That’s How I Roll: A Novel (37 page)

That man knew his work. He turned Tory-boy’s swastika into a big butterfly. A black butterfly, outlined in red, with just a touch of gold beneath.

Tory-boy never flinched all the time the needle was working on him. He never feels pain in his body.

All his pain is in his blood.

o now you know. You know the only crime I ever got caught clean for was by accident. I don’t mean I didn’t intend it; I just mean I never imagined the kind of investigation it would launch. How could I know the FBI had an informant planted in with those Nazi people? That’s how they knew every single person who was supposed to be in that cement tomb. And that’s how they knew who
wasn’t
there when their man got blown to bits.

And they only knew that much because plenty of folks had seen Tory-boy around after the concrete oven had done its job—there were no bodies inside that anyone could hope to identify.

So, when they came out to the house after that, they came in force. The only way to save the dogs was to tell Tory-boy to let them pass. Otherwise, the men wearing all that body armor would have had their chance to use those machine guns and other toys they couldn’t wait to play with. Tory-boy would have tried to stop them, and their gunning down his dogs would’ve turned him into a monster worse than anything those men had ever imagined.

Once they got inside the house, they surprised me by acting so polite. But I was a match for them in that department. I knew Tory-boy would be anxious, what with all those people and cars around, but I never let it show.

They told me what they already knew, and I didn’t blink. But once they showed me their own agent’s field reports, once I did the math and worked out the dates, I saw there wasn’t but one way to save Tory-boy.

knew that the Feds had their own courts, but that didn’t concern me. Once we had the deal worked out, I knew I wouldn’t be gone more than a week or two before being sent back home. That’s how long it would take for me to plead guilty.

I had to make sure I took that plea in front of people who didn’t know me. The way the law works is, you can plead guilty all you want, but it’s a jury gets to set the penalty.

I couldn’t be sure that local folks would look all that unfavorably on me killing all those Nazis. It wasn’t like you could find a lot of liberals around here, but I couldn’t imagine any of them shaving their heads, or wearing those silly costumes. Those Nazis might be all white, but they were still all strangers.

But of all the things that separated us, I think it’s music that would create the widest chasm. Around here, people
respect
music. I don’t mean “today’s hits” or that video garbage—once you’re in our hearts, we never forget you. So, even if WWVA isn’t the king of radio anymore, Hank Williams is never going to give up his throne.

Lansdale never said, and I never asked, but I felt I knew why he named his little nightingale “Patsy,” too.

All those White Power people did with
their
music was make a lot of noise. It wasn’t just that nobody from around here bought their CDs; nobody from around here would want anyone to think their music was
our
music.

So my own people might not want to sentence me to death, but
outsiders didn’t speak our language, and I knew that confessing to all the
other
murders I’d committed would guarantee I’d get what I wanted.

hadn’t known the Feds had a plant in with those Nazis, but it didn’t matter. I knew the truth, deep inside myself. I was—I don’t know any other word for it—jealous. I should have been satisfied that, no matter what, I’d never lose Tory-boy’s love. I should have been pleased that he’d shown he was a lot smarter than I’d given him credit for. I knew that because he didn’t tell me about those skinheads until he’d
already
joined up; Tory-boy had known exactly what I would have said if he’d asked me first.

And that tattoo.

I would have killed them all for that alone. Killed them because I wanted them dead.

If I could have turned my hate into explosives, there wouldn’t be any of them left, anywhere.

hat’s how I ended up here, telling my true story. I don’t know when anyone will read it—it could be pretty soon; it could be decades.

If it turns out that I’m never betrayed, the final timing is all up to Miss Webb. I’d taught Tory-boy to mind her just like he did me. We were holding hands, Miss Webb and me, when I told him that for the first time.

And if Miss Webb—if Evangeline—was my … my woman, that was enough. Tory-boy always minded his big brother, so it made perfect sense to him that he had to mind his sister-in-law. He might not know about legalities, but my Tory-boy knew me. And he knew I’d made my choice.

here were some complications involved in order for them all to get together and give me the assurances I needed. But they managed it.

When everyone turned their cards faceup, the hands looked like this: the State could clear dozens of unsolved killings on their books with the statements I was going to make when I pleaded guilty, but it would be a federal jury that would pronounce the sentence.

The deal was fair all around. The Feds wanted some things. The local DA had his own list. And there was something I wanted, too. It would take years for them to execute me, and I had to be near Tory-boy—as near as I could get—until it happened.

When everybody knew their role, the Feds read me a list of agents who’d been murdered within my reach. I picked a bomb that had been planted in the car of an FBI agent who worked way north of here.

In fact, that’s where they started. They had this big map loaded onto the computer, so it could project on a huge screen. Our house was in the center of that map, and they had different-colored circles around it.

Concentric circles, like when you throw a rock into a pond. Whenever they moved the circles away from our house, the readout in miles would show in a corner of the screen.

The map was dotted with black “X” marks. One for every murdered agent whose killer had never been found.

When they first activated the screen, sure enough, a black “X” popped up where that Nazi bunker had been.

I hadn’t known I was signing my own confession when I blew up that bunker. But it wouldn’t have stopped me if I had.

What did shock me a little was seeing another black “X” where that motorcycle gang had set up their hangar so many years ago.

I guess about the only place the Feds didn’t have their hooks in
around where I lived was with the local bosses. Or maybe they did; if they were still alive and undercover, they wouldn’t have shown up on the map.

hat’s how I ended up here. Coming home while I waited to die was my choice, and I was intractable on that score.

I couldn’t risk waiting for the needle anyplace other than close to home. I had to make sure they kept me in a place where Tory-boy could visit.

I had to be in a place where I could still get messages out when I needed to. A place where I could still do business.

And maybe, if the prison was as open to cash-money deals as the men who’ve been here say, maybe even a chance to kiss my Evangeline goodbye.

will keep my end of the bargain. Lansdale and Judakowski, they’re both gone now. That doesn’t change a thing.