The Race by James H. Jackson

Author:James H. Jackson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Race riots, South Africa, Ku Klux Klan, Revolution, kkk
Publisher: James H. Jackson
Published: 2013-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

The USA

‘What’s taken you so long, Special Agent?’

Prison grey, prison blue. It was the same picture as before. Things changed slowly in a maximum-security jail like San Quentin. Krista viewed the man, the arrogance of low-life – no life – staring her out, making her out. Making out with her in his mind. He was manacled again, seated, she standing with her back to the mirrored one-way panel and reflecting his gaze. A sterile room for a sterile meeting. Except he would enjoy it, would invest it with the commitment of a hardened woman-hater, the enthusiasm of a sadist with a close-proximity target. Getting off on a visitor was partial substitute for getting off at the parole board. Good behaviour was irrelevant. The only early release would be in his pants.

He tilted his head, eyes jeering, tried once more. ‘You come to see me cry over the niggers that got whacked on the route outside Selma?’

‘A lot of people died. Women, children.’

‘Boo-hoo. My face is wet.’ His expression crumpled, then brightened as quickly. ‘Man, that was some kind of air display. Once in a lifetime.’

‘I was there.’

‘I was here.’

‘Figures. Hope you didn’t waste the hard-on.’

‘Hope you’re not wasting my time.’ He would be difficult to flush out, a survivor confident in his position, secure in his redoubt. The prison authorities had yet to unearth his communications links, the command structures. But he would feature somewhere. It accounted for his longevity, his continued health while other white supremacists expired. Everything pointed to membership of a higher group, a secret cell, the Forresters.

‘Heard the news about Professor Duncan Pitt?’

‘Who?’ Uninterested, disingenuous.

‘Thought he’d be your patron saint.’

‘You just love to come here and tease, don’t you, Miss Althouse? Brought your nigger boyfriend Special Agent Wood to watch?’ He bent round to peer towards the mirror.

‘Heard the news about Professor Pitt?’ she repeated.

‘Nice try. There’s desperation in your eyes. Same look those bitches had when I took ’em and cut ’em.’ He scanned her face, waiting for reaction. ‘Yeah, I heard about Pitt.’

‘Want to comment?’

‘The food in here is shit. That do?’

‘You believe Al Azania’s Union League was responsible? You think the blacks did it?’

The head waggled playfully, cheeks sucked in. ‘Gee, I guess so. Who gives a fuck? He was a soft target, obvious target. Controversial motherfucker.’

‘Certainly was.’

‘Azania’s attacked him in public, the nigger high command’s taken casualties.’ A shrug. ‘Matter of time.’

‘How’s your time? You survived the first round, what about the second? As you say, African-Americans are pissed. You’re an obvious target too.’

‘You ask a fuck-load of questions, FBI woman. Means you’ve got squat, don’t have answers.’

She rested her hands on the back of the empty chair facing him. ‘There’s an answer in every question you evade.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning it’s odd you’re still alive, unless you’re plugged into the magic circle, the chosen few. It’s odd that when Duncan Pitt died, his house was turned over, his computers, disks and files taken. He was interrogated – brutally. Implies he knew things.’

‘More than you, Special Agent.

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