The Patriot Pac and Liberty Lube Conspiracies

by Isaac Allen

  "What happened to you? The fire hose?" Johnson asked in confusion.

  "I didn’t put my trash out one time and I received a phone call from Patriot Pac Sanitation and received coupons for a free oil change from Liberty Lube. That is how all of this had started."

  Deputy Johnson’s demeanor turned back to sarcasm. "Get out of here! Getting free oil changes! I’m up for that. Where do I sign up?”

  Taylor was still leaning against the bars. "You do not believe me. I understand. If I were in your shoes I would not believe me either. Then after having a few encounters with government agents and finding out some things online about Patriot Pac Sanitation and Liberty Lube my outlook on life in this country changed.” Taylor had not moved one inch since he started the conversation.

  Johnson let out a smirk. "You found out all of this online?"

  Taylor ignored the Deputy’s question. "You just pick up the trash, get it out to the curb and become conditioned to the government taking over while I tell you my story."

  Deputy Johnson, despite his fire hose threats went back to trash duties. "Whatever. Do what you feel best."

  However, Deputy Johnson was starting to want to listen. The law enforcement and justice side of Johnson was starting to become curious about who and what this terrorist’s motivations were. A way to fill in the gaps of the Government’s reports on James Taylor. Also perhaps he would gain insight on why the reports claimed he used explosives instead of the incendiaries Taylor was caught with.

  Deputy Johnson did not care now what he would have to report to the Federal Agents who were picking Taylor up. “So let me get this straight…you use to be an attorney?”

  Taylor knew he now had the Deputy’s attention despite Johnson’s front he’s putting on that he doesn’t want to listen. "I was a real estate attorney at a very powerful law firm."

  Deputy Johnson continued to gather the station’s trash.

  Taylor took a deep sigh "I was a successful attorney and I had it all…"

  CHAPTER 4. Taylor’s Story

  A well-groomed James Taylor dressed in his tailored blue Armani suit was holding up the lid to his garbage can and peered in. The can was a dark green 65 gallon curbside garbage can parked next to the steps to the back of his kitchen. On it is logo of the Patriot Pac Sanitation company. The logo consists of the Patriot Pac lettering and a sketch of Paul Revere galloping on a horse carrying a garbage can.

  Taylor saw that the can was less than a quarter of the way full. He contemplated whether or not to make the effort to roll it out to the curb for it was garbage day in his neighborhood.

  Taylor’s iPhone vibrated to life. Taylor reached into the inside pocket of his suit, pulled out his phone and started talking business. “Thanks for getting back to me this early! Here’s what we have to do…” Taylor slammed the lid shut.

  * * *

  Taylor, still on his cell phone, backed his Z5 BMW out of the garage, down the driveway of his high-end townhouse and out into the street.

  The garage door closed as he puts his BMW into drive.

  Taylor looked in disgust at the state of his neighbor’s townhouse. His neighbor’s lawn was unkempt and the door was peppered with coupons for Liberty Lube stuck in the jamb.

  Taylor drove his SUV down his street. Like soldiers in a well-disciplined army, the Patriot Pac garbage cans were lined up perfectly at the curb at the end of each driveway. The only two cans that were absent without leave were Taylor’s and his neighbor’s.

  Taylor zipped past a Patriot Pac Sanitation truck.

  As the truck picked up the garbage cans, in the cab, the driver who was wearing sunglasses gave James Taylor a suspicious glare.

  * * *

  James Taylor, in his office at his large custom made oak desk, was absorbed in the work he was doing on his computer. He was typing away on his keyboard like a skilled pianist when his secretary buzzed in over the intercom. “Mr. Taylor.”

  Taylor, unaffected by the buzz in continued on with his typing. “Jane, before I forget, call Mr. Wilkes and his associates and see if he could bump his tee time up an hour or so. And apologize the hell out of it for me if it’ll be a problem.”

  “Yes Mr. Taylor I’ll do that. A call for you. It’s Patriot Pac Sanitation. It’s a lady named Cheryl Smith from customer service. She says it’s urgent.”

  Taylor continued typing but let out a sigh. “I hope it is. Put her through.”

  “Line one Mr. Taylor.” Taylor’s secretary replied.

  The button for line one began to blink its red color as the phone quietly rang. Taylor picked up the receiver, put it up to his head and pushed the button. “Hello Misses Smith. This is James Taylor. How may I be of service?”

  “Hello mister Taylor. My name is Cheryl Smith.” Her voice crackled over the phone. Cheryl Smith had a voice of an older lady, like that of a school’s principal or the head of an orphanage. Her tones were smooth and calm and yet had the weight of fierce authority. “I’ve been assigned to you from the customer service department here at Patriot Pac Sanitation. We noticed today that you did not have your curbside garbage can out at the curb. Is there a problem with our service?”

  A look of confusion and annoyance washed over Taylor’s face. “No. There’s no problem with your service. I’ve been satisfied with your services.”

  “Thank you. For surveying purposes I just need to ask you why you didn’t have your garbage can out on the curb today?”

  Thoughts of a very busy work schedule swished through Taylor’ mind. Confusion melted into impatient. “My can was not full. So I saw fit to not put it out as to waste your fuel in dumping it. If you please excuse me I’m been very busy at work and in fact I am at work and in the middle of a very important presentation…”

  “Yes. We know. Thank you for your patients and your consideration on not wasting our fuel mister Taylor. Just two more question mister Taylor.”

  Taylor rolling his eyes, “Yes?”

  “Do you know the reason why your neighbor Steve Bennett, age forty eight, five foot nine and is employed at Harold and Son’s Architecture has not been putting his garbage can out to the curb? And has he said anything about the reasons why?” Smith hissed out.

  Taylor looked half shocked and fully confused at the nature of the question. “Uh, why no. I haven’t seen him for quite some time. Nor do I socialize with him.”

  Smith continued her rant, “Thank you mister Taylor. We had a suspicion that was the case. We at Patriot Pac Sanitation ask that you go ahead and place your garbage can out at the curb on your designated pick up day anyway. As to provide better service for the community.”

  Taylor wanted off the phone, “Um, okay.”

  “Thank you for your future cooperation mister Taylor. As a gift for customer appreciation, we are going to send you coupons for free oil changes at Liberty Lube good at any store…”

  Taylor tried to interject, “NO thank you anyway. I have my vehicle serviced at my dealership…”

  Cheryl Smith continued her offer without batting an eye to Taylor’s objections, “We’re send the coupons out today. Thank you and have a nice day.”

  Taylor flinched at the sound of the receiver hanging up at Cheryl Smith’s end.

  * * *

  Returning home from work, Taylor was driving down his street and doing business over the phone. “…Look there’s six surveys. We request one survey per week. That holds up escrow for at least six weeks!”

  As Taylor rounded the corner to his street he was startled to find his street lit up by the flashing red and blue strobes lights from many police cars. “What the hell?...” then Taylor remembered he was on the phone, “Uh, not you. It’s something at my house.” As he approached closer to the scene, a startled state of mind turned into dire concern when they appeared to be in front of his townhome. “I’ll call you back. There’s something going on.” Taylor hangs up and puts his phone into the pocket of his suits jacket.

&
nbsp; Half way down the street James Taylor’s concerns were alleviated a little when he realized the commotion from law enforcement was focused around his neighbor Steve Bennet’s townhome.

  The police vehicles had occupied most of the street so much so Taylor couldn’t pull into his driveway. A good sized parameter was taped off around Bennett’s townhome which encompassed half of Taylor’s driveway.

  Taylor parked his Z5 in the street two townhouses down from his.

  Taylor got out and walked to the front yard of his townhome. There, a young and tall local police officer dressed in full tactical gear approached Taylor. Taylor curiously asked “What is going on here?”

  The young officer replied back sharply, “Do you live here?”

  Taylor pointed to his townhouse. “Yes. This is my townhouse. What’s going on?”

  The officer looked and studied Taylor’s townhome with suspicion. Then looked at Taylor with suspicion “We are serving a warrant. We ask that you don’t approach any closer.

  Taylor understood and accepted the whole situation of …. However Taylor didn’t accept the suspicious gazes he was getting from the young officer before him. “Yes of course officer…what is your name?”

  The officer looked at James Taylor with the utmost contempt. Before the officer could answer both he and Taylor were distracted by screams at the front door of Bennett’s townhouse.

  “IT’S A GIANT GOVERNMENT CONSPIRACY!” At the front door, three police officers were doing their best to contain the handcuffed, flailing, and screaming Steve Bennett. “THEY’RE TAKING OVER!” Steve Bennett was wild eyed, bearded and unkempt man that looked and behaved like a feral animal.

  Taylor’s impression of Bennet was that of a man that had either been a castaway on a desert island for many years or a man who’s lived a solitary life in a bomb shelter for half of his life.

  The three officers wrestled and hauled the screaming Steve Bennett through the front door and down the walkway of his townhome.

  Emerging out from Bennett’s front door were two stern looking men in black suits and wearing sunglasses. They look around the prestigious neighborhood as if to assess the current situation.

  From their windows, doors, lawns and driveways, neighborhood watched and listened to the wild scene of James Taylor’s neighbor getting dragged out of his townhome by law enforcement for charges yet unknown.

  Bennett was shouting out to the world, “IT’S A GIANT GOVERNMENT CONSPIRACY! THE GOVERNMENT! THEY’RE TAKING OVER!”

  Bennett made eye contact with Taylor. “WE HAVE TO STOP THEM! THEY’RE TAKING OUR FREEDOM AWAY!” Then suddenly Steve Bennett breaks away from the police. Still handcuffed he bolts toward James Taylor and continued his conspiracy tangent. “TRASH! TRASH! THEY’RE CONDITIONING YOU BY MAKING YOU TAKE OUT YOUR TRASH ON TIME!”

  The young officer next to Taylor sees this in semi disbelief, “Oh no you didn’t!” Conditioning and training from his time at the academy kicked in and without hesitation he started to run toward Bennett.

  Bennett, running toward Taylor had eyes that were so wild they looked like they could bore through concrete. Bennett stared directly at Taylor, “Then they send you to Liberty Lube so they can track you! PATRIOT PAC AND LIBERTY LUBE IS RAN BY THE GOVERNMENT! IT’S NATIONALIZED!”

  Just feet away from the running Bennett, the young officer charged headlong into Bennett and whipped out his Taser “I GOT YOUR PATRIOT PAC RIGHT HERE!”

  Bennett, knowing he was surrounded by law enforcement knew he was done for. He continued to inform Taylor and the world as much as he knew. “THE SECOND STEP IS THAT PROPANE PLACE! THEN THE THIRD STEP…..”

  Bennett’s tangent was silenced with the zap from the young officer’s Taser. Steve Bennett dropped down onto James Taylor’s driveway and flopped around like a fish for a few moments.

  Bennett’s passed out body was being drug away by the ankles by the young officer and the three officers Bennett escaped from.

  Taylor looked with a dropped jaw not knowing how to register these events and the telephone conversation from Patriot Pac earlier at work. In a head spinning daze he decided just to make sure his BMW was locked.

  No sooner did he turn around to walk to his BMW he heard a voice behind him “Mister James Taylor.”

  James Taylor turned around and the two men in black suits that were in Bennett’s house were now before him.

  Taylor hesitated for a moment in a state of shock and a little fear. He studied the men in black suits. They looked serious and almost identical. He studied their sunglasses and why they were even wearing sunglasses at this time at night. “Yes.”

  The man on Taylor’s left spoke. “We highly suggest that you do not share any information that you may or may not have heard or seen on this evening.”

  The man on Taylor’s left now spoke. “Mister Bennett is being charged with suspicion of drug trafficking. That is all you need to know.”

  The men in black suits both turned around and began to walk back to Bennett’s home.

  James Taylor, attorney at law, master of his career and life, for the first time in his professional life was dumbfounded with disbelief and too many questions.

  * * *

  It was the first trash day since James Taylor’s encounter with Patriot Pac over the phone and the incident with Steve Bennett.

  Taylor is in his garage soulfully staring at his garbage can and a handful of Liberty Lube coupons. He throws the coupons in the trash can and walks away.

  Taylor backed his BMW out of the driveway and drives off to work.

  His street is lined up with Patriot Pac garbage cans.

  As Taylor drove past the Patriot Pac garbage truck he notices the driver giving him a suspicious look.

  * * *

  At his law firm, James Taylor was at his desk and absorbed in his work. He was studying legal documents and scribbling notes down on notepaper when his secretary buzzed in over the intercom. “Mr. Taylor.”

  Taylor, unaffected by the buzz in continued on with his note scribbling. “Jane, before I forget, I need the Stanwitz escrow file.”

  “Yes Mr. Taylor I’ll do that. A call for you. A Cheryl Smith from customer service at Patriot Pac Sanitation would like to speak with you. She claims it’s urgent.”

  Taylor pauses and contemplated whether or not to take the call.

  “Uh, mister Taylor?”

  “Put it through Jane.”

  “Line one.”

  The button for line one blinked its red color as the phone quietly rang. Again, Taylor picked up the receiver, put it up to his head and pushed the button. “Hello.”

  “Hello mister Taylor. My name is Cheryl Smith. We talked last week.” Her authoritive voice crackled over the phone.

  “Yes we did talk last week. I remember.” Taylor said to her in a monotone voice.

  “We noticed again today that you did not have your curbside garbage can out at the curb. Is there a problem with our service?”

  “No! I was a little late getting to work that’s all. And I forgot to put it out last night.”

  “Rest assure that for making the community better we strongly advise you to put your trash out next week. One more question for quality assurances…”

  “I’m really busy now…”

  Cheryl Smith interrupted, “We have noticed that you have not used your free oil change coupons to Liberty Lube…”

  Taylor slammed the phone down to hang up on the on Mrs. Smith. He stares at the phone. Taylor’s cell phone starts to ring. He studies the caller ID. Not knowing whose number it was he silences the ringer and shoves the phone in his top drawer.

  Taylor had a few deeps thoughts for a moment. He then pushed the intercom button. “Jane, Hold of my calls from Patriot Pac.”

  Jane buzzed back “Yes Mister Taylor.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Taylor returned home to find a smaller Patriot Pac Truck parked in front of his townh
ouse. The driver of the truck was sitting behind the wheel looking very patient.

  Parked next to the truck was a black and unmarked sedan. Two men in dark glasses occupied the front seats.

  Taylor took in and studied the situation in front of his townhome. Thinking that it was weird having a Patriot Pac truck at this time at night and a suspicious looking vehicle parked next to it, Taylor parked his SUV in the driveway rather than opening up the garage and giving an opportunity for intruders to enter his home. Whatever business, Taylor thought, would be had out in the open.

  No sooner does Taylor put his BMW into park, the two men in black suits get out of their car and approach Taylor.

  Taylor doesn’t quite panic about an attack on his life or getting mugged for that matter. He thought after all there was a Patriot Pac Sanitation worker present. However, James Taylor was concerned.

  The men in black suits and dark shaded glasses approached Taylor so close he thought there were going to walk right through him. However they stopped right in front of him.

  Both men showed no emotion to Taylor whatsoever.

  With a stern voice, the man on Taylor’s left speaks. “Hello mister James Taylor.”

  “What is this about?” A confused James Taylor replied.

  The man to Taylor’s right who had just an equally stern voice began to speak. “For quality assurances and for a better community we are here to assist you in taking away your trash.”

  “Who are you? This is harassment! By law, I have rights. And I have the right to not take out my trash or use Patriot Pac Sanitation as my source for taking away my garbage!” Taylor fired at them.

  The man on Taylor’s left answered “Yes mister Taylor. You could use a different sanitation company. However you will have to take out your refuse once a week.”

  The man on Taylor’s right chimed in “That is why we are here. To make sure citizens take out their trash. This, for a safer, cleaner and better community. You are for a safer and better community are you not mister Taylor?”

  Taylor, a little reluctant to answer “Yes. I am for that.”

  Both men in black suits answered “Good” simultaneously.