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Chapter Forty-four
Lee Lambert, now known as Bart Lamb, loved his decked-out Ram 3500. Owning the most powerful truck he could find… and afford… had tickled him silly. It had all the bells and whistles and more chrome than an exotic car show.
Funny thing how the vehicle made him feel important as shit when he arrived anywhere sporting the piece of black magic. Fellows eyed the truck, and the females eyed him in a way he’d always yearned of being looked up to. Far as he was concerned, he deserved the treatment.
It had taken a long time and a lot of suffering to get where he was today. All that shit-talking in jail when he’d been young and stupid… but not too stupid to listen to all the different groups before coming to a decision. Battling his way through all the bullshit talk before choosing the men he wanted to hang with had been one of the smartest plays he’d ever made.
He’d fought hard with anyone who provoked his rage and goaded him to explode. Something he’d done easy and often. Until finally, the guys he felt at home with because of their ideologies accepted him. To become their eventual leader had taken even more fighting and bloodletting, but he’d done it and survived.
All his life, he’d been taught to hate the black race, mostly by his old man who’d been his reason for ending up in a cell in the first place.
He’d known his dad had been flat-out pissed the night they’d beaten up the loudmouth in the bar.
They’d both been drunk and spouting their beliefs until that stupid prick called them out. Bastard should have kept his mouth shut. He’d got what he deserved. They just hadn’t meant to go so far.
His old man had been feeling his oats that night and had taken pure enjoyment outta the beating. But Lee had come to his senses first and pulled the idiot off. Examining the crushed and broken body lying in a pool of blood, he’d figured the man must be dead. Funny thing, when they ran for their lives and later found out he’d lived, Lee understood one thing, they’d be up on assault charges.
What burned his britches raw, his old man had kicked the bucket between that time and when the victim died. Not long after, he’d been caught… left to satisfy the law himself.
His stepbrother – goody-two-shoes Kane, had fled first chance he’d gotten. Not that he’d even been involved, but if Lee could have led the police to believe Kane had done the beating, it might have gotten him off the hook.
Little bastard had always annoyed him. From the day his last stepmother had died giving Kane birth, he’d held it against him. That sweet woman had been the only person who’d ever cared if he ate, slept, or cried. His own mother had left him on his dad’s doorstep with a note saying, he’s yours, deal with him.
For a couple of years after that newest stepmom entered the picture, life hadn’t been too bad. He’d had clean clothes, good food, and even nighttime kisses. For the first time in his life, he’d cared when the old fart lost his temper on the small woman, and a few times he even stepped in to take the beating.
Then came the day his dad carried the new baby into the house and told him his stepmom wouldn’t be returning… that she’d died giving birth. Those were the very words that had lit his hatred. It ramped up when he saw the old man hover over the bundle as if he cared when the baby screamed. From that moment on, he’d begun planning his revenge.
Only thing that saved the kid’s life was having the aunt arrive to take Kane away. To this day he couldn’t explain why he’d wanted to be thrilled to wave goodbye to the kid and still horrified that she hadn’t taken him too.
From then on, having his father’s attention to himself meant he got all the beatings… until at twelve, Kane lost his aunt and returned to the fold. Now that had been another strange day filled with hate and a weird kind of – of gladness. Seeing Kane so tall and healthy compared to his own smaller, lean body covered with old bruises and pale skin had resurrected his dreams to destroy the boy.
What he hadn’t figured on was the strange feeling he had whenever Kane stepped up and tried to defend him from their father’s drunken rages. He’d never dreamed the kid would do something like that, and he didn’t understand it.
Laying low, he ignored Kane. Ignored the weird need he had to try and understand him. In the end, as much as he loved having his dad’s attention, even getting drunk with the bastard, he still felt that strange hidden bond with his brother.
On the night of the incident, they’d forced Kane on the run with them because the old man had the idea that if the law caught up with them, they could use him as a scapegoat. Then the little asshole outsmarted them both and took off, leaving Lee alone to satisfy the penalty when his son of a bitchin’ father died.
He’d spent fifteen years in the penitentiary, but they hadn’t been wasted. He’d built up a huge force of men who felt the same way he did. Through organizing, knowing the right people, pure dumb luck, and a mean streak no one wanted to ignite, he’d become the leader of the pack.
Nowadays, he was invited all over the country to help with various plans for friction and violence… to make people see them as a viable faction with solid views that many like-minded folks in the country were in agreement with.
Though he’d acknowledge that not all the company he kept would be considered the salt of the earth… rather more like riffraff no one wanted around… in this country, these individuals had freedom of speech and expression like everyone else.
On his way to D.C., he rethought the arrangements they’d planned for the next day. Chuckling, he envisioned the horrendous impact their preparations would have on the public. It tickled him to think the reporters would have a heyday covering the deaths of so many. Hell, they’d have breaking news coverage for weeks.
He laughed out loud, slammed his hand on the steering wheel, and stamped on the gas. Fighting for control, he righted the truck and slowed down, knowing he’d screw up royally if tonight of all nights he were to be caught by the law.
No doubt, they’d be capturing some of the offenders eventually. He’d lay money on the table right now that whoever got caught would bring down everyone else they knew… just not him. In the past, he’d stayed a ghost and planned to do so this time as well.
Then, if all went as planned, it would be the worst terrorist attack ever to occur in the state… hell the whole country. That’s if the local idiot he’d been talkin’ to on the phone… what was his name? Right – Gordie. He prayed Gordie had more brains than the slug he took him to be.
Biggest problem for Lee had always been that the people he had to deal with couldn’t hold a candle in intelligence to a third grader. Without him stepping in and organizing everything for the militia at the last minute and checking multiple times that his wishes had been carried out, he couldn’t possibly leave the outcome in their hands. Not if he wanted his plan to succeed.
It took skill to remain the unknown presence at the top of the ladder, but he’d been successful so far… and planned to continue. In fact, he had a lot of plans. One day, the world would know his name and many who believed as he did in a single white race would treat him with respect… like the leader he believed he could be.
Circling the countryside of the so-called clubhouse he’d heard so much about, he soon found the location matched the description Gordie had boasted about. Okay… that was one on the positive side. Go figure!
His reconnaissance had been his usual practice since the day he’d almost stepped into a hoard of black and white lit-up locusts out for his blood. Last minute, he’d gotten away, and he’d never been caught with his pants down since.
Driving through the forest lane to where a lot of vehicles were scattered around the yard, he turned the truck facing out and parked closest to the exit. Then he stepped from the vehicle and with his weapon firmly tucked into his waistband, began checking the surrounding area.
Along the way, he sent a text to his connection inside.
