Douglas Mercer
February 2 2025
Continued from The Order: A Drama (Part Eight)
I should have killed Tom Martinez when I had the chance, make no mistake about it. I am certainly nobody’s idea of a weak sister, but in this instance my mind was not clear. First off it was obvious to one and all that he was not one of us in heart and mind, far from it actually. He believed in the cause alright but not in the correct path to achieve it. And he had a wife who, to my chagrin, was one of the few people who were able to resist my charms. All that should have been more than enough. When he was first arrested I should have seen plain as day that eventually, one way or another, he would defect. But when it came to him I continually mined fool’s gold, thinking I could bring him over to go under with me. I see now that was an impossibility, a man’s character, if not his fate, is always a sealed matter. So I should have killed him, not cut his head off to bring back as a victory trophy, but made it look like some random nigger.
We could then have utilized him as yet another fallen martyr and so he would have benefited our cause. I would not even have told anyone else in the group, and just shook my head along with everyone else at what our world was coming to. Not having done so was the moral equivalent of me leaving the gun on the road in Ukiah. As I look back at it now I see that my lack of action in this regard, and I did consider it, was because I put the personal ahead of the professional; and me, who pride myself above all on being a cool headed logician and the epitome of professionalism should have known better. That’s why I always told them not to burn crosses, it was cheap theatrics and served no purpose. This was life and death, not a pageant for crying out loud. And that was my reputation too, a bit fearsome, that emotions should never get in the way of a level head. In another life I would have made a good executive. I really would have.
What led to this was the fact that Tom Martinez got arrested for counterfeiting (June 28 2024). We had been explicit to him that he must not pass the fake bills near his home. But out of some perhaps unspecified and unwarranted guilt or subconscious desire for self destruction he did just that. Once he was in custody I knew that he was a weak link and all of my self-recrimination for not heeding the warning signs that he was not a fully fledged partisan of our cause came flooding upon me. But one should never cry over milk that has been spilled. To me then he simply became a problem, one that needed to be handled quite delicately, to try to dissuade him from talking, to assure him of my belief in him, to offer him money and, I must admit, at the bottom of my mind, to once and for all convince him to leave his life behind and go underground me with me. It was all of no avail. In retrospect it was likely all one of those will o the wisps of Marfa, Texas. His death could have saved me but, alas, it is all now too late.
So with Tom it was game of cat and mouse, and the whole Order had to adjust. My predicate was that it was at least quite possible that he had talked and so The Order split into two groups. My cadre preferred cheap motels and safe houses, though there were some trips back to Metaline Falls. First I had to get Tom’s head screwed on right; so for his upcoming trial I offered to get him a lawyer of my own choosing and it was suspicious that he refused. By the gods he got one of his own and it was a Jew, of all things! I finally talked him out of that but I could not get as aggressive as I wanted lest I arouse his suspicion. And yet I kept sticking my hand in this flame.
When I called the first time I got his wife, and I could tell right away that I was not the about to win her over with my boyish effervescence. I would not say that she was chilly with me but only very correct, a position that people who are in fear often retreat to though anyone with two good ears can see through it. When she told me that law enforcement agents had visited the home due to the counterfeiting (brought to the attention of the Secret Service by a Jewish shopkeeper to whom Tom had passed not one but two fake bills which was against the rules) I asked her smoothly: how many of them? She told me ten and I immediately pictured the crowded scene in Tom’s relatively small home and the panic it must have elicited in him and her.
Without betraying any emotion I told her ten? Really? Listen, Susan, everything will be okay. I’ll get back to you. Don’t worry. It will be fine. That is what I always say to everybody in such drastic situations. I realize it may sound insincere or an example of Pollyannaish or wishful thinking but it’s not. I mean it. And it’s always true too. Provided of course that the people I am speaking with listen to me and follow me. If they do everything will be fine, I guarantee it. It’s when they choose their own way that things go wrong for them.
I called back that night and heard the tale from Tom. I responded very sympathetically, like a doctor doing a house call with the perfect bedside manner, friendly, concerned, supportive. I was incredibly angry that he had ignored our warning of where not to pass the phony bills; but I knew that expressing any recriminations would be completely counter-productive, so I let it pass with a it’s just one of those things shrug. What a bad break, buddy is what I told him, ladling out no blame. For to me unless one is going to deal with it decisively by killing or total separation blame is always irrelevant and a self-defeating concept. It only arouses emotions and impedes the solution. Mistakes cause problems to be sure but it was the problems, not their cause, which must be addressed. It was the problem that must be dealt with, contained and, if possible, turned to an advantage. That is why people are surprised that I never get all that riled up over the Jews; for though I am as clear eyed as anyone as to their motives and aims I only see them as a problem if one that cannot be managed or contained but only dealt with.
As always in such serious crises I broke it down logically. This problem meant one of two possibilities. Either Tom would become so frightened at his arrest and turn fugitive and so finally join The Order—a good result. Or he would become so frightened he would choose to become an informant—a bad result. Smart thinking could make the good result more probable and rash thinking would make the bad result more likely. As always I acted accordingly. Of course killing him would have cut that Gordian knot in two, but the road not taken as they say.
At my behest Tom had been invited over to the home of another member of The Order. For the element of surprise I was there when he arrived and smiling my most mischievous smile I said surprised you didn’t I? That was the night that a female member of the group who was a beautician dyed my hair that platinum blonde, and I can say I barely recognized myself the results were so impressive. As we chatted about this and that I told one of the men to go the nearby Motor Inn where I was staying to fetch Zillah, who by then was pregnant. I wanted Tom and his wife to see the nature of what our life would be like once we had secured the business of living. When she arrived I patted her belly and cooed at my child. Anyone who thinks that me being a cold-blooded killer exhausts my personality has another thing coming.
I told Tom to pick up Susan and meet us at a nearby restaurant, knowing that a charm offensive with his wife would be necessary. For my dream was that not only Tom would go underground with me but bring his wife and child along as well, for two reasons. First off that is the right manner of living, for the family to be together throughout whatever transpires; and second, no man can act clearly and decisively who somewhere out in the world has hostages to fortune.
When we all arrived at the restaurant I ordered the two other men to sit at their own table and for Tom, Susan, Zillah and I to be at our own. Tom said that I had started to act like some kind of Godfather and I took the comment in good stride, telling him when you pay a man 20,000 a month you have the right to be a little high handed. Alas, it was no dice with Tom's wife, she turned out to be an impossible nut to crack. I can say that she was a smart lady, and a good judge of character: she feared me. And from her perspective, with her aims, a nice life in comfort in the suburbs with a family she was right to fear me. I was the implacable enemy of all of that.
Had I the time and the opportunity I would have tried to persuade her that her dreams were only phantoms, phantoms that one might chase and even obtain for a while, but in the end would slip though one’s fingers like water running down a drain. That if not for her then surely for her children or their children no such comforts were in the offing for White people in this country, as it was no longer ours. But that kind of things takes lots of preparation and lot of open mindedness on the part of the recipient; and she was in no mood for that and, anyway, brass tacks at the time was to gently convince Tom, in a way unspoken, not to go over to the enemy side.
I can say that her strategy was to realize that she was the key piece to my puzzle; and she placated me rather than crossed me. The whole purpose of my trip was not to listen to the always goosed up tales of the other members, but to assess the state of mind of Tom and Susan. I wanted to know how they were truly holding up under the ordeal. I assumed that she blamed me for the trouble that Tom was in, and that she might thus talk him into approaching the authorities, an outcome which I would do anything to stop. I wanted them both to see Zillah and myself as the happy pair we were, expecting a child and in love, and me as a serious but not frightening figure. But I also have to say that I genuinely liked Susan, she was a perfect example of a beautiful and caring White woman who loved her husband and her children and wanted to be a homemaker. But I can say for sure that my efforts to win her over came to nothing; had it not been so important that I succeed I might have chalked it up the truth that you can’t please everybody.
I met Tom only one more time before our fateful time at the Capri Motel. Who the cat was and who the mouse was by then was unclear which should have triggered me to become a lion. And if I can take myself to task for one failing it is this. That for all my steely eyed hard work and the relentless dedication I am capable of, what I really love most is relaxing among friends and living the good life—not the good life as understood by the world—but the good life of a nice clean White community, with many children around, and all of it in nature. And also for all of my concern with keeping silence I do love to talk, and I have some swagger in me which led me not to be as careful as I might have been, or not nearly enough at any rate. Mistakes as is said were made. Live and learn is what they tell us but I won’t soon be living—and the learning it has come too late for me.
I had given Tom all the money he needed to get himself the best lawyer. As the trial date approached I flew in to Philadelphia on a private plane and we met at a luncheonette. I told him about voice analyzing technology and how it could tell by subtle tones whether or not someone was telling the truth. We had a member of our group who went by the code name Learned Professor who could do such things, but he told me he would not take one, just on principle, and I did not pursue it. I then told him that what he should do is skip the trial and go on the run with me, that a trial meant either jail or legal entanglements but with me he would be home free. I told him that there was no way he could win, that ZOG was not just going to let him off, that was not how it worked. I felt like I was explaining the facts of life to him. Hell’s bells I said; I did not see that he had any choice in the matter.
I told him his wife and kids should come and we would give he and his family new names, we would go to the cemetery and find dead people who were born around the time they were and we were to the point where we could make perfect Birth Certificates and perfect driver licenses and Identification Cards of all kinds. And soon he would have new identity which would be unchallengeable and a future that was as bright as the sun. I then told him about how soon we would be robbing actual banks for ten and twenty millions of dollars and I wanted nothing more than for him to be a part of this glorious life. However, he temporized and said he wanted to think about it. I told him I could understand that—to think about it. The next time we met he was trailed by about 100 law enforcement agents and me, well, I had about one month left on this planet.
Continued at The Order: A Drama (Part Ten)
The Order: A Drama (Part Nine)
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Douglas Mercer
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