The console had cheap plastic doors that didn’t lock. Chub resolved to shoot Shiner in the kneecaps if he went anywhere near it.
Night had fallen before they beached at Pearl Key. Bode Gazzer used liquid charcoal lighter to get a fire going. Chub stripped down and hung his sopping clothes in the mangroves. Shiner was ordered to unload the boat. He couldn’t believe Chub was sauntering around camp in his underwear, right in front of Amber.
“Want some bug spray?” Chub asked her.
“I’m cold,” she said.
In an instant Shiner was there with an army blanket. Chub snatched it and wrapped Amber’s shoulders. He handed her an aerosol can of insect repellent and said: “Squirt a lil on my legs, wouldya?”
She did as she was told, her expression concealed by Chub’s lanky shadow. Bode Gazzer glanced up from the campfire—it was foolishness; such a girl had no place in a paramilitary unit. Shiner was equally dismayed, but for different reasons.
He piped, “They’s some dry camos in the duffel.”
Chub ignored him. He seemed entirely relaxed in mud-splattered Jockey shorts.
“So, Amber,” he said, “where’d y’all sleep last night?”
“The car.”
Chub cut a hard look at Shiner, who said: “By the side of the road.”
“Is that right.”
“Whatsa big damn deal?” Shiner didn’t appreciate how Chub was putting him on the spot: giving him the eye, acting like Shiner was holding something back.
Amber came to his defense. “It’s a Crown Victoria. You can fit a football team in there,” she said. “I slept in the back seat, Shiner slept in front. Anything else you want to know?”
Chub got red and flustered. The last thing he’d wanted to do was piss her off—hell, some girls were flattered when you got jealous. He offered Amber a Budweiser.
“No, thanks.”
“Some jerky?”
“I think I’ll pass.”
Bodean Gazzer said, “We got to have a meeting. Sugar, can you leave us men alone for ’bout thirty minutes.”
Amber looked out toward the gray woods, then turned back to Bode. “Where exactly am I supposed to go?”
Shiner cut in, saying it was all right for her to stay. “She knows who we are, and she’s a hundred percent with the program.”
Now it was the colonel’s turn to shoot him the evil eye. Shiner didn’t cave. “She’s even gonna fix my tattoo!”
“Too bad she can’t fix your fuckin’ brain.” Chub, picking at his eye patch as if it were a scab.
Bodean Gazzer sensed that his hold on the newborn militia was slipping. Amber would have to shut up and behave, that’s all. Her presence was disrupting the group; the scent of her in particular. While Bode was grateful for any fragrance potent enough to neutralize the stink of Chub’s perspiration, he felt throttled by Amber’s perfume. It fogged his brain with impure thoughts, some of them jarringly explicit. Bode was angry at himself for entertaining base fantasies when he should be concentrating totally on survival.
He spread an oilskin tarpaulin and called the meeting to order. Amber sat cross-legged in the center of the tarp, with Shiner and Chub on each side.
“As you know,” Bode began, “we’re here on this island because something—somebody—calls themselves the Black Tide is out to destroy us. I got no doubt it’s a Negro operation, a pretty slick one, and I expect they’ll find us eventually. We come all the way out here to regroup, get our weapons in tiptop shape and make a stand.
“Now, I believe with all my Christian heart we’re gonna prevail. But to whip these black bastards we gotta be prepared, and we gotta be a team: armed, disciplined and well-regulated. Pretty soon ‘Merica’s gonna come under attack—I don’t need to tell you about that. The New World Tribunal, the communists, NATO and so forth. But this here’s our first big test, this Black Tide… now what?”
The Hooters girl had raised her hand.
“You got a question?” Bode Gazzer said, perturbed.
“Yeah. Where do you guys see this going?”
“Pardon?”
“The plan,” Amber said. “What’s the long-range plan?”
“We are the White Clarion Aryans. We believe in the purity and supremacy of the Euro-Caucasian people. We believe our Christian values been betrayed and forsaken by the United States government… “