Mindi smirked.
“What?”
“Nothing. You’re just kinda cute when you get all passionate about Noah’s Ark.”
Stanton waited a few beats then said, “Your sister was talking to me while you were changing. She told me your father passed away when you were young, that he’s the reason you became a cop.”
“I don’t know-I guess. I don’t think about it much. It just seemed like what I wanted to do since I was a kid. Hey, there they are.”
A police cruiser was waiting alongside the interstate. Mindi honked as she passed, and the cruiser pulled into traffic and began to follow them. They drove through empty desert. Stanton counted one rest stop and one gas station in fifty miles. They turned off the interstate onto a partially paved road and headed northeast. The land was barren, occasionally dotted by an abandoned car or motorhome. It was tough, desert country, the kind captured in early westerns like The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
“There’s a rumor,” Mindi said, “that they used to do nuclear testing out here in the ’50s. I’ve never seen any evidence of it, but some of the old-timers on the force swear it. They say the government’s covered it up because the radiation affected families who lived nearby.”
They pulled off onto a dirt road that led them between two large hills. On the other side, a huge structure came into view. Several smaller buildings surrounded it, and the compound was all walled in by a fence that Stanton guessed was probably nine or ten feet high.
“Tell the unit to wait for us here.”
Mindi dialed a number on her cell phone. “Hey, it’s me. Wait for us here… no, no. I don’t think so…. Yes, I’m sure. We’ll be fine.… Half an hour.… Okay, okay. Bye.” She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“You’re going to be waiting in the car.”
“What? No, I can help. What if something goes down?”
“Nothing’s going to happen. They’re probably going to have a few choice words for me and send me on my way. Just in case, I want you in the car. Leave it running. If you hear anything out of the ordinary, you pull away as fast as you can and call the unit to come meet you.”
“I think this is a stupid decision, Jon. I really do.”
“If it is, then I’m only exposing myself to it. Park here.”
She pulled to a stop in front of the gate. A large Confederate flag was draped over it, next to a sign warning trespassers to stay away. Stanton stepped out of the car and shut the door behind him. He checked his watch.
“Half an hour. After that, call it in.”
He turned toward the facility. The fence easily circled a quarter of a mile. The gate, made up of several interlacing steel bars, was the only place to pass through. He peered in. A couple of women were tending to a massive garden. A row of Jeeps, motorcycles, and trucks took up a wall on the south side. A pirate flag flew over the entrance to one of the smaller buildings.
There was no intercom at the gate. He glanced around and saw a foot and a half of space underneath the gate. He got on his belly and crawled in. He stood up on the other side and went to dust himself off but changed his mind. He began walking toward the women in the garden. They stopped talking as soon as they saw him. One of them ran to the building behind them, and the other stood and faced him.
“Who are you?”
“Jon Stanton,” he shouted. He took out his badge. It said San Diego Police Department on it, but he figured no one would look too closely. “I’m with the police.”
Several men rushed out of the building the woman had run into. Some looked like stereotypical neo-Nazis with shaved heads and red shoelaces on black boots. Others looked as though they could have been hanging out at any mall in the country, wearing polo shirts and jeans with Nike sneakers. A younger one in a white polo shirt stepped forward. The woman shouted to him that Stanton was a police officer.
“What the fuck you want, policeman? This here’s private property, and you’s trespassin’.”
“I just need a couple of minutes of your time, and I’ll be outta here.”
Two men came out of a building, holding assault rifles. The young one waved them back. They stood their ground but lowered the rifles.
“What the fuck would I wanna talk to you about?”
“Fredrick Steed. I understand that he lives here. I need to speak to him about his parents.”
Another man came outside. He was tall and gaunt, with blond hair that hung to his shoulders. He appeared incredibly fit, and his countenance wasn’t angry like the others’. In fact, he was smiling.
“Get outta his face, Curly Boy,” he said to the young man. He walked over to Stanton and held out his hand. “I’m Brody.”
“Jon. Are you in charge here?”
“Nobody’s really in charge, but I’ll speak for us. We can talk inside.”
Stanton followed as the crowd separated to let him through. The men and women glared at Stanton as he passed, and he saw that many of them had the dark ink and unsteady tracing of prison tattoos. Several of the women held babies in their arms.
Brody led Stanton into the building with the pirate flag. It was a bar. On the north side sat the actual bar, packed and messy. There were tables with worn leather chairs, Ping-Pong and pool, arcade games, and several dartboards. A massive television taking up a wall in the back was turned to a college rugby game. Brody got behind the bar and poured himself absinthe and lime juice. He poured Stanton one as well. He took it to be polite and placed it in front of him.
“I appreciate you talking to me.”
Brody took a sip. “I can tell pure Aryan blood when I see it. See, if you’s was a nigger, we would’a shot you dead for trespassing. But I can always tell pure Aryan blood.”
“I’m here about Fredrick Steed. Is he here right now?”
“What do you want with Freddy?”
“It’s about his parents.”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, he didn’t talk much about that, but we heard. Some fucker popped ’em both on the tram.”
“I just need to talk to him about it. Nobody’s interviewed him.”
“Nah, and I don’t think anybody’s goin’ to. Freddy took off ’bout a week ago.”
“Do you know where?”
Brody shook his head. He sat up on the bar, letting his legs dangle off the edge. “People come’n go here. Some of us are permanent, but most of the people stay a few weeks and move on. Or they get busted and spend some time in the can and come back after. Or don’t. Freddy hung out here ’cause he and Tyler was really tight. They spent some time together in the can for burglaries.”
“Is Tyler here?”
“Yeah, he’s here.”
“Do you mind if I speak with him?”
He took a long drink and placed the glass down. “Now, I start letting the police talk to my men, people start asking questions. They think I’m weak, that I gave in to ‘the man.’ But if you was to gimme something, then I could say that I got the better deal.”
“That sounds like the words of a leader in a place that’s not supposed to have any.”
Brody grinned. “You wanna deal or not?”
“What do you want?”
“Simple thing, brother. Nothing you wouldn’t do anyway.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a shipment of coke coming in on Saturday to the Black Guerrillas. You heard’a them?”
“Vaguely.”
“They a nigger gang. That coke, they’re gonna sell that and buy them some weapons. None of that Tech-9 shit. They want some serious gear. I want you to send a word to the Narcs.”
“There’s no guarantee Narcotics will move on it. That’s not how government works. If someone can’t take the credit in the newspapers, they won’t do anything about it.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t ask you to bust it. I just said to pass the word on. There’s a captain in Metro named Stewart. You pass it on to him, and he’ll move on it. I’d bet my nuts he’ll move on it.”