Son of Fletch

real family name?”

“Of course not. My father had it legally changed. For obvious reasons.”

“What was your name originally?”

“None of your business, Faoni.”

Jack sipped from his mug. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’ve been in prison.”

“Yes,” Jack said.

“How are things going?”

“You mean, for the movement? Very well. In the last five years, Kriegel has organized chapters of The Tribe in every federal and major state prison in the country. Almost half the white men—at least those who have any hope of ever getting out—belong. Of course, many of them belong just to be safe while they’re in prison.”

Tracy stuck out his chin. “Who started it?”

“Who started what?”

“Didn’t the blacks in the prisons start organizing along racial lines first?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “For protection.”

“Protection against what? Aren’t the majority of prisoners in this country black?”

“No,” Jack said.

“It seems like it.”

“It’s a deep question. Anyway, Kriegel has developed a considerable force.”

“Yeah.” Bright-eyed, Tracy smiled in appreciation. “It won’t be long.”

“There are plans?”

“There sure are.”

“Like what?”

“Not for me to say. Kriegel has been briefed. By my father. There’ll be a formal meeting later today. I don’t know whether you’ll be allowed to attend.”

“Of course I will.”

“Not up to me. You think Kriegel committed that crime, got himself sent to prison on purpose, Jack? You know, to organize the prisoners?”

“God,” said Jack.

“It could be. He’s awesome.”

“I’ll say.”

“My father has developed an awesome training program here.”

“You enjoy it?”

“Yeah. I’ve become Expert at rifle and semiautomatic weapons. I qualify as Sniper. I’ve done hand grenades. I’m learning mortars now. We drill pretty hard, most days.”

“What fun.”

“Sabotage is what really interests me. Our Sabotage

Corps is really growing. My father says that’s where our real strength is, in sabotage.”

“What did your father do before he became Commandant Wolfe?”

“Sold insurance.”

“Ever in the military?”

“Army Supply Corps.”

“I see.”

“He’s really a great salesman. He could sell snowballs to Eskimos. You heard his speech last night?”

“Yeah. Where’s your mother?”

“She left us. Couldn’t stand the discipline. I mean, my father needs things exactly right, he’s so important and all, has so much responsibility, organizing all this. She couldn’t understand that some beatings are necessary, so people won’t make the same mistake twice, you know what I mean? I mean, all this is a big responsibility. My father is a great man.”

“Where are you from, originally?”

“Illinois. The Land of Lincoln. I hate that. Freed the mud people.”

“You were brought up this way from birth?”

“What way?”

“Oh, believing in …”

“White rights? Sure. My father’s grandfather was stabbed by a nigger.”

“Your great-grandfather was stabbed by a black person?”

“Why do you say it that way?”

“If he was stabbed by a white person, would you and your father be against white people?”

“I don’t much like the way you’re talkin’. Somethin’ seems wrong to me about the way you’re talkin’.”

“Do you ever get away from here?”

“The camp? Sure. I went to The Wave Pool in Decatur once.”

“Have fun?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“My father wouldn’t let me wear my uniform. There were niggers there. I mean, in the water. With the white folks. There were niggers everywhere I looked. I suspect some of them had knives.”

“Pretty scary, uh?”

“I wasn’t too scared. Just uncomfortable. They hate us.”

“Who does?”

“The niggers. They have to!”

“Why?”

“Hey, Jack! Why are you talkin’ this way? You’re Kriegel’s lieutenant, his aide.”

“So?”

“Some of the words you use sound to me goddamned liberal!”

Jack smiled. “I’m just questioning your motives, Tracy. What’s with this personal motivation? Sounds emotional, to me. Are you emotional? That’s soft!”

“Cut it out!” Tracy put his feet on the floor.

Jack said, “It just seems to me you can’t be a pure believer, Tracy, if you have a personal, emotional motivation. Haven’t you read Kriegel’s pamphlets? He says people with personal emotions can’t be trusted that much. Gee, I don’t know about you.”

Tracy went to the door. Looking around at Jack, his facial expression was similar to his father’s standing at the same door a few hours earlier.

Tracy said, “My father is a great man. And he says I’m following in his footsteps. I’m doing everything he asks! What we’re doing is important! It’s necessary! Don’t you doubt me, Faoni! When the shootin’ starts, we’ll see just how you act! I’ll bet you turn into gooseflesh!”

“I don’t know, Tracy.” Still in his little desk chair, Jack shook his head. “I think you’d better rethink where you are, what you’re doin’. To me, you sound like a real soft guy.”

Tracy slammed the door behind him.

Jack chuckled. Through the office window the dawn was gray. He turned off the desk light.

“Another day.” Jack yawned. “More confusion sown.”

19

“Blythe Spirit. Good morning.”

“Good morning. This is Jack Faoni. May I speak with my mother, please, Ms. Crystal Faoni?”

“Ms. Faoni is in concentration. Do you know the appropriate code, Mister Faoni?”

“Health,” Jack said. Health had been the appropriate code in all the years his mother had been visiting Blythe Spirit, twice a year. It had never changed.

From this observation, Jack assumed Blythe Spirit did not have the high rate of recidivism as did his