Against my better judgement

Chapter 16: house rules

The grass is up to Flip's ankles as he waits outside the house door, heart in his mouth with every second that passes. He's never been invited around to Felix's place, and there's good reason for that. Felix hates him with a passion. Of all the men in the Klan, with their racist tendencies and radial ideologies, he is by far the one that makes Flip's stomach churn the most. He's the first to jump to violence, first to spit hatred from foul lips and the last man Flip wants to spend his weekends visiting. Even now, three and a half months deep into the investigation, he still doesn't regard Flip the same as the other men. Still casts him a wary eye whenever he enters a room, still counters every word that comes from his mouth, still questions whether his blood is true Aryan. And of course, Flip holds his own the best he can. Quips every comment that comes his way, diverts his aggression when things get too heated, tells himself not to act on his instincts and put five bullets in his chest. But this feels different. Felix's home is his own domain, to do with him as he pleases, treat him as he sees fit, and as his wife rushes to the door to greet him, Flip can barely force a smile to hide his dread.

            "You must be Ron, I've heard so much about you!" A short, rotund woman greets him giddily, throwing her arms around him into a tight embrace. "I'm Connie, Felix's wife. Come in, come in."

She seems unfazed by his lack of enthusiasm to meet her, ushering him in with a drying cloth in her hand. He's not sure what he would have expected of Felix's partner, but the seemingly bubbly brunette in front of him is not what he had in mind. She seems the opposite of him in every way, warm where he is cruel, thick bodied where he is nothing but hatred and bone, donning a bright floral dress when Felix wears nothing but shades of black and grey. He bows his head as he passes though the doorway.

            "They're right in there," she gushes, guiding him forward with a wobbly arm.

Her eyes pour over him hungrily. He's not like the other Klan men. With their stingy hair, gaunt faces, empty brains. No. He is muscled, well-kept and seemingly switched on. Just the height of him against her short frame makes her breathing quicken. Flip offers her a wry smile, follows the sound of Klansmen chatter into the back room. His large boots creak against the floorboards, twenty or so faces turning to look at him as he enters.

            "Ron, glad you could make it." Walter smiles, handing him a beer instinctively.

Flip takes it, leans against the wall behind him, large back pressed against the ugly patterned wallpaper. He offers a nod to two or three of the men as he sips, avoids Felix's eyes as he feels them boring into the side of his head.          

            "Now fellas, you know I ain't one to showboat but I've been on the phone to The Organisation's head office all morning and... I got some big news." Walter raises his arms wide, soaking up the suspense of the moment.

Flip gulps down the beer in his mouth, lowers the bottle from his lips, feels something in his stomach unsettle.

            "David Duke is coming to your Membership Ceremony on March 15th!"

The room erupts in a cheer, guttural shouts from the men making the small tables shake, glasses vibrating across the surfaces, spilling beer onto the ground. Flip is grateful that in their celebration, they don't notice the dread that falls across his face, the drop of his stomach that almost makes him loose grip of his beer. Fuck, he thinks. Had Ron heard that over the mic? Did he realise what this meant—for the investigation, for his safety? This assignment was meant to be purely informative, he wasn't meant to be meeting the Grand Wizard of the Klu Klux Klan. That was never in the blueprint. The next words out of Walter's mouth are lost to him, like garbled sentences spoken underwater. He zones out, allows his mind to run wild. He needs to get out. Fast. Before he can conjure up an excuse, fake a phone call from a relative or feign a migraine, Felix is standing next to him, dark eyes like the pits of hell focused right on Flip's face.