Run (Part 9)
He had been back in Kentucky for two years, but he may as well have gotten back yesterday. He’d done nothing but drink and barely hold down part-time gigs with friends of friends the whole time. He’d burned nearly all his bridges and had little left to lose.
The Sons of the White Wolf were right there waiting for him. Their tenets—power through force, survival of the fittest—were quite attractive to a man down on his luck with a tendency to live through impossible situations. They welcomed him in like he was a prodigal son, and embraced him, and set to work correcting his errors. First to go was his vague tolerance of people who looked different than him. His old army buddies who spoke Spanish were revealed to be double agents. They were working against the nation by destroying it from within. The blacks were tools for the Jews, trying to destabilize the major cities to take control.
It was brilliant. It all made sense. And David, one of the lucky few, was blessed enough to be let in on the secret. He stopped answering the phone when his brother called. He had new brothers now.
He was elated when they he was informed that he was one step away from proving his devotion to the cause and that, if he could prove his strength, he would be given more valuable revelations of higher orders, by magnitudes.
He stared at the group of black-clad men around him and smiled like he had just won the lottery.
“I’d do anything for the Sons of the White Wolf. What do I have to do?”