Danita was becoming more and more worried that there would be a confrontation between Nazi Carl and her parents. It was getting near lunchtime, and he was still in the house, searching for a secret room and making a mess in the process. She stayed downstairs, out of his way, but she could hear him stomping around above her head.
Abruptly, the noise ceased. She stood still, listening. After a couple of minutes, Carl came stomping down the stairs. He had a scowl on his face, and his hands were fisted like he wanted to hit someone. Caution urged her to stay far away from him, but she couldn’t help asking what was going on. He turned and glared at her.
“Your little friend took a flight out of here.”
“So, no big reward?” she said.
“Not for now,” he said. “But when we finish taking over this place, one of these farms is going to be mine—maybe even this one. And we’ll see who’s smirking then.”
He stormed out of the house, and she expected him to take up his usual station on the front porch. Instead, he went to his pickup. He started it up, swung around in an angry T-turn, just missing the van life kids’ bumper, and headed down the driveway, slinging gravel behind him.
Danita stood at the front window, watching him go. She didn’t know what to make of this latest turn of events. Was he gone for good? That didn’t seem likely. And what did his cryptic comment about Barb “flying out of town” mean? Well, there was no way to answer these questions right now. So she turned to something that was actually in her power to do, straightening up after Carl’s aborted search.
She just hoped she could undo the damage before her parents got back.
#
Barb heard the skinhead brothers arguing through the window of the RV. She’d stayed out of their way ever since her little stunt with the FBI phone number, not knowing how they’d react to her presence. Now, she glanced out the window as they stepped off the porch, bringing them close enough for her to overhear what they were saying.
“I still don’t know why I have to stay behind,” said Tyler in a whine.
“Someone needs to keep watch,” said Snake.
“The commander called a full meeting.”
“Of everyone in the division. You’re an auxiliary member.”
“When do I get to be a full member?”
“When the commander says so,” said Snake. “Now, follow orders and stay here.”
He walked to the truck and climbed inside. Tyler watched him go with a pout on his face. Barb debated whether to leave him alone or to take the opportunity to mend fences and maybe even make an ally out of him. That would of course be a big lift after the FBI call. But when had she ever shrunk from a challenge?
First, she needed to prepare. She searched for an answering service in LA that was still staffed by human operators. As she suspected, the pickings were slim, but she only needed one, so she went ahead and chose the top search result. She opened an account under the spur-of-the-moment name “White Knight Music.” She created a fictional CEO, one “Robert White,” and set up the answering service to take messages for him. Once she had everything in place, she jotted the number on a Post-it note.
When she walked out of the RV, Tyler glared at her, hurt and anger warring on his face. He seemed surprised and uncomfortable when she walked up to him. She held up her hands in mock surrender.
“I’m sorry for what I did, Tyler,” she said. “It was really mean of me.”
At first he looked like he was going to ignore her, but something propelled him to speak, whether it was discomfort at being rude or a wounded boy’s need for answers.
“Why did you do it?” he said.
“I wanted to get back at your brother,” she said. “He thinks he’s so important, bossing everybody around.”
He almost smiled at this. Instead, he spoke in a hurt voice, “You made me look stupid.”
“I’m really, really sorry,” she said. “The thing is I actually do know a music producer. I have his number right here.”
She pulled out the Post-it note. He glared at her.
“Do you think I’m a fool?” he said.
“I understand why you’re suspicious,” she said. “I’ll call him right now to show you it’s on the up and up.”
She set her phone on speaker mode and held it between them so he could watch her dial. They waited as the line rang. The boy almost jumped when it clicked and a voice came on the line.
“White Knight Music,” said a female operator. “Mr. White’s office. May I take a message?”
“This is Ellie,” said Barb. “Please tell my brother I called. I have somebody I want him to hear. His name is Tyler…” She looked at the boy.
“Briggs,” he said. “Tyler Briggs.”
“Tyler Briggs,” repeated Barb.
The operator said she’d pass on the message, and Barb ended the call. Tyler looked at her, astonishment all over his face.
“You didn’t say he was your brother,” he said.
“I didn’t want to sound like a big shot,” she said. “I’m just little old me, Ellie.”
She held out the Post-it note. He took it eagerly.
“I’ll let you know when he calls back,” she said. “But in the meantime, feel free to try him yourself.” She leaned in close to him. “Just don’t let your brother see the note.”
“I’m not stupid,” he said.
She smiled.
#
The sheriff was pissed. He sat in his cruiser, watching the pickup trucks come racing into town from wherever they’d been stationed throughout the county. It was like an anthill after someone stirred it with a stick. He saw more than one near collision as the idiots, amped up on adrenaline and paranoia, raced around.
At first, it wasn’t clear they had any destination in mind, but soon he could see they were all heading for the center of town and the grocery store parking lot. He put his cruiser in gear and headed that way himself. When he arrived at the lot, he found it rapidly filling with jacked-up trucks, motorcycles, and even a Hummer or two. No one was bothering with the parking lines painted on the pavement, so the lot was rapidly clogged, leaving late arrivals to circle fruitlessly, looking for an opening.
In the center of the lot, a pickup was outfitted with a row of oversized speakers. A grizzled old timer with solid gray hair and a stick-thin body stood in the truck bed, holding a wireless mic. He tapped it a couple of times, and feedback squealed, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Fellow patriots,” said the old timer, his voice echoing. “We’re all here because the word went out we were needed. And like the first American revolutionaries, we answered the call. But what did we find once we got here? Bullshit. That’s what!”
The sheriff quickly dialed Jackery.
“David?” said Jackery, answering.
“Your militias are about to go rogue,” said the sheriff. “If you don’t want to totally lose control, you need to get your ass down to the Park-N-Shop lot and pronto. Meet me in front of your cabin, and I’ll drive you.”
This time he hung up before Jackery could say anything, giving the asshole a taste of his own medicine. God, he hated that arrogant prick. Arrogant and stupid. If Jackery had bothered to consult him before he’d brought in these mutts, the sheriff would have told him it was insane. They might mimic the military, but they were the opposite of disciplined. Each one was like a Molotov cocktail just waiting for a spark. And that old-timer was the match. Now the sheriff had to stand by and watch them all go up, taking the town with them.
The sheriff arrived just as Jackery came out of one of the cabins, flanked immediately by his bodyguards. His mousy assistant ran after them. She scurried to open the back door of the cruiser and stood back to let Jackery climb in. The bodyguards prepared to join him.
“I wouldn’t bring your hired hands this time, Peter,” said the sheriff. “It’ll make you look weak and scared.”
Jackery took a moment to think this over. “Good point,” he said finally. “You two wait for me here,” he said to the bodyguards.
They hesitated, clearly unhappy with the idea.
“I’ll take full responsibility for my own safety,” said Jackery.
Reluctantly, they stepped back.
During the drive to the grocery, Jackery was silent, not even looking at the sheriff. So, he was offended by how he’d been spoken to. Tough shit. Dixon was still the sheriff’s town, and Jackery’s actions were threatening to set the whole place ablaze. This was no time to worry about tender egos.
When they reached the parking lot, they found it packed and overflowing. Every redneck and yahoo seemed to be crammed within its confines. The old timer was still at the mic, addressing the spellbound crowd like a revival preacher. The sheriff pulled into his designated spot at the rear of the station, which was next to the grocery lot. As they climbed out of the cruiser, they could hear the old timer’s words clearly and sense their effect on the crowd.
“…called us here to track down an enemy of our cause and promised us money if we found him,” said the old timer. “Now that we’re all here, suddenly the enemy’s flying away and we’re left here with our dicks in our hands like a pack of fools. I say something about this doesn’t add up.”
This drew an audible response from the crowd, punctuated by interjections of “Yeah” and “That’s right.” Someone let loose a burst from their automatic rifle. The old-timer held up his hands.
“Hold your fire,” he said. “We’ve got questions, and we need answers. If we don’t get the answers we’re due, then, my friends, I say it’s time to demand them—at gunpoint if necessary!”
The sheriff turned to Jackery. “You started this clusterfuck. You need to get it under control—and now.”
The sheriff, arms crossed, watched as Jackery plunged into the crowd. He strode straight for the old timer’s pickup with such confident intensity that the angry militia members moved aside for him. And he didn’t stop when he reached the pickup. He climbed onto its back, surprising the old timer in mid-rant. He held out his hand, and the old timer handed over the microphone. Jackery turned and faced the hostile crowd.
“Hello, friends,” he said.
His words were greeted with silence—an angry silence the sheriff could feel in his balls. But Jackery merely smiled.
“When I sent out the call for patriots to defend our great nation from the enemies who would destroy her from within, you were the ones who showed up. You are the true heroes, each and every one of you.”
The sheriff studied the crowd. They stood utterly still, focused on Jackery. Their silence felt slightly less angry, soothed by Jackery’s shameless bullshit—at least for the moment. But they were still a dangerous mob. They wouldn’t be satisfied with empty words for long.
“I know some of you may feel let down because our mutual enemy escaped. But I, my friends, am not. Just think about what you’ve done. In two days—only two days—you succeeded in flushing him out from hiding. You flushed him out, and you drove him away with his tail between his legs. Just think about it. This man was burrowed deep, spreading his evil, undermining everything we hold dear. And you, my friends, so terrified him that he called up his puppet masters and begged for his life. You drove him out, and you cleaned this town. Just as together, we will clean this great nation!”
Jackery’s words were greeted by spontaneous cheers and shouts of “Damn right!” And “Hell, yeah!” Jackery held up his hands. The crowd quieted.
“I understand some of you may feel cheated out of the reward you were promised. Let me just say that in my book you earned that reward. So, I will meet with each of your commanders and pass on to them the full reward as promised.”
A great cheer went up. The sheriff shook his head. It all came back to money with this guy. Still, he couldn’t deny Jackery had turned things around. In the span of a few minutes, he’d taken an angry mob and turned them into his personal cheering squad.
“Today was a great victory,” said Jackery. “But our work here is not done. It will take courage and vigilance to guard this village of liberty we have made together. I say it’s worth it. Are you with me?”
The cheer that went up chilled the sheriff to his bones. Damn, but the man was good.
I sure as hell wouldn’t want him for an enemy, he thought.