Skin Privilege

'She sent me here,' Jeffrey said. 'She wanted me to see what a pathetic little girl you've turned into.'

Ethan stared at him, obviously trying to make out the truth. Slowly, he sat back in his chair. 'Nah, man. She didn't send you.'

'Yeah,' Jeffrey said. He was standing by the door and he leaned his shoulder against it. 'She said you were hooked up with this Brotherhood.'

Ethan's lips curled in distaste. 'What?'

'Brotherhood of the True White Skin,' Jeffrey clarified. 'She said you hooked up with them in here to save your own ass.'

'Shit,' he said, practically spitting out the word. 'Those pussies? They run meth.'

Jeffrey shrugged. 'And?'

'Meth is the white man's devil.' Ethan leaned forward, vehement. 'You don't give that shit to your own people. Fucks with your mind, makes you a slave. It's part of Darkie's conspiracy to take over America.'

'You really think that?' Jeffrey asked, walking back to the table. He put his palms down on the metal surface, leaned close to the red line. 'See, I've met some of those Brotherhood assholes, and they don't strike me as all that different from you.'

Ethan laughed. 'You stupid waste of fucking air. You think I'm up with those motherfuckers? I told you, they sell meth to their own people. They smoke that shit like the niggers with their crack. Let them all fucking kill themselves. Wipe them off the face of the fucking planet so the true race can take over.'

Jeffrey kept eye contact with him, still leaning over the table. Ethan said he'd been calling Hank so Lena would come see him. If that was his plan, it had certainly worked. What connection did he have with Elawah, though? How did Ethan fit into the meth ring that the Fitzpatrick brothers were running through south Georgia and up the coast? Jeffrey knew Ethan's arrest jacket backward and forward. The other man had never been up on drug charges. All of his piss tests had come back clean from the time he was in juvenile detention to the time he'd been on parole in Grant County. Applebaum, the guard, had even said Ethan wasn't involved in drugs. Had Lena been telling the truth? Did Ethan just happen to be making the wrong phone calls at the right time?

Jeffrey pushed away from the table. 'We're done here.'

Ethan would not let him have the last word. 'You think you're a big man carrying a gun, Tolliver, but you know what you are? You're shit on my shoe. You know Lena planted that gun in my bag. You know she set me up for a fall. You think you're Mr. Law and Order but you broke the law, man. You're just as bad as those faggots over in Iraq, those Abu Ghraib motherfuckers thinking they can toss out the Geneva Conventions because they got a hard-on to paint some Arab motherfucker in his own shit. You're just as bad as them, man, maybe worse because you're not ten thousand miles from home, eating meals out of a tin can and burying your shit in the desert. You just jammed me up in the morning and tucked right back up in your bed that same night, probably titty-fucked your wife and slept the sleep of the righteous, but you know what, motherfucker? You're just as bad as all of them.'

Jeffrey did not respond because, for the most part, Ethan was right. Jeffrey had known that Lena planted that gun the minute he'd pulled it out of

Ethan's backpack. The Nazi knew his way around firearms. Even the most inexperienced jackass would not throw a loaded weapon into his backpack and jog to work.

Still, knowing that, Jeffrey had arrested him, and he'd certainly slept the sleep of the just that night because Jeffrey knew – he knew - that Ethan Green belonged behind bars. Ethan had systematically beaten and tortured. Lena wasn't strong enough to stop him, but Jeffrey sure as hell was. He became a cop exactly because there were people like Ethan Green and Lena Adams out there in the world. It was his job to protect the weak from the strong, and he had never been more certain of anything than the moment he slapped the cuffs on Ethan's wrists.

Jeffrey raised his hand to knock on the door. 'Thanks for the speech, Ethan. It's been real fun, but I need to get back home to my wife now.'

'I'm gonna get you,' Ethan said, his voice a low threat. 'You just wait.'

'When I least expect it, right?'

'I'm not going to ever leave her alone.'

'You don't have much of a choice.'

'I'm gonna get out of here. You wait for that, big man. I'm gonna get out of here and Lena 's gonna welcome me with open arms.'

'I think you're in for a big shock if you're expecting that.'

'She can't live without me,' Ethan said, standing as much as the chains would allow. 'A part of me is inside of her.'

Jeffrey smiled, then said one of the crudest things that had ever crossed his lips. 'Didn't she tell you? I thought that was why she came, Ethan. To tell you about that part of you that she had cut out.' Jeffrey had been expecting surprise, more hatred, but all he saw on the Nazi's face was sadness. Slowly, Ethan sat down in the chair. When he spoke, Jeffrey had to strain to hear him. 'We're gonna go away together,' he insisted. ' Lena and me – we're gonna find a beach somewhere. Lay out in the sun all day, fuck all night. We're gonna be together for the rest of our lives.'

'Yeah.' Jeffrey knocked on the door again. 'Send me a postcard, buddy.'

Ethan's head jerked up. 'Watch your mailbox.' Jeffrey cupped his nuts, duplicated Ethan's earlier gesture. 'Watch this, you stupid asshole.'

The con did not offer a parting shot. He sat at the table with his hands clasped in front of him, head down, probably dreaming of his fantasy life on a beach somewhere with Lena.

TWENTY-SIX

Lena had seen the tattoo on the underside of Jake Valentine's left arm when he'd lifted his shirt over his head. Just at the base of the bicep was an AB followed by a dash. AB-negative. She remembered the explanation written on the back of a photo in Ethan's arrest jacket: Symbolizes rank of general in white power movement. Her mouth moved; words came out that she couldn't control.

'AB-negative,' she said. 'His blood type is AB-negative.'

Sara asked, 'What?'

Lena 's brain had frozen, but she felt her adrenaline kick in. She lunged for Valentine's gunbelt on the table, but his reach was longer and he easily beat her to it.

Sara held up her hands as she backed toward the door.

'Stop right there,' Valentine ordered, pointing the gun at her. ' Lena, come around here so I can see both of you.'

Lena didn't move. How had this happened? She had never seen Jake Valentine at the warehouse. He wasn't in any of her logs or photos.

'I said get over here.' He grabbed Lena by the arm and shoved her toward Sara. He reached around for his belt and found his handcuffs, tossed them to Lena.

'Put one on your wrist, one on hers,' he ordered.

'Make ' em tight. I'm not as stupid as I look.'

'No,' she told him, her heart pounding in her throat. 'This isn't right. Call your boss.'

'Who's my boss?'

'Clint.'

He laughed at the name. 'That piece of shit? Clint couldn't boss a one-man army.'

'I talked to him this morning. He said we had a deal.'

'You're right,' Valentine agreed. 'Had a deal. You keep your mouth shut and everybody just walks away clean. But, that was before you opened your big fucking mouth and brought her into it.' He meant Sara. 'Now put on the handcuffs like I said while I figure out what we're gonna do here.'

Lena did as she was instructed, ratcheting the cuffs down on her left wrist and Sara's right. She left only a finger's width between the metal and their skin, knowing Valentine was watching.

He pulled out a chair and told Lena, 'Sit down.' When she did, he told Sara, 'Finish up with my side so I don't bleed to death.'

'No,' Sara told him. 'I'm not going to help you.'