“Why would Lovette need the posse’s support?”

“The kid was floundering. High school dropout. Dead-end job. Estranged father. Loony-tune mother.”

That was the first I’d heard of Lovette’s home life.

“Making him easy prey for your conspiratorial anti-American ideology,” I said.

Danner crossed his arms and spread his feet. Which were small, like the rest of him. An image of Napoleon popped in my brain.

“Back then we were undisciplined, perhaps naive in many ways. But we were far from anti-American.”

“Were?”

“The Patriot Posse disbanded in 2002.”

“What was the group’s purpose?”

“The posse functioned as an unorganized militia.”

Typical right-wing fascist-speak. In federal and state law, the term “unorganized militia” refers to the nominal manpower pool created a century ago when federal law formally abandoned compulsory militia service.

“I prefer the army, navy, air force, and marines,” I said.

“The Patriot Posse was, like other organizations of its kind, equivalent to the statutory militia. It was a legal, constitutional arm of the government. But the posse was not controlled by the government.” A diminutive finger wagged back and forth in the air. “That’s the difference. The posse existed to oppose the government should it become tyrannical.”

“You believe the government might become tyrannical?”

“Dr. Brennan, please. You are an intelligent woman.”

“Indeed I am.”

“Recent history speaks for itself. The elections of Bill Clinton and Barack Obama. The Rodney King riots. The North American Free Trade Agreement. The dozens of bills currently under consideration that would rob us of our firearms. The murders at Ruby Ridge and Waco.”

“Murders.”

“Of course.”

“Those compounds were stockpiled with enough firepower to take out a city.”

Danner ignored that. “The government will stop at nothing to eliminate people who refuse to conform. Independent militias must exist to protect the freedoms that our founding fathers died to ensure.”

Knowing argument was pointless, I switched topics. “Tell me about Cale Lovette’s parents.”

Danner dropped his chin. Drew a breath. Let it out through his nose. “I don’t like to speak badly, but Katherine Lovette was not what you’d call a lady. She was, how should I put it? A NASCAR groupie. If you take my meaning.”

“I don’t.”

“Some women whore themselves to rock stars. For Kitty Lovette, it was NASCAR. Owners. Drivers. Mechanics. Didn’t much matter. She worked the whole circuit back in the seventies.”

“Meaning she slept around.” Danner’s holier-than-thou attitude irritated me.

Danner nodded. “Of course she got pregnant. Named the baby after Cale Yarborough. He was winning a lot of races back then.”

“Are you saying Yarborough was Cale’s father?”