Schism

Chapter 24 part 3

"Who's keeping you from getting tattoos?" Bryan asked.  "Who are you working for?"  He could almost feel the young man put on his hard attitude.  Bryan knew he wouldn't get much out of him gently, not without a lot of time.  He pointed to William instead.  "Do you know who that is?"

He waited as James looked at William.  The young man became very still.

"You do, don't you.  Who is he?"  Bryan waited a moment.  "Say it."

The strength seemed to melt out of James' face and body.  "The race traitor."

"Right," Bryan said.  He gave James a pat on the shoulder.  "Now why can't you have any tattoos?  Maybe a nice swastika?"

"I don't want a  swastika.  Nazis are German, not American."

That told Bryan more than he had expected.  There were dozens of different hate groups, and they generally hated each other as much as their main target.  But men from different groups were somehow working together.  "And yet I saw one of you with a swastika tattoo on his neck just the other night," Bryan said.  He watched as James twitched and looked at William again.  "He had a new tattoo over it, trying to cover it up, but I could still make it out.  Is that the order?  To not get any or to cover them up?"

James didn't answer.  Bryan waved William closer.

"Who is giving these orders, James?  What group are you all with?"  Bryan's voice was still calm, gentle.  But the kid didn't answer.  "Should I have my friend ask you?  Do you think he could get you to answer?"

He waited, watched James stare at William.  "I don't know," James said.

"He's lying."  William's voice was quiet.

Bryan turned James around, then simply stared at him.  He kept the frown from showing on his face as he waited.  He didn't like doing this, and it left his stomach tight and queasy.  He'd never liked the pressure that most police and prosecutors put on witnesses.  That this might be his first link to finding who had killed his family didn't excuse it, but he pushed down his conscience and kept at the young man.  He wasn't sure if the racial fires had any connection to the bigger ones, but he couldn't let this opportunity pass by.

"How about a nice little cross, with the drop of blood in the center?  Who won't let you get that?"  He pointed at James' shoulder.  "It would look good right there."

The young man didn't protest at that suggestion of a Klan tattoo.  Bryan had seen a hint of that tattoo on the man he had fought earlier in the week.  They were here too.  Someone had to be coordinating the different racist groups, pulling them together and leading them.  "Who’s in charge?" he asked.

William stepped closer and James finally broke.  "It's a new group.  He says it doesn't even have a name.  Says the work is more important than what we call it."

"Who says that?"

The kid hesitated, looked over at William again before answering.  "Jared.  His name's Jared."

"Jared what?" Bryan asked.

"Smith," James said.

"Convenient name."  Bryan held up the phone.  "His number in here?"

"No, sir."

"Then how do you get a hold of him?  Do you meet him somewhere?"

James shook his head.  "I don't."  He looked between Bryan and William.  "I just call someone.  It's a phone tree.  Just like moms use.  Like the PTA."

Bryan stared.  The kid couldn't be more than a year out of high school, and he was burning people out of their homes.  "Your mother is in the PTA."  He looked down at the phone.  "They call you on this?"