Julian looked up, cocking his head.
“What is it?” said Barb.
It took a moment before she heard it, too. The whirl and thump of helicopter blades.
“Sikorsky S-76,” said Julian, with a low whistle. “We’re talking big bucks.”
“You can tell all that from the sound?” she said.
“I’m a man of many talents.”
“I’ve been wondering when Jackery was going to put in an appearance,” said Barb.
“Arrogant fool,” said Julian with a snort. “He had you where he wanted you and now he’s put himself in your line of fire.”
“Maybe so, but I still don’t have any way of getting to him.”
“Give him time. Knowing his type, he’ll load the Goddamn gun for you and put it in your hand.”
The two of them were sitting in the RV. It was a beautiful late afternoon, and Barb would have preferred to be with Maria Sanchez on her front porch. But there were a pair of skinhead brothers currently encamped there with AK-47s across their laps. Maria was holed up inside with her front door bolted. Barb hated to see it. She figured there was a similar scene at every other house in the county. Jackery was a madman if he thought he could keep the situation under control.
That didn’t necessarily mean he was wrong—at least in the short term. The occupiers complicated things for her and limited her moves. She also needed to contend with the upcoming manhunt. How long would Jackery keep searching for a man named “Barb” before he began to suspect he wasn’t looking for a man at all?
#
Barb took herself for a walk around the Sanchez farm. When she stepped out of the RV, she purposefully avoided looking at the farmhouse porch. Despite that, she felt the semi-automatic rifles at her back. She felt their threat on an animal level. It made her angry. Putting the power of life and death in the hand of demonstrably unstable types like the skinhead brothers was more than evil. It was stupid. It was like arming a cat. Barb loved Marmalade, but she wouldn’t dream of arming a creature whose moods took her from purring to biting without a moment’s notice.
As she walked along the path between the pastures, she thought more about the mental stability of the average militia member. Such a person was by nature paranoid. It wouldn’t take much to ignite a spark of doubt and watch it spread. The challenge would be to channel the doubt in a direction that burned the militia nuts and left the Dixon populace untouched.
Barb’s concentration was disturbed by a sound from behind her. She turned and saw one of the skinhead brothers following about ten feet back, his AK slung across his shoulder. He was dressed in a plain white T-shirt over fatigue pants and black combat boots that looked too big for his feet. He was skinny with a lean face sporting spotty whiskers as if he were trying unsuccessfully to grow a beard. She looked at his face. He was clearly uncomfortable under her inspection, almost bashful. She noticed for the first time how young he was, still a boy, not yet even twenty. She gave him a smile.
“You don’t have to walk so far back,” she said. “You can come join me.”
He looked even more uncomfortable, frozen in place.
“Come on,” she said. “I won’t bite.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said finally.
She waited patiently as he walked haltingly toward her, stopping a couple of feet back. She gave him another smile.
“I’m Ellie,” she said. “What do they call you?”
“Tyler.”
“Okay, Tyler. Let’s walk.”
She resumed making her way along the path, Tyler following a couple of feet back.
“Was it your idea to follow me?” she said over her shoulder.
“No, ma’am. Snake said I should. We’re supposed to stand watch over this property and everyone on it.” His voice was almost apologetic.
“Snake?”
“That’s my brother.”
“Is that his real name?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “He got it in prison. He gets real mad if I forget and call him Larry.”
“He’s older than you, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is he the one who got you into the militia?”
“We’re not a militia, ma’am. We’re a chapter of the Aryan Nations.”
“I’m guessing he joined first.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, how’s it going? Do you like being a member of the Aryan Nations?”
“It’s not something you’re supposed to like,” he said. “It’s a duty. To take back our country from the liberals and the nig—I mean the n-words.”
She could practically feel the heat of his blush from two feet away. His words made her profoundly sad. They revealed his basic innocence but also how innocence had been shaped by others into something ugly. She wondered if he were beyond redemption, or if given the right environment, he might learn to see through the hate he’d been spoon-fed. In the end, it was academic. She lacked the power to change his environment, so his future was brutally assured. Saving him was a project she wouldn’t be able to undertake. That left her with two options: leave him be or use him. She decided to use him.
“You’re supposed to make sure I don’t meet with anybody or try to use a hidden phone, right?”
He shrugged uncomfortably.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I know you’re just doing your duty. And I’m not out here to meet anyone. I simply enjoy a nice walk after dinner. But I like it even better when I have company, so thank you for joining me.”
He said nothing to that, but he did take a few steps forward until he was walking beside her.
“When you’re not on duty, what do you like to do?” she said.
“Music.”
“Listening or playing?”
“Rapping.”
She almost laughed out loud at the irony, but once her initial reaction passed, she saw his statement, ignorant and unself-aware as it was, as an opportunity.
“I bet you’re pretty good,” she said. “Am I right?”
“I came in third in the high school talent show.”
“There you are.”
“But my brother says the music business is run by Jews and N-word lovers. The white man doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Well, I’m not saying your brother’s completely wrong,” she said. “But I do know a record producer who’s always looking for new talent. And he’s not prejudiced against whites.”
There. That was the bait. Would he take it?
Of course he would.
“Really?” he said with child-like eagerness.
“I’ll be happy to give you his number,” she said. “As soon as we get back to the house.”
For the rest of the walk, he was just like a puppy. He babbled about his dreams and ambitions, and they were such a melange of innocent joy and ignorant racism it almost brought tears to her eyes. But she kept a smile on her face and pretended to listen attentively.
When they made their way back to the house, she turned toward the RV.
“Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be right back out.”
She climbed the step into the RV, where she grabbed a notepad and a pen. Using her laptop, she quickly searched for a number. She jotted it on the notepad, tore it off the sheet, and carried it back outside.
“Here you go, Tyler,” she said, making sure to hand him the note in full view of his brother.
There.
The hook was set.
#
Back inside the RV, she slid open the window behind the sofa, took a seat, and waited. It wasn’t long before she heard the two brothers talking.
“What the fuck is that?” came the voice of the older brother.
“What’s what?” came the younger one.
“The paper that bitch handed you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I’ll decide that,” said Snake, his voice showing more and more anger. “Now tell me what the fuck it is.”
“Just a phone number. For a record producer.” His voice was so soft and tentative she had to strain to hear it.
“You fool. Haven’t you learned a thing I’ve told you?”
“She said this one isn’t racist against whites.”
“There’s no such thing,” said Snake.
“That’s what she said.”
“Give it here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Give it the fuck here.”
There was a pause. Barb held her breath.
“What are you doing?” Tyler’s voice was a childish whine.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m calling this fucking number to prove to you it’s bullshit.”
Barb relaxed against the back of the sofa and waited for the next part of her plan to play out.
When the older brother’s voice came, it was low but intense. “You fool. You fucking, fucking fool. That bitch played you. She played us both.”
Barb glanced at the screen of her laptop and smiled. Still visible was the result of her earlier search: the phone number for the LA field office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
#
When the pounding came on the RV door, Barb steeled herself. This was the weakest part of her impulsive plan, the moment of danger. She needed to step carefully, constantly taking the temperature of the enraged man she was about to confront. Her own safety hinged on an accurate reading of his character—and specifically his impulse control.
She handed her phone to Julian. “Whatever happens don’t stop recording.”
The pounding grew louder and more insistent.
Barb walked to the door and opened it. There was Snake, his face contorted in rage, his AK-47 in his hands and pointing straight at her.
“Yes?” she said.
“Come out here,” he said.
“I don’t think I will,” she said.
“Get out here right now, you fucking bitch.”
“Smile when you say that,” she said. “Because you’re being recorded.” She stepped aside so he could see Julian holding her phone and capturing everything. “You’ve got the gun, so you’re in control of the situation, but before you do anything rash, ask yourself if it’s worth going back inside for the rest of your life.”
“You fucking bitch,” he said again, his whole body tense.
“It was just a little joke,” she said. “I didn’t realize it would upset you so much.”
“You fucked me and my brother.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be happy to tell your commander I gave your brother that number.”
She could actually see the color drain from his face.
“Don’t you say anything. To anyone.”
“All right. My lips are sealed.”
“I fucking mean it.”
The rage filling him seemed to demand channeling. If he couldn’t shoot her without endangering his freedom, he needed to shoot something. She could see this play out across his face as he took a step back and aimed the assault rifle at the front tire of the RV. He loosed a burst of fire that sounded like vengeful thunder. The front corner of the RV dipped. Another burst came from the rear of the RV, and it dropped about a foot, causing the whole side of the vehicle to slant.
“If you fuck with us again,” he said, “I don’t care who’s watching, I’ll waste your bitch ass.”
“Message received,” she said.
He slung the AK over his shoulder, turned, and walked back toward the porch. She shut the RV door. Julian lowered the phone and gave her a look.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” he said.
“Didn’t you hear the man?” She flashed an innocent smile. “I’m fucking with them.”