Way Down on the High Lonely

10

Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days, be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life,’” Carter intoned.

He stood by the third door in the bunker. The gang lined up on either side, forming a corridor for Carter and Neal to walk down. They were wearing the official uniform of the Sons of Seth-khaki shirts and trousers, brown leather belts and shoulder harnesses, Nazi campaign caps. Nazi-style daggers hung from their belts. On their left sleeves they wore a red armband with the swastika, on the other sleeve a black armband with the SOS symbol, a Christian cross with a flaming sword through it.

Carter opened the door and walked through. Strekker, playing the sergeant-at-arms role, gestured for Neal to follow.

Neal looked straight forward and started to march between the line of men. As he passed, each one touched him on the shoulder and intoned, “Brother.”

Brother, indeed, thought Neal. He felt stupid in his new khaki uniform. He was glad Graham hadn’t been invited to the service, because he never would hear the end of it.

He entered the secret chamber.

It was a chapel. A cross with a sword superimposed hung on the wall above a small altar. The altar was draped in white silk, embroidered on the front was the cross-and-sword motif with the legend “Sons of Seth.” Seven gold candlesticks were set on top, their flames casting the room in a warm, golden glow. A gold plate and a Luger automatic pistol with SS insignia were set in the center.

“Kneel before the altar of Yahweh, brothers,” Carter said. He stood behind the altar. Strekker and Carlisle stood off to the side behind him. The rest sat on the benches arranged like church pews.

“I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending,’ saith the Lord, ‘which is, and which is to come, the almighty.’” Carter said.

Where’s the boy? thought Neal. Bring out the boy.

“Who sponsors this man to become a brother?” Carter asked.

Hansen stepped forward. “I do.”

“Are you bonded in blood?” Carter asked Hansen.

Here we go, Neal thought.

“I am bonded with my brothers in blood,” Hansen said.

Yippee for you. Now bring out the kid.

Carter looked at Neal and said, “Speak your name before Yahweh.”

“Neal Carey.”

Carter looked a little embarrassed, leaned over, and whispered, “Do you have a middle name, Neal?”

“Not that I know about.”

“Okay,” Carter answered. He looked up at the ceiling and intoned, “Oh, Yahweh, look down upon this son of Seth, this child of the white race, this warrior in the struggle for your chosen people, and bless him. Make him brave for battle and give him the strength to do those things which he must do. Amen.”

“Amen,” responded the congregation.

“Neal Carey, do you solemnly swear to devote your life to Yahweh, to his son Jesus Christ, to his apostle and martyr Adolf Hitler, and to the chosen people? If so, say ‘I do.”

“I do.”

“Do you solemnly swear your loyalty to these assembled brothers, your Aryan kinsmen and fellow warriors?”

“I do.” I do already. Where is Cody?

“Repeat after me: I, Neal Carey, do swear to fight to the death beside my Aryan kinsmen, to share their travails and their victories, to keep the code of honor of the Sons of Seth…”

And on and on, as Neal repeated each phrase…

“To never-upon pain of hideous death-divulge the secrets, to never betray my brothers, to wage relentless war on our racial enemies and on race traitors, to avenge my fallen brothers, and to keep Yahweh’s commandments first in my mind and heart.”

Carter mumbled a whole bunch of stuff, then asked, “Has Neal Carey been bonded in blood?”

“He has yet to be bonded in blood,” Hansen recited.

But he thinks he’s about to be, Neal thought. Then he had a delightful thought: maybe Graham has the boy already. Maybe he’s picked every lock in the place and is already on the road with Cody tucked under his arm. Maybe…

“Arise, Brother Neal, and approach the altar.”

Neal stepped up.

Carter picked up the Luger. “Behold the sword of Yahweh. Before you may become a true Son of Seth, you must be bonded in blood with your brothers.”

Swell, Neal thought. Well, drag it out. Give Graham all the time you can. I wonder how’s he’s doing.

“Behold the blood of your enemy.”

Then he knew how Graham was doing, because Carlisle and Strekker brought him out from behind the curtain. He was gagged and his hands were tied behind his back.

They brought Graham to the front of the altar, facing Neal, and removed the gag.

“Yahweh has revealed this man’s treachery. Yahweh has exposed him as a traitor to his race!” Carter yelled.

Neal read Graham’s eyes. He had seen the expression a thousand times, ever since he was a kid. It said do your job.

“It is now time,” Carter said, “for you to prove your loyalty and bond in blood with vour brothers.”

Neal felt the sick, dizzy feeling of terror. This has to be a nightmare, he thought. Any second I’ll wake up screaming.

“Prepare!” Carter ordered.

The boys drew their daggers and stood at attention. Strekker stepped behind Graham and threw him to his knees.

Wake up, Neal told himself. He saw Graham’s jaw tighten and lock.

Carter stepped off the altar, stood beside Neal, and handed him the pistol. Hansen came up on his other side.

“Shoot him,” Hansen instructed in a whisper.

“No.”

“You have to,” Hansen said. “We all have before. You have to kill in front of your brothers to prove your loyalty.”

“I’ve proven it already.” Come on, God. If you’re up there, it’s time to get in the act now. Time to get off the sidelines and make a play. Please, God.

“You won’t be alone,” Hansen urged. “We’ll each stab him after you do it. The final dagger will be yours. That’s what bonds us.”

Neal could feel Graham’s eyes on him, the eyes that said do it, do your job. That’s what I’ve always taught you. Yeah, but you also taught me to think.

“You guys have this all wrong,” Neal said. “He’s one of us. He was in on the job, remember?”

“Sometimes,” Carter said, “ZOG sends agents to trap us. They appear to help us and then testify against us later in ZOG show trials. I prayed to Yahweh and he told me this man was sent by ZOG. But he will not live to set the hounds on us, to reveal our haven. There will be no one to testify. Unless you are a ZOG agent as well, Neal Carey.”

You heard the man, son, Graham thought. Do it. There’s no point in both of us dying. Let’s get it over with. I’m scared shitless here.

Neal avoided Graham’s eyes and looked over his shoulder. Strekker was grinning. Grinning.

The pistol shook in Neal’s hand.

“We caught him snooping around the compound, Neal,” Hansen whispered.

Neal looked back at Graham. Graham stared at him.

“It’s true, kid,” Graham said. “The feds had me on a counterfeiting charge. I couldn’t do another long stretch, not in federal. I agreed to set you up on the robbery.”

Neal read the words behind Graham’s words: the boy, Neal. The boy may still be alive. Focus on the boy.

Neal gripped the pistol handle and raised his arm. These guys aren’t this crazy, he thought. This must be some kind of a test; the gun must be loaded with blanks. They must have given Graham his “confession,” to test whether I’d execute a traitor.

“Do it, Neal,” Hansen whispered. “Then all things will be revealed to you.”

So I pull the trigger, it’s blank, we all have a laugh, and they bring Cody out here. Do it. Pull the trigger.

He pointed the pistol at Graham’s chest.

And if it’s not a blank? Focus on the boy. The boy.

You always taught me precision, Dad: do a thing right the first time and you won’t have to do it again. That’ll leave you time for the important things, like sitting in your easy chair, drinking beer, and watching the Rangers blow a two-goal lead. God, Dad. How many times did you save my life? From the moment you rescued me from the streets to now? How many times?

Neal looked into Graham’s eyes, trying to tell him, I love you, Dad. I love you.

Graham nodded. Then he smiled and said, “Come on, son. Do it. The Yankees suck anyway.”

You are one brave, tough SOB, Joe Graham, Neal thought. He wiped the tears from his cheek with his forearm and aimed the gun again. God. let me be accurate and fast.

He swung the pistol around just as he reached out with his left hand, grabbed Carter by the neck, and hauled him into a forearm choke. He brought the barrel up to Carter’s head.

“Anybody moves, I kill him.”

Nobody moved.

Cal Strekker started to laugh. “There are no bullets in the gun, Neal. It was just a test.”

He dropped into a fighting stance, knees flexed, dagger blade held sideways by his waist. “Looks like you and me is finally going to finish that dance, Neal.” Strekker lunged forward.

Neal started to shift his aim, but Hansen grabbed his wrist and then Strekker was on top of him. Strekker pressed the dagger against Neal’s ribs and took the pistol from him with his free hand. He put the pistol barrel to Neal’s head and said, “I think you flunked the test, Neal buddy.”

Strekker pulled the trigger.

A dry click.

I can still talk myself out of this, Neal thought, even as his knees turned to water.

He heard the door open and saw a drunken women lurch into the room. Doreen stood at the back for a second and surveyed the scene.

“This is some kinky goddamn party you boys is having!” she bellowed. “Remember, I charge extra for this kind of stuff!” She weaved down the aisle.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw Neal. “Hey, I know you! You’re that uppity son of a bitch who was looking for Harley!”

But I don’t think I can talk my way out of this.

“Who are you?” Hansen asked Neal.

Neal was trying to come up with a suitable lie when Doreen staggered into Cal’s arms. “And you,” she said. “You promised to take me to see Harley and Cody. When do I get to see that son of a bitch and my sweet little boy?”

“Right now,” Cal answered. He held her firmly by the back of the neck and drove the dagger into her stomach.

Neal saw Doreen’s eyes widen and her mouth drop open. He watched her stagger backward and heard her gasp. He saw her hold herself and look down where the blood was flowing over her splayed fingers.

Then her knees buckled and she collapsed. She lay rasping on the floor as Cal said, “Harley and your sweet little boy are in hell, honey. And I think you’re almost there.”

“Whore of Babylon!” Carter bellowed. He spat on her, stepped over her writhing body, and walked out.

Hansen followed him, yelling behind him, “Lock those bastards up! I want to find out what they know!”

Neal felt his arms being pinned behind him.

Randy looked at the woman still quivering on the floor.

“Shit, Cal!” he yelled. “I didn’t even get to-”

“So go ahead,” Cal said.

He grabbed Neal and threw him toward the door.

Steve Mills poured a slug of scotch into Karen Hawley’s coffee. She tasted it, made a face, then took another taste. One more of these and she just might accept the Mills’ invitation to spend the weekend.

Besides, it was so damn comfortable in the Mills’ living room. A big old log blazed, hissed, and spattered in the fireplace. The lamps cast a soft glow in the room and the Indian rugs seemed to mute the already quiet evening.

Karen sat on the couch, her stockinged feet tucked underneath her. Peggy sat beside her, sipping a glass of red wine and watching the fire. Steve was in and out of the big chair, alternating between bartending and fire tending.

And there was Shelly. Karen looked over at her as she lay by the fireplace with some thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of chocolate chip cookies. That might be another reason to stay, Karen thought. To try to engage Shelly in a late night conversation about everything that had happened. Peggy had told her that Shelly was doing all right, but just all right. Peggy and Steve had thought about taking her to Reno or even San Francisco to talk to a professional, but Shelly had said it was silly. She didn’t need a therapist because of a bunch of jerks.

But she was quiet. Quiet and sad, which was to be expected, of course. They decided just to give her time. And keep talking about it. That’s what Shelly probably needed, what they all needed, and most likely the unspoken reason for their get-together this night.

And I need to talk about it, Karen thought. She had buried it deep, the hurt, the anger, the disappointment. They had talked about everything else, about racists, white supremacists, the Hansens, the True Identity Church, Cal Strekker. But they hadn’t talked about Neal Carey. Nobody had mentioned Neal.

“I didn’t even know,” Karen said after another sip of coffee, “that you were Jewish.”

“I barely knew it myself,” answered Steve. “My father was an atheist. We didn’t talk about it.”

“His old man was thrilled when we got married by a justice of the peace,” Peggy said, and she and Steve chuckled at the memory when she added, “My parents weren’t so delighted.”

Steve said, “I mean, we didn’t go to synagogue, we sure as hell don’t keep kosher… I don’t wear one of those beanies-”

“Yarmulke,” Shelly corrected, not looking up from the puzzle.

“Shelly brought some books home from the school library,” Peggy explained to Karen.

Well, that’s a good sign, Karen thought. “Do you see Jory in school?” she asked.

“I think he dropped out.”

“Such a waste,” said Karen. She decided to jump in with both feet. “And how are you doing, kid?”

Shelly craned her neck up from the puzzle. “I’m doing okay. I’m not very happy… and I don’t feel like a teenager anymore and I’m mad about that… but I’m doing okay. How are you doing, Karen?”

Well, I guess you’re not a teenager anymore, Karen thought. And I guess I owe you an adult answer. “I’m doing lousy. I feel awful about what happened, I feel awful Neal was… is… part of it. To tell you the truth, Shelly, he broke my heart.”

“Mine too.”

There was a long silence before Peggy said, “The valley doesn’t seem the same anymore.”

“It isn’t,” answered Steve. “It’s infected. It’s sick.”

“God damn Bob Hansen,” Peggy said.

Karen had never heard that kind of anger from her before. Sure, she’d heard Peggy bitch about Steve smoking, or seen her blow up at Shelly for some teenage sin, but she’d never heard the cold bitterness she now heard in her friend’s voice.

Steve said, “I think Bob just couldn’t handle it after Barb died. He was angry and confused and looking for something to hold onto, and unfortunately, the first thing he came to was this church and this race thing. You know Bob, when he does something, he does it all the way.”

Peggy rolled her eyes and looked affectionately at her husband. “Steve would make excuses for the devil.”

“Well, he’d need some help if you got on his tail.”

“I don’t know,” said Karen, “it just feels like we should do something.”

Steve answered. “We’re doing it. We’re going on with our lives, just like always. Only better-because this year I’m buying Christmas and Hanukkah presents. Double holidays from now on. Hell, maybe I’ll find out great-grandma was a Buddhist or a Hindu or something, and then we can have those holidays too.”

Shelly looked up from her puzzle and gave him an “Oh, Daddy” look.

“Well, I said I was a Jew,” Steve answered. “I didn’t say I was a good Jew.”

“Speaking of which,” said Peggy. “Tomorrow night we’re having a little celebration.”

A celebration? Karen thought. She didn’t feel much like celebrating, but she knew that’s exactly when you should. And maybe there was something to celebrate. After all, she’d found out about Neal Carey before it was too late.

She lifted her cup and said, “So, long, Neal. Good riddance.”