Perfect Justice (14 page)

“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?”

Dunagan 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.

N
HUNG VU SET THE
three boxes down and searched his pockets for the keys to the broken-down ’68 Oldsmobile communally owned by Coi Than Tien. The car was a relic, an embarrassment, but it was all that was available to him today. They only had two cars, and Elder Dang had taken the other for the day. Come to that, the ’74 Ford Pinto might be worse than the Oldsmobile.

Nhung slid the first box of supplies into the front seat, careful not to break or spill anything. He didn’t want Pham to be angry with him. Many of Pham’s followers still did not want Nhung included in their group, even after he proved himself during the midnight raid. He was too young, they said. Too green.

For the time being, Pham had restricted Nhung to supply runs and similar unimportant tasks. Nhung didn’t care. He would do whatever he could for Pham. And when the time came for Pham to give him a more important duty to perform, he would be ready.

Nhung shoved the second box into the car. He had to hurry. The supply run had taken far longer than he anticipated. Pham was meeting with his key followers at six. Nhung didn’t want to miss it. They would surely discuss the midnight raid, as well as their plans for the future.

Nhung had hoped the firebomb would scorch ASP off the face of the earth, but it hadn’t. At the very least, though, maybe now they would leave Coi Than Tien alone. Maybe now the violence would end. Maybe now—

“All by yourself, gook?”

Nhung dropped the third box onto the concrete. Bottles shattered, spilling their liquid contents.

“Clumsy little nigger, ain’tcha?”

There were four of them, and they had him surrounded. They weren’t wearing their ASP uniforms, but he knew who they were, just the same.

One of them peered down at Nhung, leering. It was the guard. The one Nhung and the others had fought during the midnight raid.

“Please, sirs,” Nhung said. To his embarrassment, his voice broke. “I must take these supplies back to my family. They are hungry and my sister is very ill.”

The ASP guard appeared to be the group leader. He dipped his finger in the spillage. “Your family eats combustible chemicals, I see. Don’t you dumb gooks know that’s dangerous? Probably not very tasty, either.”

The other three ASP men laughed. Nhung tried to bolt through their ranks, but they grabbed him and shoved him back against the car. His chin bashed against the hood.

The leader ripped the car keys out of Nhung’s hands. He opened the back door and shoved Nhung inside. The ASPers sat on either side of him while the leader drove. They pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Maple.

Nhung looked desperately all around him. What would these men do? How much did they know? Through the car window, he saw a man he recognized from town, the editor of the newspaper, walking down the street. Nhung flung himself against the car window and shouted at the top of his lungs.

The driver floored the accelerator, and the man sitting next to Nhung yanked him back into his seat. Before Nhung could speak again, the man slapped him brutally across the face. Nhung cried out, this time in pain. Apparently his ASP host didn’t know the difference. He hit Nhung again, with a clenched fist. Nhung’s head thudded back against the car seat.

Nhung didn’t remember much else about the drive. The sun set and it soon became dark. He couldn’t tell where he was or where he was going. He was dazed; his mind seemed to flicker in and out of consciousness. His mouth and jaw ached, and two of his teeth felt as if they had been knocked loose. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. He wanted to cry, but he knew it would only make matters worse.

The car stopped finally and they hauled Nhung out. Many more ASPers were assembled in a clearing in full regalia, including hoods. They hauled Nhung past a blazing campfire toward a wooden post in the center of the assemblage.