Due Process (Joe Dillard #9)(58)

“Yeah, there were a lot of black guys, but if you kept your head up and stayed smart, you could avoid trouble with them. Everything in prison is organized by race. They call them cars. If I’m white and I don’t want to run with a gang, then I’m automatically sorted into the Independent White Boy car. Black guys ride in their own cars, whether they’re gang banging or not. It’s not a good idea to mix with guys from another race in prison.”

“Why do you call them black guys?” Brown said. “They’re niggers, pure and simple.”

“Using that word was the quickest way I knew of to get yourself shanked or killed on the inside. Even if you didn’t say it to a black guy. There are no secrets in prison. The white supremacists say it all the time, but they’re close to each other all the time and they protect each other. If I was talking to a white guy who wasn’t an Aryan or a member of one of the other white supremacist gangs and I used that word, I’d either get blackmailed, shanked, raped or killed eventually. That’s just the way it works. I just call them black guys.”

“You’ll get used to the change,” Brown said.

“You still up on Buck Mountain?” Murray said.

“Sure am. Won’t ever leave. What about you?”

“I’ve got a place in Washington County close to where I’m working. I come up here to see momma and daddy pretty regular. At least there aren’t any black families living up there on Buck. You shouldn’t have any trouble with them.”

“Well, you’d be wrong about that, my friend,” Brown said. “I’m real concerned about the way things are going in this country, and me and some of my buddies have decided to do something about it. Say, you wouldn’t be interested in coming to a meeting, would you? We could use a man with your experience. You might be able to provide some insight.”

“Insight into what?”

“Into how these niggers think. You had to be around them enough in prison to know how they think. I don’t understand them. I’m sure you’ve heard about what’s going on with those three football players raping that white girl at ETSU. We plan to do something about it. Well, just between me and you and that gas pump over there, we already did a little something about it.”

Sarah had told Murray about the cross being burned in her brother’s yard and the shots being fired. He had a strong suspicion that he was looking at the man—or at least one of the men—responsible.

“What’d you do?” Murray said.

“Just raised some hell. Sent a message.”

“Good for you,” Murray said. “I’ve always said a man has to act on what he believes in, not just talk about it.”

“So what about that meeting? My brother and a couple of my cousins and some other boys I recruited will be there. It’s a planning session. We’re going to make a statement that’ll be heard all over this country. The white man is going to push back against all this liberal bullshit that’s been shoved down our throats.”

Murray wanted nothing to do with Brown or any meeting, but he saw a chance to perhaps redeem himself for some of the things he’d done in the past and maybe learn more about what happened at Sarah’s brother’s house. He nodded.

“Sure, Garrett, I’ll come to the meeting. I appreciate you asking me. And you’re right. Maybe I can help.”

“Damn, brother, that’s good to hear,” Brown said. “You know the old white Pentecostal church about a mile from my folks’ place on Buck Mountain Road?”

“Yeah, I remember it.”

“It ain’t a church no more, but it works just fine for a meeting place. We’ll be there at eight tomorrow night. Come on by and we’ll fill you in on what’s going to happen.”

“I’ll see you there,” Murray said.

“Good to see you, brother,” Brown said. “And welcome home. You came back at a perfect time.”





WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 16

Sarah called me at ten o’clock at night and asked if she could come over. I asked whether anything was wrong and she said her friend Greg Murray needed to talk to me and yes, something might be wrong. I told her to come on.

They arrived about forty minutes later. Caroline was already asleep—she was spending about twenty hours a day in bed since the radiation on her knee—and Kevin was in Jack’s room. I didn’t know what the conversation was going to be about, but I didn’t want Kevin to listen, so when they arrived we went out on the deck. It was chilly—around forty-five degrees—but not too uncomfortable. Rio took the opportunity to disappear into the darkness and go on patrol.

This was my first time I’d seen Murray up close. He was a decent enough looking guy, a few years younger than Sarah and me. He was just under six feet tall, blonde hair that he wore medium length, pale blue eyes and a cleft chin. He was wearing jeans and work boots and a black and blue flannel shirt beneath a gray down jacket. He wasn’t wearing any jewelry at all and I didn’t notice any tattoos.

Sarah introduced us and we sat down.

“Can I get anybody anything?” I said. “I can make some coffee or hot tea. I have a few beers in the fridge.”

“No, thanks,” Murray said. Sarah also politely refused.

“I saw you the day I came down to see Sarah,” I said to Murray. “I should have introduced myself.”