Perfect Justice (20 page)

She moved closer to him. “I know we’ve had our differences, Ben. But I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Her lips moved toward his. The kiss was at first tentative, then assured and lingering. Their bodies pressed close against each other.

“We’ll never get into that church at this rate,” Ben said. “Let’s postpone this to a later date and a more private environment.” Reluctantly, he pulled away from her. “Don’t worry about me, Belinda. I’ll be fine.”

“Still—take care.”

They jumped out of her Jeep and walked toward the church. “It’s hard to believe this place is less than a hundred yards from Coi Than Tien,” Belinda said. “Spooky coincidence.”

“Hardly a coincidence. More likely it’s an ASP intimidation tactic.”

As Belinda passed by the kennel two of the largest of the bird dogs leaped up on the wire fence and barked loudly.

“Animal magnetism,” Ben commented.

“Ha-ha.” She watched them carefully. “Those poor dogs look underfed.”

“They probably are. Some people do that, you know. To make them mean and eager to attack. I’ve handled several cases for an animal-rights group in Tulsa. I could tell you stories that would break your heart.”

“You don’t suppose those dogs can escape, do you?”

Ben examined the sturdy wire fence and gate. “Not unless someone slips them some wire cutters. The gate appears to be electric. There’s probably a control switch inside.”

They walked up the front steps of the church and entered. The interior was plain and largely unornamented; a far cry from the Episcopal church Ben grew up in. He saw a panel with lighted buttons on one wall—probably controlled the kennel.

The services had already started. Ben and Belinda slid into a pew in the back.

The first part of the service was much like any other fundamentalist Christian service Ben had ever attended. The congregation sang “Rock of Ages” and “Amazing Grace”; they recited the Lord’s Prayer. The preacher, a man called Brother Curtis, was wearing a full-length black robe and appeared to be packing a gun underneath. Other than that, it was church as usual.

It was only when the sermon started that Ben observed major differences. Brother Curtis’s message was a call to arms, but not to Christianity—at least not as Ben had ever heard it explained before. Curtis defined Armageddon in terms of an imminent worldwide race war that only the Anglo-Saxon race would survive; apparently this was part of the Aryan Christian Church’s official doctrine. It seemed the Second Coming was a Caucasians-only affair.

“This government shall perish in flames,” Curtis intoned. “It has betrayed the faith of those who created it. It is controlled by the Jews, the blacks, the Hispanics, the Asians”—a loud murmur of assent—“the Communists, the Catholics, and all those peoples whose avowed goal is the destruction of America as we know it.”

His proclamation was followed by a chorus of
amens
and
praise Gods.

“The Jews are not the chosen. It is we, the Aryan people, who are the chosen race.” Another loud chorus of approval. “The inferior races are the descendants of Satan. They are devils.” He prolonged the final
s
to a hissing noise. “They have stolen our birthright. But the time has come to take it back.”

He pounded on the podium. “We must fight those who would deprive us of our rightful heritage. We must fight the infidels who tarnish our land. We must fight the demon warriors who stand in our way. We must fight the demon lawyers who pervert our righteous cause.”

Ben looked absently over his shoulder. Demon lawyers? Where?

“We must fight and fight and fight, until no obstacle remains between us and the one true church, the New Nation. An all-white nation, founded with our sweat, our toil, and our blood!”

Amidst the chorus of cheers and hallelujahs, Ben whispered to Belinda, “I can’t stand much more of this.”

“This?” She shrugged. “This is mild. You should hear them when they really get revved up.”

Ben grimaced. He already hated everything these people stood for, but if possible, he hated them even worse now for this act of sacrilege. What could be worse than prostituting the church to serve your own self-centered hate-filled goals?

Brother Curtis called for another hymn, this one out of a mimeographed pamphlet. Ben read the words as the congregation sang the dirgelike tune:

White and proud,

That’s what I am,

Storming the streets,

Getting rid of the trash.

What’s wrong with knowing your race is strong?

Aryan people unite against:

Drugs, race mixing, and crime.

Brothers and sisters, stand by my side,

Join the fight for what’s right.

Ben read in the notes beneath the lyrics that the song had been written by a twelve-year-old girl.

He threw down the pamphlet and settled back into his pew. He only hoped that when he finally got the chance to talk to some of these people, he would be able to carry on a civil conversation.

A
FTER THE SERVICE CONCLUDED,
most of the congregation milled about in the reception area. “Ben! I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

It was Sonny Banner, dressed in his Sunday best—a blue sport jacket with khaki pants. His necktie had a small gold emblem near the tip—a shield with a burning cross. As Ben looked around he noticed most of the men in the lobby were similarly adorned.

“Grand Dragon Dunagan invited me to today’s service.”

“That’s great.” Banner whispered into Ben’s ear. “Don’t worry about security during the trial. We’ve got the whole matter taken care of.”

Ben didn’t much care for the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll be inside the courtroom at all times, with at least two others. Plus we’ll have men posted at both exits, all day long. If anyone tries to start trouble, we’ll snuff it out.”

Ben wished he had chosen a different verb.

“And if that isn’t enough to quiet the rabble,” Banner continued, “the parade will be.”

“I’m not anticipating any violent demonstrations. …”

“It’s best to be certain,” Banner declared. “I’ve heard rumors that the gooks are planning major violence. Especially after that fire at Coi Than Tien.”

“Speaking of which,” Ben said, “I don’t suppose you know who started it.”

“No, I don’t. It wasn’t an ASP operation.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Grand Dragon Dunagan has released a public statement.”

“Well, you could hardly expect him to admit it.”

Banner seemed taken back. “Grand Dragon Dunagan does not lie.”

“Not even for the cause?”

“Our cause is a noble crusade. We have no need for lies or deception.”

Ben could tell he was getting Banner’s dander up. Much as it gave him personal satisfaction, he figured it was probably not a particularly smart tactic. “By the way, does anyone in this group drive a black pickup?”

Banner shrugged. “I expect several of us do, including myself. That’s the most common vehicle for this country. Why do you ask?”

“Idle curiosity.”

Ben felt a sudden slap on his back. “So you came after all, Ben. I’m genuinely pleased.”

It was His Exalted Grand Dragon Dunagan. For the services, he had tucked his short round little self into a brown sport coat and the club tie. “Have any trouble finding us?”

“No. We just turned left before the entrance to Coi Than Tien.”

An eyebrow rose. “You’ve been to Coi Than Tien?”

“Of course. As part of my investigation.”

“I see. …”

“In fact, I was there when the fire started.”

Dunagan nodded. “Terrible tragedy, that. Of course, I don’t think those people belong here in the first place, but I hated to see that happen. I suppose I’m not surprised, though. Those who play with fire will perish in the flames.”

“Is that from the Bible?” Ben asked.

“Actually, that’s my own.”

“Ah. I understand you issued a public statement disavowing any responsibility for the attack on Coi Than Tien.”

“True. If it was an attack. From what I hear, someone may have been smoking one of those weird chink pipes in bed.”

“The preliminary investigation indicates arson.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard that.” Dunagan stroked his chin. “I’m surprised anyone around here is sophisticated enough to make that kind of determination.”

Ben wondered if he was counting on that. “So you don’t have any idea who did it?”

“Of course not. Ben, we wouldn’t set someone’s house on fire. Especially on the eve of your trial. I like to think I’m a little smarter than that. I don’t want to see Lou Vick’s boy executed.”

Ben just hoped that was right. But for some reason, he was starting to wonder. “Do you know who the baby was?”

Dunagan’s face wrinkled. “The baby?”

“The baby who died in the fire.”

“They let a little baby burn to death?” Dunagan’s head shook with sudden rage. “Those goddamn godless heathens! Some people shouldn’t be permitted to have children.”

“Apparently the baby didn’t belong—” “This is an outrage. They should lock up whoever was smoking that goddamn pipe and throw away the key!”

The Grand Dragon’s shouting was attracting attention. “Calm down, sir. The sheriff has the matter—”

“Who let her in here?” Dunagan suddenly demanded. Ben whirled around and saw that he was talking about Belinda.

Belinda approached them. “Good morning, Mr. Dunagan. Nice to see you again. You look better without the hood.”

“Demon Hamilton!” he shouted back at her. “How dare you show yourself on these holy premises!”

“I invited her,” Ben interjected.

“You …
what?”
Dunagan stared at him as if he was lower than a worm. “What in the name of Christ did you think you were doing?”

“Ms. Hamilton has been very helpful to my investigation.”

“Demon Hamilton is Satan’s bitch!” Dunagan spit back. “Tainted Jezebel! Whore of Babylon!”

“Now wait a minute,” Ben said. “There’s no need for that kind of talk.”

“This woman and her malignant friends have interfered with our righteous cause for the past five years!”

Belinda did not back off. “We’ve tried to prevent you from stomping all over poor and defenseless minorities, if that’s what you mean.”

“This woman had the audacity to bring a civil lawsuit in Birmingham. Against me!”

“Yes. And you sent some of your goons out to beat and humiliate me. I’d say we’re about even.”

Dunagan’s eyes flared. “Get thee away, Lucifer!” He motioned to Banner. “I want this woman removed.”

Before Banner could act, Brother Curtis stepped into the fray. “Just a minute, my son.”

“Brother Curtis, don’t interfere.” Dunagan pushed him away. “I’m taking care of this.”

“This is my church, and my flock,” Brother Curtis said. “And what goes on here is my concern.”

“She’s an infidel. An unbeliever.”

Brother Curtis gave Belinda a head-to-toe examination. “She does not appear to be a member of one of the inferior races.”

“She’s a sympathizer.”

“Then it is all the better that she attend our services.”

Dunagan spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t
want
her here!”

“It is God’s will we must be concerned with,” Curtis said. “Not yours. God has brought her here. We cannot subvert His will to serve our own petty goals.” On that note, he turned and walked toward the pulpit, apparently confident that his will—and God’s—would be obeyed.

Dunagan stood toe to toe with Ben and glared up into his face. “I won’t forget this,” he growled.
“Demon Kincaid!”

Dunagan whirled around and stomped upstairs.

As they were leaving, Belinda whispered into Ben’s ear, “I’m afraid you’ve lost the Aryan seal of approval.”

Ben nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right.”

C
OLONEL NGUYEN STRODE TO
the back of the barn. There was no need for stealth this time; they undoubtedly knew he was coming and he knew exactly where they were. All he had to do was follow the noise of the hammers, the chain saws, and the electric drills.

There was no longer any pretense that Pham led a secret resistance; the ground swell of support he had received since the torching of the Truongs’ home gave him the confidence to act openly.

The largest inner room of the barn was used as a storage and construction facility. Today, the large swinging double doors were closed, and Pham and one of his followers stood guard outside.

Colonel Nguyen tried to push past them without comment, but they closed shoulders and blocked his passage.

“Let me through, Pham,” Nguyen said.

“I regret that I cannot,” Pham replied. His face was stony and impassive.

“I want to know what you are doing in there.”

“And I would like to show you. But under the circumstances, how can I? You have made it clear that you oppose me.”

“I oppose bloodshed, if that is what you mean. I oppose the wasted loss of lives. And families.”

“As do I,” Pham said solemnly.

“Don’t you see you’re leading all of Coi Than Tien on a path of destruction?”

“I believe I offer Coi Than Tien a chance to live with honor. Where we choose to live.”

This was pointless. They had had this debate a thousand times, and he had yet to make the slightest dent in Pham’s thick head. “What are your men doing?”

“We are … building,” Pham said.

“That much I know already. What are you building?”

Pham’s lips remained closed.

“Is it for the
parade?”

Pham’s eyes widened in reaction to the last word.

“For weeks now, you have been extremely well informed about ASP’s activities, both past and future,” Nguyen said. “What is your source of this information?”

“I am more interested in learning how much you know, Colonel Nguyen.”

“I know you plan some sort of disruption. A surprise.”

“A warning,” Pham replied.

“You are so eager to issue warnings, yet you yourself have ignored all those we have been given.”

“What warnings?”

“What happened to Nhung Vu was a warning. What happened to your grandmother was a warning. Don’t be a
fool!”
He shoved Pham aside and started for the door. As he fumbled with the latch Pham’s partner pushed him back. He stood between Nguyen and the door, fists raised.