Masked Prey (Lucas Davenport #30)(37)

Oxford grunted again, and said, “We don’t think that somebody’s going to pass a law we don’t like, up in Washington, so we oughta kill a kid. That’s crazy.”

Lucas noticed that he’d evaded the question. “But you do have relationships with right-wing groups that might be a little crazy. Nazis, KKK, all that.”

Oxford lifted his chin and scratched his neck for a moment, then said, “We have not much to do with them. A little maybe, mostly by accident. Here’s the thing, Davenport: a group calls for a political protest on some point where we agree. We notify our folks, and if some of our members want to go, that’s up to them. Then the Nazis and the KKK show up, and we all get thrown into the same pot. You know, you get a rally over on the left side, say, pro-choice, or maybe gun control. The Communists and the anarchists and the socialists and the mainstream Democrats, they all show up, but the media doesn’t call them all Communists. That’s what they do to us. The fuckin’ Nazis, I hate those guys. The KKK, the same.”

Lucas looked at him for a couple of beats, and Oxford looked back, and finally Lucas said, “Suppose I buy all that, everything you said. I’m not sure I do, but maybe. My job is to find the people who put up that website and find out what the hell they intend. It sure looks like a threat of the worst kind. There are people in Washington, with the FBI, who see your group as their best candidate. It would be a good thing for you to put the order out on your networks that your people, whoever they are, help to locate that 1919 group and give me a name and address.”

Oxford continued to stare for a moment, then said, “Two things here. We’ve outlawed, in our group, the word ‘orders.’ We don’t give them and we don’t take them. We do what we call ‘asks.’ We can ask an individual or group to help out, but I can’t order anything. The second thing is, we’re not cops. We’re not going to investigate for you.”

“I’m not talking about being cops. I’m talking about self-defense,” Lucas said. “A senator’s kid gets killed and you’re gonna get torn up, because nobody’ll want to take a chance that you might be innocent.”

“That sounds about like our government,” Oxford said. He said in a new voice, quoting, “Another horse, fiery red, went out. And it was granted to the one who sat on it to take peace from the earth, and that people should kill one another; and there was given to him a great sword.”

“Who said that?” Lucas asked.

Oxford sighed and said, “Never mind. All right. I’ll put out an ask, heavy-like. I hate doing it, but I will. One of the things I hate about you guys, you government people, is that you put an innocent man in a box and make him do things he doesn’t want to do, isn’t required to do either legally or morally. It’s like the sixties with the draft. Government fights an immoral, unnecessary war in Vietnam, that all the politicians knew was wrong and unwinnable, fifty-eight thousand boys get killed, and what happens if you don’t want to go? You get your ass slammed in prison and your life ruined. I hate it. I hate every goddamned inch of it.”

“So hate it,” Lucas said. “But do your ‘ask’ anyway.”

The old man stroked his beard, once, and said, “Shit.” And, a moment later, “Goddamnit, I’ll send out your ask.”

“Thank you.”

“You better be on your way,” Oxford said. “If Marty finishes her mowing and comes in here and finds out who you are, she’ll tear a strip off your back.”

But the lawnmower was still going, so Lucas said, “I read the papers from your PR lady. You don’t seem nuts, but how the hell do you think the world would run without governments?”

Oxford shrugged. “We don’t. We do think the government should be a lot smaller. Maybe . . . ten percent of what it is. We’ve got two million people in the military, counting the reserves. You really think we need two million soldiers? When we’ve got missiles and hydrogen bombs? Who’s going to invade us? We’ve got all those soldiers because we’re poking our noses into other people’s business. Let them take care of themselves. There are almost a million cops. You think we need a million cops? There are one-point-three-million lawyers, all sucking on the government tit in one way or another. You think we oughta need one-point-three-million lawyers to get through our lives? We have no problem with a government that builds roads and bridges and sewers and water plants and such. But two million soldiers and a million cops? More than a million lawyers? And listen—I could go on a while. Don’t get me started on how all our tax money gets pissed away.”

Lucas: “From our point of view, us deep-state people, it looks like it might help your cause if you had some leverage over the people who run the government, who pass the bills that do all the things you don’t like. Leverage you could get from a site like 1919, if a kid gets shot.”

“Bullshit. How in the hell would we keep track of that?” Oxford asked. “We’d need a hundred over-ground people in Washington to figure out what’s going on in Congress and who’s voting for what, and when. We’re not that kind of group. What we are, is, we’ve got an idea and we’re pushing it. We’re growing, slow but steady. We’ve got more people with us than anybody knows. Smart people, too. Not crazy.”

“All right, but you’ve still got those alt-right contacts,” Lucas said. “John: call me.”