John Doe No. 2 and the Dreamland Motel

13 A Tooth for a Tooth

13 A Tooth for a Tooth “This has become quite a little fortress!” announces Mike after touring the house in Golden Valley with Timothy McVeigh. He is standing in the living room with your partner, nursing a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Lori is sitting on the couch, leafing through a copy of Soldier of Fortune. Oblivious to the conversation. Timothy McVeigh is clearly nonplussed by Mike’s reaction. By his verdict about the state of preparedness on Hunt Road. “Listen up, Mike,” says your partner. “This place has a fullyfunctioning bullet berm in case of an attack to the rear of the property . I’ve got weapons strategically located throughout the house in order to carry out a protracted room-to-room struggle.” Is that likely? you think to yourself. A protracted room-to-room struggle? You can tell that Timothy McVeigh is getting angrier by the minute. He’s nearly frothing at the mouth. “And I can hold out in that basement—excuse me, we can hold out in that basement—for six months without so much as breaking a sweat,” he continues. “By the time we come up for air, the A.T.F. and the satellite trucks will have left, having been defeated by boredom.” A Tooth for a Tooth 103 “Like I said,” Mike remarks. “This is some fortress you’ve got here!” “What’s the A.T.F.?” Lori asks, giggling. “The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms,” answers Timothy McVeigh tersely. He’s really smoldering now. You are interrupted by a knock at the door. It’s Stagger Lee, still wearing the Hawaiian shirt from this afternoon at the lumberyard. He’s carrying a crumpled paper bag. Mike hands him a wad of cash, and he’s gone almost as quickly as he arrived. Isn’t Stagger Lee sticking around for the party? you wonder to yourself. “So this is crystal,” says Timothy McVeigh, staring into the paper bag. “What is meth, anyway?” he asks. “It’s an ampha—,” says Lori, attempting to pronounce the multisyllabic word. “An amphabetalmine,” she tries again, giggling to herself. Dear Jesus, make it stop, you think to yourself. “An amphetamine,” says Mike, bringing Lori’s misery to an end. “It’s an amphetamine. An upper.” “Could I lose my mind?” asks Timothy McVeigh. “Could I die?” “Absolutely!” sings out Mike. How can that be a good thing? you think. “You go first,” your partner tells Mike hesitantly. “I’m not sure we can trust a guy named after a trick football play.” “Anchors aweigh!” says Mike, placing the crystal gingerly into his tinfoil pipe and running his Bic lighter back and forth over the bowl. The crystal bubbles and foams inside the receptacle. Satisfied, he holds the tinfoil pipe to his lips and takes a healthy drag. “Why is JD so pious?” Mike asks Timothy McVeigh. “And why is he so god-awfully quiet all the time?” He leans back on the couch, handing the tinfoil pipe and the lighter to your partner. Doesn’t he realize how awkward this is? you think to yourself. How rude it is to speak this way about someone in their presence? “Well, let me tell you,” Timothy McVeigh answers, winking in your 104 J o h n D o e N o . 2 a n d t h e D r e a m l a n d M o t e l direction. “JD here is a member of the Religious Society of Friends.” “The what?” says Lori, giggling. “He’s a goddamned Quaker!” says Timothy McVeigh as he runs the Bic lighter underneath the pipe. “And what’s your religion?” Mike asks. “Science,” your partner answers. “Science is my religion. The gospel of logic and reason.” He takes an extended puff from the tinfoil pipe and hands it to Lori. “I would have thought your bible was The Turner Diaries,” says Mike, laughing uproariously at his own joke. “That’s a good one,” says Timothy McVeigh. “And there was a time when that would have been true—would have been right on the money. But I see things in a simpler light these days,” he continues. “You reap what you sow. There’s nothing mystical about that. Pure science and logic.” “But isn’t that a religious argument in itself?” asks Mike. “Like ‘an eye for an eye’?” And a tooth for a tooth, you think...