Pham stuffed an oily rag down the delivery case. He was preparing to light the fuse when Nhung felt a strong arm wrap around his throat.
“Pha—” He tried to warn someone, but a hand clamped over his mouth.
Pham heard the noise. He whirled around, then froze.
Nhung saw the barrel of an automatic weapon protrude over his shoulder.
“You gook boys are coming with me,” the voice behind Nhung said. “We’re going to have a little talk with the Grand Dragon. And if you don’t cooperate, I’ll kill you like the stupid ape-bastards you are.”
“Then you’ll hang for our murders,” Pham said.
“Shit.” The man holding Nhung laughed. “We’ll kill you, skin you, then bury you on the premises. No one will ever know a damn thing about it.”
“We have committed no crime against you,” Pham said.
“No, not yet,” the guard hissed. “But only because you’re dumb fuck Vietcong niggers who let yourself get caught.”
Pham’s face burned with rage. “Your raiders shot my grandmother!”
“Now ain’t that too fuckin’ bad.” He shoved Nhung toward the compound. “That’ll be a picnic compared to what we’re gonna do to you.”
Nhung could see the worry in Pham’s eyes. It was Pham’s first strike, the assault the Colonel and so many others had urged him not to make. And it was turning into a disaster. The resistance was being squelched before it had even begun.
He had to do something.
Nhung rammed his elbow back into the guard’s gut, then thrust the gun barrel upward. The gun fired into the air, splitting the silence of the night. Pham and two others rushed forward, fists clenched. Seconds later the guard tumbled to the ground, unconscious.
Lights came on in the compound, followed by shouts and movement.
“Come on!” Nhung said.
“Not yet.” Pham lit the rag, reared back his arm, and tossed the firebomb into the camp. It soared through the air like a glowing orange meteor, then struck the side of one of the barracks. A second later the north wall of the building burst into flame.
Nhung followed the rest of Pham’s men back over the hill. It was a long run to the place where they had left the car, but they would make it. Since the ASP men were awake and alerted, they would probably be able to put out the fire before it consumed the camp. But that would keep ASP from following them. They would be able to get away. They would escape the wrath of ASP.
At least for the moment.
20.
THE NEXT DAY WAS heaven-sent—not a cloud over the hilltops—so Ben and Belinda decided to walk to Mary Sue’s boardinghouse. As they strolled down Maple together, Ben took the opportunity to learn what he could about his newfound companion.
“So tell me about yourself. What was it like growing up in—what was it, Montgomery?”
“Right. Well, the poor country on the outskirts of Montgomery, actually. Both my parents were killed in a car wreck when I was eight. My sister and I were shipped off to live with my aunt, my mother’s sister. Her husband had a small piece of land he sharecropped. They had four kids already and barely enough to go around. They didn’t need two more.”
“But they took you in?”
“Didn’t have too much choice, really. I got my first job when I was ten, sweeping out stores after hours. I spent most of my time trying to help make ends meet. And trying to keep my younger sister out of trouble.”
“How much younger?”
“We’re four years apart. Cindy Jo was a handful. Was—still is. Any kind of trouble you can think of, she’s probably been in it. And I was always the one who had to come in and try to make it better. Nothing against my aunt, but I took care of Cindy Jo.”
“And now you take care of everyone,” Ben commented.
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Not that that makes me anything special. Jones told me you’ve been known to do some legal do-gooding yourself.”
“I went to law school because I wanted to be in a position to help other people. In between keeping my head above water and trying to ward off starvation, I try to remember that.”
Belinda beamed. “I went into law for exactly the same reasons. I think many people do. But most of them won’t admit it.” She jostled his shoulder affectionately. “Maybe you’re not such a bad sort after all, Kincaid.”
Ben led Belinda to Mary Sue’s front door. The sign on the porch still indicated that she had vacancies, although Ben doubted she would be any more willing to extend one to him than she had been the day before.
They slipped into the foyer together. Mary Sue was not at the Dutch door, although a clattering in the kitchen suggested she was home.
“I’d better handle this one,” Belinda said. She directed Ben to stand against the wall in the hallway. “You just stay out of sight.”
“All right.” Ben glanced up the staircase. Christina was nowhere in sight. He pressed against the wall so he could see Belinda and hear what was said without being seen by Mary Sue. “But watch out for her shotgun. She’s not quite the Donna Reed clone she appears to be.”
“Point taken.” Belinda rang the bell on the table.
A few moments later Mary Sue emerged from the kitchen. She was wearing a blue dress this morning, but she still had the apron tied around her waist. Her movements were slow and halting; her eyes seemed unfocused. She paused in the middle of the living room, as if momentarily unsure how to find her way to the Dutch door.
“May I help you?”
“Yes. I’d like to take a room, if that’s possible.”
“Of course.” Mary Sue brought out her guest book and opened it to the proper page. “How long will you be staying?”
“I’m not sure. At least a week.”
“That’ll do fine. We’ll just take it one week at a time.” Mary Sue offered Belinda the feather pen, then brought it back suddenly. “You’re not”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“a lawyer, are you?” She pronounced the word as if it were a synonym for child molester.
“Why, yes,” Belinda said. “Why do you ask?”
“Are you associated with Donald Vick?”
“In a sense.”
Mary Sue withdrew the pen and closed the book.
“I’m with an organization called Hatewatch,” Belinda explained. “We investigate hate crimes and file lawsuits to make groups like ASP financially responsible for their actions.”
“Oh!” A relieved expression washed over Mary Sue’s face. “Then you’re not with that other gentleman.”
“Other gentleman?”
“Well, I use the term lightly. The Tulsa lawyer. He came here, you know.”
“No!”
“Oh, yes. Wanted a room. Practically demanded it.”
“How awful. What did you do?”
“I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t permit his kind of riffraff in my boardinghouse. And when he wouldn’t take no for an answer, I brought Old Sally into the discussion.”
Belinda didn’t have to ask who—or what—Old Sally was. “My office is not connected to Mr. Vick’s defense,” she explained. “In fact, most people would say we’re on the opposite side.”
“Oh, well then. That’s all right.” She handed Belinda the pen and reopened the book.
“I understand Vick lived here.”
“That’s right. He was my tenant. Room six.”
“Did he cause any trouble?”