Bad Company

by P A Duncan

  He came to her side and cupped her elbow in his hand. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “I think that’s a safe guess,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course,” she said, far too quick for it to be the truth. “Look, Sergei, we can only put the sex off for another week at most. My period’s due, and I’ll be in the menstrual lodge. I got the ultimatum.”

  “So did I. Are you certain you’re all right?”

  “I’m great.” The facade cracked completely. A shaking hand came to her mouth.

  “What happened?”

  “Don’t worry about me, Mr. NSA. I can deal.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I told you. The ultimatum.”

  “What are you not telling me?”

  “Leave it alone.”

  “Did Elijah hurt you?”

  “No.” Her mouth turned down.

  He tightened his grip on her arm. “Did he rape you?”

  “If he did, what would you do?” Her anger was palpable now and directed at him. “Your marriage is safe. Leave me alone. I can take care of myself. I did take care of myself. Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing brushing my teeth and a gallon of mouthwash won’t fix.”

  He looked toward the house, in a rage, but softened his expression before he looked at her again. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why on earth are you sorry? Jesus, sometimes I wish men would get off this sensitivity crap.”

  “You sound like my wife.”

  “You know what? I don’t want to hear about your fucking wife. Because of her, I had to give that fucking monster a fucking blow job.”

  He released her, almost pushing her away. “Regardless, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll work on getting to the computer within the next week to ten days, and we can get out of here.”

  “Look, Mr. NSA, I’m not about to go through that again. Your wife’s in the business. She’ll understand you do what you have to do to survive.”

  Alexei didn’t know what to say or if he should say anything. Charlene misread what he’d already said.

  “Not so certain of her, are you, Mr. NSA? Leave me alone. I want to take a long, hot shower before we have to go listen to that slug’s sermon.”

  She stomped up the stairs into the bungalow.

  42

  Sanctified

  Radd waited at the entrance to the meeting hall and motioned Alexei aside. “Heard you had a talk with Lewis today,” Radd said.

  Alexei gave him a curt nod.

  “Things are different here, mate. The woman’s yours. Don’t worry about offending anyone else who might have had her. You need to cop a root and soon. Get my drift?”

  “I understand.”

  “Go on in. Prophet’s getting started.”

  Alexei walked away but wanted to smash Radd’s face. Repeatedly.

  Contrary to what Lewis had said, a few trainees sat in the meeting hall, possibly the most trusted ones. Alexei headed for the cluster of instructors around Lewis, who indicated Alexei take the chair next to his.

  The door opened again, and Radd let Elijah in and followed him down the aisle. Elijah’s face was preacher serious but subdued. Alexei remembered what he’d done to Charlene and kept his outrage at bay.

  Elijah grabbed a chair from a row and put in front of the raised stage but stayed on a level with everyone else. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and lowered his head.

  “Let us pray.” No bombast in his voice. Indeed, he prayed in silence and murmured, “Amen.”

  He looked at the smaller than usual group of men. “I’ve been deep in prayer this afternoon since I returned from my trip, praying for Yahweh’s guidance. This afternoon, my feelings were at odds with my faith, and for that sin, I had to pray for forgiveness. What I couldn’t resolve was why a man who had done Yahweh’s bidding Yahweh has now abandoned. That made me angry, angry at Yahweh.”

  That caused a stir in the room. Even Radd gave a look of disapproval.

  “Before you think ill of me, let me explain,” Elijah said. “I went to see Brother Ira Wayne today. I walked into the stinking slime of a Jew prison to minister to a good man’s soul. Brother Ira Wayne’s final appeal has gone forward to the Supreme Court, but it doesn’t look good for him.”

  There were exclamations of dismay, a few curses.

  “Easy,” Elijah said. “Brother Ira Wayne is resolved. He looks forward to meeting Yahweh. He and I prayed, and I let him lead the prayer. Brothers, what an inspiration. Brother Ira Wayne looks into the face of the devil every day, and he laughs. He knows in the end Yahweh will triumph, and the Jew government will crumble to dust in a firestorm such as none have seen.”

  “Amen!” someone shouted.

  “Amen,” Elijah responded. “Brother Ira Wayne is resolved, and we must accept that. But he made me promise him something, something he knows we can deliver. On the day he goes to his reward, he wants us to make certain he doesn’t die in vain. We aren’t losing a brother, we aren’t losing a holy warrior. We are gaining a cause, Brother Ira Wayne’s cause. Brother Ira Wayne knows he’s served his earthly purpose. He knows Yahweh is using his death to inspire our revolution. We won’t let him die in vain.”

  “Amen!”

  “Yahweh be praised!”

  Elijah continued, “I assured Brother Ira Wayne we will fulfill his wish. The Jew government in Washington, D.C., will not have the final say.”

  “Prophet, is there no hope at all?” Radd asked.

  “Do you think the Jew-infested Supreme Court will let a white warrior for God live? Don’t despair, Radd. Brother Ira Wayne is now in a state of ultimate grace. He is where he wants to be.”

  “Yes, sir, but I’ll pray for him.”

  “We’ll all pray for him, but we have to commit ourselves fully to his cause. Can you do that?”

  “Yes!” everyone responded, loud enough no one noticed Alexei’s lag.

  “At my next visit, I’ll tell Brother Ira Wayne of your love and dedication. That will bring him joy. Now, each of you, each warrior and warrior-to-be, kneel before me and be blessed, sanctified in Brother Ira Wayne’s cause.”

  Lewis went first. Elijah lay his hands on Lewis’ head and murmured a prayer. He kissed Lewis and helped him to his feet. Radd went next, and Alexei decided to get it over with. The touch of Elijah’s hands on his head felt like poison in his blood. At the end of his prayer, Elijah leaned down and whispered into Alexei’s ear.

  “Lewis is my true father. You are also his true son. We are true brothers.”

  The air inside the bungalow seemed fetid, close, and Charlene sat outside on the steps and longed for a cigarette. She’d quit when she joined ATF, and Elijah didn’t allow it here among the women. Now, she wanted a cigarette. The smoke would fill her mouth and cleanse it.

  She turned her face up to the night. All things considered, it was beautiful. An almost full moon, more stars than she’d ever seen in a life spent in cities. The breeze was soft, soothing.

  Still, she wanted to vomit.

  A crunch of gravel beneath a boot got her attention. A man walked toward her. Sergei. He hesitated for a moment. When he resumed walking toward the bungalow she stood. If she’d remained seated, she’d be at the same angle as…

  His face was devoid of emotion. He was a good-looking man. Well-arranged face. His body, already in good shape, had improved in the time he’d been here. He was, well, beautiful. She didn’t want him to touch her.

  “What was it all about?” she asked. Her throat was raw from all the gargling she’d done.

  “Ira Wayne Mathis won’t die in vain,” he said.

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m not sure.” He looked away and back to her, his face unchanged. “Are you better?”

  “I’m alive. That’s all that matters.”

  “You’ll have help?”

  She understood the question. Yes, the ATF would refer her to the finest therapists government health insurance could offer. “Doesn’t help much ri
ght now,” she said.

  Some emotion came into his eyes, and she looked away in case it was pity.

  “You can talk to me,” he murmured.

  “Right. Talk to a man about what a man made me do.”

  “Several years ago, a mission went south, and my… My partner was captured. It took forty-eight hours for me to get assets to get her out. Three men raped her for most of that time. I found two of them and killed them.”

  “Why tell me? I don’t want your stupid revenge.”

  “I’m explaining I have context if you want to talk.”

  “Until you have the same context, no thanks.”

  “Rape is a given when you’re captured.”

  He’d told her he’d been captured once. She shivered. The night had turned cold, she decided. “What I said earlier about your wife,” she said, “I’m sorry. I’ll deal with this when I have the luxury to do so.”

  He said nothing but closed the gap between them. His arms went around her, a light grip. He didn’t pull her against him, almost as if he understood she couldn’t deal with that right now. Still and stiff at first, she relaxed in the embrace. She looked up at him, eyes on his mouth. He released her and stepped back.

  “Let’s get inside,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  She shook her head. “No need to give them any more grist for the mill.” She went inside. After a moment, he followed.

  43

  Traitors

  A week later, Patriot City settled back into its routine, Brother Ira Wayne forgotten. One afternoon, Radd split his trainees up among the other instructors after Lewis showed up in one of the Wranglers and took Radd away. At dinner came the word the trainees were to remain in barracks until morning. Instructors passed the word to each other to report to the meeting hall at nine for a common law court.

  Analysis had uncovered the right-wing’s love of this quasi-judicial procedure. Not even quasi-judicial; when the actual judicial system didn’t go their way, they employed this farce. Christian Identity groups used it to discipline errant members. The group decided punishment, and the process had a hint of democracy. A closer look showed the results always confirmed what the leader wanted.

  Alexei asked no questions about the defendant’s identity or the charge. Radd wasn’t forthcoming at dinner but had explained Patriot City had done this before.

  At nine that evening, Alexei was surprised to see the women in the meeting hall, all of them, including those confined to the menstrual lodge, the “unclean” ones. Charlene caught his eye, and he gave her an incline of his head. She smiled at him. The woman sitting next to Charlene had given birth a few days before, and the infant dozed in her arms.

  Alexei wondered if he were the defendant.

  The instructors greeted him as usual. Radd and a second instructor were absent. Now, Alexei’s curiosity was piqued. Inquisitive muttering from the group ceased when Elijah and Lewis came onto the raised stage, no special effects this time. Lewis walked stage right and motioned Alexei to come to him.

  Alexei jogged up the short set of stairs and went to Lewis’ side.

  “You will be my man tonight,” Lewis said. “Do whatever I ask. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lewis waved him back to his seat.

  “My fellow Christian men,” Elijah began, “we have worked long and hard to fulfill Yahweh’s will. You’ve sweated. Some of you have bled. He’s seen this and blessed you. I’m so proud of each of you. When I see how you’ve trained the warriors you’ll someday lead into battle, I realize what a credit you are to the white race. White power!”

  Everyone responded with the same cry, and Alexei felt darkness surround him.

  “That is why what we have to do now pains me. It’s the pain of betrayal. Like the wandering tribes betrayed Moses when he received Yahweh’s commandments, like the betrayal of our lord Yahshua by the devil Jew Iscariot. My brothers, we have among us an Iscariot, a nigger-loving tool of the demon Jew.”

  Alexei held his breath. Lewis’ words had assured him, but he hoped Charlene wouldn’t jump to a conclusion and betray them both.

  “Someone,” Elijah continued, “has come among us, claimed to be one of us, claimed to be dedicated to our cause. But this traitor lied. In his arrogance he didn’t think we’d find him out, but Yahweh opened my eyes to him. And I am burning with anger because this filthy, vile traitor can threaten our way of life.”

  Elijah turned and motioned to someone off-stage. Radd and the other instructor appeared, a young man between them. One of Radd’s trainees, maybe twenty years old. He’d been a standout in that his reactions, physical and mental, were much slower than the other trainees, who had taken care of him, made sure he didn’t get hurt, cheered his few triumphs. The boy had always been eager to please. Alexei thought him typical of whom the Identity movement went after, someone who knew only to follow blindly.

  Confused by the bright lights on him, the boy hunched in apprehension. His hands were tied behind his back, he was barefoot and wore only a pair of trousers. His shirtless torso sported numerous bruises and abrasions. His lower lip was split and swollen. A trickle of blood flowed from one nostril. The results of a brutal interrogation.

  Alexei looked at Radd’s and the other instructor’s hands. Pristine. Elijah’s knuckles, however, were scraped and red.

  “This piece of filth,” Elijah said, “is Bertrand Boudreaux. He came to us to be trained. He was going back to Louisiana, he said, to carry on the fight. But we’ve learned from others’ mistakes. We did a background check. This godless little bastard is a sheriff from New Iberia Parish come to spy on us.”

  Alexei doubted that. He’d met a few southern sheriffs, and Boudreaux wasn’t one. Besides, the previous set of trainees had included a sheriff from Idaho.

  “Non, Non,” Boudreaux said. “That my cousin. It my cousin the sheriff, sir. Not me, sir. No, sir.”

  “Your cousin? That’s your defense?” Elijah said.

  “It be truth, sir.”

  Lewis handed Elijah a sheet of paper, which Elijah held up. “This is a copy of the personnel roster for the New Iberia Sheriff’s Department.” He shoved the paper at Boudreaux’s face. “Is that your name there between Deputy Angelos and Deputy Buttram?”

  Boudreaux squinted at the paper. “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, that my name, but that deputy, he be my cousin.”

  “A cousin with the same name as you?”

  “Yes, sir. He tres older than me. His d…d…daddy were my d…daddy’s older half-brother. Bertrand, my uncle, he were a hero in Vuh…Vuh…Vietnam. My daddy, he, he name me after he.”

  “Bertrand,” Elijah said, his tone soothing. “Do you expect us to believe that? Yahweh sees you through my eyes, Bertrand. He sees your lies. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir, I do!”

  Elijah stroked the boy’s hair. “It’s not my judgement you face, Bertrand, but that of Yahweh through his appointed court.”

  Bertrand gave Elijah a look of pure devotion and love. “Me, sir, I pray every night to Yahweh and every day.”

  “These Christian men will judge you. Yahweh will touch their hearts and give them the right verdict.” He turned and addressed the group. “Brothers, and sisters tonight, I don’t need to explain what one traitor can mean. Remember what the godless agents of the FBI did at Killeen? They burned the babies. Sister Elizabeth, stand and show everyone our son.”

  The new mother complied, holding up the dozing infant for all to see.

  “I don’t want them to come here and burn our pure, white babies. If we fail here because of betrayal, my son, the future of the white race, will grow up in a world of mongrels and be defiled by a Jew. I don’t want that. Do you want that?” Elijah shouted.

  “No, no, no!” everyone chanted.

  The dark mood surrounding Alexei shifted to uneasiness.

  “Bertrand?” Elijah said to the boy.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You can speak in your d
efense.”

  “Uh, yes, sir. Sir, I ain’t no sheriff. Like I say, that be my cousin. I don’t never see him, non, not often. I ain’t no informer, sir. I’d rather die like a dog than do that. I came here to fight for my race. I came here to learn from you, sir.”

  “Recite our oath.”

  Boudreaux frowned as he concentrated. “No, sir, I can’t, me. I don’t read too good, non.”

  “Boudreaux. That’s a mongrel Cajun name.”

  “No, sir. That name French, sir.”

  Elijah smirked over his shoulder at the audience. “Are you telling us you’re French?”

  “No, sir. I be from Louisiana, sir, what used to be français.”

  “Are you a mongrel, Bertrand?”

  “No, sir! My mama and daddy be white.”

  “That’s your defense? Your momma and daddy are white, and we have to take your word you’re not a spy.”

  “Yes, sir. I ain’t no informer, non. I ain’t.”

  “Sister Elizabeth!” Elijah barked, not bothering to look at the woman. “Bring my son here.”

  Elizabeth approached the stage and laid the baby, awake now, on the boards. Elijah scooped him up and returned to Boudreaux.

  “This pure child sprung from Aryan superiority will help us decide,” Elijah said. “The truth comes from the eyes of children.”

  Elijah gripped the baby under his arms and shoved him toward Boudreaux’s battered, bleeding face. The baby began to fret. Boudreaux stumbled back, and the baby began to cry, shrill screams that stirred a memory in Alexei. The first time his son Peter had cried that way, Alexei had been terrified.

  “There is your answer!” Elijah shouted. The baby shrieked even louder. He put the child back on the stage, and Elizabeth retrieved him, trying to soothe. She shot Boudreaux a look of pure hatred and hurried back to her seat.

  Elijah stretched his arms wide. “You’ve heard the charges. You’ve heard the traitor’s response. You’ve seen the evidence. What say you? Guilty or not guilty?”

  There was enough of a hesitation Alexei felt some optimism, but one man shouted, “Guilty!” More voices chimed in with the same word. Men stood and shook their fists as they shouted it. The women joined them.