are superior and that all other races are inferior. But they believe blacks pose the biggest threat and, as such, work almost exclusively against them.”
“You said that they refuse to commit their time to something like guns. So what do they do with their time?”
He adjusted the glasses again and sighed. “Perpetuate violence. If you look at most hate groups, they rarely possess the brain trust to organize into a viable financial operation, which leads to eventual demise.” He waved a hand in the air. “They subsist on donations from extreme right-wing groups and anonymous donors who are too cowardly to show their faces and their own money. They stay alive because the powerful white men that help serve justice in our society-judges, lawyers, even police officers-are sometimes believers and help them avoid consequences under the guise of the law.”
We let that hang in the air between us.
“Anyway, the opposite end of the spectrum is, say, organized crime or street gangs,” Famazio continued. “They’ve learned that a solid business structure provides them with not only funding for their activities, but also the power to grow and influence.”
“So National Nation is content to pass out fliers, graffiti some walls, and beat up black people?”
“Kill,” he said, staring at me. “They kill black people.”
His anger radiated across the desk.
“National Nation is still in its infancy compared to other groups,” he said. “That’s why I’ve had such a difficult time learning names of members and backers for my research. They in no way possess the sophistication, for lack of a better word, of a group like the KKK.” He shook his head. “These…people…like to consume a lot of alcohol, talk about their grand plan for taking over the world, and then go beat some black person to death.” He looked away from me. “It’s what they do and it’s what they enjoy.”
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortably aware of the difference in our skin color. “Where would I go to find them?”
He looked back at me. “Two run-ins aren’t enough for you?”
“I need to find this kid and I think he might be with them.”
“This kid, if he’s a member of National Nation, may not be worth finding.”
“All due respect, Professor, but that’s something I need to find out for myself.”
He studied me for a moment and I couldn’t tell if he was angry or amused with me.
“John tell you anything about me?” he asked.
“No. Just that you might be able to help me.”
“No mention of how he and I met?”
I was missing his point. “No.”
“Mind if I show you something, then?”
“No.”
He pushed himself out of his chair and came around the desk, the strain on his face unmistakable. The limp was impossible to miss, as the lower part of his right leg from the knee down dragged behind him, seeming heavier and less coordinated than the rest of his body.
He eased himself onto the edge of his desk. “I thought I could take care of myself, too, Mr. Braddock. Knew I was smarter than them and I figured that would make a difference.” He pointed to his right leg. “I’ve got more pins and screws in there than a hardware store. Can’t feel my toes. There is an ache in my calf that won’t go away and keeps me up most nights.”
He removed the glasses from his face. “My leg was shattered in twenty-three places, courtesy of a lead pipe and an aluminum bat. They beat me all over my body and the only reason they didn’t kill me was because they thought I died when I passed out. John Wellton worked the case.”
He leaned down so that our eyes were on the same level. “So, if you’re sure you wanna go meet these fellows, I’ve got a thank-you card to send with you.”
I moved my eyes from his gaze, embarrassed by my own ignorance and furious with Wellton for sending me to Famazio so unprepared. It didn’t change what I needed to do, but it did make me look at it in a new light. I wouldn’t be going up against just the two guys who’d nearly killed me. I’d be taking on an entire organization that prided itself on violence.
I looked back at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” he said, sitting back upright and placing the glasses back on his face. “Most folks are.”
“But you said yourself you’re still looking for names. You’re still working these guys. What happened to you didn’t stop you.”
He was the one who looked away this time.
I stood up. “I need to find this kid. If you can’t help me, fine. But it’s not going to stop me from looking. His brother is dead, another girl almost died, and I think he’s tied to both. If I quit now, everybody loses. And that includes me and you.”
He turned back to me, started to say something, then stopped. His jaw clenched and he shook his head. He stood up and moved back around the desk. He opened a drawer in the desk and yanked out a small notepad. He scribbled on it, tore the sheet off the pad, and held it out to me.
“A campground,” he said. “In Alpine. They don’t live there, but that’s where they usually hang out on Sundays. Follow the directions closely. It’ll take you to an observation point. They go in a different way and shouldn’t see you.”
I took the sheet and folded it in half. “Thank you.”
“If you get names or anything else, I want it all,” he said.
“No problem.”
“And let someone know when you go.”
I shoved the paper into my pocket. “Why?”
The eyes behind the glasses squinted at me and the lines around Gerald Famazio’s mouth tightened. “Because there’s a good chance you might not return.”
Twenty-five
I lay in bed all night thinking about Famazio’s warning and the pins in his leg. My aches and pains were starting to subside. I’d been lucky that I’d survived my first two run-ins with Lonnie and Mo. I wondered who the third time would be the charm for.
I went for a run on the beach in the morning, the sunshine promising a warm day as it glistened off the ocean. For the first time in a while, the pain in my body was due more to exertion than to fighting.
I showered and was throwing on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt when my cell phone rang. I found it on the dining room table.
“Hello?”
“Where you at?” Carter asked, the line humming with music and a car engine.
“Home.”
“Thought we might go make a run at Deacon Moreno.”
It seemed like a month since I’d first heard Moreno’s name. I still hadn’t come up with a reason for why Moreno would come after me, other than my looking for Linc.
“Okay. Where are you?”
“Just dropped Dana off,” he said, and I could tell he was smiling.
“Jesus.”
“She did mention something about me performing like the Messiah.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I need something to eat before we go do this.”
“Shocker.”
“In-N-Out in Mission Valley?”
“Be there in half an hour.”
