"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?"
"Texts, mostly."
From the moment he stood up, Bryan had wondered how this interview would end. He couldn't take the boy into the station, he had seen William and would talk about him. He couldn't hand him over to William, though he wasn't sure what would happen if he did. William did seem to only become violent when there was a real threat. This boy obviously wasn't one. "How often do they contact you?"
"Twice a day at least."
"And you're supposed to respond, right?" Bryan asked. "What's the code?"
James stared back at him.
"I know you people love your codes. What is it?" He stood and waited, but James didn't answer. Bryan memorized the number that James had been about to call and went to the text history. At the top of the list was the same phone number. He searched for the reply.
311.
It took only a moment for him to figure out the code. Knowing that James was Klan made it easy. They probably had different codes depending on which group the recruit was from. Smart, but predictable.
Bryan smiled at James. "You are a southern boy, aren't you?" He saw William cock his head and held up the phone. "I'm gonna keep this, and your driver's license. And you are going to leave town, James, right now. You're going to go back to your mother in the PTA and you will never join any of these groups again, whether they have a name or not. If you do, if you try to contact anyone before you leave, I will tell them that you gave me this phone and your codes. I'll tell them you are a police informant."
He watched the kid's face go slack.
"Go." Bryan said. He watched James hurry into the driver's seat. William stood aside and the car sped off.
William pointed to the phone. "What was it?"
Bryan pointed to the text reply. "K is the eleventh letter of the alphabet. Three Ks, three eleven. They need better codes." He put the phone in his jacket pocket and looked at William a moment. The fear of what William was capable of was still there, and most importantly the worry about the trouble that he might bring to Jessica, but Bryan felt that the anger that had driven him earlier had dissipated. He studied William a moment. "You don't look good."
"I don't feel good. When they let me feel," William said.
Bryan thought about that a moment, tried to understand what William meant. "Physically? Emotionally?"
"Both."
That left more for Bryan to consider. He saw that William was barely able to stand. "You're here to protect her, right?"
William nodded his reply.
"Let me do it." Bryan took a deep breath before going on. It could have strong consequences if William took him up on his offer. "I should take you in, but you could just leave, right now. You could go to a different city, start over there. I can protect her."
He waited a moment before William answered. "If I go there will be trouble, and if I stay it will be double."
"What?" Bryan asked.
William held up the front of his t-shirt. It was filthy. So covered in grime it was hard to make out Paul Simonon smashing his bass guitar. Bryan had loved that band. But he hadn't played any of their albums, or listened to any other music in two years. "Wrong album," he said.
William stared back. "I'm sorry. In the midst of everything, you want to tell me which album 'Should I Stay or Should I Go' is on?"
"It's a good song. I like The Clash," Bryan said. He looked down at the cell phone, the gun. "You should go," he said.
He watched William look to the side and down the street. Was that where the voices were? "No. I have to be here."
"What they're telling you to do. You don't have to do it."
William turned away from the voices and stared long at Bryan. Bryan waited as William began to shake his head. "Don't you think I know that?" William's voice was even more ragged than before, as if he'd injured his throat somehow. Bryan looked again at the holes burned into the coat. It was smoke inhalation. Bryan remembered it, could almost feel his throat and lungs burning again as they stood in the street.
After a moment, William spoke again. "I know it's my choice. I could try to fight them harder, not give in to what they say. Not let them make me a murderer. I know it's my choice, but it's work that needs to be done. They say it has to be done, that it’s important. And…I think they’re right."
Bryan watched as William sagged for a moment. His shoulders and head drooped forward and he had to lean against the side of Bryan's car. Everything about him spoke of exhaustion. Then William looked up.
"I'm here to protect her. I'll do what I have to," he said.
Stumbling, William took a step and turned away. Bryan walked after him. "Please. Let's get something to eat and talk about this."
William didn't stop. "I'm not hungry."
Bryan watched him walk away.
*
(Author’s note: What do you think, dear readers, is Bryan making a good decision trying to get William to leave, or is he not thinking straight? Let me know what you think! And…get ready for two things in the next chapter: a super creepy moment with Jared…and onion rings! Thanks for the notes and votes! My best to you all!)