“If you would, I’d like you to keep looking for Linc,” she said. “I’ll pay you.”
I nodded, that tiny, self-centered devil on my shoulder applauding. “I’d be happy to keep looking.”
“Thank you.”
It wasn’t just about the money for me, though. Being attacked and shot at had given me my own incentive to find Linc and figure out how it all meshed together.
“Anything you can tell me about Linc that might help?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Not that I can think of. He withdrew from pretty much everyone after his mom died. I kept tabs on him through Peter.” She paused. “He was going to San Diego State, but I’m assuming you already know that.”
I nodded. “I do. I’ve learned a few things, but I’m not sure how they all fit together.”
“Such as?”
“I believe he was selling guns primarily to gang members.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
I told her what I’d found in Linc’s apartment and about the connections with Wizard Matellion and Deacon Moreno.
She stared at me like I’d told her that San Diego was in Arizona. “Good Lord.”
“And I think he had something to do with a hate group, too,” I said. “It looks like he was using his connections to both groups. Selling guns for the skinheads to the gang members.”
“Oh, Linc,” she said, clearly frustrated by her nephew’s actions.
“Can you tell me anything about his involvement with the hate group?”
She was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Have you ever heard of National Nation?”
“No.”
She shook her head. “My brother, their father, was a member. Very involved. He held some kind of office or something.”
She paused, the anger forming on her face.
“We all were disgusted by it,” she said, her voice rising a little, gathering steam. “And ashamed. And embarrassed. Peter, of course, knew what it was immediately and wanted no part of it.” The lines around her mouth drew tighter. “But Linc didn’t. And then Linc decided he kind of liked it.”
Marie sighed. “As I said, my brother, Anthony, was some sort of leader in it. It took over his life and he died because of it. Went after some black kid and got stabbed.” She shook her head. “I wanted to feel bad about his death, but I couldn’t. The world was a better place.”
“Linc stayed involved?”
“I’m not sure to what extent,” she answered. “But I know he was still doing things for them. I caught him handing out literature with their slogan on it.”
The afternoon sun surfaced in the sky and beat down on my face, my skin tightening against the heat.
“White is right,” I said.
She turned to me, surprised. “Yes. That’s their slogan. So you have heard of them?”
I had.
Twenty-three
I thanked Marie Pluto for her time after we exchanged phone numbers and she wrote me a check to retain my services. I told her I would keep her informed and headed off to find Wellton, my mind buzzing.
Linc had put himself in a horrendously dangerous position. I’d already figured out that he was selling the skinheads’ guns to the gang members. I wondered about the extent of his involvement with National Nation, though. I had a hard time believing that someone devoted to purifying the white race would have any dealings with African-Americans, even if there was money involved. Just like everyone else, bigots had their limits.
And above everything else, what would be worth putting yourself in such a dangerous spot?
I found Wellton in his cramped office. I slid into the chair across from him.
“Anything?” he asked, pushing back from the desk.
“No,” I said. “But I need to come clean with something.”
“Oh, shit,” Wellton said, rolling his eyes. “Here we go.”
“There are guns in Linc Pluto’s apartment,” I said, knowing I couldn’t keep it from him any longer. “I didn’t tell you at first because I didn’t think it was related to Rachel’s shooting.”
“‘Didn’t think’ is the key phrase there,” Wellton said, irritated.
“Whatever. I’m still not sure it’s tied to Rachel. But I think they are tied to Linc’s disappearing act and Peter’s death not to mention the beating I took.”
Wellton gritted his teeth. “Why in the fuck would you not tell me that before?”
“When Peter came to me, he knew Linc was in trouble. He was trying to find his brother and keep him from making a mistake. I was doing as my client asked,” I said. “And like I said, I’m still not sure it’s relevant to the shooting at the apartments.”
“Would’ve been nice to know there was a room full of guns next door to the vic’s apartment,” Wellton grumbled.
“Hey. There could be guns on the other side of that apartment, too. You saw the place.”
Wellton stared at me. “Are the guns still there?”
“Should be.”
Wellton exhaled and it sounded like a hiss. “Dazzle me with why you think the guns are tied to Pluto’s death.”
I laid out Linc’s involvement with both groups and what Mike Berkley and Marie Pluto told me about his involvement with National Nation.
He tapped his finger on his chin. “I hate to say it, but that makes sense. Of course, if I’d known what you knew when you knew it, I might’ve put that together, too.”
I didn’t say anything.
Wellton leaned back in his chair and brought his feet up on his desk. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right. He’s a member of this group and he’s dealing guns to the bangers.”
“I don’t see anything else that fits.”
“You think either side knew what he was doing?”
I shook my head. “I don’t see how. No way skinheads would be cool doing business with a black gang, and I’m pretty sure the gang would feel the same way.”
“So he was freelancing.”
“Have to think so. I just don’t get why.”
“Pretty dangerous work,” Wellton said, rubbing his chin. “And pretty fucking stupid. Either side finds out, he’s a corpse in a hurry.”
“Maybe one side found out,” I said.
“Maybe.”
We sat there in silence.
Wellton pulled his feet off the desk. “You gonna keep chasing this kid?”
“I told the aunt I would,” I said.
“Plus you got a little score to settle,” he said.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe my ass.” He looked at me. “You know much about hate groups?”
“Not really. Just what I’ve read.”
He grabbed a Rolodex from the corner of his desk and thumbed through it. “Sick fuckers. Poorly organized, but funded enough to keep doing their thing.”
“They have big numbers here in San Diego?” I asked.
“Fair amount,” he said, flipping through his Rolodex. “Not as much as some cities, but enough to make trouble.” He copied something off the card onto a notepad, then stared at the piece of paper. “Can’t believe I’m about to ask this.”
I stayed silent, not wanting to ruin the moment.
“If you’re gonna keep looking, I could use your help.” He spoke deliberately, as if he weren’t sure of the words. He gestured at a two-foot-high stack of folders on the desk. “I’m buried here. And I got no end in sight. If you wanna share what you get, I’ll do the same.”
“You want me to get involved?” I asked.
“You already are.”
“But I have your permission to poke around and stir things up?”
“Just around this Linc kid,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Share what you find. Like, say, an apartment full of guns. You find shit like that, I wanna know.”
“You wanna deputize me, make it official? Maybe we could hug or something?”
“I am not the cure for your jungle fever.” He tore the sheet from the pad and handed it to me. “Talk to this guy.”
The name Gerald Famazio and a phone number were on the paper. “Who’s this?”
“Professor at USD. Sociology, but he specializes in hate groups. He can probably give you a few names, let you know where to find some folks.”
I nodded and stood. I folded the slip of paper and dropped it in my pocket. “Liz in her office?”