“Carrie, why don’t you climb into the truck and take yourself home?”
“What are you doin’ here?”
“Watching. Listening. Thinking.”
“You think you’re at a railroad crossing, or something?”
“We know this young man is a liar.”
“We do?”
“While you and Jack were shopping I stayed in the car and used the phone.”
“I guessed as much.”
Fletch said, “There was no inmate in the federal penitentiary at Tomaston, Kentucky, or in any federal penitentiary, named Faoni. Never has been.”
Carrie swallowed the last spoonful of chili out of her bowl. “Faoni was stenciled on his shirt. So were the words ‘Federal Penitentiary Tomaston.’”
“I know. Anybody can stencil anything on clothes.”
“So this kid wasn’t in prison?”
“This kid must have been. How else would he know and have the trust of Kriegel, Leary…. But if he was in prison, his name isn’t Faoni.”
“So this kid isn’t your son.”
“The question remains on the floor, as the parliamentarian said, considering the chair.”
“Is there a John Fletcher Faoni? You think he may have just known Crystal, and he’s making this whole thing up?”
“There is a John Fletcher Faoni. Son of Crystal Faoni. And he did go to school in Bloomington, Chicago, and Boston.”
“So?”
“According to his mother’s secretary, John Fletcher Faoni is spending the summer in Greece.”
“In Greece,” Carrie repeated. “Well, this surely isn’t Greece.”
“No. It isn’t.”
“It’s not even on the way to Greece, from anywhere much.”
“No. So we know this kid lies. If he lies about one thing, why not lie about everything? There’s no point in asking a liar for the truth, is there? I just have to cool it. Watch, wait, and listen. Why is he lying? Who is he? What’s his purpose?”
“You didn’t speak to Crystal herself?”
“No. She’s out of pocket.
Carrie said, “We’re all addicted to food.”
“There is a food addiction that is life-threatening.”
“Wow. Humans sure go awry easy. I was addicted to ice, once.”
“You needed iron. This young man said he shot at a cop. Is it true? This young man said he was in prison for attempted murder. Is it true? This young man says his name is John Fletcher Faoni. Not all of the above can be true.”
“This kid could be as crazy as a groundhog on ice.”
“True.”
“It’s a fact that he’s hanging’ out with these racists.”
“That’s why we’re here. Who is he? What is he? What does he want from me?”
“He’s the self-styled ‘lieutenant’ of the murdering self-styled leader of a self-styled international hate group.”
“As some journalists would put it, ‘He sure appears to be goin’ with this particular flow.’”
“I suspect it’s not every man’s dream to discover his son is a cop-killing, escaped convict, racist, hate-group organizer.”
“It’s not a dream that has ever occurred to me.”
“So if he’s such a jerk, even if he is your kid, why should you care enough to stay here?”
“If I leave now I might lose track of him forever. Then I’ll never know the truth.”
“Maybe you won’t want to know the truth.”
“I always want to know the truth.”
“The truth can make you a prisoner, Fletch.”
“Carrie, I want you to go home.”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause if I go I’ll be worried to death about you.”
“I’ve been in worse situations.”
“If I stay, I’m pretty sure you’ll get us both out in time.”
“In time for what?”
Carrie was looking at the dark hills surrounding the encampment. “This is a foreboding place.”
Fletch said, “Speak of the specter.”
Jack was under the trees coming toward them. From one hand dangled headphones on short wires.
“Don’t speak of ghosts to me.” Carrie leaned forward in her car seat and watched Jack approach. “The kid walks like you.”
“Yeah. He puts one foot in front of the other. Don’t see just what you want to see, miss.”
“His hips and shoulders don’t move when he walks. Just his legs.”
“Sure,” Fletch muttered. “As evidence, that’s not exactly equal to a DNA test, is it?”
The station wagon’s front doors were open.
“Enjoyin’ yourselves?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” Fletch answered. “But nothing else.”
“Don’t like your chili?” He looked at the untouched chili in Fletch’s bowl.
“You can have it.” Fletch handed it to him.
Jack put the earphones on Fletch’s lap.
“What did your cook season it with?” Carrie asked. “Dried ragweed?”
Jack tasted it. “Yuck!”
Carrie said to Fletch, “The boy knows bad chili when he tastes it. Must have some sense.”
“What are the earphones for?” Fletch asked.
“You.” Jack was eating the chili. “You all.” He took two sets of earplugs from the pocket of his shorts and put them in Fletch’s hand. “Put these in your ears. When you see me put my headphones on, you both put yours on. And leave them on until I take mine off. Earplugs and headphones.”
“Why?”
“Kriegel’s about to give a speech.”
“Give me those ear-stoppers,” Carrie said.
Jack said, “I fixed the sound system.”
Fletch said, “I don’t get it.”
Commandant Wolfe was striding toward them.
Jack said, “Wear your ear-stoppers.”
Wolfe stood at attention near the open car door. Jack backed up. He continued to eat his chili. “I am Commandant Wolfe!”
“I’m Shalom Aleichem.” Fletch stuck his thumb toward Carrie. “This is Golda Meir, as a girl.”
“Doctor Kriegel has warned me of your sense of humor, Mister Fletcher.”
Fletch said, “It is tolerable.”
“You may make these jokes, Mister Fletcher, but you and your lady are what you are and you can be nothing else.”
“Come again?”
“You will see. Those of you who believe in one world, the brotherhood of races, miscegenation, quickly will
