America Libre (16 page)

She masked it well, but Jo was stung by O’Connor’s comment. Her own home was in Beverly Crest—an area with very few Hispanics.
Still, she was risking her life and spending her fortune for the cause of justicia.
That’s what truly counts
, she told herself.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do for us, Wally. But I have to honor my husband’s request to look at this property. It’s
a Christian wife’s duty.”

O’Connor nodded solemnly. “I understand, Bonnie. It’s God’s will that a wife obey her husband. I’ll show you that property,
but then we’ll look at some other homes in a more fittin’ neighborhood.”

O’Connor opened the door to the lobby and, with an exaggerated sweep of his hand, gestured for Jo to pass. Following her,
he glanced at the guards and jerked his head toward the front door. The two rose to their feet.

“You don’t mind if we take along my trainees, do you?” O’Connor asked. “The boys are following me around to learn the business.”

“No, of course not,” Jo replied. She’d debated with Ramon and Mano as to whether O’Connor would bring his guards with him.
It turned out that Mano was right. She would need to alert him.

“This here’s Darren,” Wally said, pointing to the young man with the goatee, “and this one’s Michael.”

Jo smiled at the young men, both of whom nodded indifferently, seemingly more interested in the carpet pattern than in making
her acquaintance.

Now, walking ahead of Jo, O’Connor led her to the front passenger’s seat of his Ford Expedition. The two guards took seats
in the row behind her. A few minutes later, they were cruising north on I-405.

O’Connor glanced toward Jo. “That’s an unusual ornament on your necklace, Bonnie. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Oh, it’s something I picked up at a little shop in Dayton,” Jo said, improvising.

“Did I mention I’m from Ohio, too? Portsmouth. Did you ever get down to Portsmouth?”

Jo knew she was on thin ice. There hadn’t been much time to prepare for this role. “Frank was only stationed at Wright-Patterson
a couple of years. With two kids at home and Frank away a lot, I didn’t get out much.”

“Well, you ought to see Portsmouth, Bonnie. It’s God’s country down there. The river and the cliffs—”

“Excuse me, Wally,” Jo interrupted. “Could we make a stop somewhere? I need a chance to… freshen up.”

After they pulled into a gas station at the next exit, Jo entered the restroom and called Mano. “I hate to admit it, but you
were right. He’s got two goons with him.”

“We’ll be ready. Thanks for the call.”

Mano’s calm tone filled Jo with confidence. Her attraction to him was growing steadily, she admitted to herself. He’d become
a pillar in her life she’d not even known was missing.

As Jo opened the restroom door, she was startled to see Darren standing outside. Had he been listening? For the first time
on the mission, Jo felt the cold chill of fear.

Seeing her shocked expression, Darren offered an explanation. “Wally asked me to escort you back here. He says this is a rough
area.”

Jo was still suspicious. If Darren was on to her, he would have to report it to Wally. She would need to keep an eye on him.

When she returned to the SUV, O’Connor again acted like a royal footman, opening the door with a great deal of pomp. Jo watched
Darren walk around the rear of the vehicle and exchange a few words with Wally before they both got inside.

Dammit
, Jo thought.
This doesn’t look good.

She lowered the sun visor, pretending to inspect her makeup in the mirror while keeping an eye on Darren. After touching up
her lipstick, she left the handbag open on her lap. She didn’t want to use the six-shot Beretta inside, but she might have
no choice.

O’Connor eased the SUV in front of a modest ranch home on a wooded cul-de-sac. “Well, this here’s the place, Bonnie,” he said.
“It’s vacant and been on the market for quite a while. Notice how most of these houses around here are vacant? Like I told
you, with all the beaners moving in, this neighborhood is just about ready to go to hell in a handbasket. You think we need
to go inside?”

Jo was relieved they’d made it this far. Maybe Darren hadn’t overheard her call after all. “I promised Frank I’d look at this
house, Wally, and I intend to keep my word.”

“I can’t tell you how much I admire a Christian woman who’s obedient to her husband—even if it
is
a waste of valuable time. It’s the way all wives should be. I’d be honored to show you the inside, Bonnie.”

O’Connor unlocked the front door with a key from a combination box hanging on the doorknob and gestured for Jo to enter.
With all three of them here, this is going to be tricky
, Jo thought.
The timing will have to be perfect.

She walked casually through the living room and made her way down the hall, O’Connor in tow. She was relieved when the two
guards remained behind.

O’Connor made another wide sweep with his arm. “See how shabby the place is? The family of a United States Air Force colonel
deserves better than this.”

“I don’t know, Wally. I think some fresh paint and wall-paper could really cheer the place up. Let’s see what the other rooms
are like.” Jo walked into the first bedroom with O’Connor close behind her.

He went to the far corner of the bedroom and opened the closet. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this place is crawlin’ with roaches.
You know how these people live,” he said, peering inside.

Jo moved quickly toward the doorway, cutting off O’Connor’s path to the exit. The Realtor gasped in shock as Jo produced the
Beretta from her purse and leveled it at his chest.

“Not a peep, Wally, or you’re dead,” she said very softly.

Reaching down, she brought the pendant to her lips. The shrill sound that followed made O’Connor cover his ears.

When he heard Jo’s whistle, Mano was in position outside the front door. Entering the house with his Glock drawn, he saw the
two guards in the living room staring wide-eyed in confusion.

“Hands up!” Mano shouted, training the pistol on them.

Hearing footsteps from the hallway, Mano turned and saw Nesto run into the living room, his pistol drawn. Distracted, Mano
felt a hard slap on his gun hand as the man closest to him bolted for the door. Glancing left, he saw that Nesto had already
secured the other guard. It was up to him to catch the fugitive.

Dashing outside, Mano aimed his Glock at the man’s back… and broke into a run, unable to pull the trigger. After a burst of
speed, he was nearly on the thug as he reached the street. The young man dropped to the ground in a catlike reflex, sending
Mano hurtling through the air over his body. The guard sprang to his feet, trying to run again, while Mano—still rolling—leg-whipped
him, fracturing the goon’s tibia. The young man went down screaming in pain.

On the ground, the guard drew a pistol from his sports coat, but before he could aim, Mano pounced, landing heavily on his
chest. With his left hand, he grabbed the guard’s gun hand and pinned it to the ground. He then brought his bulky right forearm
crashing down on the man’s throat, violently compressing it against the pavement. The guard’s head twitched spastically, his
pupils rolled out of sight, and bloody foam oozed from his mouth. The blow had crushed his larynx and severed his spinal cord.

Breathing heavily, Mano rose to his knees and stared down at the lifeless body, feeling numb.

Jo’s voice broke his trance. “Get up, Mano. We’ve got to get out of here—now.”

Guided by the moonlight, Jo reached the edge of the seaside cliff. “This is far enough,” she said, the crash of waves a distant
murmur far below. Behind her, Mano led two bound and gagged captives at gunpoint—O’Connor and his guard. Jo nodded to Mano
and he removed the duct tape from O’Connor’s mouth.

“What’s a white woman doing with scum like this?” spat the president of the Aryan Fatherland. “Don’t you have any pride in
your race?”

Jo laughed. “I was born in Uruguay. My name is Herrera,” she said, pronouncing her name with the distinctive trill of a native
Spanish speaker. “But you and your kind are too ignorant to realize Latin Americans are no different than North Americans.
We’re not a race, we’re a people.”

O’Connor’s eyes widened in astonishment, but his hatred seemed to trump all reason. “Call yourself what you like, bitch.”

Jo stared at him calmly. “O’Connor… that’s an Irish name, right?”

O’Connor jutted out his chin. “My father was Irish and my mother was German. I come from pure Aryan bloodlines.”

“Did you know that the Irish were considered a separate and inferior race by many people in this country until the late nineteenth
century?”

“That’s a lie.”

“Is it? Then you probably won’t believe me when I tell you that Ben Franklin once complained about a horde of non-whites breeding
so fast they were overrunning the British colonies—tawny-skinned people who wouldn’t bother to learn English.” Jo paused,
waiting for her next words to sink in: “the German immigrants of Pennsylvania.”

“You’re right about
one
thing, cunt: I
don’t
believe you,” O’Connor said, the tendons of his neck bulging. “You’re nothing but a bunch of worthless, third-world terrorists
trying to destroy a nation built by the superior intelligence and Christian values of the white race.”

“And you believe it’s your duty to preserve these values, right, Wally?”

“You’re damned right.”

“It doesn’t seem like you’ve done a very good job so far.”

“We’ve killed over forty of your useless fucking mud people.”

“Yeah, but don’t try to take credit for something you didn’t do, Wally. Somebody a whole lot smarter than you set it all up.”

“No, sister. I’m the—” O’Connor stopped, suddenly realizing Jo had baited him into a confession.

“You’re what, Wally?” Jo asked, finally venting her fury. “You’re the man who arranged for his lackeys to gun down more than
forty unarmed men, women, and children? Is that what you were about to say?”

O’Connor didn’t reply, but simply stared at Jo, hatred burning in his eyes.

Jo turned slowly toward the sea. “He’s the one,” she said to Mano, her voice emotionless.