“You supposed to treat us like Geneva,” Ruby said.
“Geneva?” Justice could only recall a gas station he’d once robbed in Geneva, Indiana.
“There are rules to play fair.”
Jenkins’s laugh was friendly. “You talking Golden Rule?”
Do unto others, Kate always said that. She tried to be fair. Too fair, Ruby thought. As you would have them …
“Golden Rule to spy,” Justice said.
“We don’t do that,” Ruby protested.
“You spying now,” he grimaced.
Eli sauntered into the clearing. He had changed into sun-dried jeans, a denim shirt, and red bandanna. On his head was a Stetson with a rattlesnake band. He was still barefoot, his cut bandaged, his amber toenails gnarled, his heels toughened like hooves.
“What you doing with them?” he asked.
“Wringing out the truth,” Justice said, placing a well-thumbed Bible in Quinn’s hand. “Full name.”
“Quinn Ryan Bass,” he mumbled.
“Race?”
“Race is a false construct,” Quinn said. He’d studied the invention of whiteness in the aftermath of Bacon’s Rebellion in 1676.
“Race?” Eli repeated.
“Other,” Quinn said.
“That’ll do. Write them both down as Other.”
“Family religion?” Eli asked, lifting his mirrored aviator sunglasses. “Baptist,” Quinn said.
“Is that normal Baptist or nigger Baptist?” Justice winked at the cadets. “Fainting, fanning, hollering, snakes, speaking in tongues?”
Quinn wished he had the courage to leap on Justice’s neck and rip out his tongue. It was the most violent urge that had ever possessed him. No doubt a suicide mission for him and a death warrant for Ruby.
“Baptist that is no respecter of persons,” Quinn said.
No respecter of persons, Justice had never heard the phrase. He liked it.
“Student of what?” Eli asked.
Quinn stretched the truth. “Engineering,” he said.
The brothers nodded their approval. It was an asset to have an engineer on any operation.
Eli passed the Bible to Ruby. She opened it randomly and read.
Rescue me, O my God, from the hand of the wicked, from the grasp of the unjust and cruel man.
Jenkins grabbed it and flipped to Ezekiel 16.
Have you not committed lewdness in addition to all your abominations? Behold, every one who uses proverbs will use this proverb about you, ‘Like mother, like daughter.’
“You don’t know my mother!” Ruby cried.
“I see the fruit of her labor.”
“You see nothing,” Ruby spat.
“Wildcat,” Eli throbbed with admiration.
“Name and occupation?”
She deferred to Quinn. “Ruby Rosen Ryan, high-school dropout.”
“Mother’s religion?”
“Buddhish,” she smiled.
“Buddhish,” Eli chortled.
Justice Jenkins combed his beard with his forefinger. He was indecisive. Eli’s doubt made him more indecisive.
“Send them back to the river,” Eli said.
“To the brig!” Justice shouted obstinately.
Joab poked Ruby and Quinn with a billy club, directing them to the hatch of the tank and down the gangway into a rusty hull. It was stifling hot and stank of oil. Armed with club, whistle, and megaphone, Joab stood guard at the top of the hatch, practicing to be a warrior.
After fifteen minutes, he was drowsy and bored. He slouched against the turret. He shut his eyes and let his legs and boots dangle into the open hatch.
At suppertime, the prisoners were ordered out of the tank and seated between Justice and Eli. Eli delivered his blessing on the food and a prosperous future for Patriot Park. At the end of the blessing, he sang a hymn and fondled Ruby’s head. The camp cadets and the three pagans sat around the table with a half-dozen children. The camp’s women did not sit. They stood nearby with platters of lumpy rice, canned corn and peas, and a huckleberry crumble for dessert.
Halfway through the crumble, they heard a shot from the direction of the fire road. The women grabbed the children and fled to the woods where they’d been instructed to hide in case of invasion. Justice and Eli sprinted up the path. Eli carried a double-barrel shotgun. Justice had his riot knife in one hand and Army handgun in the other. Justice could run like an Olympian in an emergency. It was the only time he was pain-free.
Minutes later, the brothers and Shem, the camp’s chief cadet, appeared with two men, hands tied behind their backs and shackled together with ankle cuffs.
Ruby swooned onto Quinn’s shoulder.
“I thought I accidentally killed you!”
“Accidental, my ass,” Troy’s eyes boiled.
A frightened Dom appraised the quasi-military dress of the cadets, the Asatru skinheads, the Sherman tank, and the alarmed teenage women with infants and toddlers who’d crept back to the perimeter of the camp. Finally his eyes singled out Ruby and Quinn.
“The girl with the disease?” he asked.
“Shut up!” Troy hissed.
“I found them at Bargamin,” Shem said. “When I asked if they seen a woman and small child, him,” indicating Troy, “responded, ‘Yo no.’ The other dude, ‘Yo yeah.’ Then, numero one kicked numero two in the balls.”
Justice had Shem untie Dom’s hands and hand him the Bible. Dom pinched his nose to test if he was dreaming. He’d often used the pinch test but only once had he actually been asleep.
“Dominic Angelo Gambolli,” Dom said.
“Religion?” Eli prompted.
“Catholic, sir.”
Disapprobation ran through Patriot Park. Catholic was as bad as Jew. Even the small children recognized these as dirty words.
“Is Dominic a lazy boy’s name?”
Justice Jenkins was toying with him, the cadets knew that. They’d been toyed with too. It was part of the training.
“It’s Italian, sir. Everyone calls me ‘Dom.’”
“Do you also answer to dago, guinea, wop, and goombah?” Justice asked.
“That’s not a fair question, sir,” Dom said.
The others waited for a reaction. A slap, a punch, a whipping with a belt? However, Justice Jenkins approved of Dominic Gambolli’s honesty. They also knew his approval was double-edged.
“Are you related to anyone present?”
“I been saying he’s my uncle.” Dom looked at Troy.
Troy focused solely on Ruby. Like predator on prey, he’d now have his chance.
“Is your relationship a fact?” Justice Jenkins asked, demonstrating to his followers what it took to get at the truth. Most of all, patience. Patience was more reliable than torture. Justice had been tortured and he’d lied.
“No, sir,” Dom said.
“Is it a lie?”
“I guess so,” Dom admitted.
Jenkins frowned. He blamed himself for these intrusions. He had been distracted by domestic strife and Lucas’s illness. He blamed Hazel. She’d run off to the outside world and left a trail behind for everyone to follow.
Troy eagerly laid his hand on the Bible. “Edwin Ryan, Texan, employed as private tracker, Christian born and raised, called to Church of Christ.” He knew exactly who he was. “E-d-w-i-n and R-y-a-n,” he spelled it out.
“Edwin Ryan is my cousin’s honorable name which he stole, sir,” Quinn objected. “Ruby, show them your dad’s ID bracelet.”
Ruby held out her wrist.
“No, she stole that bracelet from me,” Troy said.
The commander turned to Dominic, a boy with genuine American appeal, healthy skin, glossy dark hair, and an expression in his eye that was direct.
“Mr. Gambolli, what you think?”
“Me, sir?”
“Let’s start at the beginning. Where do you live?”
“Albuquerque, sir.”
“Your parents?”
“My parents are Big Angelo and Patty. They own a pizza restaurant near the university, sir.”
“They make thick crust and thin crust?”
“Thin, thick, Neapolitan, Sicilian, New York style, and Chicago deep dish. Chicago is the house specialty.”
“Do you know about pizza’s sacred formula?” Justice asked him.
Dom admitted he did not. “I’m vegan, sir. I don’t eat meat or cheese or anything that ever had a mother.”
“Plain tomato sauce without cheese, that don’t cut it,” Justice said.
“Probably not, sir.”
“Believe it or not, pizza has been a very special gift in my life,” he said.
“I believe it, sir.”
Justice Jenkins often invoked pizza in his teachings. Pizza was a universal. It worked as a metaphor for both part and whole. The entire pie, that was the organism. The pieces, plain or embellished with toppings, were individuals. How the pieces fit into the whole, that was the social organization. How the whole created an indivisible entity, that was religion. Pizza’s appeal crossed generations. Its flavors satisfied most palettes. It could be used as a topo map, a battleground, and a spiritual force field. The boxes also came in handy for target practice.
“I like Italians,” Justice said. “They have Jesus in their heart. They have a whole lot of other crap too but let’s say I-ti is okay by me. They make good jokes and racing cars. Most of all, they invented pizza. How the heck did you get mixed up with these folks?”
Dom pointed at Quinn and Ruby. “I don’t know them, sir.”
“And Mr. Ryan?”
“Last year, my car broke down in Bakersfield. He got me going again. Then, out of the blue, he called me a few days ago. He wondered if I could drive him to Idaho. I thought it might be fun.”
“Wasn’t it?” Troy commented.
“Down at Lazy OK, that’s fun.”
“You meet a woman and small child?”
“Late afternoon, we saw them.”
“Looking for a goddamn doctor?” Jenkins blasphemed under his breath.
“Mr. Ryan said we couldn’t help them. We didn’t have time because of the girl.” Dom regarded Ruby with pity. “She’s got a global disease.”
Justice Jenkins’s small eyes fixed on Ruby. He directed Eli to include in the notes, “Ruby Rosen Ryan contaminated.”
Ruby started to cry out but Snorri caught her attention. A movement of his hand sufficed to warn her. It was as if he were saying that he’d handle it. During supper, he never took his eyes off her. She refused to look at him but she felt him burn a hole in her with his mind.
“Where’s your real daddy now?” Justice asked Ruby.
She twisted the bracelet around her wrist. “Dead,” she said.