Chapter Four

“Deals With Righteous Devils”

 

 

It was a plain office building at the outskirts of town. An unmarked building with fading yellow paint and window shades for privacy.

What evil the building concealed was less evident, the plans, schemes, a future devoid of today’s society and its many varieties of people. A place of evil as innocent as a common oleander plant growing in a local neighborhood.

Inside an innocent lobby, Steve sat on a couch as a white blonde haired woman exited the door, throwing him a polite smile. A smile that concealed an evil hatred he was a part of. A hatred and fear of the today and future that it would become. Blind to an emerging, larger world yet discovered or accepted for its divisiveness. A world none-the-less that it turned its ugly back to.

It seemed an endless time and he began to wonder if they would see him, after all, his was a problem of huge proportions that only a group of white men could solve, or so he pondered in a mind that had lost touch with reality. A mind that was of a past, long ago abandoned by those who saw a future that is, not was.

The door opened and Steve stood up to shake hands with a man, whose modest smile hid his intentions well. A man of evil plans, yet to be implemented.

Steve Kennedy was that man, and he had heard these stories all too often. He was a hardened racist, who felt the world should be rid of every nigger that lived upon it. If they were black, they were slack, or so he thought.

If only every black man was a slave again, or better, deported back to Africa, how grand America would once again be, after all, having slaves was one of the biggest mistakes the forming United States Government had created amongst other things.

Why stop there? If they had only stopped Chinks from coming into the country for the railroads, China would never have threatened the United States of America, and then there were the brown people from South of the border and the carpetbagger Jews, too.

However today, they were to meet with the major problem of Niggers; after all they had to deal with one group at a time.

“Mister Schweinfert, my name is Kennedy, Steve Kennedy. I understand that you are looking to join a white support group, but first I need to ask you your religion.”

“Born again, fucking born again, and nothing less than that.”

“I see,” Kennedy grinned. “We can’t be too careful but to screen blue people, the Kike’s you know. Backstabbers and carpetbaggers, all of em.”

“Yeah I know the types,” Steve shrugged. “Is there somewhere that we can sit and talk? I got a nigga issue.”

There was a moment when both men were eye-to-eye and there seemed a moment of pause. Then Steve Kennedy broke the silence and pointed to an open door. “By all means.”

Both men entered the office where Schweinfert took a seat in a brown leather chair that hugged him, while Kennedy went to the window, glimpsing out at an orchard of trees in the background and the Tehachapi’s in the eastern distance. He turned and sat on the edge of his mahogany desk, and thought a moment. “You ain’t a Jew?” Kennedy asked.

“Nope, though it sounds that way,” Steve Schweinfert replied. “I am somewhat of a Baptist, of German origin actually, as were the Nazis and they hated kikes and niggers too."

“Well I suppose a Bible nigger is better than a kosher nigger,” Kennedy grinned. "See, here’s the problem. There are many types of niggers out there. I do have to ask these questions as not all white American’s are for our group. You do understand, don’t you?”

“Yes I do. Now tell me what classification this one is.” Schweinfert was more interested in figuring out what he was up against, then anything else and Kennedy knew he could play on this guy.

Well, let’s find out what you have,” Kennedy took a seat in his chair behind the desk. “I’ll ask you again, Mr. Schweinfert, are you any other religion, other then a Christian?”

“Nope, I’m just a plain Christian Baptist, period.”

“Very good, cause we don’t want others in this branch…we are exclusive. Let me give you a few non black niggers for example.”

“Go ahead,” Schweinfert grinned.

“For example you might be a Bible nigger as previously mentioned. Those are the types of Christians who love regular niggers. Then you could be a Jew, what we classify as a Kosher nigger, you know the type, backstabbers all of them. You could be from the Arab world of Islam and that would make you a Sand nigger. From the Orient you become a Rice Patty nigger, and south of the border come the Taco niggers. Then you got Catholics who are Papal niggers, though them folks don’t cause too many problems. Injun’s well, those are Buffalo niggers, and finally you got one of the most contemptuous niggers or faggots as we sometimes call em, who like it in the mouth and anus, we call those Anal niggers.”

Schweinfert broke a laugh. “That’s a lot of niggers that aren’t black.”

“Sure is. Now let’s get to the group with the most classifications and that is your niggers themselves. First ya got the unemployed one, who sits on the porch. That would be your—”

“Porch nigger,” Schweinfert laughed.

“Then you got your blacks working in the fields, used to be they picked cotton. Them are called—“

“Field niggers,” Schweinfert added, crossing his arms and grinning.

“Very good Mister Schweinfert. Next you got your Business nigger. They like to seize control of businesses and hire their own kind, firing everybody that ain’t a nigger.”

“Then you got the political niggers; they cheat their way into office and promote nigger only issues for themselves. There are also Legal niggers, with big mouths, who go hand in hand with the Political ones,” he illustrated casually. “Remember that black case where some amusement park nigger killed a white, had a big-mouthed Legal nigger to defend em. Next are the niggers who aid the Legal ones…they’re called Badged niggers, and they carry guns legally, so that makes them very dangerous,” he continued.

“Then you got your average City nigger roaming the streets. Those are usually in gangs or just everywhere. Finally you got your Stage nigger, those you see more and more on television and in movies. I dread the day when they will all be everywhere replacing good white folk actors, but its coming, cause the Political and Legal niggers will make it happen.”

"Yeah, I do see it,” Schweinfert replied wiping his forehead. “But what about my Lana, I need help? My girl’s started a relationship with this wealthy nigger.”

“She was converted into a White nigger, and that my boy is why we have at least 20 different classifications of niggers, which includes the plain God damned nigger themselves, every one of them,” Kennedy told him, as their smiles disappeared. “You know that’s happening all over country. These niggers hit on them at clubs, bars and parks. Ever since that court ruling in the mid sixties by those judges, it’s been getting more intense.”

“I just got done wrecking that business nigger’s BMW,” Schweinfert chuckled, “and figured it’s the least I could do for him.” He stood up, placing his hands at his side in frustration as his smile disappeared. “I want her back, and I don’t care what it takes, she’s mine.”

“Do you know why these white women take to these niggers?” Kennedy asked.

“No, I don’t,” Schweinfert replied. “Why don’t you clue me in?”

“It’s all about the 3 D’s. Dope, Dollars and Dicks,” Kennedy relaxed in his chair as Schweinfert sat back down. “You see, the problem is, once a nigger sticks his dick in a white woman, she becomes hypnotized. It’s an exotic feeling for them, and then nine months later they squirt out a couple of black kids. Always happens that way,” Kennedy shook his head. “Once he’s in her, she’s going to have black babies. It breeds white society out of existence.”

“I didn’t realize that perspective on it, but why just black kids?”

“Because the gene for niggers inside white women somehow takes over,” Kennedy replied. “There are ways to stop this, and we prefer not to go the violent route when possible. Instead, we prefer to work within the system, to change it to our advantage. In your case, I believe we can assist you to some degree, but you do understand that you’ll have to join our group and make a sizable financial contribution upon being accepted. Think of it Mister Schweinfert, as a commitment to establishing old traditions in a new way.”

“So you guys are different than normal Klan groups?”

“Yes,” Kennedy stood up, turning and glancing out the window. “We are very different. Though I will tell you, the Klan is changing to protect white people’s rights in Washington D.C. and California among many other places in America, bank on it.” He turned around leaning across his desk, glaring down at Schweinfert. “One last thing.”

“What’s that?”

“If this woman of yours sticks with him, she will have been fully converted into a white nigger and you will have lost her for good. The only thing you can do is take the business nigger down. Are you ready to join us?”

Schweinfert stood up out of that comfortable leather chair. He leaned across the desk eye-to-eye with Kennedy, cracking a big smile, as did Kennedy. “For that nigger, I’m more then ready.”

 

Wesley exited his office and approached Stella who broke a polite and somewhat sensuous smile at him. “Good work on saving those Canadian properties,” he winked. “If I move up in the company, you will move with me.”

“Well that’s what I like to hear from the man.”

Wesley checked his watch, holding his chin a moment. “Say,” he asked her. “Could you dial Lana for me?”

Stella’s smile turned romantic. “Sure can. I’ll call her now.” She dialed the number in, and turned to Wesley who walked back into his office. “She’s on line two.”

Wesley anxiously grabbed the line. “It’s me, Wes. I’ll be getting off in a bit. Can I pick you up?” He took a deep breath, his heart racing as a moment lingered. “Good, I’ll see you shortly.” He hung up the line, exiting the office, coat on his arm. He stopped a moment as the day had drawn down and the sun set low in the Western sky. “Stella,” he told her, as she expected to go home too. “You can go as soon as my database is updated. It's nice having a girl in my life.”

It wasn’t what she had been expecting to hear from the boss. “Thanks,” she replied in a sarcastic after-tone. "Nice having one in my life too," she quietly mumbled to herself, rolling her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, making his way to the elevator door. She just shook her head, and then tended to her responsibilities as he entered the elevator and the doors closed behind him.

 

It was a deserted street with the exception of the one car parked outside. Inside the liquor store, Damon’s hand, and trigger finger were busy as he held the forty-five and Silencer to the forehead of the clerk. He was that older Asian Clerk, a fine fellow and well liked chap whose life was on the line. “Hurry Muther Fucka,” Damon threatened as the Clerk finished complying by filling the rest of the bag on the counter. With his left hand, Damon grabbed the bag.

“Please do not hurt me, I have a wife and two kids,” the Clerk pleaded for his life, glancing up once to glimpse Damon’s ski mask. Then he complied as Damon shoved him, pistol whipping him down to the ground.

The Clerk was clearly shaking, trembling, at the last moments that could be his life. His body lay very still, while Damon glanced around the store ceiling and walls. He spotted no visible cameras, and with that, he shot the Clerk to the back of the head.

It was a quite but stunning shot as he watched the blood splat. Damon turned from behind the counter and made his escape, exiting the building casually, gun tucked away, ski mask off.

He made his way to his car and got in. Damon cranked the engine and drove off. This was another of a long list that he could add to his repertoire of employment accomplishments.

Damon lifted his car phone from the center console and dialed Kerry’s number. “Hey baby, it’s me. Ready for some more of my black experience?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” she was primed and ready. “I’ll wait up for you,” she hung up. Not five seconds after that, her phone rang again. She picked it up.

“Please give me another chance,” it was a sorrowful tone, begging forgiveness. Fred seemed so willing yet did she really want to deal with this guy again, when she had Damon.

“It’s over, finis, kaput,” she delighted. “I don’t want you bothering me, besides I have a black man now. After last night, you made a total jerk of yourself, and you embarrassed me as well. I have your reply and it’s NO! NO…NO,” she slammed the phone down.

On the other end, her slamming the phone down caused Fred to fumble with his receiver as he dropped it, grabbed the cord and then put it on the hook. Off to the side of the phone on the table was a three-eighty semi automatic pistol.

He took it in hand, put it to his head, and with the sorry look of a loser whose luck had gone from bad to worse, he squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened. Fred then took the gun and turned it to look at the tip. It was silent, as though it was tormenting the poor guy, trying to say ‘I’m not gonna kill ya tonight.’ He plopped the gun down on the table and bam; the damned thing went off. It was just his luck, depending on how he looked at it. Had he actually been saved by an angel or was it a devil that tormented him more?

Wesley and Lana were seated in an elegant downtown Bakersfield restaurant on the West side. It was a romantic candlelight dinner for two, in a corner of the establishment that lent them their privacy together. “Tell me more about your work.”

“I run the Western and Central divisions for Chemical Oil in Oildale. My main function right now is to make property assessments and acquisitions.” He sat back and sipped some California Chardonnay. “But I may have a shot at the board,” he rolled his eyes, “maybe, eventually CEO. What about you?”

She seemed reserved, almost embarrassed to tell him what her living was, that after all was she really going out with this guy because he was rich or something else? She took a moment to grasp his hand and fondle his finger, displaying her best face.

“Right now, I’m a supermarket cashier. It’s been a struggle since my father died, and I’ve been keeping my mother’s home from going into foreclosure. I have a feeling that things will be better now that Steve is out of the way.”

“Why do you say that about Steve?”

She glanced down a moment, letting go of his hand. “Because he used to take money from my purse. He’s somewhat of an alcoholic.”

“And a prejudiced racist at that. How bad is your mother’s financial situation?” Wesley’s expression turned serious as he listened to her further plight, but he had to know what he was dealing with, whom he was getting involved with and where it could lead.

“If we had an emergency,” she told him with a tear welling up under her blue eye. “It would put both my mother and myself out on the street.”

He reclined in the chair, hands steeped together, staring at her with a deadly serious look of concern as he pondered some thoughts. “I see,” he replied to her as she glanced up at him. “I have a very personal question to ask you.”

She wiped the tear and glanced into his eyes, as if mesmerized by his question and the moment. “Yes,” she responded rather impatient, uncertain what he was about to ask.

“Are you a virgin?” Wesley asked flat out with that serious expression.

She suddenly spurted a quick laugh, as did he with the question asked. It was a sort of embarrassing laugh at that, but one that broke the horrid moment into a less serious time, that brought both of them back to a candlelight dinner and romance. “No, I’m not,” she replied, her laugh disappearing. “But I am not a promiscuous person either.”

Wesley leaned across the table grasping both of her hands. “I’m a virgin,” he told her. Her jaw dropped down as the news caught her off-guard.

“You mentioned you have a mother, what about your father?” she asked him, gripping his hands a bit tighter.

“My father is dead. He died long ago from high blood pressure, he had a fatal stroke. I was their only child. As for my mother, she’s in the hospital, she’s dying.” She could see the sad loss in his eyes.

It seemed that the two of them had much sadness in their lives and yet together they made a happy couple. Nevertheless, if there was a time to get to know the facts about each other and get the negatives out of the way, this was it.

“From what is she dying?” Lana asked.

He paused a moment, taking a deep breath. The words were almost choking him from speaking, but he fought it and then found what he had to reply. “Cancer,” he sighed. Wesley paused took a deep breath and rolled his eyes anywhere but on her as he ate the word. It was almost too painful for him to say much more, but he knew he had to get the words out.

“She has liver cancer and its terminal for her.” The tears welled up in his eyes as he continued to fight the loss and the thought of what was happening in this part of his life.

Oh how he loved his mother, a lady that had raised him all those years, always caring and nurturing his every need and attention that arose and yet she was disappearing from his life and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to stop it from happening, but watch.

It was the most hopeless and awful feeling; saying a permanent good-bye from this world knowing he may never see her again. “Maybe a month at best until her time’s up. She doesn’t really know much about us.”

The emotion from this man rubbed off on Lana too, and he could see it in her eyes. She was sharing his pain as well. She almost was ready to cry, when she took a moment of pause, then broke a polite smile and told him, “I’d like to meet your mother.” It was an inner strength that allowed her to change on a dime with such outward strength while feeling the pain within that Wesley felt.

Those words brought Wesley about, as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Would you really?” he asked, grasping her hands again.

“Yes,” she smiled even more. “Yes, I would. Can we stop by tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes, that would be great.”

“Good,” she replied. “I had feelings for you the moment I saw you. I can’t explain it, but I think I love you.”

“I’ve had those same feelings, Lana. I can’t explain it either, but everything just feels so right, as though it’s in my blood, my soul and my heart. You do know that there will be people objecting to this?” he added.

“It’s not for them to decide my life,” she replied. “It’s our lives and it’s our decisions. We should be able to make our own decisions without others telling us what we can or cannot do. Besides, whatever happened to the constitution in this great and free country of ours?”

 

Damon had Kerry on her back in his bedroom, as he fucked her as hard as possible. He pumped her again and again, while the stench of the marijuana filled the home. She was moaning with every thrust of his black penis into her soft velvety white buns and he pumped her like she had not received in a long time, as she began to orgasm. Then he started in on her again when the door to the house opened, by a pair of keys and Damon’s sister Priscilla Washington and her two black girlfriends, who stood aghast at what her brother was doing.

“Bitch, don’t ya’ all know better then to knock on my door first,” he roared while Kerry moaned again, shooting cum all over the sofa.

“What you doing with that white woman…man?” Priscilla scolded. “You is destroying black culture, having sex with that white woman. Is she some kind of whore?”

“Whore, you call me a whore,” Kerry started to sit up, as she shot back in a whiny and high voice. She was clearly stoned by the marijuana Damon had gotten her on.

“Shut the fuck up,” Damon slapped Kerry back down on the bed. Then he turned his angry scowl at his sister and her friends. “You all git da fuck outta dis room. This white bitch is mine,” he threatened lifting his forty-five from an end table, while Kerry, so high from the marijuana, just laughed. His sister fuming turned with the other girls and they exited, the bedroom door slamming behind them.

Damon set the gun back down, then turned, hovering over Kerry. “Don’t you ever question me again bitch…ya all understand,” he threatened, then forced a passionate hard kiss on her till she was almost suffocating. He thrust into her again and this time he fucked her hard enough to make her scream in ecstasy and shoot again, when the phone outside the room rang. He was so busy bouncing her on his bed springs in that room, that he never got the call.

Priscilla did however as she picked it up. “Hi, this is Fred. I’m calling to try and speak to Kerry.”

“She’s busy right now having sex with my brother,” Priscilla replied. “You sound like her white boy.”

“I am,” he got desperate and she picked up on it. “I must talk to her,” he insisted, as his tone became more desperate.

“Gimme yer number honey.” Priscilla wrote it down on a small paper. “I tell her you called.”

“Tell her I love her and it’s been lonely without her. I must talk to her, please give her my message.” Priscilla hung up the phone.

In the bedroom, Damon was struggling to get his pants zipped up, while a topless Kerry walked around the bed. Then he opened the door and exited to his sister and her friends, whom the both of them were getting high on their own marijuana cigarette. “Who was that…woman?” Damon asked his sister.

“That was her ex-boyfriend.” Priscilla turned an eye to Kerry. “He said you can have this white whore.”

With those words spoken, a still high Kerry took a jab at Priscilla as Damon got in between the ladies, and Priscilla’s friends were ready to attack Kerry as well. It had become a fast tense moment. “Get your black ass outta my home and take your friends wit you,” Damon roared. The women started for the door as he turned to Kerry holding her in his arms. “They ain’t gonna bother you and me no more,” he told her.

At the open door, Priscilla turned around. “That’s what you think honey.” She swung an evil eye at Kerry. “It’s just getting started for you sugar,” she cracked a rancid grin. “I swear its just starting for you.” Then they slammed the main door shut.

Outside the house, Priscilla turned to both her friends near her car. She held the note she had jotted with Fred’s phone number. “Ooh baby. I don’t like that white woman with my brother. I show her. I got her boyfriend’s name and number,” she threatened, folding the paper and putting it in her purse.

Meanwhile, inside, Damon unbuttoned his shirt. “Don’t worry baby. I’ll handle dem bitches.”

“The way you handled me?” Kerry asked, her arms crossed.

“That was a show, woman, nothing but a show. I have some friends coming over for a good time. I’m gonna see they take care of us. It’ll be our party, just you and us guys.”

They both laughed a moment. She was still very much high from the marijuana as he offered her a fresh reefer to hit on. She took a puff, coughed, paused, and then laughed again. “I…I’m starting to like this black experience,” she stuttered, laughing even more with him.

“Hey baby, you better get ready, woman. I got friends for you to entertain.” With those words of his, she burst out laughing even louder. “Git your panties off bitch then hop on the bed. You is becoming a working woman now.”

She complied with his wishes and got back on the bed, as he handed her another few hits on the marijuana. “Baby, you gonna get the triple black experience tonight.”

Suddenly, she cried almost turning from an instance of laughter to crying out loud “I’m not a whore.”

“No you ain’t,” Damon reassured her. “You’s a woman. Now git ready to womanize my friends,” he smiled giving her yet another hit. “I might let you have some of their money when they is done,” he whispered.

 

Wes and Lana were just finishing their dinner. “This really was exquisite of you. I enjoyed this very much,” she squeezed his hand gently. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he smiled, plopping his Visa card onto the waiter’s payment tray. He glanced up at her. “What did you and your friend Kerry discuss about this guy Damon?”

“Well,” Lana replied with a slight bit of hesitancy. “He slept with her that first night. But, she said he treated her nicely.”

“Well, I suppose if he is a gentleman, and she is that happy,” Wesley speculated.