Cal and Randy had driven to Ione, then on up to Fallon, and now were working their way home on Route 5O. They’d picked up a couple of six-packs in Fallon, seeing as how alcohol was in short supply back at the ranch.
They were close to the Filly Ranch when Cal said, “You know, we oughta really celebrate.”
“How do you mean?” asked Randy.
“Thinking of saddling up a filly.”
Randy looked at him in disbelief. “Jesus, Cal, we robbed that place!”
“We had masks on!”
“Still and all.”
They were still arguing about it when they reached the Filly Ranch and something Cal saw made the discussion moot.
It was a woman standing by the road with her suitcase by her feet and her thumb out.
“Pull over,” Cal said. “I mean, why pay for it?”
Randy pulled the truck over and Cal rolled his window down.
“Awful cold to be standin’ out there, ma’am.”
“You’re telling me,” she answered.
She’s pretty, Cal thought. Long legs, big tits…
“Where you headed?” he asked.
“Anywhere away from here,” she answered. “This is no kind of work for a white woman.”
“We can take you as far as Austin,” Cal offered.
“That’s a start.”
Cal hopped out, threw her bag into the back of the truck, and helped her into the cab.
“My name is Cal, he’s Randy,” Cal said. “Course, I’m randy too, but my name is still Cal.”
She laughed politely but was starting to get a little nervous. “I’m Doreen,” she said.
“You sure are pretty, Doreen.”
“Hey, I just want a ride, okay?”
It’s okay, Cal thought, we just want a ride, too.
A little way down the road he asked, “You don’t suppose you could contribute some gas money, do you, Doreen?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have no money. That bitch back there wouldn’t give me my pay. Said I owed her for rent and towels and shit.”
Cal and Randy looked at each other and laughed like banshees.
“Well, that’s too bad, Doreen, but maybe we could work something out?”
Randy pulled the truck to the shoulder.
“You goddamn men are all the same,” Doreen said. “All right, who’s first?”
Cal looked at Randy. “Wait outside.”
“It’s colder than your momma’s heart out there. Are you kiddin’?”
Cal took his pistol from his waistband. “I ain’t kiddin’.”
“At least let me have a cigarette and a beer,” Randy grumbled. He lit up, popped open a beer, and got out of the truck. He leaned against the passenger door.
Cal pushed Doreen down on the seat. “You’re going to love me,” he said.
“I’ll bet.” She wriggled her jeans down to her boots. “Come on, lover.”
A couple of minutes later she said, “Is there something special I can do to help you…”
“It’s the cold,” he said.
“Sure, baby, it’s the cold.”
Randy rapped on the window.
“I ain’t finished!” Cal yelled.
He ain’t even started, Doreen thought. It might be quicker to walk to Austin.
Randy rapped again. “Cal!”
Cal looked up. “What?”
“A car’s pullin’ up!”
Cal zipped himself, tucked the pistol back in his waistband, and backed out of the cab. A big man in a black cowboy hat and shades was getting out of an old Cadillac and coming toward them.
Doreen kneeled on the seat and looked out the window. “Shit, it’s Harold!”
Cal thought he recognized the man as the bouncer at the whorehouse, but he asked her, “Who is Harold?”
“What are you doing with my woman!” Harold roared, answering the question.
Randy giggled and Cal answered, “I was just about to make her the happiest woman in America before you interrupted.”
“Get out of there, you whore!” Harold yelled. “Your ass is coming back to the ranch! You think I’m paying your bill?”
Doreen looked at Cal.
Cal said, “I’ll pay her bill.”
“Shut up, cowboy,” Harold said, “I wasn’t talkin’ to-”
Cal looked around at the empty road, pulled his gun, and shot Harold three times in the stomach. As Doreen watched in shock, Cal and Randy dragged the writhing, moaning man off into the sagebrush.
“Finish that up for me, will you, Randy?” Cal asked as he walked back to the truck. He climbed in and pushed Doreen back down. “I guess that makes you my woman now,” he said.
He didn’t need any special tricks this time, and Doreen lay on the seat listening to his grunts and Harold’s whimpering. Then she heard the shot and felt Cal finish.
They were a few miles up the road when Doreen said she had to take a pee.
While she was squatting behind a bush, Randy said, “She saw you kill that man, Cal.”
“Us. She saw us kill that man, my friend.”
Randy pulled his gun. “This is as good a place as any.”
“What’s the hurry?” Cal asked. “We’re having a party tonight.”
Randy frowned. “Hansen ain’t gonna like us bringin’ no whore to the ranch.”
“He don’t have to know. We’ll sneak her in.”
Randy slipped his gun back inside his jacket as Doreen walked to the truck. Cal opened the door and Doreen climbed inside.
Steve Mills stood on the penultimate step of the ladder, gathered the lasso, and tossed it over the chimney. Then he took the other end, tied it around his waist, and hauled himself up onto the slippery roof of his house. He stood for a moment to get his footing and watch the snow of the valley turn sparkling orange as the sun blazed in the late dusk. Then he got to work; he didn’t have a hell of a lot of time.
“Carter seeks out these custody cases,” Graham told Neal. “He encourages the father to skip the state, cool out for a while, and then enter one of the cells. Once Daddy is completely committed to the cause, Carter persuades him to give the child up for ‘racial adoption.’ A boy Cody’s age will be hidden somewhere until he forgets he ever had a family outside the Identity movement.”
Neal pulled on the reins to slow his horse down. He wanted to stay in back of the herd, well out of earshot of the rest of the gang.
“The idea,” Graham continued, “is to raise the perfect Aryan warrior. A child completely indoctrinated in Identity philosophy. Someone without personal connections or loyalties to anyone or anything except Reverend Carter and the white supremacist movement.”
“Are there many of these kids?”
“About a dozen so far,” Graham answered. “As soon as we’re finished here we’ll turn the files over to the Feds.”
Neal felt a chill go through him that didn’t come from the sharp north wind.
“Maybe Harley wouldn’t give them his son.”
“And they whacked him and took the boy.”
“So where is he, Graham?”
“I’m not sure,” Graham answered. “But Carter likes to use a child in these swearing-in ceremonies.”
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Bob Hansen guzzled coffee to try to soothe his nerves. It didn’t help much that his house guest was a model of serenity.
“Trust to Yahweh,” Reverend Carter said once again. He sat at the kitchen table. The three bodyguards he had brought with him from Los Angeles stood in each doorway and beside the window. They were wearing their uniforms-starched khakis with crossbelts and red Nazi armbands.
Bob looked out his kitchen window to the south. The boys should be coming in now, if everything went as planned. If…
“If Yahweh means us to have the money, we’ll have the money,” Carter intoned.
“I have a son out there,” Hansen reminded him.
“They’re all my sons,” Carter replied. “And Yahweh’s.”
But Carter was edgy too. The money would mean so much for the cause. It would give them the ability to wage a holy war.
He watched Hansen as Hansen watched the south pasture.
Craig Vetter looked down from the Toiyabe slopes. He thought he saw something coming up the valley from the south, but he couldn’t be sure it was the herd. He wasn’t worried. He had a good view of the ranch and could see that it was in the clear. If the law had set up a stakeout, he would have seen it.