“White power! White power!”
We finally arrived at a clearing that was occupied by a large group of men, all clad in white sheets, gathered around a huge, burning cross. Patrick walked closer to the crowd, while I stayed back in the shadows near a grove of trees and a white Cadillac. Leaning against a tree, I watched and listened as one of the men, whose red robe made him stand out in the sea of white, gave a rousing speech.
“They like to tell us we have white privilege!” he yelled. “Well, brethren, I’m here to tell you that they’re damn right! We have privilege because that’s the way God wants it. The white man is meant to be the ruler over all creation. And with the support of our great President Donald Trump, we will take back what’s ours. We will make America white again!”
The crowd went fucking crazy, and I even found myself inspired by his words, clapping and whistling in agreement.
“Now, I want you all to raise your hands and pledge your allegiance to our beloved Klan,” he said, and every white-sheeted arm rose up as they loudly professed their loyalty to the KKK.
He wrapped up the meeting by saying, “God bless white America!” and slowly, the crowd of men dispersed. They climbed into their cars, pulling off their hoods and robes, and driving back to their nice, respectable lives. If they were anything like the Klan members I knew back in Texas, there were probably some highly influential people beneath those hoods who would use their power to keep the darkies and illegal aliens in line in their communities.
“Nice turnout, Harold.” I said when the red-robed speaker approached the Caddie.
He nearly jumped out of his robe. Even with his hood on, I could see the fear in his eyes. “Jesus Christ, KD. What the hell are you doing hiding in the damn bushes?”
“I was just sitting back here, enjoying the gathering. That was a damn good speech, too. I gotta admit, I was a little nervous when I found out they’d up and made you Grand Wizard. I figured your being a circuit court judge and all would’ve made you a little soft. But you’re doing a fine job.”
“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence,” he said warily. “Now, I know you ain’t come all this way out here to observe my leadership skills, so tell me why you’re here. You having another one of those parties?” He sounded excited. “Folks are still talking about that last one.”
“Glad you enjoyed it. Maybe we’ll have another one around Christmas. Let me talk to Tyler.”
He seemed to relax a little, removing his hood and going to the trunk of the Caddie to get a few beers from a cooler. He handed me one. I popped the cap and took a long swig.
“Thanks. That hit the spot.”
“No problem. There’s more if you want ’em.” He took a swallow. “So, what’s on your mind? I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s troubling you. You look like you could piss vinegar.”
“I’ve got a situation I could use some help with,” I said humbly.
“KD, we’ve always been friends. You know if there’s anything I can do for you, all you gotta do is ask. What seems to be the problem?”
He leaned against his car as if I was about to give him a grocery list.
“I need a badass who’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. Someone who will follow orders and not ask a whole bunch of fucking questions.”
Harold laughed and pointed at the stragglers leaning against their cars with their white robes still on, drinking beer and shooting the shit. “Take your pick. Half of these boys are ex-military or former law enforcement with an axe to grind. Pay them right and they’ll serve you well.”
“No, I’ve got enough trigger-happy country boys on the payroll. What I need is someone special who can operate up north, in places like New York City, without getting lost, frustrated, or overwhelmed,” I explained.
Harold chuckled, looking excited. “I got just the boy for you.” He turned to a red pickup truck that was surrounded by five or six men. “Hey, Pee Wee, go fetch your cousin Slick for me.”
“Sure thing, judge.” Pee Wee, who lived up to his name at no more than five foot four, ran off into the darkness. He returned with one of the meanest-looking jarheads I’d ever seen. He was at least a foot taller than Pee Wee, 290 pounds of pure muscle, and he wore a crew cut and a scowl that made him look like he might rip your damn head off.
“Slick, this here is KD Shrugs, a good friend of mine from El Paso,” Harold said.
“Nice to meet you,” Slick said in this gruff voice that made him appear even meaner.
“Slick here is from New York City and presently looking for work.”
“Is that so?” I grinned. “What type of work do you do, son?”
“Bounty hunter. I used to work for a bail bondsman in Queens until he hired a spic to replace me for half the money.” You could hear the bitterness in that boy’s voice from a mile away. “I was in the Marines for three years before that, but I was dishonorably discharged for beating my nigger sergeant’s ass.” He said that shit with such conviction I wanted to salute him.
“So, you’re a bounty hunter, huh?”
“Yes, sir, a damn good one,” he replied. “But I’ll do just about anything if the price is right. I got a baby on the way.”
“That’s a very responsible way of looking at things,” I replied, but my next question would determine whether we could work together. “So, Slick, would
