Rebels & Lies

by Brian Cotton

  Chapter .09

   

  The maggots inside the pit of Sullivan’s stomach started to do their thing again. He could feel them crawling around. The only thing he wanted to do at the moment was pull over to throw them up. He did all he could to keep his pale hands from shaking on the steering wheel. A squint of the eyes and the words “Sycamore St.” could be read on the green sign in shined white letters.

  The eagerness of the dip shits did little to relieve him of his pain. Mason sat in the front with Wilcox in the back. They both examined their Glocks with murder in their eyes. Fitzpatrick just didn’t want to listen anymore. After a lengthy debate on leaving the two trigger happy morons behind, the decision was final. They were both going. If there was a problem, a meeting could be set up with the Consul.

  A part of Sullivan just wanted to pull the car to the side of the road and be done with it. If Mason and Wilcox had anything to say about it, he would give them both two in the chest and one in the head. He thought better of it, though. There was still the roof that needed to be kept over the family’s head. There was also the he money that still needed to be earned to keep Davie in school so he could earn a better education. Not to mention the preservation of…

  “This is the street boss,” Wilcox said from the back seat. He cocked his pistol, placed it back into the shoulder holster, and left the strap unbuckled.

  Sullivan cleared his head. “I got it.”

  Take some deep breaths. She’s an old woman. She’ll come out quietly.

  “Just making sure you’re not having second thoughts,” Wilcox replied. “That I don’t have to use my weapon on you.”

  “Wilcox, shut the hell up for five seconds.”

  Mason sighed, “Both of you shut up.”

  The right blinker clicked and the squad car’s wheels turned in that direction onto Sycamore. The apartment building sat ten feet in front. The bricks on the outside of the building showed their age. The once bright red vibrancy was now a sea of gray and faded red. Sullivan was careful with his parallel parking. He parked in between a black Suburban and a blue Town car.

  “Damn it,” Wilcox sighed. “You drive like an old man.”

  “Whatever you say,” Sullivan replied. He pulled out his Glock from the hip holster and began to inspect it. “Weapons check.”

  “Way ahead of you partner.” Mason replied.

  “Let’s do this shit.” Wilcox added.

  “Remember,” Sullivan instructed, “we are here to gather Intel. Don’t start shooting unless she pulls something.”

  Mason said, “Trust me, we know what to do. You just make sure to cover our asses.”

  “If you two have some predetermined plan then this assignment is over right now.”

  “The fuck?” Wilcox blurted. “I think the real issue here is if you have something up your own sleeve, pretty boy.”

  “I’m just saying. If you two already have it in your heads that you are going to kill this woman, without gathering any information from her, then we’re done.”

  “Let’s just get this over with, Sully.” Mason said. He opened the car door and began his walk towards the apartment building. Wilcox followed quickly behind him.

  The charade could be ended at any time, Sullivan thought as he followed his two partners into the building. They kept the straps on their holsters undone, a tactic used by a gunman with shooting on the mind. His thoughts of killing the two monsters and driving back home to his family clouded his mind once more.

  “Jenna Kaspar,” Mason asked the lobby attendant, his booming voice heard through the open glass door.  “Where is she?”

  The lobby attendant struggled, “Ap…apartment 404, sir.”

  Sullivan could see the uneasiness of the boy. Hell, who could blame him? He had armed men in front of him, after all. If anything went wrong, who was to stop an Agent from killing him and walking away home free? All one had to do was say that he was a suspected member of the resistance and…bang!

  Wilcox pulled out his 9MM, “You’re not lying to us are you, kid?”

  “N…no…it’s just that Ms. Kaspar has never caused any problems.”

  “It’s because she’s busy plotting against the government…” Wilcox said.

  “DeMarcus,” Sullivan interrupted, “holster that sidearm.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mason and Wilcox jogged to the elevator, Sullivan followed at a slower pace behind. His heart raced now. It felt like it would explode out of his chest. This whole thing stank like a rotten corpse. He knew the intentions of the shit heads in front of him. He just needed to keep it together. To do his best to not let the nerves get the better of him. There had to be a peaceful solution to all this. A way to get that old lady out of there…alive.

  Sullivan fit into the tightly packed elevator. A sense of claustrophobia hit him as the double doors screeched shut. Mason hit the number four. The ancient elevator rumbled and shook to life. 1…2… There was an increase in Sullivan’s heart rate. He could feel the beads of sweat start to accumulate on his brow. The leader hoped his subordinates couldn’t sense the nervousness that ate away at him…4. A light Bing and the two doors struggled themselves apart before they stopped on either end.

  With conviction, Mason and Wilcox exited the elevator and moved down the hallway in desperate search of apartment 404. Sullivan followed behind. He tried to compose himself as he did. This was the type of job he had done dozens of times before. The only thing left to do was to get over his anxiety. Just get the job done and get out.

  He arrived at the door, his two partners on either side of the frame. In front, were the rusted numbers “4” and “4”. All that remained of the “0” was a dark circle overlapping a smaller one. The number had rotted away from the door years before. Sullivan breathed in one last breath and started to bang his right fist against the wood.

  No answer from the inside.

  “USR,” Sullivan called out. “We only want to talk Ms. Kaspar, please open up.”

  Nothing but silence.

  Sullivan banged his fist against the door three more times. When there was still no sign of life, he nodded towards Wilcox. The bigger of the dipshits walked over to the door and took in a deep breath. His left boot shattered the door’s foundation. The three men moved in with swiftness, guns drawn.

  “USR!” Sullivan cried out. “Nobody move!”

  The target sat on the couch in a stunned silence. A yellow knitting project lay on her lap. Sullivan’s eyes narrowed onto her. He aimed his Glock 9MM at her fast pumping chest. The mark looked at him and tears welled up in her eyes. The sight in front of him penetrated his soul. The image forced the Agent to lower his handgun.

  “Sully, what the hell is going on?” Mason called from the kitchen.

  “We’re bringing her in.” Sullivan replied. He holstered his pistol and extended his right hand. “Ma’am, I need you to come with us.”

  “Why?” Mother asked. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Ma’am, we have evidence against you. Evidence which links you to the resistance. We need to come in and…”

  “Bitch, drop that ugly piece of shit and put your hands behind your head!” Wilcox demanded. He moved in and brushed against his superior’s shoulder. His right hand with his pistol aimed at the head, his left arm extended reaching out for the old woman.

  “Wilcox, lower your weapon and stand down!” Sullivan ordered. Wilcox did as ordered and backed away.

  “Are you with us, sir?” Mason asked from Sullivan’s left. “You’re sure you’re not working for them?”

  “What makes you think that?” Sullivan asked, turning his body to face Mason. “We need answers, information, and she is going to give it to us. Isn’t that right, ma’am?”

  “What answers?” Mother replied. “What have I done?”

  “You’re a fucking leftover,” Mason said, he inched his body closer to Mother. “We know that you’re sensitive to th
e rebels. Don’t play dumb shit with us.”

  “What?” Mother asked again.

  “You’re sending out letters, you worthless whore.”

  “Letters? I have no idea…”

  “I think that’s resisting arrest, sir. I’m going to have to use necessary force.”

  “Mason, if you don’t stop undermining me…” Sullivan said.

  “You’ll do what?”

  While the two Agents bickered back and forth, Wilcox kept his eyes on Mother’s lap. She was fidgeting with something underneath the blanket. What it was, he did not know, but he trained his eyes on it. The Agent moved his gun towards Mother’s head and her eyes grew to the size of softballs.

  “She’s got something underneath…” Wilcox began to say.

  BANG BANG BANG!

  Sullivan looked with horror to the terrible sight in front of him. The smoke from the barrel of Mason’s gun could be seen from the corner of his left eye. His partner executed the poor woman: two to the chest and one to the head. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He fell to one knee and felt like passing out. Behind closed eyelids, Sullivan told himself to pull it together.

  Sullivan opened his eyes, “What the hell was that?”

  “She had something under there,” Mason said. “Self-defense.”

  “Self-defense?”

  Sullivan got back onto his feet and walked with wobbled legs to the dead woman. He pulled the yellow blanket back. The knitting needles once held with weathered hands lay flat on her thighs. Sullivan wiped the sweat from his brow. How was this possible?

  “Knitting needles?” Sullivan cried. “Are you kidding me? Were you afraid she was going to rub your skin with them?”

  “How was I supposed to know?” Wilcox demanded. “She could have had anything underneath there.”

  “Why didn’t you ask her to freeze and show you what she had?”

  “She’s working for them,” Mason said, he moved closer to the body. “Who gives a rat’s ass?”

  “I do,” Sullivan replied. “Now, we’ll never get anything from her because you two fucked this whole thing up.”

  “I’m sorry to say this, sir,” Wilcox said as he approached. “You seem a little…I don’t know, disappointed in this result.”

  “She was an aging woman.”

  “Who cares? She was a leftover and she was working for the enemy.”

  “Let’s just get out of here. Report back to Fitzpatrick.”

  “What about the evidence?” Mason asked. “Don’t you want to find the evidence?”

  Sullivan turned, “Like it matters, now. We’ll get a cleanup crew to come here and find all that. Let’s go.”

  The three Agents left the apartment. Sullivan led the way, making his way past the terrified tenants that started to crowd the hall. He heard the two neophytes behind him bark orders for them all to return to their units. After giving the order for a cleanup crew through his walkie, Sullivan pushed the down arrow by the elevator and waited for it to open up.

  What have I done? What have I become?