He turned to Jory and Bill, who sat shivering beside their horses. The boys were beat, but they had done well. They’d ridden hard across miles of frozen sagebrush, then down into the creek, where they’d first headed south, then turned around in the water and worked their way back north. It was hard, cold work, especially when they’d come out of the creek into thick pine and had to walk their exhausted horses up to the lookout. And now the sun was setting, and even though the fierce wind was dying down, it was bone-aching cold. Craig wished they could make a fire.
He looked south again.
No doubt this time, it was the herd.
He kneeled down and offered a quiet prayer of thanksgiving to Yahweh. Then he turned to his comrades and said, “Let’s go home, boys.”
The two cowboys got up stiffly, then started down the mountain.
They came home to a hero’s welcome.
Hansen shook their hands, and the Reverend C. Wesley Carter himself embraced each and every one of them and just couldn’t stop gushing, “Wonderful, this is just wonderful. God bless you brave men. You Aryan warriors.”
Hansen introduced Neal to Carter, “This was the mastermind, Reverend.”
Carter shook Neal’s hand, hugged him, shook his hand again, and said, “Your name will take an honored place in the roll call of those who stood and fought for our race.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s a great joy to meet you,” Neal answered. He pushed Graham forward. “I guess you know this guy.”
“Joe Gentry,” Carter said. “We did it!”
Graham grinned. “Yes, Reverend, we did.”
Carter looked around at the group. “This man sat in the back of my church twice a week for months… and never put anything in the plate.”
They all laughed.
“Well, isn’t this wonderful?” Carter asked. “Isn’t this Yahweh at work? You put a little in the plate today, didn’t you?”
“We should put that money away,” Neal said to Hansen.
“It can go in my office safe,” Hansen said. “That way it’ll be handy for tomorrow.”
Say what? Neal made himself not look at Graham.
“What happens tomorrow?” Neal asked.
Hansen and Carter smiled at each other as if they’d been caught planning a surprise party.
“I guess we can tell them now, Reverend. What do you think?”
I guess you goddamn can.
“I think it’s okay now,” Carter answered. “Tomorrow the arsenal of Yahweh comes.”
Crates of Bibles? Swastika stencils? A singing group?
“M-16s, rocket launchers, land mines,” Hansen explained. “State-of-the-art modern fighting equipment. Everything we need to start the shooting war against ZOG.”
Carter added, “And it is heroes like you who have provided the money to wage this holy war.”
Great, Graham thought, The Man will be delighted to hear he just laid out 300K to arm a band of violent, neo-Nazi loonies.
Neal could feel Graham’s eyes boring through the back of his neck.
“And I have even more good news for you,” said Hansen.
More?
Hansen beamed and said, “Neal, Reverend Carter is here to personally swear you in as a Son of Seth.
“I’m honored,” Neal said.
“You’ve earned it, my son.”
No shit, Reverend.
“Go get cleaned up,” Hansen ordered. “We’re holding the ceremony tonight.”
Tonight, Neal thought. A few more hours is all we need.
“He was a real son of a bitch,” Doreen said as she knocked another whiskey back. “Left me just cuz I did a nigger.”
Brogan opened his eyes and leaned forward in his chair to check this one out. Brezhnev shifted and whined at the unaccustomed activity.
Cal filled her glass from the bottle on the bar.
“You gonna want another one?” Brogan asked.
“This oughta do her,” answered Cal.
Brogan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “She looks done to me,” he muttered. Brezhnev looked at her a little longer before he set his head back on the floor.
“So, Doreen,” Cal asked, “what do you think about my proposition?”
She snorted. Wasn’t much of a proposition. Go out to some shit-kicking sagebrush ranch to pull a train for a bunch of cowhands. But it wasn’t like she had a whole lot of options, and she would need some money if she was ever going to get off The High Lonely. Besides, if Cal here liked her enough to shoot Harold over her, maybe he’d give her a ride down to Vegas, where she could get a fresh start. There was only one problem.
“I’ll do it,” she said, “if you can promise me he ain’t there.”
“He who?” Cal asked.
“The son of a bitch,” prompted Randy. He’d had enough whiskey to almost forget what they were planning for Doreen. And to hope that he had a chance with her before they did it.
“Harley McCall,” Doreen stated with the exaggerated pronunciation of the defensive drunk.
Which was when a little chill came over the party.
Cal looked at Randy. “Harley McCall.”
They both knew. They both remembered “Paul Wallace,” his legs propped up on saw horses, Cal standing over him with a sledgehammer, screaming his real name.
“Harley McCall,” Randy repeated.
“-is a son of a bitch,” muttered Doreen.
Cal put his arm around her shoulder and said, “Darlin’, I can absolutely, positively guarantee you that this Harley McCall won’t be at the party.”
Randy giggled. He remembered Cal swinging the hammer down on Harley’s shin, first one and then the other. Harley had stared down at his bones sticking out of his flesh and howled like a coyote in a trap. They’d stuck a rag in his mouth when the screaming stopped being funny.
“You know,” Doreen blubbered. She started to cry. “I’d like to find that son of a bitch. I loved the son of a bitch. And the little boy. Maybe you could help me find him?”
“You bet we could,” Cal answered. He looked over her shoulder and grinned at Randy. “I’ll bet we could take you right to him.”
“Come on,” Randy said, “we’d better be gettin’ back to the ranch.
He hoped he’d have a little time with Doreen. They’d have to sneak her into the bunkhouse so Hansen didn’t see, and then they’d have to go to the ceremony. But he hoped that left a little time before they killed her.
Neal and Graham walked toward the bunkhouse. “Okay, okay,” Neal hissed, “no problem. After they teach me the secret handshake we get the boy, slip away in the darkness, get to Austin, and phone Ed. He calls the FBI, they roar in, get the gang, the money, and the arms. It’s a cinch.”
Graham grabbed his crotch. “Now I know why cowboys walk the way they do. Here’s the deaclass="underline" you go to the frat party and I’ll do some snooping around. If I find Cody and can get away with him, I will. Otherwise I’ll get out of here and get someplace I can call in an army. You stay in place.”
They stopped walking and looked at each other in the gathering darkness.
“And if we don’t find Cody?” asked Neal.
Graham started to grind his artificial hand into his real one. “Hansen has a kid, doesn’t he?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“We snatch him and trade. Beautiful business we’re in, isn’t it?”
“Lovely.”
Then Neal asked, “Think we stand a chance?”
“Sure I do.”
“Neither do I.”
They started walking again.
“Maybe,” Graham said, “it’ll be like one of those old movies. Maybe the cavalry will ride in.”
They looked at each other again and laughed.
Hansen finished recounting the money again and put it into his office safe. Carter sat at the desk watching him, his bodyguards watching the door and window.
“Do you trust them?” Carter asked.
“I trust Neal. I don’t even know the other one,” answered Hansen.
“Gentry is white trash,” Carter said. “A low-life drifter and a cripple to boot. His usefulness is at an end. Your Neal Carey I’m not sure about.”
“You can count on Neal,” Hansen said. He was ready to dig his heels in on this one.