Gundown (18 page)

Noah Stone stopped to chat with the musicians, so she let her gaze wander. It came across Hank Soldado, prowling along the edge of the crowd like a stalking wolf.

She glanced at Earl, who looked serious as he stared at Noah. He’d been so comforting after her experience with Soldado, the way he’d made all the bad things go away. She laid her hand on his thigh.

He lifted her hand and ran a finger over her rings. He leaned and gave her a brief, soft kiss on the lips. She could see developing a case of like for this guy.

Turning his gaze to her hand, he said, “I never saw so many rings.”
All but one of the rings held precious stones. The standout was a plain gold circle on her little finger.

“My savings account. A creep can snatch a purse, but it’s a lot harder to take money off your fingers.”

He wiggled the plain ring.

She said, “I got that from Chloe’s father. Right after he gave me this . . .” She traced the scar on her cheek. “The ring used to be in his nose.”

“Ouch.”

“He was high on crank and meth and PCP and God-knows-what when he did it.” She shook her head at the memory. “Hell, he didn’t even feel my ripping it out for a good five minutes. Should have seen him yell when he did. He pinked a long time ago.”

The mention of pink brought to mind the brother she’d left dead in a closet. Tears rose in her eyes.

She leaned against Earl and things were better.

The music ended, and enthusiastic applause started when Noah strolled to center stage, then died when he raised the microphone to speak. Smiling, he said, “Are all you people interested in the Alliance?”

“Yes,” the crowd answered, its tone cheerful.

He laughed. “Okay, here’s what you’ll be working for as an Ally. Prosperity. I don’t mean the money-in-the-bank kind, but the good-stuff-of-life kind. Shelter. Food. Good air. Good water. Safety. Health. Community. Work. Freedom. Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Yes!” said the audience.

Noah continued. “If you join us, we are enriched by your talent, your intelligence, your sweat, your support. But what do you get from the Alliance? A chance for prosperity? Yes, but as Allies make life better for each of us, we make life better for all of us, and here in Oregon you enjoy many rewards of the Alliance’s work without doing a thing. So why should you join us?”

Jewel wasn’t about to give up her independence, so she was glad she got the good stuff without having to make any promises. But she was willing to work for what she got, so it wasn’t like she was a freeloader.

“Because you won’t be alone anymore, that’s why. With an Ally, you know the promise has been made, that he’s committed to acting in your interest. An Ally is someone I would buy a used car from.”

People around Jewel chuckled. She smiled. She’d have to remember that when she went to buy a car.

“An Ally, even if a stranger, is a friend in need. Can you say that of any stranger you meet? Or even some of your friends? Or some of your family?”

The promise sounded good to Jewel—but promises were made to be broken.

• • •

Hank shook his head. Hell, after breaking down and bawling in front of Jewel Washington for no good reason, he couldn’t even trust himself.

He focused on Earl, who leaned forward, arms wrapped around his knees, revealing the bulge of a gun butt under his shirt at the small of his back. It looked too big to be a regulation stopper—had to be a lethal cannon from Rick Hatch’s arsenal. His gut tensed.

• • •

Jewel looked to Earl; his face was knotted in a fierce scowl. She touched his hand, and he flinched. Then he switched on a smile that didn’t ring true. She said, “Something wrong?”

“No. He’s great, isn’t he?” Earl went back to watching.

She turned back to Noah.

Stone stepped closer to the stage’s front edge. “I’ve done this long enough to know you have questions. So let me stop jawing and hear from you.”

A young woman in threadbare clothes, her face wan but her eyes bright, raised a hand. Noah pointed her out and she stood. “What does it cost to join? I ain’t got a lot.”

Noah nodded. “You will have to spend some of yourself. We ask a tithe of your time, your effort, your skills. Minds are a far more valuable resource than dollars, and each of us has something to contribute. To receive, we give. To earn, we work.”

The girl smiled. “I got the time, all you want, and I’m a good worker.”

“I look forward to it, then.”

• • •

Caught up in Noah’s words, Hank shifted his gaze to refocus on his job. Earl still sat, leaning forward. Was he here to do something, or was he just stalking his prey?

A young Latino man stood. Cheeks pocked with acne scars, hair long and black, mustache dark and fierce, to Hank the man was a picture of a racial stereotype. In a high, clear voice colored with a Mexican accent, he said, “What about people like me?”

Noah smiled. “What do you mean, ‘like you’? Male? Black-haired? Standing up?”

The crowd chuckled, but the Latino scowled. “No, man, Chicano.”

Noah raised his hand to the audience. On it was a ring. “You’ve seen rings with many colors on Alliance members. You’ve seen the colors on Alliance T-shirts. They are skin colors.” He lowered his hand. “The more colorful the threads woven into our tapestry, the richer, stronger, and more interesting it is. There is only one race, the human one. We’re all people like you. Anybody who doesn’t see that doesn’t have the sense God gave a carrot.”

The Latino thought that over and then smiled. “Gracias.” He sat and put his arm around a Latina who was breast-feeding a baby.

A twentysomething woman rose, her bushy hair black, her nose a proud beak. “I’ve heard that the Alliance is against religion.”

Hank tuned back in. Some said the Alliance was against religion? Not according to Mitch. How could a church be against religion? Although, now that he thought of it, many religions were against
other
religions.

Noah frowned and then said, “Here’s the truth: the Alliance respects any religious belief so long as it does not teach, advocate, or incite harm to human beings. Does that sound antireligious to you?”

The young woman said, “No.”

“We also respect the right to
not
have a religious belief. The Alliance is a place where all people can gather for common cause, regardless of faith. Or lack of it.”

This was no church, not even close. Hank wondered where Mitch had gotten the idea.

Noah said, “In the Alliance, whether you are a true believer or an atheist cannot make a difference in how you are treated. To allow that would be immoral.”

He sent his gaze across the audience and then shook his head. “You see so-called Christians blindly attack people of the Muslim faith, painting them all with a terrorist brush. You see radicalized Muslims rationalize murdering innocent Christians because they are ‘infidels.’ I wish those people would recognize how un-Christian, un-Muslim, inhuman, and immoral what they do is.

“Without morals, we are not complete human beings. So, in the Alliance, we think hard about the moralities of living together, and we work hard at uprooting cultural cancers that set one person against another.”

The woman raised her hand. “But what about faith? Don’t we need faith?”

Noah said, “It so happens I’m not inclined toward faith. I have a theory that some people are genetically disposed toward believing in religion and others are not.”

Stone shifted his gaze to the distance for a moment, and then back to the woman. “But I do have a belief, and perhaps that’s a kind of faith.

“I believe that human beings can do right by each other. I believe you and I can join together to ally despite our differences and prosper together. That’s my faith.”

The black-haired woman said, “Thank you” and sat on the lawn.

Hank scanned the audience. The faces were rapt, all turned toward the stage. He didn’t blame them. When did you hear that kind of honesty from a public figure?

Earl Emerson leaned forward. His body looked taut. His right hand clenched and unclenched, over and over.

A middle-aged woman waved her hand frantically. Noah pointed to her. “The woman who’s about to levitate.”

She smiled and stood, and then her face sobered. “Does that go for gays? LBGT people? The old OCA is trying to come back—is the Alliance like them?”

Noah’s gaze turned black. “We don’t have anything to do with the Oregon Citizens Alliance. It’s a fraud because it represents only some citizens while it persecutes others, especially gays. Good people were led down a terrible road by the OCA in the nineties, pushed by ignorance and bigotry.”

• • •

Marion marveled at how such a rational, reasonable, personable man could be leading a movement to eviscerate the Constitution. Maybe she needed to sit down with Tiffany when she got back and review her findings. There had to be a way to counter the Alliance.

But still, she couldn’t find a thing wrong with what he’d said so far. It was difficult to consolidate such fair-mindedness with advocating taking away the fundamental fairness of Fifth Amendment protections. Why couldn’t Stone see the contradiction?

• • •

Jewel thought all this sounded a little too good to be true. Be nice if it was . . . but no, in her experience people just didn’t act like Noah talked. As for him, it could all be an act. But she hoped it wasn’t.

Noah said, “Many come to the Alliance shackled by powerful prejudices created by their culture, their families, their peers. We help cut those chains with deprogramming, for programming is what prejudice is—we aren’t born with it. Like a cavity in a tooth, bigotry is a rot that poisons the whole system. Dig it out and replace it with a strong, healthy filling and you’re the sound, sane person you were meant to be.”

A man who looked to be in his sixties said, “Who decides what that filling is?”

“You do. Therapy is based on the principles of THREAD. You either agree to that or keep your cavities. It’s your choice, and you’re in charge all the way. It’s counseling and discussion with a very specific goal.”

The man said, “What about crime? I heard you don’t believe in punishment.”

Noah said, “You read the papers. Do you think punishment works?”

After a moment’s reflection, the man said, “Doesn’t seem to, not for the real crooks.”

• • •

Hank had to agree. Prison was often a finishing school for criminals.

Noah nodded. “Fear of punishment doesn’t stop people who are intent on doing harm, and it doesn’t do anything for victims.

“If you steal a thousand dollars from me, which rights the wrong—putting you in jail or you paying back my thousand dollars? Which is more likely to prevent you from stealing again—jail time or therapy that changes the way you think about stealing and maybe even helps you find a job?

“Here, no one goes to jail for ‘property crimes.’ They make restitution and go through therapy.”

An angry edge came into Noah’s voice. “But violence . . .” If wrath had a face, it would have looked like his.

“Violence cannot be made good by restitution. It cannot be prevented by the threat of punishment, because too many people don’t think about consequences when they commit a violent act.

“Violence is not tolerated by the Alliance. That’s why we consider the simple possession of a lethal firearm to be an act of violence, and Oregon law agrees. Lethal firearms have no place, no reason, no
use
in a modern democratic society, because they are useful only to maim and kill. Owning one is by definition the first step of assault with deadly force.”

Earl Emerson sprang to his feet and stood at attention as if he were a soldier.

Hank tensed. Then he eased into a “ready” mode and narrowed his focus until it seemed like Earl was the only one in the audience. He slipped his hand inside his jacket and gripped his pistol.

Noah smiled. “I’m sorry, I get carried away. You have a question?”

Earl’s voice was tight. “Isn’t Oregon still a part of the United States?”

Noah’s brow wrinkled. “Yes, of course it is.”

“Still under the Constitution?”

Noah nodded. “I see where you’re going.”

Earl’s voice rose. “We have a right to bear arms.”

“But that doesn’t make it right to—”

Earl swept his right hand under his shirt and brought out a gun. He cried, “You goddamn Commie, we want our guns back!” His left hand joined the other to steady the pistol.

Time slowed as adrenaline slammed Hank into action. A split second after Earl grabbed for his gun, Hank pulled his out. A man behind Earl reached for a stopper in a belt holster. But it would never stop Earl from blowing Noah away.

His mission for Mitch was gone from Hank’s mind. His only thought—not even a thought, more of a primal reaction—was that Earl was about to do a terrible wrong and an innocent man would be killed.

Hank’s gun came up, oh . . . so . . . slowly. Honed reflexes aimed and triggered his lethal firearm.

The bullet struck Earl in the temple.

Blood, bits of skull, and brain matter blasted out the opposite side of his head.

Gore spattered Jewel’s upturned face.

Earl triggered his shot, but the force of Hank’s bullet had twisted his body—Noah Stone grabbed his shoulder, then fell to the stage floor.

Earl’s body sprawled beside Jewel.

Hank wheeled to see if there were other attackers.

Tom the cop ran at him at full speed, his stopper pointed Hank’s way. Tom shouted, “Drop it! Drop the gun!”

Something hit the side of Hank’s neck. He touched it and found moisture.

He turned toward its source; Jewel Washington stood, red with blood, her legs straddling Earl Emerson’s body, her stopper aimed at Hank.

Tears washed trails through the blood on her face, and she stabbed another button on the stopper. A streak of tangle hit his chest and arm, its sticky wrapping immobilizing his gun.

Drowsiness started his eyelids lowering. His knees gave way, and he fell facedown.

The cop’s knee smashed into his back and crushed him onto the ground.