“Don’t they have any lodgings out there? On campus, so to speak.”
“Oh, yeah. Couple of barracks. Why?”
“It just seems odd. If Vick could’ve stayed there, why did he have a place in town?”
“It wasn’t just him. Several of them did. At least, until the killing. Now no one will take them in. But before this happened, the town was a bit more tolerant. Some of the ASP men slept at the camp, but others, the more social ones, I guess, kept a place in town.”
It chilled Ben to think of Donald Vick as one of the more social ones. “Does Vick have any friends? Family?”
“One assumes even white supremists have mothers. But if Vick has family or friends, none of them have come forward. I doubt if he has any around here.”
Ben nodded. He would ask Jones to check that out later. “I’m sure you realize I’m going to file a motion in limine to exclude evidence of Vick’s alleged threat made at the Bluebell Bar.”
Swain grinned. “Well, Mr. Kincaid, you feel free to file whatever you like, for all the good it will do you. We’re not as fond of those motions as you city boys are.”
“The law is the law,” Ben replied. “Wherever you are.”
“Well …” Swain chuckled amiably. “We’ll just see.”
Ben couldn’t think of any more intelligent questions. He couldn’t fault Swain in terms of fair play; as far as he could tell, Swain had told him all he knew. Unfortunately it hadn’t helped a bit. “If you discover any exculpatory evidence, I’ll expect to be informed.”
“Of course. Where can I contact you?”
“I—I’ll just drop by periodically.”
“Suit yourself.”
Ben walked toward the playpen. “That’ll give me a chance to visit Amber.” He crouched down and waved at her. “Bye-bye, Amber.”
Amber removed the bottle from her mouth, then burped very loudly.
“Oh, sweetie,” Swain said, covering his face. “How unladylike.”
18.
LOVING STEPPED THROUGH THE front door of the Bluebell Bar. He knew everyone in the joint was giving him the once-over, so he figured he might as well hold still and let them get it over with. Come to think of it, he could use the time to give them the once-over, too.
It was still early evening, but a crowd had already formed. Judging by the prefixes on the license plates outside, folks came from miles around to wet their whistles at the Bluebell. And judging by the accents he heard from the boys gathered around the pool table, some of them had come a lot farther than the neighboring counties. Those were the ones he wanted to chat with.
Loving grinned. He might not have a couple of college degrees like the Skipper, but he sure as hell knew his way around a bar.
He strolled casually to the pool table and laid a quarter on the bank just above the coin slot. “Mind if I play?”
The man holding the cue stick barely looked up. “Suit yourself.” He was broad-shouldered with blond curly hair—exactly as Ben had described Sonny Banner.
“You Banner?” Loving barked, just at the instant Banner decided to shoot. The tip of the cue shot up into the air; the cue ball rolled just enough to cost him his turn.
“Goddamn you!” Banner threw his cue down on the table. “Don’t you know better than to talk when a man is taking his shot?”
“Sorry, pal. You were going to scratch, anyway.” Loving cut him off before he exploded. “Does this mean you’re Banner?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Name’s Loving. I’d like to join ASP.”
Banner placed his hands on his hips. “You think we’d take some asswipe who can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut when a man is takin’ his turn?”
Loving slapped him on the shoulder. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy the next round. What’re you drinking?”
Banner softened a bit. “Coors, of course. So are my buddies.”
“Right.” Loving motioned to the bartender. “Get me three Coors and a Michelob Light.”
“Michelob Light?” Banner guffawed. “Wassa matter, pretty boy? You on a diet?”
Loving took four bottles of beer and a bottle opener from the bartender. “Well, I could stand to lose a pound or two.”
“You know what I think?” Banner was right in Loving’s face. His breath indicated this was not his first beer of the evening. “I think you must be a sissy boy.”
Banner’s friends whooped and hollered. “Sissy boy,” they chanted with amusement. “Mama’s little sweetheart.”
“Do tell.” Loving nodded calmly. “You gonna open your beer with the bottle opener or your teeth?”
Banner’s eyebrows moved closer together. “Are you crazy? You can’t open a beer bottle with your teeth. You’ll kill yourself.”
With a patently bored expression, Loving placed the top of the bottle in his mouth. He clamped his teeth down on the cap, made a great show of grunting and groaning, then jerked his head back. The bottle cap popped off.
Loving held the cap between his teeth, then poked it out with his tongue. “Piece of cake.”
Banner’s face was transfixed with admiration. “Wuh—what’d ya want to talk to us about?”
“Let’s just say I’m an upstandin’ citizen who doesn’t always like what he sees happenin’ in this country, and I’d like to talk to you boys about joining ASP. Even if some of the members do appear to be sissies.”
Banner glanced at his two friends. “Takes a month to get in. We have to quiz you first. Make sure you’re not some Viet-cong sympathizer tryin’ to infiltrate us.”
“Can you quiz me while we shoot pool?”
Banner shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
“Good. Rack ’em up.”
Loving suppressed a grin as he watched Banner round up the balls. They wouldn’t tell him anything at first, natch. It would take a while. But he was definitely off to a good start.
It was amazing what you could accomplish with a good barroom stunt. Since these boys made it clear they never drank Michelob Light, they didn’t realize it came in a bottle with a twist-off cap. And they didn’t see him untwist the cap most of the way off before he put it in his mouth.
19.
NHUNG VU CREPT THROUGH the pitch-black night behind Pham and the other four men, careful to make no noise, no sound whatsoever. He knew some of them were watching him, hoping he would do something wrong. He had to make sure that didn’t happen. He had to make sure he didn’t let Pham down.
Many of Pham’s men had thought it foolhardy to include Nhung in their group. He’s only fifteen, they had insisted. He’s only a boy. But Pham had waved their concerns away. This is a battle of the young, Pham said. The elders will not help us. There is no guarantee the job will be completed soon. The young are our future.
And so Nhung had been permitted to join them, to attend their meetings, to share in their plans. And most importantly he had been allowed to be part of the select group making this midnight raid—their first organized act of resistance against ASP.
It was a momentous occasion, made all the more special by the fact that Pham had permitted—in fact, practically invited—him to come. Dan Pham was Nhung’s hero. He was the only man with the courage to speak out against the elders, to force them to take action against these killers. Whatever Pham wanted Nhung to do, he would do.
Crouching close to the ground, they crept over the crest of the last hill and saw the ASP camp in the valley below. A barbed-wire fence surrounded the encampment. Nhung had expected it to be patrolled, but there was no sign of a guard. It would seem ASP wasn’t expecting any trouble.
Their mistake.
Pham’s group crept down the hill toward the camp. Nhung watched Pham remove the components of the firebomb from his backpack and carefully assemble them. Pham had learned that one of the barracks in the camp was the armory, the place where weapons were kept. And explosives. That would be their target. No one knew how Pham came by this knowledge. He seemed to have an undisclosed source of inside information about ASP. His secrecy had created some dissension in the ranks. But when all was said and done, Pham’s information was usually correct.