Trial by Fire (10 page)

She leaned down and kissed him so suddenly that it startled him, and then he gave into it and gave back. Just when he thought his heart would leap out of his chest, she stopped. She released him and stepped back, looked down at the ground, swept her hair behind her ear. “I didn't mean to do that,” she said, looking embarrassed.

His throat was suddenly dry, and he rasped out, “No, don't apologize. It was…it was good.” He laughed then at his own poor choice of words. “Excellent.”

“Yeah, it was excellent, wasn't it?” she asked. She leaned into him and whispered, “Just like I thought.” Then, as if she couldn't bear to face him after saying that, she turned and headed back to the van.

Jake stood there watching her, his heart beginning to hurt. It wasn't just his imagination. She
had
singled him out.

How had he gotten so lucky?

Forgetting the doubts that had swirled through his mind earlier about the cause not really being a cause, he finished loading his drums.

S
o you're the grandson of Sidney Clairmont, the grand wizard of the KKK?” Stan asked Jason Cruz as he sat across from him in the interrogation room.

“That's right,” Cruz said, thrusting his chin up as if they were talking about a former U.S. president.

“So what was his part in this murder and in my church burning?”

“My granddaddy had no part in this. He's an old man. The KKK ain't hardly even active in this town anymore. You're the cop. You ought to know that.”

“Looks like we might have a new generation of hate mongers.”

“Hate mongers?” He leaned up on the table, getting closer to Stan. “Hey, man, you're white. And if that was your church, then you're Christian. Don't you want your country back? Don't you want to take care of your own?”

“Some of my own are black,” Stan said.

“Right.” Cruz leaned back in his chair and leveled those hypnotic eyes on him. “Come on, be straight. Don't you ever imagine what our country would be like if every culture under the sun wasn't here?”

“I'm sure the Indians used to think that, when we whites were moving into their land.”

“But they're inferior too. God gave the land to the people with the brains, man. The ones who could make it fly. And we have, except that the gays and blacks and Latinos and Jews and Muslims and who knows who else are in here corrupting everything and turning it into hell.”

“Actually, it's people like your group turning it into hell,” Stan said. “If it weren't for people killing each other and destroying each other's property, it might not be a bad place to live.”

“But
they're
killing each other and destroying property.”

“So you feel justified in killing them?”

Cruz sighed, as if Stan was too dense to understand. “I told you, I didn't kill nobody. That's not what we're about.”

“Then what
are
you about?”

“We're about being left alone to worship and work and live together. We're about protecting ourselves from Big Brother.”

Stan was getting weary, and he looked down at the boy's file. He had little on him, but much on his grandfather and mother, and even on his father who'd become an informant just before he vanished from town. He'd had many suspicions, himself, about what had happened to the man, after the first black mayor of Newpointe was murdered. Terrence Cruz had become an informant, but without any evidence of a body, they'd had to let the matter go.

He tried to find an approach somewhere in the file, but finally he shut it and slid it away from him. “I'm just gonna be honest with you, Cruz. I've known about your family for years. When your father vanished a few years ago, I spent a long time looking for him. I had my suspicions that something had happened to him.”

Cruz seemed unduly interested in a spot on the table. “My father is dead.”

“Who killed him?”

“God, according to my mother.”

Stan narrowed his eyes. “God killed your father?”

“My daddy was eat up with sin,” Cruz said, bringing his eyes back to Stan's. “He was an immoral traitor, and God rained destruction down on him.”

Stan sat back in his chair, staring at the boy. “I think I know why your mother might call him a traitor. But why do you call him immoral? I thought you people thought everything you did was moral.”

Cruz's jaw began to pop. “What has my daddy got to do with that church burning?”

“I'm just saying that one day he talked to the police about the murder of our first black mayor, and the next day he vanished.”

“That was years ago.”

“Sticks in my memory,” Stan said, shaking his head. “I don't like having unsolved crimes.”

“It's not unsolved,” Cruz said. “I told you, he's dead.”

“And God did it.”

“That's right.”

“But God hasn't struck your grandfather for burning people's houses down, terrorizing them into leaving town, killing the mayor…”

“My granddaddy was never convicted of nothin'.”

“No, but some of his cronies were. If I remember, some of the informants who told us what happened mentioned that you and your sister were involved in some of the crimes the KKK committed. You must have been little then. What? Eight? Nine?”

“They weren't crimes,” Cruz said. “They were battles. Little battles in a big war.”

“Then you admit that you've been involved with the KKK since you were a kid.”

Cruz breathed a laugh. “You know I have been. I was practically raised in their headquarters. I stuffed envelopes, answered phones, went to meetings.”

“And you were with your father and grandfather when crosses were burned in people's yards…”

“I never did nothing wrong. The Klansmen are soldiers in a war, and war is not criminal. It's necessary.”

“So was it war last night when you killed that kid? Or was it just getting even with Nick Foster for what he did to your picket line at the gay Mardi Gras ball?”

Cruz slammed his hand on the table. “Is that what that sleazebag told you?”

“He said you were angry. That you'd threatened him. Is that true?”

“Threatened him? I hardly even knew he was there!”

“He said he broke your signs and took home the youth from his church.”

“I still had plenty of supporters, and we made new signs, okay? Nick Foster isn't going to stop me. And there is a thing in this country called freedom of speech. Picketing was perfectly legal. It's my duty as a Christian to point out to those people that they're bringing God's wrath upon themselves.”

“But to tell them God hates them? I'd be interested in seeing where in the Bible it says that. Wanna show me?”

“I don't wanna show you nothing,” the kid said. “You're as much the enemy as Nick Foster is, embracing those people and pretending to worship with them, like God can even hear you when you're such an abomination.”

“Then you do consider Nick Foster your enemy?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Where were you yesterday morning between the hours of four and six
A.M
.?” he asked suddenly.

Cruz seemed thrown by the sudden shift. “I was sleeping.”

Stan began to write on his legal pad. “Where?”

“At home, of course.”

“Was your sister there?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did your mother say she hadn't seen you in a couple of days?”

“Because she hadn't. She was asleep when I got home, and gone when I got up.”

“But she
said
you hadn't been
home
in a couple of days.” Stan made a point of turning the pages in his legal pad, looking for his notes he'd taken when he'd gone looking for Cruz earlier. “She said, and I quote, ‘Them kids never tell me nothing. They stay out all night and sleep all day, and sometimes don't come home at all.”

“So you jump to the conclusion that I must be a murderer?”

“Actually, the conclusion I've drawn is that you must be a liar. You just told me you were home.”

“Well, my mother misses a lot of things. She never has seen half the things going on in our house.”

“I thought she home-schooled. Aren't most home-schooling moms real attentive?”

“We're both eighteen. We don't need home-schooling no more. But when we were young, a lot went on that she didn't see. Truth ain't one of her passions.”

Stan looked down at the legal pad again, and he began to wonder what kind of childhood these kids must have had, with every adult in their lives engaged in criminal activity against anyone they saw as different. How many murders had they witnessed? How many lives had they terrorized? How could any child come up with a healthy view of society when they'd been taught nothing but hate?

And when they slapped the label of Christianity on that hate, it got even more confusing.

No wonder so many Americans thought Christians were hateful zealots with murderous agendas and evil hearts.

He looked across the table at the kid who had probably grown up too fast. What were the secrets he harbored about his father's immorality and his mother's blindness to it? What immorality had he borne as a child?

If murder wasn't considered immorality, he could only imagine what was.

The door opened, and Chief Jim Shoemaker leaned in. “Stan, can I see you a minute?”

“Sure.” He got up and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. “What is it?”

“There's been another church burning,” he said. Stan caught his breath. “Bayou Missionary Baptist Church. And there was a victim in this one too. My understanding is that this one isn't dead yet.”

“Then maybe he can tell us who did it.” He spun around and looked through the glass. The kid was sitting there with his face in his hands. Stan was pleased he had gotten to him. “Pick up his friends,” he said. “And his sister. They had to have something to do with it.”

“We have cars en route. Sid located them at a bar called the Viper Pit. We've had problems with them before for serving to minors. It's the teenage hot spot.”

“I gotta get over to that church,” Stan told him. He nodded toward Cruz. “Can we keep him here a little longer?”

“Yeah, I'll get somebody else to question him for a while, just to mark time until you've worked the scene. It's over on Bri-arson and Catalpa Street. I'll meet you over there.”

Stan took off without a look back, hoping another kid wouldn't have to die.

J
ennifer's three chosen ones were a wreck by the time they got back to the Viper Pit, after doing what she had ordered. They came in, soaked with sweat and trembling, and instantly split up to get lost in the crowd. Jake tried not to miss a drumbeat as he looked for his best friend. Benton looked like he'd been in a fight. He had blood on his shirt and scratch marks on his face. His eyes were wild as they darted east to west. He came to the edge of the stage and looked up at Jennifer as she banged on the keyboard. She nodded to him that she would come down, and quickly announced that they were taking a break.

Jake followed her off the stage and watched her usher Benton into a back room.

Benton was hysterical by the time she had the door closed. “We found some kid out ridin' his bike and LaSalle runned him down and he put up a fight when we tried to get him in the car and we started the fire and left him there unconscious…”

“Hush!” Jennifer said, jerking his shirt over his head. “Get this shirt off immediately.”

He looked down, noticing the blood for the first time, and obediently pulled the shirt over his head. She rolled it up in a ball. “Let me look at the rest of you. You look like you were caught in a stampede. You didn't leave any witnesses, did you?”

“No, of course not!” Benton was trembling, like he was about to snap. He started to cry. “He put up a fight and started hollering and begging and I thought about my little brother and him pleading for his life and I couldn't really remember why we were doing this and what it meant except that it was something about throwing the cops off…”

“Stop it!” Jennifer ordered, taking him by the bare shoulders. “Now stop it!”

“You don't know my name, do you?” Benton demanded. “Tell me my name.”

For the first time since he'd known her, Jennifer was at a loss for words. She looked at Jake for help.

“Benton,” he said, and Jennifer's smile returned.

“Benton, you know I know who you are. I wouldn't have chose you if I didn't know and trust you.”

“We did this for you and we don't even know why and now the police are gonna come and they're gonna question us and figure out that we did this…”

“No, they won't,” she said. “It's gonna be fine.” She pulled him against her, and he dropped his forehead on her shoulder and began to sob. Jake stood back, wishing he could just take his friend and get out of here. But they had to be here when the police came. “Come on, it's okay,” she said, stroking his hair maternally. “You're heroes. All three of you. People will be talking about what you did years from now. You'll be legends. They'll write songs about you. Now, you go out and get a beer,” she said. “You need to calm your nerves. Tell Butch at the bar I said to give you all you want on me. Don't worry about him asking for your I.D. He never gives us a hard time. He's one of us, remember.”

Benton pulled back and studied her face. He tried to calm his breathing. “Okay. I just…need to know that this is gonna pay off, you know? That you ain't just gonna forget.”

Jennifer's face softened, and she turned back to Jake. “Jake, leave me alone with him for a while, okay? I just need a few minutes.”

Jake's stomach took a dive, and he got sick at the thought that she was doing to Benton what she had done to Jake just hours ago. She was using his crush on her to manipulate him, and she was good at it. He found himself seething with jealousy. He didn't want to leave them alone.

But as he headed back into the crowd, with the stereo music playing until they could get back to the stage, he noticed a buzz around the door. He pushed through and saw that police were swarming in.

Quickly, he dashed back to the room. “Cops are here,” he said.

Benton looked as if he might as well be dead. “They know,” he said. “They already know and they're coming after me and I don't want to go to jail…”

She slapped him and made him look at her. “Stop whining! You've been here the whole time with us. Nobody's left. You have fifty witnesses out there who'll swear to it. We all have alibis. If they ask you about the cuts and scrapes, you tell 'em you were fighting with LaSalle and…who was the other one?”

His face twisted in deeper dread. “Decareaux! Man, you don't even
know
us.”

“You were fighting with
them,
okay? They have scratches and scrapes too.” She went to a shelf and grabbed a folded black Viper Pit T-shirt, set aside for bar employees. “Here. Put this on. Now go out there and get lost in the middle of that crowd, and so help me, act like a soldier instead of a whiny little girl.”

He stumbled out. Jennifer got back on the stage and signaled for the other band members to join her as the police made their way through the crowd.