Page 91 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
“What!” He reeled back for a moment, then started laughing. “Okay. I guess that solves the long-distance problem. How do you feel about dating an unemployed guy who lives with his parents?”
“Depends. Is he a redhead with sexy Celtic tattoos?”
“He is, yes.”
She smiled. “Then I guess I’m just fine with it.”
4.
Before they went their separate ways, Lyle dragged Russ over to his MKPD vehicle for a confab. “Look.” He leaned against the car door. “You do realize you’re at least temporarily retired, right?”
Russ stuffed his gloves in his coat pocket. “Of course I do.”
Lyle wordlessly gestured toward Clare’s car, where Clare and the ranger were talking.
“Okay, one.” Russ held up a finger. “You know damn well Clare will go whether I do or not. Two,” he held up another, “Kevin and I are the only people who can actually ID these guys on sight. And three,” he pointed toward Terrance, “he and Knox are two swornemployedlaw enforcement officers.”
“Yeah. Neither of whom have any jurisdiction in Albany.” Lyle sighed. “Go on. I’ll do what I can to back you up. But later? We’re having a long talk about your ‘retirement,’” he air-quoted, “and finding you something you can do. Legally.” He opened his car door.
Russ grinned. “Maybe the staties are hiring.”
“God forbid.”
Kevin and Knox emerged from the truck depot as Lyle and the deputy were pulling out of the parking area. Russ wanted to debrief Kevin and loop Paul in, so he grabbed his former officer right before he followed Knox into Clare’s car.
Kevin squeezed in between supplies on the narrow bench seat in the rear of Paul’s truck. He shoved a backpack tent out of the way and set a box of granola bars on his lap. “Someday, I’m not going to be the youngest in every situation, and get the crappiest position.”
“Don’t hurry it, my man, your thirties are coming for you fast.” Paul grinned at Russ. “You remember your thirties, right, Chief?”
“Oh, yeah, I had just gotten out of the Union Army after the CivilWar.” He angled himself as best he could to address Kevin. “You told us you don’t know the militia’s specific target. Do you have an idea of what they hope to achieve? What’s their strategic goal?”
Kevin frowned. “To be honest, they’re a little all over the place. One thing they want to do is create awareness of the movement, make a big splash so other ‘patriots,’” his voice was heavy with irony, “will join up. Their ultimate goal seems so…” He juggled his hands. “Intangible. Ridiculous. You mentioned the Civil War. I think they want to go back to 1840, when white Christian men held all the authority, and didn’t have to listen to anyone: Jewish, Black, women…”
“Back to when they could round up people like me at gunpoint and force-march us to the Badlands of Oklahoma.” Paul shook his head.
“What about fear?” Russ asked. “What are they afraid of?”
Paul took his eyes off the road for a second. “You mean, besides getting stopped? I’m pretty sure that’s why they killed my uncle.”
“Smart strategy is positive. It moves toward a goal. Poor strategy is reactive. It moves against something—usually something you’re afraid of.”
Kevin leaned forward. “They’re afraid of getting replaced by immigrants. They think Jews and ‘the elites’ are conspiring to bring in immigrants who are going to somehow take all our jobs and I guess marry our women?”
“Oh, yeah, the captain told me about that one.” Russ shook his head. “They’re going to destroy our culture and replace it with their own. If their skin is any darker than a sheet of paper, that is. Apparently Hungarians or Russians areexactlylike us, so they’re okay.”
“Really? They’re afraid of groups taking over their lands and erasing their culture?” Paul blew a raspberry. “I swear to God, these bastards are just afraid everyone wants to do to them what their grandfathers did to the rest of us.”
“Truth,” Kevin said.
“Focus, people. If their strategy is fear-based, what are their tactics?”
“To blow something up,” Paul offered.
“With maximum casualties.” Russ gestured toward the backseat. “Kevin told us they experimented with improvised fragment bombs.”
“To push back.” Kevin’s voice was slow, thoughtful. “Scared people want to frighten those they’re scared of. Punish the, the other group. For threatening us.”
Russ fished his phone from his coat pocket. “I’m going to tell Lyle to add any migrant aid organizations to the list of possible targets.” He looked out the window, where the sun was hanging low and westerly, long late-afternoon rays glittering on the highway and setting the snow alight. At three thirty. “Paul, I hate to sound like my wife, but let’s pick up the pace. Darkness is their ally, and we don’t have long before it’s here.”
