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Authors: Andi Marquette
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she said again.
“Yeah.” I emerged from the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I got some Tazo at the Co-op.” I assumed Melissa still drank the stuff. I did.
“No. But thanks.”
“Okay. Hold on.” I returned to the kitchen and retrieved one of the small chairs from the table. I brought it over to the computer and set it down next to the chair that I had been using most of the day. I sat down and opened up Megan’s photograph file.
Melissa took her suit jacket off and tossed it carelessly onto the couch before she sat down next to me. She smelled faintly of citrus. I was careful not to touch her and instead opened Megan’s photo file. We clicked through together. She recognized a couple of Megan’s non-racist friends, but that was all. I clicked on the images of Cody without his shirt on.
“What do his tattoos mean?” Melissa’s voice sounded tight.
I pointed at the double lightning bolts on his left pectoral. “That’s a tribute to Hitler’s secret police, the SS.” I moved my finger to his right pectoral, where the number “88” was etched. “That means ‘ heil, Hitler.’ ‘H’ is the eighth letter of the alphabet. Hence, eighty-eight.”
Melissa looked at me, a hard expression in her eyes. She commandeered the mouse and clicked on the next image.
“That’s the eagle of the Nazi Third Reich,” I explained. “If the artist is local, I’ll see if I can find him.” I kept my tone gentle, since it was obvious that this was hard for her. She didn’t say anything and her jaw muscles remained clenched. I then explained some of the things about the flyers that I had discovered. “So basically, given the tattoos and the other stuff, I think Cody’s probably neo-Nazi. KKK
tats are different. They like the Confederate flag and hangman’s nooses and stuff like that. Or a stylized cross with a blood drop in the middle.”
“Why a blood drop?”
“It represents the oh-so-pure blood of the white race.”
Melissa stared at me. “You’re shitting me.”
“No. For real. They take that ‘blood’ stuff really seriously.” I retrieved a Klan flyer from the couch and pointed out a paragraph that went on about “pure white men” and “fighting for the pure blood” of the white race.
Melissa shook her head. “How the hell do you manage to look at this all day?”
“Not really thinking about it.” I caught her eye and smiled wryly. “Yeah. I’m compartmentalizing. If I don’t, I can’t do it.”
“You know, it’s funny, but I guess I never—I guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your research when we—when you were here.”
We sat in silence for a few seconds before I responded. “Shit was happening. I, um, might have kept a lot to myself.”
She handed the flyer back, expression unreadable.
“So do you know what the group’s name is?”
I relaxed. This I could talk about. “No, but I’ll check in with a colleague at the local chapter of the ADL.”
Melissa waited.
“Judy. You know. I met her in grad school.”
Melissa looked puzzled.
“I know I must have mentioned her when I was dissertating. Didn’t I? Judy at the Anti-Defamation League?”
She pursed her lips, thinking. “Maybe.” She kept her eyes on the monitor. “I e-mailed over there to see if anyone would help me but somebody—not Judy—
wrote back and said they were basically a non-profit watchdog organization and didn’t have the resources to conduct private investigations. I offered to pay for research, but they said they couldn’t accept the funds.”
I moved to put my hand on her shoulder but stopped. I instead ran my hand through my hair.
“So is he a skinhead?” Melissa was staring at the photo.
“No, though his tats are definitely neo-Nazi leaning. Except for this one.” I reached over and clicked on the one that showed the pissed-off rat.
“This could be skinhead, since skins like to put some Nazi stuff in their body art. And that is the Nazi iron cross. But skins
“Yeah.” I emerged from the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I got some Tazo at the Co-op.” I assumed Melissa still drank the stuff. I did.
“No. But thanks.”
“Okay. Hold on.” I returned to the kitchen and retrieved one of the small chairs from the table. I brought it over to the computer and set it down next to the chair that I had been using most of the day. I sat down and opened up Megan’s photograph file.
Melissa took her suit jacket off and tossed it carelessly onto the couch before she sat down next to me. She smelled faintly of citrus. I was careful not to touch her and instead opened Megan’s photo file. We clicked through together. She recognized a couple of Megan’s non-racist friends, but that was all. I clicked on the images of Cody without his shirt on.
“What do his tattoos mean?” Melissa’s voice sounded tight.
I pointed at the double lightning bolts on his left pectoral. “That’s a tribute to Hitler’s secret police, the SS.” I moved my finger to his right pectoral, where the number “88” was etched. “That means ‘ heil, Hitler.’ ‘H’ is the eighth letter of the alphabet. Hence, eighty-eight.”
Melissa looked at me, a hard expression in her eyes. She commandeered the mouse and clicked on the next image.
“That’s the eagle of the Nazi Third Reich,” I explained. “If the artist is local, I’ll see if I can find him.” I kept my tone gentle, since it was obvious that this was hard for her. She didn’t say anything and her jaw muscles remained clenched. I then explained some of the things about the flyers that I had discovered. “So basically, given the tattoos and the other stuff, I think Cody’s probably neo-Nazi. KKK
tats are different. They like the Confederate flag and hangman’s nooses and stuff like that. Or a stylized cross with a blood drop in the middle.”
“Why a blood drop?”
“It represents the oh-so-pure blood of the white race.”
Melissa stared at me. “You’re shitting me.”
“No. For real. They take that ‘blood’ stuff really seriously.” I retrieved a Klan flyer from the couch and pointed out a paragraph that went on about “pure white men” and “fighting for the pure blood” of the white race.
Melissa shook her head. “How the hell do you manage to look at this all day?”
“Not really thinking about it.” I caught her eye and smiled wryly. “Yeah. I’m compartmentalizing. If I don’t, I can’t do it.”
“You know, it’s funny, but I guess I never—I guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your research when we—when you were here.”
We sat in silence for a few seconds before I responded. “Shit was happening. I, um, might have kept a lot to myself.”
She handed the flyer back, expression unreadable.
“So do you know what the group’s name is?”
I relaxed. This I could talk about. “No, but I’ll check in with a colleague at the local chapter of the ADL.”
Melissa waited.
“Judy. You know. I met her in grad school.”
Melissa looked puzzled.
“I know I must have mentioned her when I was dissertating. Didn’t I? Judy at the Anti-Defamation League?”
She pursed her lips, thinking. “Maybe.” She kept her eyes on the monitor. “I e-mailed over there to see if anyone would help me but somebody—not Judy—
wrote back and said they were basically a non-profit watchdog organization and didn’t have the resources to conduct private investigations. I offered to pay for research, but they said they couldn’t accept the funds.”
I moved to put my hand on her shoulder but stopped. I instead ran my hand through my hair.
“So is he a skinhead?” Melissa was staring at the photo.
“No, though his tats are definitely neo-Nazi leaning. Except for this one.” I reached over and clicked on the one that showed the pissed-off rat.
“This could be skinhead, since skins like to put some Nazi stuff in their body art. And that is the Nazi iron cross. But skins
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