Chapter 16

“That was ... Harold Bird. He’s been a hostage of the Klan and their associates, including, believe it or not, Roger Harmon. Evidently, Roger provided them with a safe house, between himself and Wanda, his wife. The divorce was a smokescreen to confuse and trap you ... and her. He also let the Klan know where Tara and I ... and you, were. He somehow got his hands on a phone and sent me a picture text to prove that it was him. I’m providing the coordinates to the authorities, so they can rescue him and take Roger ... and Wanda, and others, into custody.

“It seems that Roger Harmon has long-term connections to the meth trade, to organized crime, and to the white nationalist movement ... he’s not even an American. He’s a Russian national named Boris Nazinsky. Son of Soviet illegals who simply didn’t leave back in the early 90s when the USSR collapsed. Connected closely to the FSB and the Russian mafia. Wanda is actually a Philadelphia woman of half Russian, half Ukrainian origins, named Nadia Volyn. Bird forwarded all of this to me, but I don’t know how long it will be before he’s caught by Wanda. Tara, your marriage was a complete scam. It’s more than suitable for annulment by any standard,” Amos informed Damien, Alice, Tara, and Stephanie, the four of them rather cozy and mushy together right then at the Ruby Tuesday’s as the waitress arrived.

“Well, that does it! Roger is gonna hear from me about this for sure, and I hope to see him locked away, with the authorities throwing away the key. Or better yet, deported back to Russia. Not that I care much for legal status, mind you. Not anymore. I’m content to live in sin with Damien here and his other partners for life. I’m his work wife, after all, and yes, I mean that in every sense of it, except the fidelity nonsense. I guess that the demon is rubbing off, the one that you’ve been telling us about,” Tara told them with a deep tongue kiss for Damien, and then another for Stephanie, followed by Alice.

“Trust me, that’s a good thing, sugar,” Alice reassured her while ordering her meal.

“Yes, well, things have been very wild of late. I’ve finished my report on the mall Santa, by the way. Yes, I think that might have angered the Klan, too. Things like that, no matter how petty they seem. They’re part of the white nationalists’ idea of American culture. It’s part of their birthright, the idea of popular legends and symbols, such as Santa Claus, being white. A black, Catholic Santa from the Caribbean? Anathema. Just not done. Damn shame that they see it that way, but they do. It is what it is,” Tara presented her final report, more than a little pleased with herself, but worried like hell for Harold Bird.

“I have a feeling that the new South will be something that the Klan has cause to fear, and I’m very glad of that. I know that I don’t plan to just use my power for myself, though I will benefit. I want to help bring an end to this madness, if you will,” Damien remarked, with zero sympathy for the Klan and their set.

“Yeah, even Frank and Jim have been coming around in their thinking about the South and its heritage, facing the fact that while the baby shouldn’t be tossed out with the bathwater, that bathwater does have to go away. At first, both were pretty caught up in the Lost Cause, but now they think very differently from that business. It takes years to break free of that, I suppose. It doesn’t happen overnight. In any case, the future will be very bright for the world, I think, once we leave the myth of race behind us,” Alice concurred, a clever smile crossing her lips.

“Yes, I love that idea, that race is a myth! I’ve never seen it as anything but a lie or delusion. An invention of human society. The only race is human. I can tell you that there is no real difference to my pussy if it has a black or white or brown cock in it, or tongue, for that matter. No, black isn’t always bigger, but it isn’t necessarily smaller, either. I’ve had plenty of dick and pussy for sure, in my line of work. In the end, it’s just people and they all fuck for fun,” Stephanie licked her lips at those memories of sex with so many different types of people.

“Well, here is where we part company, I think. I have to go meet up with the police. They want to know more about Harold Bird and the hostage mess. As you say, this is my scoop, so no need to tag along. I’m the material witness here, as far as the authorities are concerned. They’ll no doubt question you later about the bomb scare at the office, but that’s about it. I think that you have editing to do, anyway, am I right?” Amos Clark added, “well, after I get a chance to eat, that is.”

That was when the waitress removed her shades and looked closer at Damien, “Damien Martin?”

“That would be me,” Damien got a good look at their server and realized with a start that it was ... Morgan.

Morgan had dark circles around her eyes, she looked very sleep-deprived, but she was still the same drop-dead gorgeous blonde cocktail waitress that Damien recalled from his past, if a little older. She was only three years his senior, so not too much of an age difference, of course. She also knew that her boyfriends since Damien had all failed to measure up. It was when it had been too late that she grasped that she had thrown away a great lover in a fit of pique and vanity. How was he to have known that Jill was off-limits, and besides, that whole feud eventually came to an end when Morgan had saved Jill from a dangerous and abusive boyfriend named Troy. The contrast with Damien was stark there, too, reinforcing to Morgan the error of her ways.