Fire in the Ashes

Ben spoke to Cecil. “Perhaps we'll meet again?"

Kasim summed it all up. “You put your white ass in New Africa, motherfucker, it'll be buried there."

“I will make every effort to avoid New Africa,” Ben said. “Wherever that might be."

“Mississippi, Alabama, Louisiana,” Kasim said. “A black nation."

Ben smiled. “My home is in Louisiana, Kasim, or whatever your goddamned name is. And I'll give you a bit of advice. I'm going to my room and get some sleep. I'll put out just after dawn tomorrow. I will start no trouble in this motel. But if I ever see you again—I'll kill you."

Kasim sneered at him. “Words. Big words. How about trying it now? Just you and me?"

Ben smiled. “Drag your ass out of that chair, hotshot."

“Cool it, Kasim,” Cecil warned. “You're outclassed with Ben. Let it lie."

Ben spoke to Mrs. Jefferys. “It was a delicious meal. I thank you."

She smiled and nodded.

Ben's eyes touched Salina's. She smiled at him.

He walked out into the rainy night, leaving, he hoped, the hate behind him.

He was loading his gear into the truck at dawn, tying down the tarp when he heard footsteps. He turned, right hand on the butt of the .45 belted at his waist.

Salina.

“We all feel very badly about last night, Mr. Raines. All except Willie Washington, that is."

“Who?"

She smiled in the misty dawn. A beautiful woman. “Kasim. We grew up on the same block in Chicago. He'll always be Willie to me."

In the dim light he could see her skin was fawn-colored. “Does he really hate whites as much as it seems? All whites?"

“Does the KKK hate blacks?"

“They say they don't."

“Right. And pigs fly.” They shared a quiet laugh in the damp dawn. “Kasim's sister was ... used pretty badly when he was young. Raped, buggered. He was beaten and forced to watch. The men were never caught. You know the story. It happens on both sides of the color line. He's about half nuts, Ben."

“I gathered that."

“There are a lot of differences between the races, Ben. Cultural differences, emotional differences. The bridge is wide."

“I do not agree with what my brother and his friends are doing, Salina. I want you to know that."

“I knew that last night, Ben. I think ... we need more men like you and Cecil; less of Jeb Fargo and your brother."

“Who in the hell is Jeb Fargo?"

“His name is really George, but he likes to be called Jeb. He came up to Chicago about five years ago—from Georgia, I think. Head of the Nazi Party."

“I met him—didn't like him. I hope his mentality doesn't take root."

“It will,” she predicted flatly. “What are your plans, Ben?"

He told her, standing in the cool mist of the morning. He told her of his plans, his schedule. He told her of his home in Morrison, and how he had literally slept through the horror after being stung by dozen of wasps, knocking him out.

“Probably saved your life,” she said. “The venom, the Benadryl."

“What are your plans, Salina?"

“I go with Cecil and Lila."

“Kasim called you a zebra. What does that mean?"

* * * *

“...You're not telling me everything, Cec,” Ben's voice brought him back to the present. “Come on, what are you holding back?"

Cecil grinned at him, the grin quickly fading. “Over in Kentucky, day before yesterday. A woman died because the hospital refused to admit her. She didn't have the money. I'm not going to tolerate that, Ben."

“Nor I, Cec. The plans we talked of, you're in agreement with them?"

“A percentage of a person's income going into a health fund. Of course the rich are going to scream because they'll be paying more."

“They can afford it."

“Luxury tax on jewelry, smokes, booze, expensive items. The HHS runs it. Those are the high points; yes, I'm in agreement—but Congress isn't."

“They are now."

Cecil lifted an eyebrow.

“Since I told them to be in favor of it. Representative Jean Purcell is the author of the bill. It will pass."

“The liberals will love you for it."

“For a week. Next week it'll be the conservatives who love me."

“Yours is going to be a very interesting term of office, Ben."

“So I've been told,” Ben said dryly.

Three

“Ben,” Doctor Chase told him, “I'm just too damned old for this Richmond nonsense. I love you for thinking of me, but no, I won't become your surgeon general. I do know a good man for the job, though. Doctor Harrison Lane. Army doctor, although it hurts my mouth to admit it. He's a good man. I asked him to come in, see you about one this afternoon."

Ben nodded. “If you say he's the man for the job, that's it. What are you going to do, you old goat?"

“I'm going back to the mountains, Mr. President,” he said, grinning as Ben flipped him the bird. “That is not a gesture the president of the United States should make. I have ... ah ... someone back there who is carrying the torch for me something fierce."

“'Carrying the torch,’ Lamar? God! I haven't heard that expression since I was a kid.” Ben laughed, a good, hearty laugh; and it felt good, for of late, Ben had not had that much to laugh about. He wouldn't admit it, but he was more worried about Jerre than he would allow others to see.