Trial by Fire

by Terri Blackstock

  “Everybody has to pay their dues,” Cruz said.

  “So what are the dues?” Jake asked. “How many bodies?”

  Jake’s tone made Cruz angrier. “Either you’re committed to our cause, Mattreaux, or you’re not. Make up your mind.”

  Jake squinted. “So what is the cause again? I forget, since the first one was about getting that preacher, and the second one was about throwing the cops off.”

  Cruz’s lips grew taut over his teeth. “I don’t like your tone, man.”

  Jennifer sashayed closer to Jake in that way she had, and slid her arm around his shoulders. “It’s a holy war, Jake. Superiority of our race. God’s fight. Rahowa.”

  Jake stepped out of her reach. “It’s not ‘superior’ to kill a thirteen-year-old kid who didn’t do anything wrong. And what kind of statement did Ben Ford’s death make? I mean, if you want it to change something, what did it change? Are you expecting the blacks to line up in a convoy and leave town? All that guy did wrong was go get something to eat late at night. You waylaid him in the parking lot, beat him to a pulp, put a bullet through his brain, and left him to burn in his own church. For what? Man, you know you just wanted to get at that preacher.”

  Cruz was getting angrier now, and he came over to Jake and put his face intimidatingly close to his. Jake’s cheeks mottled with heat, but he didn’t step back. “You know what your problem is, Mattreaux? You’re not a visionary. You’re a follower. Leave the planning to me, and you just do as I say. I’m the one who sees the whole picture. I’m the one with the plan.”

  “Okay, fine,” Jake said through his teeth, finally backing away. When adequate distance was between them, he asked, “So…just explain to me how Ben Ford’s death helped the cause.”

  “There’s one fewer mud person walking around. The world is automatically a better place.”

  Jake wanted to throw up. But why, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t a brotherly love kind of guy, and it wasn’t his style to champion a principle. Was he truly concerned about Ben Ford, or about the lies being told to keep them all committed? Or was it fear of prison, or bitterness about what they had done to Benton? Maybe it was all of it together. “I guess I’m just wondering why you picked Ben Ford, and not some drug addict or pimp or loser who beats his wife and kids? Why Ben Ford, who was educated, worked, minded his own business?”

  “Because he was there,” Cruz said. “And he was black. Those were the only two reasons I needed.”

  “So how many more are you going to kill?”

  “However many I need to.”

  They all grew quiet, and Jake realized all eyes were on him. They were assessing him to see if he was worthy to be called one of them. He told himself he was not. “Well…I didn’t come into this group to commit capital murder and wind up on death row. I came to play drums. That’s all.”

  “The band is just the cover, man,” Cruz said. “It’s the advertisement for our cause. The means of recruitment. But it’s not who we are. There’s a lot more to us than that.” He pulled out his knife, switched it open, and ran his finger along the dirty blade. “This is serious business, and we don’t take it lightly. Life or death. You get to choose. You can be for us, Mattreaux, or you can be against us. Life or death.”

  Jake just stared at him for a moment.

  Cruz slapped the flat of the blade against his palm. “Choose, Mattreaux.”

  Jake looked up at Benton and saw the fear in his eyes. Jake swallowed but didn’t answer.

  “I’m with you, man,” Benton said quietly. “And Jake is, too. He’s just emotional because of his aunt and all.”

  Cruz didn’t take his eyes from Jake. Jake knew he was in too deep to get out now.

  “Are you with us or not?” Cruz asked again.

  He sighed and looked at the loaded truck bed. Maybe if he just went along, it would all be over soon. Maybe he could figure out a way to thwart their next plan and make sure that they left Issie alone. They weren’t likely to let him walk away.

  “I guess I’m with you,” he said, and the words made his stomach burn.

  “Fine. Then help us get the rest of the mattresses out of here.”

  Jake swallowed and ambled back into the house. He saw the filthy mattresses lying on the floor and lifted one. As he loaded it into the truck, he wondered if he was kidding himself about stopping them, or if there was really a chance that he’d escape both death and prison.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The funeral service for Ben Ford was held in the Methodist church on Gaston Boulevard.

  Nick limped into the building, nodding to those around him who acknowledged him. Pushing through the quiet crowd in the foyer, he offered a nod to his church members milling in the foyer and headed around to the side of the building where he knew the family would be. He found them in the fellowship hall sitting quietly with family and close friends.

  He saw Ray and Susan in a corner with Vanessa, who leaned dismally against the wall. Susan’s eyes were puffy and red, and it was clear that she had been crying most of the night. He wondered if she had slept at all since Ben’s body had been discovered. Vanessa, too, looked as subdued as he’d ever seen her. The teenage girl had on too much makeup, as if it would cover the sorrow and sleeplessness on her face.

  Ray just looked angry. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, a taut look on his deeply lined face. Slowly, Nick approached them.

  Susan got up and greeted him with a hug. He held her tight, wishing he had words to snuff out her pain. When he’d let her go, he reached for Ray’s hand. “You okay, Ray?”

  Ray nodded without speaking.

  What now? Nick wondered. “Lot of people out there,” he said. “Ben was loved.”

  “Why did he do it?” Susan asked, her eyes boring into Nick’s as if to nail him with the question. “Why did God take him?”

  He searched his mind for wisdom, but found none. “We may never know this side of heaven.”

  Susan scrunched up both fists and looked at the ceiling. “I’m so mad!” she said. “It ain’t fair!”

  She put her hand over her mouth and headed for the bathroom in the corner of the room. Nick turned to Ray. “You’re not blaming God too, are you, Ray?”

  Ray shrugged. “I blame the hateful no-good slugs who did this, Nick. And like I told you and Stan, if I get the chance, I’ll kill ’em myself.”

  Ray’s words knocked the wind out of Nick, and he didn’t know how to respond. He searched his store of Scripture verses and experience but found nothing to help. What was wrong with him?

  A group of relatives came between them, and Nick went to the sanctuary and took a seat in the back of the room.

  Several quiet moments passed, during which he struggled with the tears threatening to pull him under. He hoped no one would sit next to him, that he would be left alone. If he was forced to say anything to anyone, he would lose it for sure. His heart felt battered and bruised, as if it had been damaged along with his ribs and shins.

  He saw someone pause at the end of his pew, and he looked over. Issie Mattreaux stood there, wearing a black skirt just above the knees, black stockings, and a black sweater that was a tad too tight. He started to look away, but she slipped into the pew and came to sit next to him.

  “Hey, Nick,” she whispered. “Do you care if I sit with you?”

  He swallowed and shook his head.

  She kept looking at him, and he knew she was taking in the tears in his eyes and the emotional struggle on his face. “Hey, are you okay?”

  He nodded.

  “You just look…a little shaken up.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She kept looking at him, and he fixed his eyes on the coffin at the front of the room, covered with flowers that Allie had probably made at the Busy Bee Florist. That was what he’d failed to do, he thought. He hadn’t sent flowers. There should be a spray at the front with his name on it. He should have expressed his love that way.

  But then he realized
that it wouldn’t have changed anything. What was wrong with him? Did he think a few flowers on a stand would assuage a mother’s grief?

  “How are your burns?” Issie whispered.

  He shrugged. “Fine.”

  “You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?”

  “Mad? I wasn’t mad, Issie.”

  She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry for acting that way last night.”

  He ran back over the frustrating thoughts that had kept him awake all night. “It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t hold grudges.”

  He glanced at her and wished she didn’t look so nice. It was hard to remember why he had rejected her last night, when her hair shimmered in that way it had, and she was by far the best-looking woman in the room. No, he had no business being a preacher.

  The organ started to play, and latecomers hurried to take their seats. He watched as the family processed in, Ray and Susan and Vanessa clutching each other for support. The unemotional funeral director pointed the family to where he wanted them to sit. Nick watched the tears, the hugs, and the leaning and comforting and grieving. His own eyes filled with tears again, and he closed them to hold it in. But he wasn’t successful.

  Issie put her hand in his, and he found himself closing his fingers around hers. It was some comfort, even while it made him feel guilty. He needed the contact. He needed someone to be there for him, someone who wasn’t someone else’s wife treating him like a brother. He needed to feel, for this one moment, as if he had someone of his own.

  He opened his eyes and looked over at Issie. She had tears on her face, as well. He marveled at how soft she looked with tears in her eyes, so unlike the tough paramedic who wrestled grown men when it was required. She wiped her face with her free hand and breathed in a broken sob.

  Like him, she was probably second-guessing her actions when they’d found Ben too. She was probably remembering Ray’s anguished cries as he realized his son was dead. She was probably thinking about the second kid she hadn’t been able to save.

  The desire to comfort her eclipsed his own private pain. He let go of her hand and put his arm around her, pulled her against him. She buried her face against his shoulder, and he held her tight as he felt her shaking with grief. The fact that she didn’t pull away, didn’t seem repulsed by his comfort, melted him even more.

  There was something strangely soothing about holding Issie. Her hair smelled of some perfume he’d never known before, and he knew it would haunt him at night when he tried to forget. It was soft against his face, silky, and he stroked it with his fingertips. He couldn’t stand to see her cry.

  The service began as Susan’s uncle took the pulpit, and Nick slowly let Issie go. She pulled back, took in a deep, cleansing breath, and wiped her face with both hands. He knew better than to touch her again.

  They listened as the man spoke of Ben’s love for Christ, and the things he would have wanted them to know about salvation and heaven, and where Ben was today. Nick found himself praying that Issie would hear. And as he did, he questioned his motives again. Was he praying it for himself, because of the fierce attraction he felt toward her? Did he think a conversion on her part would make it possible for him to think seriously about her? Or did he honestly care about her soul?

  Both, he admitted to himself. He wanted both.

  The funeral went on as some of Ben’s friends from high school and LSU stood up to give eulogies, and others sang. He watched Ray and Susan sobbing at the front, and wondered why people thought funerals provided comfort. In this case, he thought Susan wasn’t going to make it through. It was just too hard. Some things required too much.

  Issie rode with Nick to the little cemetery where Susan’s parents lay.

  When the service was over, and the family had gone to the black limousines, he and Issie headed back to his car.

  They didn’t speak until they were in the parking lot. “Tough day,” Issie said finally.

  He squinted into the breeze. “Yeah. Not my favorite way to spend it.”

  She turned and looked up at him. “Would you mind giving me a ride to Aunt Aggie’s? I don’t have a car…”

  “Of course,” he said. “How did you get to the church?”

  “Steve Winder dropped me off. I could get somebody else to give me a lift if you’d rather not be alone with me.”

  He smiled softly and opened the car door for her. “Get in,” he said. He closed her door and limped around to the driver’s side. When he had started the car, he shot her a grin. “I’m not afraid of you, Issie,” he said.

  “Good,” she whispered.

  As he drove out of the parking lot, he realized that it was himself he feared the most, whenever he was close to Issie.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Issie’s insurance company pronounced her car totaled. Steve Winder loaned her the pickup truck he drove for hunting, complete with rust and caked mud and bondo where he’d tried to make some body repairs years ago. She was just glad to have transportation.

  Knowing that Cruz was still at large, she decided she had to talk to Mike and Lois. She’d heard from some of the cops she knew that they had questioned her brother and sister-in-law about Jake’s whereabouts, so she knew they were anticipating his arrest and were probably sick with anxiety.

  But when she showed up at their door, they treated her as the enemy. “How could you do this?” Lois demanded. “How could you turn our son in when he didn’t do anything? Make him out to be a murderer? You know Jake wouldn’t kill anybody!”

  “I didn’t know what he had done,” Issie said. “All I knew is that there are two kids dead and two churches burned to the ground. Jake’s friends were involved, and they tried to kill me last night. My smashed-up car with bullet holes in it is in Sam Slater’s salvage yard to prove it.”

  “But you could have told us first. You could have come to us.”

  “I had no choice but to go straight to the police to save my life. And believe it or not, I was hoping to save Jake’s too.”

  “See, that’s just it, Issie.” Her brother stormed at her like he had when she was a kid and he wanted her out of his way. “If Jake was involved, nobody would have been shooting at you. He loves you. You’re his favorite relative. He would never have done anything like that.”

  “I didn’t think so either,” Issie said, “but you don’t know how much a kid can be influenced by his peers. I don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  “Not murder!” her brother shouted.

  “How do you know? You don’t even know his friends. You don’t know that he hasn’t been to school in over two weeks and doesn’t intend to go back. You don’t even know about the compound they’re planning to build and the fact that Jake intends to live there with these people.”

  “You’re lying,” Mike shouted. “If those things were true, you would have told us sooner.”

  “I’ve been too busy dodging bullets!”

  “Why should we believe you?”

  “I don’t care if you believe me. The plain simple truth is that if Jake knows something, and I know he does, he needs to tell the police. If he’s involved, then he needs to be punished, and you don’t need to stand in the way.”

  “That’s just fine for you to say,” her brother said through clenched teeth. “It’s real easy for somebody who’s not a parent to say, ‘Just let him suffer the consequences. Let him go to prison. Let him go down for a murder he didn’t commit. He’ll learn his lesson.’ But he’s not your son!”

  “Look,” she said, clutching her aching head. “The last thing I want is for Jake to go to prison. That’s why I didn’t say anything when I first started suspecting his friends. But last night he called me to patch up Benton after he’d been stabbed. Does this sound safe to you? Do you want to shelter your son so he can be trapped under the influence of someone who’s reckless with a knife?”

  “You should have come to us then!” Mike said. “We had a right to know!”

  “Well, which is
it, Mike? Was I supposed to keep my mouth shut, or blow the whistle? You can’t have it both ways!”

  “You could have told us without telling the police,” Lois said.

  “Right. And then his pals would have come after you instead of me, when you tried to intervene. It’s not that simple! So don’t yell at me for going to the police, the only ones who can really stop this madness. Yell at me for waiting too long to do it. Has it occurred to you that he could be dead?”

  “No!” Lois shouted on a sob. “Mike, tell her—”

  The blood seemed to drain from Mike’s face as he stood over her. “If he’s dead, it’s your fault. Look what you’ve done, Issie.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. If they’re as dangerous as you say, they may have taken your snooping around out on Jake.”

  “I told you, they called me! And I begged Jake to leave with me, but he wouldn’t.” They weren’t listening to her. She wasn’t even sure they could hear her through their pain and confusion. There was no use trying to bring them around. “Look, I came here because we have to find Jake. Whether he’s in trouble or just hiding…or something worse…we’ve got to find him.”

  “Tell us about it!” her brother shouted.

  “He was home last night,” Lois said. “His bed was slept in. We didn’t see him, but he was here. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” Issie said.

  “It is,” Lois insisted. “He’s a smart kid. He’ll be okay.” She ran into her husband’s arms, and he clung to her.

  Issie would have given anything to be a part of that comfort they exchanged. But her brother had never been affectionate with her. She was part of their family, yet she was as alone as she had ever been. “I’m gonna keep looking,” she said. “I haven’t given up on him.”

  “If anything happens to him,” Lois said, “we’ll never forgive you.”

  “I know,” Issie said. And knowing there was nothing more to say, Issie hurried out to her car.