“Ugly, isn’t it?” a soft voice beside, above Fletch said.
Kriegel stood in the moon shadow of the trailer.
Both Carrie and Fletch looked up at him.
Even at that distance, the light flickering from the bonfire made the blue, saddle-shaped birthmark over Kriegel’s nose seem to come and go, appear, disappear.
Fletch said, “It’s not
Kriegel took a step to stand beside Fletch. “What’s that?”
“Kick-boxing,” Fletch said. “A skill, an art, a method of fighting developed by Brazilian slaves to defend themselves against their masters.”
“Black slaves?”
“Yes. Black slaves. It is very beautiful. It is very deadly.”
“Beautiful …?” Kriegel watched the men staggering around the lowering bonfire aiming blows at each other with their fists, with their feet.
By now several were unconscious on the ground. Most of those still standing were bleeding from their foreheads, noses, ears, mouths.
Fletch said, “I think your education regarding this hemisphere suffers, Doctor.”
Ignoring him, Kriegel said, “They are so stupid. They are all so stupid. I hope you know I realize how stupid these animals are, Mister Fletcher.”
“Animals? These aren’t the chosen people?”
“No. You are the chosen people, Mister Fletcher. All this I do for you.”
“Don’t bother.”
“Never judge a leader by his followers.”
“No?”
“Do not judge me by these stupid, stupid people.”
“Why not?”
“We are just using these fools, these psychotics, toward an end.”
“‘Using’ them,” Fletch repeated.
“Of course. Using them. I wish I didn’t have to. There are many reasons you should be grateful, supportive toward my efforts.”
“Sorry, I never carry my checkbook.”
“Where would these psychotic fools be tonight, what would they be doing if they were not here bashing each other’s brains out?”
“Home baking cookies?”
“They have to belong to something, something bigger than they are, something secret, of which they can be secretly proud. By their natures, these fools are gang members. They are incapable, you see, of standing on their own, as individuals. We’re just taking advantage of their natures. We direct their energies. We organize them. They need the discipline we give them.”
Fletch almost choked. “Discipline!” He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. Not once had Kriegel looked directly down at Fletch, perceived Fletch’s condition. “You guys have a strange idea of discipline.”
“Yes,” Kriegel said. “Discipline. The discipline is in the secret. As long as they belong to us, they will restrain themselves in the world, keep the secret of their group power to themselves, only do in the world what we order, only commit the mayhem we demand. The discipline is in the belief we give them of our ultimate mission. They must save themselves for that, you see.”
Fletch stared through the firelight at the soft lines of Kriegel’s chest, narrow shoulders, chins.
Kriegel said, “I have nothing but contempt for these fools.”
He slouched away into the dark.
After Kriegel left, Carrie said, “I’m proud of you.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t let the ol’ fool know you’re incapacitated.”
“Right,” Fletch said. “Siegfried.”
JACK CAME AROUND the corner of the building. “I was looking for you both. What are you doing here?”
“Recovering,” Fletch answered.
Carrie said, “He ran into your Enforcer in the woods.”
“Your Chief of Internal Affairs,” Fletch said. “For some reason, he doesn’t believe I’m one of you. I forgot to pull the ‘Siegfried’ line on him.”
“I guess they fought,” Carrie said. “Fletch won.”
“He doesn’t look it,” Jack commented. “Where’s What’s-his-name now?”
“I hope he’s still suffering nightmares,” Fletch said. “Probably of black people taking over the world and making him pick cotton while singing in Hebrew.”
Carrie said to Jack, “Fletch is barely conscious himself.”
“I can tell.”
“I’ll be all right,” Fletch said. “We’ll go soon.”
Jack sat cross-legged on the grass with them. He did not lean his back against the cement blocks. He could see Fletch and Carrie and also the bonfire.
The outline of the hills around the encampment was clear in the moonlight.
Conversationally, Fletch said to Jack, “You know, this encampment is as indefensible as Sarajevo.”
Jack’s eyes scanned the hills. “I know. Pitiful. Almost none of these guys has any military training whatsoever.”
Fletch said, “That’s obvious.”
“About eighty-five percent of them have spent time in institutions, but they’ve been either prisons or mental institutions.”
“That scares me, sure enough,” Carrie said. “All these ignorant messes runnin’ around with machine guns and pistols, knives, steel-toed boots, chains and whips.”
“Like me,” Jack said. “Do I scare you?”
“Sure enough,” Carrie said softly.
Jack said, “That’s the point. You see?”
Fletch said, “Maybe I’m beginning to. Then again, I’m half-unconscious.
In a most conversational tone, Jack said to Fletch, “You mustn’t worry, you know. My mother is very indebted to you.”
“For what?” Fletch asked.
“Me.” Jack’s smiling face in the flickering firelight was a warm delight for Fletch to see. “I’m the light of her life.”
“Sure,” Carrie said. “I bet you are. You and her septic tank.”
Jack laughed. “I am.”
Fletch said, “Maybe.”
Jack said to him, “She thinks you hung the stars in the sky.”
“Why?”
“You made her life. Her career.”
