“I cannot accept this. I cannot believe the great Colonel Nguyen would say these words.”
“What would you have us do, Pham? Would you have us kill someone? Exact your vengeance? We do not know who shot your grandmother.”
“Of course we do. It was those murderers from ASP. The pious assassins who go to church under our noses on Sunday morning, then set fire to our homes on Sunday night.”
Nguyen felt the heat radiating from all sections of the barn. “We do not know that for certain. It is conceivable that … there could be other motivations for last night’s attack.”
“Such as what?” Pham demanded.
Nguyen paused. It would be so easy, so much simpler if he could just tell them what he knew, what he had seen.
He glanced back at Lan, who was sitting with Mary and Holly. No. They would all be placed in danger. And Coi Than Tien couldn’t protect them. Coi Than Tien couldn’t protect anyone.
“I do not know,” Nguyen answered. “But there are many motives for violence. Hatred is only one of them.”
“Colonel Nguyen,” Pham said. “I mean you no disrespect. But you are wrong. You speak the words of a coward.”
“Pham!” Dang said harshly. “Think what you are saying! Colonel Nguyen is one of our most honored citizens. He is your elder.”
“Yes,” Pham growled. “And his elder wisdom got Tommy Vuong killed!”
There was an audible gasp, followed by a suspended silence. The unspeakable had been spoken.
“Pham,” Dang said, “you bring shame on us all. You do not know what you say.”
“I know what I know!” Pham fired back. “I know Colonel Nguyen was the last to see Tommy alive. I know he counseled Tommy to suppress his anger, to turn the other cheek. And look what happened.”
All heads turned toward Colonel Nguyen, obviously awaiting a reply. But none was forthcoming. The Colonel retook his seat. He did not like what Pham had said, but he would not dispute it. How could he? He had advised Tommy not to seek retribution against the man who attacked him in the bar. He had left Tommy just when he needed him most. If anyone could have saved Tommy, it was him. And he failed.
“Dinh Pham, you have disgraced this assembly,” Dang pronounced. “We must ask you to leave—”
“Fine. I’ll leave. But I won’t leave alone.” Again Pham turned to face the crowd. “Who is with me?”
The response was slow at first, just a few young men who were known to be Pham’s close friends. But then Thung Hieu, a man in his midfifties with three children, joined him. Then Elder Tran, whom the Colonel had known all his life. They were joined by women, mothers, even children. The sentiment spread like a dandelion in the wind. Pham’s isolated few became a majority, a defiant congregation that would not be driven from their homes again.
Pham marched proudly out the barn door. Over half of those in attendance followed.
Dang tapped his gavel faintly on his table. The sadness in his eyes was unmistakable. “Under these circumstances,” he said, “I see no reason to continue this meeting.”
Nguyen knew the significance of these events as well as Dang. All chance of solidarity, as well as all chance of negotiating a peaceful solution, were lost. Pham was the real leader of Coi Than Tien now. And he would lead his followers into direct confrontation with ASP. A confrontation that could only lead to death, mostly on the side of Coi Than Tien. All the valor in the world could not mitigate the effectiveness of well-organized hate.
Nguyen followed Dang and the remaining few out of the barn. He knew now that violence was inevitable. And at least in part, it was his fault.
15.
“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED to you?” Ben staggered into the Hatewatch office, clutching his side. Belinda jumped up from her desk when she saw him and helped him to a chair.
“I’ve had a tough night,” Ben mumbled.
“No kidding.” Belinda took his head in her hands. His face was bruised and his left eye was swollen shut. A long red laceration highlighted his eyebrow. “Where’d you spend the night, a trash compactor?”
“Close. City jail.”
“Jail? You? What was the charge?”
“Drunk and disorderly.” Ben grimaced; talking only exacerbated the aching in his side. “I’m … sorry, Belinda … I know you didn’t want me back here …”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re hurt.”
“But what if Frank and—”
“Frank and John will be out all morning.”
“It’s just—” Another sharp shot of pain blazed through his rib cage. “Didn’t … think I could make it back to the campsite, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“I said, don’t worry about it. Who did this to you?”
“The Right Honorable Deputy Gustafson.”
“Oh, God. Why was he after you?”
Ben rubbed the soreness in his side. “Wanted me to admit I was in on an ASP firebombing.”
“Why the hell didn’t you? It’s not as if you were under oath.”
Ben shrugged. “Principle of the thing.”
Belinda shook her head. If Ben wasn’t mistaken, just the tiniest trace of admiration crept back into her eyes. “Principles can get you beaten up badly with a redneck like Gustafson.”
“You know him?”
“He’s come around here a few times, trying to get us to do some stupid thing or another. Did he tell you about his sister?”
“I believe he mentioned her, yes. Although he let his club do most of the talking.”
“How long did he beat you?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I kind of faded out there toward the end. When he was done, he just left me lying on the stone floor. I couldn’t move a muscle. About an hour later he dragged me into Cell Block B. With three members of ASP.”
“Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Did they hurt you?”
“No, worse.” Ben touched the cut on his face gingerly. “They were nice to me.”
A faint smile played on Belinda’s lips. “You poor kid. Let me get a first-aid kit.” She ran to a room in the back of the office, then returned with the kit and a washcloth. She applied a medicated Q-tip to the cut over Ben’s eye.
“Ow!” he said. “That stings.”
“Don’t complain. It’s good for you.”
“Haven’t I been tortured enough?”
Belinda ignored him and continued dressing his wounds. She was being extremely kind, Ben thought. Was it possible his first impression hadn’t been altogether wrong? Was it possible that there might still be some attraction—?
“How was your bed?” Belinda asked.
“No beds. No cots, no metal bunks. We slept on the floor. Which became particularly unpleasant after my drunken roommates began vomiting all over the place.”
She lifted his shirt and examined the ugly blue-black bruise on the side of his rib cage. “My God, that’s terrible. Did he break a rib?”
“I don’t think so. He seemed to be pretty good at inflicting pain but stopping short of any permanent damage.”
“Permanent damage leads to lawsuits. A few bruises can be written off to an alleged escape attempt. You are going to sue, aren’t you?”
“No way.”
“Ben, he violated your civil rights!”
“What else is new?”
“If it’s a question of money, Hatewatch could subsidize the expenses—”
“No. I’ve got enough problems without any new lawsuits.”
She removed a gauze bandage from the kit and wrapped it around his chest. “Vick case not going well?”
Ben watched as she expertly tended to his wounds and abrasions. She obviously had some medical training. Which was not surprising. Given her choice of vocation, she probably came face-to-face with violence on a regular basis. “The Vick case isn’t going at all. No one will talk to me. No one will help me. My own legal assistant won’t help. I can’t even get a room for the night.”