Cobra Clearance (25 page)

Levi closed his eyes and for the next two hours alternately winced and dreamed of his wife and son. The images of the woman he loved and the child he'd adored reminded him of why he was here, and he took solace in the memories of her touch, her laughter, and in his son's full-of-beans, happy-go-lucky behavior.

BRENDA SAT ON HER BED
, too listless to move. If only she could find another way to fund her mother's care. But even so it was already too late. Kruger would never let her leave, and her plan to drug Eric had backfired. She might as well be dead now, because he'd come at her with a vengeance tonight. What was she going to do? Brenda flung herself across the bed and buried her face in the pillow. Later though, she raised her head and came to a new resolve: she would take control.

T.J. JACKSON FLUNG HIMSELF INTO
the shower stall. His shame was total now that he had pissed himself in front of everyone. As he stood beneath the feeble shower he tried to think. Eric's brutal attack had shocked him. Touching his swollen leg, he swore he would strangle the scrawny bastard. But he knew he would never dare. Then he got a sudden case of the shakes. Why had Kruger accused him?
Does he know I want out
? He felt boxed in. If he went to the authorities he'd get life in prison as an accessory to Melchior's murder. But if he remained here he would die. He had to act.

PETE STARTLED LEVI FROM HIS REVERIE
when he sat back and grunted. “Uh oh.”

Sitting up, Levi examined his left ankle. Pete had tattooed three strands of coiled barbed wire around it in green, blue and black. Barbed-wire tatts on the ankle signified the days of the chain-gang, and were for those who've done time or were destined to. As Levi had hoped, the skin surrounding the tattoo was mottled with red blotches.

“You're allergic to ink,” Pete said. “I'll have to order some hypoallergenic stuff.”

Levi pursed his lips. “Well…can't ya give me some temp tatts?”

Pete rubbed his chin. “I've got the henna but I need approval.” After calling Kruger he said, “No sweat. Take off your shirt.” Seconds later he tapped Levi's marked arms and winked. “You should stick your needles someplace else. Or smoke it. Nothin' like chasing the dragon.” Then he said quietly, “Wanna chase it with me?”

Still awash in heroin, Levi's craving kicked-in. “Now?”

The huge man grinned. “Nah, man.
After
I ink you.”

Levi felt a strange surge of excitement. But the cop in him sought to settle the drug policy discrepancies. He raised an eyebrow. “What about Kruger?”

“Me an' him got this agreement. I do the club's tatts, he leaves me alone. Well?”

Figuring he could fake it, Levi agreed to get high and settled back. Three hours later Pete shook him and gestured at his work. Levi found death skulls on both sides of his chest. On his abdomen two scorpions faced each other with raised tails. There were also bold black Swastikas on his shoulders, and SS lightning flashes ran the lengths of his forearms.

“You have ‘
Gott Mit Uns
' across your shoulder blades an' a pair a Iron Crosses on your lower back.” Pete paused. “An' it's getting late. We'll chase the dragon tonight.”

Giving a thumbs-up, Levi went to the lav mirror to inspect himself. He was cold and ached to put on his shirt, but at least he'd sidestepped getting tattooed for real.

Pete called Kruger, and a minute later he appeared with Potts. Then Bronk walked in holding a shopping bag in his beefy hands. Pete gestured at Levi. “Well?”

Kruger pointed at Levi's forehead. “Why didn't you give him the Swastika?”

“Too low on henna. Figured I'd give him one tomorrow.”

Kruger scowled but said to Levi, “You're a fighter and fairly obedient.” He paused. “I'll admit that I harbored a few misgivings, hence today's test. But you asked Bronk to go with you. Nobody's ever done that. Nobody. Now I trust you.”

“You
can
trust me.” He folded his arms across his chest to hide the track marks.

“Furthermore, you're permitted the honor of insight into our specific beliefs.” Kruger then launched into a diatribe, railing against the Zionists, the colored races, and the insidious threat to global warming posed by homosexuality. “And they don't breed! These men do not produce white children. They need to be gotten rid of.”

Levi listened and focused on whether Kruger might have come unhinged. If this man got too close to the edge he could be capable of anything. But Levi could leverage a mild break from reality to his advantage. He would wait, appraise and consider.

Kruger went on to attack sloth, waste and the crumbling U.S. educational system. As Pete put away his gear, Kruger decried current TV commercials and their combined Zionist-feminist conspiracy to undermine the modern white man. “The ads make us look like overgrown adolescents. They turn my stomach.” Pacing with unharnessed energy, he jabbed a righteous finger toward the ceiling. “Take today's cars. Inert lumps of metal. No power. No muscle. No glory.” He made a fist. “And let's not forget dump trucks.”

Levi tried to mask his astonishment. “Dump trucks?”

“Yes. The American dump truck. Where are the Mack trucks these days? The R.E.O. Speedwagons? And where,” he thundered, “where are the American La France fire engines? I'll tell you where…” Kruger's face was beet red. The others watched open-mouthed. Even Potts was transfixed. “Gone,” Kruger shouted. “All the good fire engines are gone because of the Zionists, the coloreds and the homosexuals.”

Potts blurted, “That's right. The homos.”

Kruger stopped and looked at him in shock, and after an uncomfortable silence he came down from the wall faster than he'd climbed up it. An eerie calm settled upon him. “Yes, the homos.” As he surveyed Levi's tattoos his eyes got a strange light. “We have a task, Eric.” Kruger leaned forward and whispered, “Cohen must go.”

“Cohen?”

“You're in the presence of the select few in our club with total knowledge of our activities.” He paused. “Now I'll disclose our secret. We helped assassinate Melchior.”

“Whaaat? Melchior?
Jesus
.” He blinked rapidly.

“Yes, and now the good news. You shall participate in our next mission.”

“Yeah? What is the mission?”

Kruger said with calm detachment, “We're going to kill Cohen.”

L
evi kept calm. Nobody was going to kill another president—nor anyone else if he could stop it. But his resolve went deeper. Kruger's tirade mirrored Hitler's rants. On the flip side, Cohen was a spiritual man—a man who offered to say a Kaddish for Levi's wife and son. Levi decided to ingratiate himself further. “I want that Swastika. Now.”

“Why?”

“So it'll be the last thing Cohen sees before he croaks.”

A smile took hold of Kruger's mouth. He spun and faced Pete. “Give him one.”

“It's gonna be small and faded.”

“That's okay,” Levi said. “You can do it over when you get the ink.”

“Alright, you got it.” Ten minutes later he offered Levi a hand mirror.

Levi inspected the silver dollar-sized Swastika that defiled his forehead. “Great!”

Sweeping him into a bear hug, Bronk said, “We're friggin' brothers now.”

Kruger offered the shopping bag to Levi. “A gift. Aryan clothes to go with your Aryan body.” He pulled out a pair of Doc Martens, their white laces done up in horizontal lines. “They're laced this way to illustrate white supremacy. You'll be permitted to wear red laces once you've killed for the club.”

Levi said to himself,
So that's why Bronk's are red. I've seen three others with red ones, too. No doubt about it. These guys are players
. Then he pulled a snowy white T-shirt, black jeans and thin red suspenders from the bag. He began dressing.

Kruger cleared his throat. “The suspenders are crossed at your back to represent the Iron Cross.” He gestured at the Doc Martens, “Blouse the bottoms of your jeans like a good soldier.” Once Levi complied, Kruger said, “Your clothes, your tattoos and your Swastika do us proud.” He held out his hand. “Welcome to your new life.”

After they shook, Kruger turned to the others. “I wish to speak to Eric in private.” When they were alone he said, “I have something else for you.” Reaching into his khaki jacket, he pulled out a red leather dog collar and tossed it to Levi. “Put it on.”

Levi turned it over in his hands and looked Kruger in the eye. “No.”

Kruger dropped his voice an octave. “I can have you killed.” He put his face inches from Levi's. “You're to be a dog.
My
dog. Now put it on.”

“Shove it up your ass. I ain't wearin' it.”

Kruger stood motionless while something turned within the dark recesses of his eyes. Then the darkness vanished and he grinned. “A man with a set of balls.”

“I won't let nobody humiliate me. If I did, what'd I do if they tried to make the club look bad?” Then he said, “But that don't mean I don't know my place. You're the boss and I ain't about to upset nothin.'” He tossed the collar aside and waited.

Kruger flicked his eyes at Levi's arms and said, “Although you disappoint me on some issues, I wanted to see the total fighter in you.” He paused. “Brian also proved his mettle. However, I needed to set an example and had him neutered. He fought courageously but to no avail.”

“Enough with the damn tests. Okay?”

“Right.” Reaching into his jacket, he produced a new Colt .45 and handed it to Levi. “You've earned it.” Then Kruger gave him a slip of paper. “My cell phone.”

Levi hefted the pistol, checked that it was loaded, and slid it into his waistband.

“Now then. I'm going to Albuquerque tomorrow to contact our associate.”

Levi revealed nothing of what raced through him—
Amahl
. He'd bet on it.

“I'm an uncanny judge of character. Yours is sound. Of equal importance are your war gaming skills. I need an adjutant and you qualify for the position. Interested?”

“Sure.” He thought,
You're an uncanny madman is what you are, but if you need to flatter yourself and accept me into your confidence, then that's great for me.
He looked sidelong at Kruger. “But remember. You gotta keep your players informed. I can't do nothin' without you give me the details.”

Kruger fell silent as he mulled it over. “Tell you what,” he said at last. “You make a good case. I'll sleep on it.” He went to the door. “Meet me here tomorrow. Nine sharp.”

“I'll be there.” As they walked outside Levi felt taken aback. He hadn't realized so much time had passed, or that the day had already turned dark.

Bronk was waiting for him. “Come on. We gotta celebrate.”

Levi was in a hurry to pass along the assassination plans, but had to go along or else risk suspicion. They went to the armory, and when Bronk opened the door a cheer went up from a dozen men. Levi pointed proudly to his forehead and removed his T-shirt to show off his other tatts. Then the gang took turns landing
blows on his shoulders and back, until a bruised and battered Levi was proclaimed to have been initiated. He grinned and got a roar of approval when he contributed a quarter ounce of weed to the party.

He smoked pot, swilled beer and chatted with the others amid the guns and the 81mm mortar, and was trumpeting the virtues of straight white male Christians when Pete pulled him aside to chase the dragon. Levi couldn't back down, not in front of the gang. Besides, he'd be faking it. So they found a quiet corner, and after Pete put a tab of heroin on a piece of foil and heated it with a lighter, Levi inhaled the fumes through a glass tube. But the fumes triggered his brain receptors with a vengeance, and as they passed the tube he unconsciously drew some in; then more. Soon a pleasurable haze embraced him, and he felt an alien regret when he saw that they'd smoked the last of it.

Pete dropped onto a chair and nodded off, so Levi stumbled around until ending up where Bronk and two others were smoking meth. The glassy-eyed enforcer punched his arm and declared, “Me an' you is best friends now.”

Levi struggled past his fogged mind and thought,
great
.
And now that you've opened the door I'll exploit you to the max.
For the next hour he talked Bronk up while noting the open drug use.
Hmm, there's definitely another side to Kruger's rules.

When the party ground to a halt at midnight he edged outside to clear his head. He had to get the word out, but too much dope had left him flushed, sweating and trembling.

Brian joined him and pointed at Levi's forehead. “Your idea? Or theirs?”

“What's it matter?”

“Guess it don't.” He sighed. “Guess none of it does.”

Levi's fog began to lift as he studied Brian. “Talk to me. What's wrong?”

“Bronk got wired. Told me something.” He kicked at the sand. “I thought we was only gonna scare hell outta some other club. But he said we're goin' after someone. Some big shot. Man, I ain't in for none of that. Big or small.”

Levi jabbed the young man's ribs. “They're full of it. Stick by me. I'll keep ya true blue.”
Great scoop. Bronk runs his yap when he's had too much. I can use that
.

Brian lit a Marlboro, and after taking a drag he let it dangle from his lip. “Eric? Last night…me an' your woman, we—that is, I—” He stopped and stared at Levi's trembling hands. “Hey, man. You got the shakes. The sweats, too.”

“It's nothing.” Levi mimicked smoking. “Too much ganj.”

“Cut the crap.” He pointed a finger at Levi's chest. “I saw you an' Pete.”

“So I puffed the magic dragon.” Levi squinted. “Hey, I ain't no damn junkie.”