William Bernhardt - Perfect Justice

The Grand Dragon as Dr. Spock. Interesting. “So Vick’s father brought him into the organization.”

“Hell, yes. Like father, like son. Frankly we don’t care much for people who stand off to the side and let others do what needs to be done. You’re either with us, or against us. That’s how I look at it.”

“So Donald grew up under the loving arm of the Klan.”

“Now wait a minute—we’re not the Klan. We’re not unfriendly to the Klan, mind you, but we’re our own separate organization.” He winked jovially. “As a lawyer, I’m sure you understand the importance of maintaining these distinctions.”

Principally the importance of avoiding liability for civil lawsuits filed against the Klan, Ben surmised. What a great bunch of people.

“But yes,” Dunagan continued, “I’ve known Donny since he was knee-high to a billy goat. A fine boy. Raised right. Loves the Lord God Almighty and is willing to fight for him, too. Bit on the quiet side, but there’s no law against that, is there?”

“No,” Ben said, not that he thought Dunagan was overly concerned about the prohibitions of law. “So Donald is fulfilling familial expectations?”

“Very much so. I knew Donny’s pappy, Lou. He was a tough man. A little hard on Donny, but it was for his own good. He let the boy know what he expected in no uncertain terms. Nothing wrong with that. The world would be a better place if more fathers weren’t afraid to be fathers.”

“You used the past tense,” Ben said. “Has Donald’s father died?”

“Oh, yes. He passed on three, four years ago. Lung cancer got him, rest his soul. Since his pappy died, Donny’s been the man of the family. It’s important that he act like it.”

“If he’s the head of a household, I’m surprised he would leave home and come out here.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t happy about it,” Dunagan replied, “but a man has obligations. When the war is on, a man has to leave the comforts of home behind and do his duty.”

When the war is on? Ben decided to let it slide for the moment. “Just exactly … how far does Donald’s duty extend?”

“Ben, I’m an honest man. I don’t tell lies. If you’ve got a question to ask, just ask it.”

“Okay. Did you order Donald to kill Vuong?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Did anyone else in ASP?”

“Again, no. I can’t say I was particularly distraught about that gook’s death, but no one ordered it. Donny was acting on his own initiative.” He grinned. “Looks to me like Donny had a little too much to drink and let his righteous anger go to his head.”

“I see. Is Donald … fond of you?”

Dunagan twisted his shoulders. “What in hell are you insinuating?”

“You said you’ve known him for years. Are you close?”

“I suppose so. In the manner totally appropriate for two men. What are you getting at?”

“Donald isn’t telling me all he knows about this case. It occurred to me he might be protecting someone.”

“And you think it’s me? I sure as hell didn’t kill that Vietconger.”

“I didn’t say you did. As Donald’s lawyer, though, I have to explore all the possibilities.”

“I guess so. Still, I don’t know of anyone he’s protecting. I think Donny got into this on his own authority. And Jesus Christ’s, of course.”

That would make for an interesting co-conspirator indictment. “Does Donald have any friends here?”

“Not really There are other men in his platoon, of course. But they aren’t what you would call friends. Donny is kinda shy. Always has been. Doesn’t socialize much with the other men.”

“What about women? Girls. Was he dating anyone?”

“I’m not sure.” He snapped his fingers. “Except, now that you mention it, I do seem to recall hearing about him being involved with some girl from town.”

Ben wondered if it was the same woman who visited him at Mary Sue’s boardinghouse. “Do you know who she was?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Who told you about this?”

Dunagan reflected for a moment. “I can’t remember. To tell the truth, I can’t remember any more about it than I’ve already told you.”

“Do you know how Donald met Vuong?”

“I assume they bumped heads at that bar where they had the big bust-up.”

“I have reason to believe they knew each other before that night.”

“I don’t think so,” Dunagan said firmly. “We don’t allow fraternization with the chinks.”

“Still,” Ben said, “Donald was staying in town. …”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Irritation tinged Dunagan’s voice. “He’s just the kind of boy who prefers to keep his own company. Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Donald’s. I want to represent him to the best of my ability. What do you know about the murder?”

“Just what I read in the papers.”

“You haven’t heard any inside information from your men? Suggestions? Rumors? Gossip?”

“I don’t gossip. Bearing false witness is a crime against God.”

“You’ve heard how the murder was committed?”

Dunagan nodded.

“You said that building outside is stockpiled with weapons. Are you by any chance stocking … crossbows?”

“As a matter of fact, we are. Crossbows are a critical survival weapon. Rifles run out of ammunition and eventually become useless. But as long as you take care of the bow and retrieve the bolts, a crossbow can be used forever.”

Ben decided to be bold. “Do you mind if I check your supplies? I’d like to see if the weapons you’re keeping are compatible with the murder weapon.”

“Too late. The DA’s already done it.”

“Oh?” Ben was surprised, although he realized he shouldn’t be. He knew Swain had been out here. “What did he say?”

“Said the crossbow was swiped from our armory. But the funny thing is—we don’t stock the bolts for it. We’ve tried, but we’ve never been able to locate bolts for that particular model. I don’t know where the killer got them.”

“Do you mind if I examine your purchase orders or supply invoices?”

“I don’t have any.”

“What?”

“Don’t keep up with that trash. Don’t have enough room for it. And I don’t need any more paperwork.”

Ben tried another tack. “Do you mind if I have a word with some of your men?”

“Of course not. Feel free. I want to support you in any way I can. Remember, Ben, this is a holy crusade. When the war’s on, we all have to hang together.”

Or we’ll surely hang separately, Ben thought grimly. “All this planning is impressive, but … there isn’t any war on, is there?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Dunagan said. “Some people think there is.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Dunagan leaned over the edge of his desk. “Ben, how long do you think this country can go on the way it is now?”

“I’m not sure what—”

“Street gangs. Race riots. Crime, rape, sodomy—most of it committed by members of the nonwhite races. Biracial marriages tainting the gene pool. You saw what happened in L.A. a while back. It happens on a smaller scale every day. Hell, stuff goes on in Alabama that would curdle your blood. And it rarely makes the papers.”

“Unreported crimes?”

“Oh, they’re reported—the papers just won’t print it. They’re all controlled by left-wingers.” He leaned in closer. “This country is teetering on the edge of total chaos. Thank goodness we don’t have the Russkies to worry about anymore—but we have another threat that’s even more dangerous. A threat from within.”

“You’re hypothesizing about … a race war?”

“Ain’t nothing hypothetical about it. It’s gonna happen. I give this country about five more years—on the outside. Maybe less. Then all hell breaks loose. Communication lines break down, transportation systems crash. The world in turmoil.”