Cold Quarry by Andy Straka Page A

messages too.”
    “Is that right?” Toronto broke in. “Passing some kind of secret codes with your own birds there, Bo?”
    Higgins smiled. “If I was, they’d be secret, wouldn’t they?”
    They glared at one another.
    “Okay,” I said. “These get-togethers of yours. You just talk about guns, military hardware—things like that?”
    “Well, yeah, at least formally, that’s all we do. Sometimes a few of the guys’ll get together and talk about other stuff … you know, politics, things like that.”
    “But you claim you and your people are not part of any extremist militia movement. No budding Timothy McVeighs in your midst.”
    “Hey, like I tell all those federal agents been sniffing around here since those terrorists attacked our nation last year. One of these days, they might just be glad folks like us are around.”
    “How’s that?” I asked.
    “Just saying we’re prepared is all.”
    “How do you feel about the government in Washington?”
    “Huh.” He snickered. “Now you’re sounding like some kind of Red Chinese Commie or something, coming around here and wanting to know all about my politics.”
    “No,” Toronto said. “Excuse me, Frank, but I’ve had about all of this I’m going to stomach.”
    “Come again?” Higgins appeared stunned.
    “Look, Higgins. Don’t try to snooker us with all this talk about your rights. I’ve been and I’ve heard the speeches. You and your little ragtag army spew a lot of venom.”
    “No crime in speaking our minds. You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. In case you haven’t heard, it’s still a free country.” He folded his arms and thrust out his chin.
    “I think you mean pollute people’s minds, don’t you?”
    “I know my people. I know what’s in their hearts. It’s freedom, gentlemen. Freedom and a pure white race. Not too many citizens left in this nation willing to stand up on their hind legs and fight for that.”
    “I know some black Americans and a whole lot of others deployed over in Afghanistan and a few other places around the world that would beg to differ with you,” Toronto said.
    “Oh, spare me the parade, Toronto. Those boys are nothing but tools. You here to accuse me of something? Is that it?”
    “I knew Chester Carew,” I interrupted. “He was a fine and decent man.”
    “And he was coming around to where he would eventually join us,” Higgins said. “Too bad he didn’t quite make it. But I didn’t shoot the man and neither did any of my people. And, Mr. Pavlicek, you might be surprised to find out who else is really sympathetic with our views.”
    Toronto was slowly shaking his head.
    “Mr. Higgins, since you don’t seem willing to part with your mailing list, I don’t suppose you’ll be able to tell us the whereabouts of each of your organization’s members on the morning Chester Carew was killed?”
    “Now how the hell would I know that?”
    I’d been saving the best until last. I pulled the GPS unit from my jacket pocket. A glimmer of recognition flashed through Higgins’s eyes before they went blank again.
    “Took this off of the man who accosted me in the woods yesterday,” I said. “Interesting set of coordinates stored in here. Chester’s land. Apartment project called Roseberry Circle. And guess what? Your place, right here, Bo.”
    The car dealer glared at me. “So you say. That doesn’t prove a thing.”
    “Maybe not. But it sure does raise a lot of interesting questions, doesn’t it?”
    Higgins’s eyes narrowed. “Look, gentlemen, I’ve been polite with you up until now, but I’ve got a business to run and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit here and be accused of killing some guy just because he came to a few of our meetings. Hell, you guys aren’t even cops.… What do you care what goes on up there in Roseberry nigger-land? Probably best you leave.”
    He stood up to walk back to the showroom, as if to signal an end to our conversation. But he didn’t