of course not. Feel free. I want to support you in any way I can. Remember, Ben, this is a holy crusade. When the war’s on, we all have to hang together.”
Or we’ll surely hang separately, Ben thought grimly. “All this planning is impressive, but … there isn’t any war on, is there?”
“Depends on how you look at it,” Dunagan said. “Some people think there is.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Dunagan leaned over the edge of his desk. “Ben, how long do you think this country can go on the way it is now?”
“I’m not sure what—”
“Street gangs. Race riots. Crime, rape, sodomy—most of it committed by members of the nonwhite races. Biracial marriages tainting the gene pool. You saw what happened in L.A. a while back. It happens on a smaller scale every day. Hell, stuff goes on in Alabama that would curdle your blood. And it rarely makes the papers.”
“Unreported crimes?”
“Oh, they’re reported—the papers just won’t print it. They’re all controlled by left-wingers.” He leaned in closer. “This country is teetering on the edge of total chaos. Thank goodness we don’t have the Russkies to worry about anymore—but we have another threat that’s even more dangerous. A threat from within.”
“You’re hypothesizing about … a race war?”
“Ain’t nothing hypothetical about it. It’s gonna happen. I give this country about five more years—on the outside. Maybe less. Then all hell breaks loose. Communication lines break down, transportation systems crash. The world in turmoil.”
Ben was beginning to get the drift. “That’s when this camp comes into play, right?”
“This isn’t the only one. We’ve got camps in five different states. We only set up this camp when we were called to serve the cause here a few months ago. But you’re right. When the end comes, we’ll be ready. We’ve got everything we need here—food, water, clothing, ammunition.”
“So this is not only a training camp, but a survivalist camp.”
“The ASP camps will be a sanctuary—the vanguard of the future for the Aryan race. The men of ASP will be the pale riders, leading the survivors to a brave new world. While all the minorities butcher one another, we’ll rope off our own territory and wait for the holocaust to end.”
“So you’ll hole up in your camps till the heat passes?”
Du
nagan smiled. The smile sent chills down Ben’s spine. “I expect our territory to expand over time. After all, we’ll be better armed, and better prepared, than anyone else. And we’ll have the righteous favor of God on our side.”
“So you’re going to take over?”
“In time, perhaps. Most importantly the scourge must be eradicated. The impure races must be expunged.” He gripped Ben by the shoulders. “We must provide a better world for our children. Don’t you agree?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“We cannot back away from the challenge God has placed before us. We must be ready to stare Satan in the eye.” Dunagan rose to his feet, his eyes glowing. “We must be willing to put our lives on the line. We must be willing to fight. Fight, fight, fight!”
To Ben’s amazement, the other three ASP men in the room joined in the chant. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
“Blood!” Dunagan shouted.
“Blood! Blood! Blood!” the men chanted. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
“Kill the enemy!” Dunagan shouted.
“Fight! Fight! Fight! Kill! Kill! Kill!” The men’s voices grew louder with each chant. “Blood! Blood! Blood!”
Horrified, Ben edged toward the door. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the chanting stopped.
Dunagan wrapped his arm around Ben’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ben. We tend to get emotional around here. We take what we do very seriously.”
Ben couldn’t seem to frame a reply. His hands were shaking. He wanted Dunagan to remove his arm in the worst way.
“We should get together again. Maybe someplace more social.”
Ben hoped his head appeared to be nodding, not trembling.
“Why don’t you come to church Sunday morning? We worship at a little place a few miles from here. Used to be a Methodist church; we took it over and converted it to our own use. I’m afraid it’s near the Vietcong settlement, but as long as you come in from the north, you’ll never notice. We’re upwind.”
The other men in the room laughed heartily.
Ben steadied himself long enough to shake Dunagan’s hand and murmur some meaningless pleasantry. Then he made a beeline for the front door and didn’t stop until the ASP camp was far behind him.
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