On Fire With Ginger Lee

“ ... there is a connection to a bridge that they draw like Jesus on a mural, in the dashboards of the American brain. It’s being built, in reality, an irresistible idea, from our country to theirs, to Nazi Germany. Verschauer’s assistant is a doctor named Josef Mengele. He has zeal to study twins. What are Nazis doing here? It’s about racism and where it is all headed; a bad seed, a party I don’t want to be at, at all, but it may be too late to do anything about the blood that is about to be spilled.”
How she envied the passion, but not the plan that had the will to believe in a cause without a care. They lynched, burned, hanged, how else could they kill? Hate, not love, was the fuel to run the engine. She had a pen and a gun, but didn’t know how to fire either effectively. She would have to really learn how to use it, she thought. She would have to have more reason to fight fire with fire. She would have to hate more to be of real service to the nation. Then she remembered the outrage to Jenny Love, and, in Stockton California, to herself. There was an evil about, skirting like a stone across the ocean that nobody could foresee because, well before Mengele came for their eyes, America already had gone blind.
What would Nelly Bly have done? She wondered. “Just get me the bullets, Buddy.”
“Ginger, Ginger Lee,” Bud Grant said, but the telephone line had already gone dead.