Frank entered his father's office, his nerves starting to get the best of him.

It had never crossed his mind that he would be an informant for the police. But when Frank explained to Commissioner O'Reilly that Clayton Fisk was a Vigilante of the White, the barbaric clan that had beaten Henry mercilessly, O'Reilly said he needed some kind of proof to bring Clayton in. Or at the very least, he needed Clayton to admit that he was a member of the same secret society that had caused so much anarchy in Hester.

Frank supposed acting lessons would have helped him in this situation. But it was too late for that now. Everything was about to go down in just a few minutes.

"Okay," Frank said. "I asked one of the supervisors to send Clayton up here."

A rare smile appeared in Richard's expression. He leaned back in his wide leather chair and clasped his hands in front of his chest. "And what about our guests? Are they ready?"

"They're in the anteroom," Frank said, pointing his chin at the mahogany door beside the brick fireplace. "And they'll be listening to every word." He settled into the chair next to the desk, his gaze drifting to a photograph on the top of a manila folder.

It was a picture of the Pioneers team, including Henry and Big Willy.

Frank smiled. His father really had come a long way. He inhaled a calming breath and let it out slowly. "Remember how we rehearsed it. No surprises."

Muted footsteps approached the other side of the main door.

Frank felt his ears perk up. "That must be him."

"I hope this works," Richard said, his eyebrows arching with anticipation.

The footsteps stopped, and there were three quick knocks.

Clayton pushed the door open and stepped into the room, looking a little bewildered and perhaps feeling a little out of place in his soot-covered overalls, stained t-shirt, and a pair of scuffed work boots. "Hello, Mr. Bell," he said, nodding tentatively at Richard. Then he turned his attention to Frank and gave another slight nod. "And hello to you, Mr. Bell. I was told you wanted to see me, Sir?"

Frank Bell stood up, smoothing his palms down the sides of his navy suit jacket. "That's right," he said. "My father and I wanted to discuss a certain matter with you."

Richard leaned forward, fixing his gaze on Clayton. "It's a matter of utmost importance." He opened his desk drawer, withdrew a tan notebook, and handed it to Frank.

Frank held up the notebook. "Do you know what this is?"

Clayton turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "I don't have the foggiest, Mr. Bell."

Frank said, "This notebook contains all of the complaints against you from the colored workers over the past year. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Clayton's face turn pale, and he looked back and forth between Frank and Richard. "Now, wait a minute! I know I can be a mean cuss, but that's to keep those Negroes in line."

Richard rose from his seat and shook his head. "That's the wrong answer, son."

Clayton raised his palms like an innocent man. "You've got to believe me. I'm just showing those blackies the ropes, that's all. If it wasn't for me, those monkeys would be causing all sorts of problems in the mill."

Frank said, "You don't understand." He glanced over to his father, the old man giving him a nod, and he returned his attention to Clayton. "You see, we approve of your treatment of the blacks."

"That's right," Richard said. "In fact, we encourage it."

A look of bewilderment fell on Clayton's face as his eyes narrowed. "Is this a joke, Sir?"

Frank chuckled. Then he noticed his father grinning. He wondered if that was just an act, a part of the charade, or if he was truly amused with the situation. If it was the latter, Frank hadn't seen him exhibit such joy in years.

Frank shook his head. "No, we're not joking. We're not friends to the Negroes. The only reason we signed Henry and Willy to the Pioneers was to boost ticket sales, and that we've done."

Richard walked around his desk as he spoke to Clayton. "Son, we've heard a rumor that you may have connections to the Vigilantes of the White. Is that true?"

Surprise seemed to take over Clayton's expression. "Why would I have any connections to the Vigilantes?"

Frank set the notebook down on his father's desk. "It's okay. You can trust us. We want to join the Vigilantes of the White."

Clayton started to chuckle, and it grew into a hearty laugh.

Frank and Richard smiled in amusement.

When his laughter finally subsided, Clayton said, "Why would the powerful and mighty Bells want to join the Vigilantes?"

Richard's eyes gleamed. "Charles Darwin ... survival of the fittest. Because whites are the dominant race!"

Frank couldn't believe it. His father sounded utterly believable. Frank's eyes widened in expectation as he met Clayton's gaze. "So you'll help us to join the Vigilantes."

Clayton shook his head. "I'm not sure where you got your information from, but I don't know any Vigilantes. Heck, do I even look like Vigilante material?"

Richard pursed his lips in a flat line. "In my experience, looks can be deceiving."

Frank sighed. They were getting nowhere fast. If he tried to press Clayton, the son-of-a-bitch might get suspicious. This wasn't going the way he had hoped. He gave his father a look as if to say, Now what?

Richard returned a little sigh of his own and marched up to Clayton. "I suppose I'll have to prove that we're serious."

Clayton didn't say a word, but you could tell from his expression that he was curious about the proof.

And so was Frank, but this wasn't part of their rehearsal. "Father, what are you doing?"

Richard Bell ignored his son and strode to his filing cabinet. It was black with four drawers and a few nicks on the side. He opened the second drawer from the top and removed a metal security box, the kind that one might use to store deeds or wills. Richard set the box on top of a round table. With a trembling hand, he inserted a small silver key into the lock, gave it a twist, and opened the lid.

Inside the box was some sort of white cloth. Richard removed the material, unfolded it, and proceeded to pull it over his head.

Frank's expression froze in horror, even as a shiver snaked up his spine.

His father had donned the pointed white hood of the Ku Klux Klan, his gray eyes revealed through the round eye holes. "A long time ago, I was a member of the Klan. For nine months, I lived by their creed. But, I couldn't come to agree with their vision of a greater world." He removed the mask and laid it on the table. "So I left the Klan with a promise to myself that I wouldn't join another group like that unless I found the right one. And that right one is the Vigilantes of the White. We'd like to meet your commander."

For several heartbeats, Clayton remained silent, and he seemed to be contemplating something. Finally, he said, "Okay, I'll introduce you to the commander, but it won't be cheap."

Frank knew his father had been a member of the Klan, growing up in Vidor, Texas. He was twelve, and he had returned home early from school one day. Home was really a mansion, because his father had struck it rich in the oil business.

Frank snuck past his mother who was busy planting begonias in the garden. He slipped inside and tiptoed upstairs, stifling his giggles at the thought of surprising his father. Frank approached his father's bedroom, the door cracked open enough for him to see inside. Frank's heart plummeted to his stomach, as his father slipped that Ku Klux Klan hood over his head in front of the dresser mirror.

Frank never told his father that he knew. But after his mother died of pneumonia, Richard broke down and confessed to his son that he was a member of the Klan, but that he had decided to leave. One month later, he sold the mansion, left the Klan, and they moved to Hester to start a new life.

Frank returned to the present, and he met Clayton's expectant gaze. "What's your price?"

Clayton's brow crinkled with delight. "I'd say an even grand would do," he said with a casual smile.

Richard exchanged a look with his son. "It looks like we have a deal. If we pay you the sum of one thousand dollars, you'll arrange a meeting with the Commander of the Vigilantes."

"Do we have a deal?" Frank said. He extended his hand, and Clayton shook it up and down. "We do," Clayton said with a smile.

"Great!" Richard said as he started back to his desk. "I'll go ahead and write the check."

"Clayton, I have one question for you," Frank said.

"What is it?"

"How long have you been a Vigilante?"

"A little over a year now," Clayton said.

Frank grinned. We got you.

The door by the fireplace swung open.

Commissioner O'Reilly burst into the room, a six-foot-two Irishman with a fireplug nose and the physique of a professional quarterback. He wore a navy uniform that fit snug around his pillared frame.

Two police officers with hardened expressions followed the commissioner, one with a gun drawn and the other clenching a billy club. The two men looked like the meant business.

Clayton took a step back. "Hey, what's going on here?"

O'Reilly said, "You're under arrest, that's what's going on. For belonging to a secret group that has willfully caused anarchy against the citizens of this fine country."

Clayton flashed a nervous smile. "You can't be serious. I was just kidding. I'm not a part of any secret group."

O'Reilly said, "Then you won't mind us searching your house?" He stepped in close to Clayton, until they stood nose-to-nose. "I'm going to bring down every Vigilante in Hester and you along with them."

Clayton's lower jaw trembled. "But you're making a mistake. I swear ... I'm not a Vigilante."

"Take him away boys," O'Reilly said.

The police officers cuffed Clayton's wrists behind his back and proceeded to escort him toward the main door.

"Clayton!" Richard called his name so forcefully that Clayton and the police officers stopped in their tracks and pivoted around. "I don't know what's going to come out of all this, or if you're going to face any jail time, but if I ever catch you laying a hand on another colored person again, I'll make sure that you pay a tall price, you understand?"

Frank couldn't help but smirk at those last two words.

The policeman hauled Clayton off, and the door clicked shut.

There was a moment of silence, until O'Reilly turned sharply to Richard. "So you were a member of the Klan?"

Richard nodded. "It was a mistake I made a very long time ago."

Frank asked, "Why are you still keeping the hood?"

Richard looked at his son. "Because it reminds me of all the bad that I've done."

"I should arrest you too," O'Reilly said to Richard, and he looked serious about it too.

"Now wait a minute!" Frank said, ready to give the commissioner an earful.

But a smile dropped into O'Reilly's expression. "It's a good thing I didn't hear you give an admission of guilt."

The commissioner broke into laughter, and soon, all three men were laughing.

Their plan had worked.

Author's Note

Other than a few bumps along the way, a lot of good stuff is coming up in the remaining chapters.

Because I combined two future chapters, there will only be eight story chapters after this one, plus one bonus chapter.

Many of you have been reading from the beginning, which is simply amazing!

I will be logging usernames that have read from the start and have at least reached this chapter. Once Color is published, if you'd like to be mentioned either in the book or on the book website, please leave a comment or PM me.

I will only mention usernames that have given permission.

If you'd like me to use your real name, PM me your name (with your parent's permission if 18 or under ... seriously).

I may limit the number of mentions I include. It might be 25, or it might be 1,000. I don't know yet. So first come, first served.

Thanks again for reading, commenting, and being so supportive.

All the best!

Tom