Time: 15:02. Location: Amis Motel, Route 0.
Midnight on the outskirts of Sweet Hills. A flame interrupts the darkness of the road, burning lonely and dancing like a lost soul. The flame is joined by another flame, and the second fire is followed by a dozen more, also accompanied by several pairs of glowing eyes that, when close enough reveal, to be headlights of open-topped jeeps.
Twenty white ghosts in pointed hoods wave their torches and hunting rifles, emboldened by Carl Orff's fierce beat booming from amplifiers set on the flanks of the roaring vehicles. Aerials and ailerons shiver in the breeze, waving Confederate flags. At the tail end of the fury closes the march a ten-foot-high flaming cross, and in front of the carted cross a hooded man with a drum beats to the rhythm of the concert.
The caravan climbs the road up the first hill, passes the welcome sign and crosses the bridge. The torches reflect like spectral trails on the surface of the river. They invade the perimeter of Sweet Hills, pointing in the direction of the heart of the town, where the inhabitants sleep and rest ignorant of the danger.
The driver of the jeep leading the cavalcade, encloses the eyes as he catches a glimpse of a rectangular shape on the road. He speaks into the radio to inform the rest of the vehicles about the news. The caravan slows down and brakes, avoiding a collision. The music stops. Ten meters away from them is a truck's container blocking the road. The happy face of a cartoonish bee looks back at them.
A roar like a gunshot is heard. The hooded people ready their guns and point them in the direction of the noise... It comes from far away, practically at the other end of the village. From the forest rise a string of fireworks that explode in circles of light and color.
The door of the container is opened from the inside. Two rows of beekeepers emerge and, with speed and efficiency, take up position in front of the caravan. The first row plants the knee and aims with sub-machine guns equipped with noise suppressors, the second row aims standing up. Before any of the hooded could react, the beekeepers open fire.
The suppressed thunder of bullets echoes, disguised under the echo of the fireworks. The torches fall, the glass of the windows bursts, the spotlights explode and cease to illuminate, the white tunics are stained with a pierced dark red. One of the hooded men manages to fire his rifle before being shot, the projectile hits a beekeeper and knocks him backwards. After five seconds the beekeeper gets up again with the shell stuck and crushed against his uniform. The mercenary shakes off the flattened lead and resumes the burst.
The cross in the background splits in two and hits the road.
"Clarify if I understood correctly... Were they waiting for you group?"
"They had a whole welcoming committee prepared" says the hooded man sitting at the other end of the table, with his arms crossed, and a frown behind the holes in his mask.
Jordi scratches his scraggly beard with a neutral and reflective attitude. The cap he wears, which leaves his ponytail free, bears the circle of peace; and on the T-shirt under his fisherman's vest is written a message in favor of human rights. Despite looking like a peaceful man, he does not seem surprised by the anecdotes of war and violence.
"Maybe a member of your group betrayed them and sold the information?" Jordi asks, and with his fingers he pushes the recorder a little closer to the interviewee.
"Never. We all marched, blind and faithful, against that meat grinder. The man who dominates that town has connections, he's a professional. What a pity not to have investigated before, I would have chosen another place and avoided this disgrace. Let this testimony serve as a warning to my comrades in the other counties"
"Oleksandr Onyshchenko, what can you tell me about him?"
"Not too much. Just that it's dangerous, and leaves no clues or witnesses"
"But you're still alive"
The hooded man remains silent, his gaze drifting to a cockroach peeking around the corner of the table. The insect climbs up and cautiously scans the surface. The hooded man lifts one leg and drops it, crushing the cockroach with his heel. The white robe slides back to reveal the cold steel of a prosthetic limb.
"I got lucky" he says and drags the heel off the table, leaving a slimy trail. "Remember what you promised"
"I'll distort your voice, don't worry"
The hooded man nods.
"So Onyshchenko is now a declared enemy of the Ku Klux Klan?"
"Not at all. Onyshchenko is a white, heterosexual man just as valuable in the eyes of God as any of us. What is a pity, and a real disappointment, is his very territorial and extreme stance... But there are many people like him in this country, for example that black guy in Chicago who likes to sell fentanyl and beat up prostitutes"
"Big T?"
"That's the one. Although comparing them would be an insult to Onyshchenko. You know, maybe we could have contacted him and negotiated... The cleanup would have improved Sweet Hils' quality of life. It would have been quick, just one night, we were very well organized"
Eager to prove his point the hooded man leans under the table and from a sports bag pulls out a rolled up map which he unfolds in front of Jordi. It's a detailed map of Sweet Hills with stickers that serve as markers.
"What do the watermelons mean?" Jordi asks.
"Niggers"
"And the hearts?"
"Nigger lovers"
"I see..."
"As I told you, very well organized. No innocent American would have been hurt"
The hooded man rolls up the map and returns it to the sports bag. As he straightens up in the seat, the man's attention is drawn to the second person standing behind Jordi, a young girl with purple hair, wearing clothes well above her natural size.
"Do you have a problem with me, girl?"
The young woman keeps her little nose puckered as if she smells manure, but no words escape her lips. Jordi leans over to interject himself into the eye contact.
"My friend Lucy is in a vow of silence as a gesture of protest for the murdered women"
"What?"
"Domestic murders, male violence, those kinds of problems in our society. She aspires to speak again someday, when we solve it. The last thing to lose is hope"
The hooded man stares at Jordi in silence for a while, as if his head struggles to understand. The man's shoulders tremble and a laugh flourishes under his tunic.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life!" He shakes his head and runs a finger across his eyes to wipe away a tear.
Lucy's face reddens with fury, but she continues without mumbling words. The other person behind Jordi's back does react and approaches, slapping the table loudly, startling and silencing the hooded man. The tall, dark-skinned woman, careful not to lean over too much due to her swollen belly from 7 months of pregnancy.
"Listen to me, bag of fecal waste. You have no right to criticize my friend. She has more courage and integrity than you and everyone in your class put together. You want to talk about quality of life? The world would be a more breathable place if you all went hand in hand together and disappeared singing cumbaya into fucking hell, which is where racist trash belongs. Now cackle again and I'll shove my boot so deep up your ass it'll pop out of the mouth and be the most valuable thing to come out of there in your entire pathetic existence"
The hooded man is frozen and dumbfounded in front of the woman's accusing finger. Jordi sighs and runs his hand over his face. The interviewee comes out of his paralysis, crosses his arms again, leans back in his chair and gives Jordi a disgruntled look.
"You and your bitches can get the hell out of here before I decide to use the revolver I keep in my bag"
Jordi leaves the inn, followed by Martha and Lucy. Martha tells the young woman not to take any of the hooded man's words to heart, Lucy nods and smiles. Martha makes an effort to reach Jordi and puts her hand on his shoulder, preventing him from climbing into the RV. The woman pulls Jordi to the back of the vehicle to talk.
"I know you're upset"
"Am I?" Jordi gives a humorless half-smile. Brilliant deduction. "Very fitting after you swore to me you wouldn't explode"
"I know, I know, but I couldn't listen to that crap anymore. Him picking on Lucy was the last straw, you know how much I love that little girl, she's just suffered so much"
"We're supposed to be neutral, Martha. Listening without judging is the only thing that opens doors for us in this job. We make an effort to be informative and independent so that post-truth and the theory of The impossibility of impartiality overshadow the hard facts"
"You don't need to sell me the method. I know it, I accept it, I trust our project, I know we are doing something good, and for that I apologize"
Martha's tone goes from combative to yielding. Jordi's expression softens.
"You should take a vacation..."
"Are you firing me?" Martha asks, opening her eyes wide.
"Are you kidding? You're my best spy. Firing you would be like cutting off my right hand"
"Spy sounds dirty... I prefer you to call me detective"
Both share a small smile, although Jordi's smile falters.
"Martha, you understand that I can no longer expose you with the same peace of mind. You have a child in the womb, a girl at home, and a husband who would kill me if anything happened to you. I had to buy a Spanish dictionary to understand all the insults he hurled on my behalf when you told him you would continue working"
"Pablo can take care of himself, and Marbella is a very independent girl"
"Pablo needs the woman he loves, and Marbella needs her mother"
Jordi's words seem to resonate with Martha. The woman lowers the head and places a hand on her swollen belly. She thinks of all the time she spent reporting, instead of enjoying time with her family. Martha has no regrets, but it still hurts. She takes a deep breath, then exhales, looking at her friend.
"Sweet Hills, and I'll take the vacation"
"Sweet Hills, and no more. Promise?"
"I'll hate to miss the trip to Pionyang, but yes, I promise"
"And if the situation gets dangerous we'll cancel the documentary, no buts, no whining"
"I'll be the first one to run away, you'll see"
Jordi extends his hand to close the deal. Martha grabs the arm and pulls him, trapping Jordi in a tight embrace against her chest.
"Stupid hippie, don't smoke pot when I'm gone, it causes schizophrenia and lowers your IQ"
Another person approaches the RV, coming from the curio store attached to the old motel. It's a fat guy wearing sunglasses, a T-shirt with a Darth Vader stretched tightly across his chest, Bermuda shorts, and rubber shoes from which Kung-Fu Panda socks protrude.
"What are you guys doing? A duo? Potentially a trio?" He asks, then takes a sip of the milkshake he's holding. In the other hand he carries an expensive-looking digital camera.
Martha rolls her eyes and lets Jordi go.
"Dream on, Barry. I'm too much woman for you"
"I'm like my camera, precious. I can take it all. From 1080, to 4K, to infinity and beyond"
Martha shakes her head and climbs into the vehicle, leaving Jordi with Barry.
"Did you get good environmental shots?" Jordi asks.
"Dogs bark and cats meow? Sure, my man. But I'll shoot even more during the night. People say on the Internet that ghosts and cryptids appear on route 0. Hopefully we'll catch one sucking a goat"
They get into the RV. Jordi takes the driver's seat and puts on his seat belt.
"Ready for the truth to turn Sweet Hills upside down, friends?" Jordi asks as he adjusts the rearview mirror.
Lucy nods distractedly as she checks social media on her tablet. Martha yells a "Yes!" from the bathroom. Barry plays an air guitar and shakes his head. Jordi smiles with full confidence toward his team, and returns the vehicle to the road.