Home > culture, secular > Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 5)

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 5)

I knew I was going to open up a lot of potential trouble when I opened up about what N3 could use against Clark McCracken. I hesitated, thinking through the situation, trying to anticipate any severe repercussions.

“What’s your problem, handsome?” Aileen Schachter said. “Cat got your – uh – tongue?”

I lost my train of thought. Was she flirting with me? Probably she was just urging me to come across with my knowledge of a weakness in the Aryan group that had brutalized Mr. Hahn and raped his daughter. Her rather stern, officious manner in the N3 meetings was gone. She seemed warm and friendly, but flirting seemed unlikely.

“Why is it so hard to say?” Aileen said. “Did he kill somebody?”

“I think he’d be proud of that. But this…,” I said, “is worse for him.” I handed her a copy that I’d prepared, of a photograph. I watched her strong, angular face go from puzzled to awestruck in five seconds.

“Where did you get a photograph of McCracken sucking off some guy?” she said.

“A gay friend of mine was there. In fact, he was waiting to be the next recipient of Clark’s fellatio,” I admitted. “He’s a tech-nerd and had a camera that looked like a button.”

“Why did he take the picture?” said Aileen.

“No reason except that he had this invisible camera and wanted to do something daring with it.”

“This is a break that will help us find the other goons,” she left her chair on the other side of the food-laden coffee table. She sat close beside me on the sofa. I was pleasantly surprised but a bit uncomfortable because I was unsure about her. She held the photo of Clark with a penis in his mouth out in front of us and leaned her small, warm body against me. “I’m eager to stick it in his face,” she said.

“How are we going to get to show it to him?” I said.

“We’ll go over to where he lives and show him. He rents a house with three of his fellow assholes,” she said. She slung her ubiquitous tote bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s reckless for just the two of us to rattle the cage of a bunch of thugs who’d like to beat us to death?”

“Stop acting so helpless and come on,” she said. The hard attitude was back in her manner.

I shrugged and went with her. We drove to the rural house where we believed Clark McCracken lived. I was instructed by Aileen to stop in the gravel driveway because the road was a secondary highway full of trucks.

We stepped out of the car. Immediately, Clark was standing on the front porch.

“You Jews got a lotta nerve, coming here. I guess you want a beating.” He brandished a baseball bat and slowly descended the porch steps to the lawn.

“What do we do now,” I whispered to Aileen. She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a Glock gun and shoved it into my hands.

“I’m not going to shoot anybody!” I gasped.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You won’t have to. Just hold it properly. The safety’s on.”

“What about you?” I said. “You need a weapon!”

“I have one,” she said. Clark was a few paces away from Aileen, the bat held high in preparation to crack her skull.

In a blur of action, Aileen suddenly whirled and came around with one leg in the air and Clark found himself flat on the ground, the bat gone from his hand, his hands holding his stomach as he gasped to catch his breath. Aileen knelt on his chest and held the photograph in front of his face.

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