Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) by Gary Ross (i can read books TXT) 📕

of the speaker. The sound was robotic, eerily similar to the prosthetic voice of the physicist Stephen Hawking—which made what it said all the more jarring:

“Slavery! they cry. Slavery! Let me tell you, my fellow patriots, my fellow Christians. Slavery is sanctioned in the Bible. Both Testaments. Abraham had slaves. Canaan was made a slave because his father Ham saw his father Noah naked. Jesus never spoke against slavery. Consider these verses: ‘Tell slaves to be submissive to their masters and to give satisfaction in every respect; they are not to talk back, not to pilfer, but to show complete and perfect fidelity, so that in everything they may be an ornament to the doctrine of God our Savior.’ Titus two, verses nine and ten. Or, my friends, consider these: ‘When a slave owner strikes a male or female slave with a rod and the slave dies immediately, the owner shall be punished. But if the slave survives a day or two, there is no punishment; for the slave is the owner's property.’ Exodus 20, verses 21 and 22. See, these passages show us that slavery was part of God’s plan. When we deviated from His plan, the country began to go to shit.”

Marlo touched her phone again, and the recording stopped. She took another pull on the cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

I exchanged a look with Drea, whose lips were pressed into a tight line. Next, I turned to Ophelia, whose jaw was set as she squeezed the blood out of the hand Judge Chancellor had slipped around her waist. Chancellor’s eyes were narrowed behind his glasses, his mouth curled down in a frown. Rory Gramm’s mouth was open wide enough for a fist to fit inside. Edie Gramm blinked in confusion, eyes darting from face to face. Alvin and Arlene Zachritz were visibly uneasy, their eyes lowered as if avoiding the eyes of others. Carpenter squeezed Randall’s hand as he gave his head a slight shake and let out a long breath.

“He sounded like that paralyzed scientist,” Randall said. “Someone’s idea of a joke.”

“A sick joke,” Marlo said. “But that wasn’t Stephen Hawking, may he rest in peace.”

“If it’s who I think it is, he calls himself Morgan Krieger,” Drea said. “Morning warrior in German. Nobody knows his real name but he’s popular among supremacists.”

“Correct,” Marlo said. “That snippet was from the podcast Dawn Warrior.”

“Whoever he is, he’s cherry-picking the Bible,” Chancellor said, his smooth, deep voice even lower than usual. “And changing the language. If memory serves, those passages use the word servant.”

If Bobby had been here, he probably would have explained that the words were interchangeable in the context of when the passages were translated into English and that by most measures American-style slavery was a low point in the history of servitude. But he wasn’t here, and I said nothing. It wasn’t my job to settle debates about Morgan Krieger but to protect Drea from men like him.

“It’s one thing to have a diversity conference,” Marlo said. “It’s another to understand deeply how much we need one.” She tapped her phone again.

“Liberty! Freedom! Emancipation! They finally got it and what did they do with it? They’ve destroyed American cities with drugs and gangs, laziness and promiscuity. Their men litter the landscape with bodies and babies as casually as a dog moves its bowels. Their women open their legs for a smile and a dollar and a please-baby-baby-please. All they want is loose shoes, tight pussy, and a warm place to shit. They’re exactly the pathetic, infantile, hopelessly primitive mud puppets the Jews want them to be to undermine white Christian civilization. Blacks are not alone in this effort, my friends. All you need to do is look around to see what decades of cultural deconstruction, race-mixing, immigration, integration, multiculturalism, and homosexuality have done to Christian and European values—Jewish control of money and the media, Islamic terrorists pouring into the country to wait for the signal to rise up against us, Asians dominating us in trade and displacing whites in every corner of the culture and economy from the national spelling bee to high tech manufacturing, murderous Spanish trash storming the southern border no longer to steal jobs from white Americans but to sell drugs, rape American women, and engage in stateside gang warfare. Saving the race—saving my race—will be a long and arduous process. If I live to see Clown World fall and a new white nation rise, fantastic. If I don’t, I’m proud to have helped set the process in motion.”

Marlo paused the podcast again. For a time no one said anything. She crushed out her cigarette as James, hands clasped on the table, scowled at no one in particular.

“Is there anybody he doesn’t hate?” Edie Gramm said.

“Besides himself?” her husband said.

Ophelia sat forward so Judge Chancellor could shift in his seat. He let out a throaty rumble of disgust. “I for one have heard enough. If you folks will excuse my language, this Krieger fellow is an asshole.” He let out an angry breath. “If South Asian kids dominate the spelling bee, it’s because other kids are too busy playing video games or worshipping their online presence to learn anything. Toddlers who find their parents’ loaded guns lying around kill more American people every year than Islamic terrorists or undocumented aliens. Now don’t get me started on the real terrorists, those so-called lone wolves, white men who have the luxury of being mentally ill when they shoot up a Black church or a synagogue.”

“Which is why this conference can’t be one big kumbaya,” Marlo said. “Attendees and the news media alike need to know the extent of the threat we’re facing as a democracy.” She looked straight at Rory. “Mr. Gramm, when I suggested we play parts of a racist podcast for a plenary session, you said no. The conference should be a positive experience, you said. You didn’t know I was going to do this tonight. What do you think