The irony of the situation was not lost on Henry. He had been given the most despicable of acts because he was the least likely person to actually do it.
Henry noted that they were headed in a southerly direction.
“Where are we going and what happens when we get there?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” Jaeger replied. “We have an encampment about two hours south of Kansas City in St. Clair County, a few miles from a little burg called Roscoe. It won’t do us any good to get you close to the president if you can’t hit the broad side of a barn. We have some friends there that will give you instructions in the proper handling of firearms and you’ll have plenty of time to practice. You may only have time for one shot. You’ll have to make it count.”
An hour and a half later, they passed Lowry City. The sign along the highway stated, ‘Where the Ozarks meet the plains’. Sure enough, the fields of corn, soybeans and hay turned into forested hills.
They turned off of the highway onto County Road ‘B’ and headed west to County Road ‘E’.
A few miles south on ‘E’, Jaeger pointed to a monument. “That’s the spot where the Younger Brothers had a shootout with some Pinkerton agents. We’re almost there.”
A few miles further, Jaeger turned off on a gravel road.
“So do you guys own some land back in here?” Henry asked.
“Oh, heavens no. The Osage River is just through those trees. All this land is subject to flooding by the river. The land belongs to the Army Corps of Engineers. It’s government land. We’re citizens, so we figured we might as well use it.”
After going another mile or so, Henry could see some smoke rising through the tall oak trees. As they got closer, he saw two-man lean-to’s, just like in the old photos he had seen of the very early days at the Boy Scout Reservation.
When Jaeger pulled up to the edge of the camp, a dozen men materialized from behind tall oaks. Each of them was carrying some type of automatic rifle. Henry noticed right away that these men were not part of the Aryan Brotherhood. In fact, most of them had shoulder-length hair and scruffy beards.
“I’m guessing these guys are not Neo-Nazis.”
“You’re quite observant,” Jaeger replied. “No, these gentlemen are members of the Ozark Militia. It just so happens that their agenda and ours coincide --- at least the part that involves the removal of the president.”
“That’s Terrance Cobb,” Jaeger said, pointing to a tall rustic guy striding toward them. “He’ll be taking care of you for the next week.”
Cobb was the embodiment of Henry’s mental picture of Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett.
Cobb extended a calloused hand as Henry stepped out of the Hummer.
“Welcome to the Roscoe Encampment. I hope you’re up to roughing it for a few days.”
“I’ll manage,” Henry said, taking his hand.
“He’s all yours, Cobb,” Jaeger said. “I have to get back to the city. I’ll be back to pick him up one week from today. Think you can make a sharpshooter out of him in seven days?”
Cobb looked at Henry, “You’ll think he’s the second coming of Annie Oakley!”
“I hope so,” Jaeger said, climbing into the big SUV. “We’re counting on you.”
“Hungry?” Cobb asked, as they watched Jaeger’s dust rise from the gravel road. “We were about to have a bite of lunch. Hope you like fish. We’ve got a trot line out there in the Osage. We hunt or catch everything we eat. It’s a survival skill that just might come in handy one of these days.”
“Sure,” Henry replied. “Fish is great. Do you serve fries with that?”
Cobb roared with laughter. “A sense of humor! Good! Just what this camp needs.”
Henry and the twelve militiamen gathered around the smoldering coals of the campfire.
“Men, this is Henry Martin. We’re gonna make a hunter out of him.”
After a lunch of seared catfish, Cobb took Henry to one of the lean-to’s.
“This’ll be your home for the next week. You’ll want to gather some leaves for padding. Whatever makes you comfortable. The latrine is behind that big sycamore over there. There’s a shovel leaning against the tree. Be sure to cover your business when you’re through. Anybody forgets, we give ’em a special assignment.”
Henry assured him that he wouldn’t forget.
“Just make yourself comfortable, get your bed ready and meet the other guys for the rest of the day. We’ll get started on your training right after breakfast.”
That evening, as they sat around the campfire, Henry asked Cobb the question that had been haunting him all day. “You and your men seem so different from the Aryans. What brought your two groups together?”
“The Skinheads have their agenda. They hate everyone but themselves. We take more of a ‘live and let live’ point of view. Our problem is that this administration is going to do everything in its power to emasculate the Second Amendment. They want the guy out of the White House because they think he’s gonna flood the country with immigrants. We want him out because he’s trying to take our guns away. Either way, he’s gotta go.”
“I’ve noticed that most of your guys are carrying automatic rifles. Is that really necessary to pop a few squirrels or bring down a deer?”
“That’s the argument that the gun control people are trying to make, but that’s not what it’s all about.”
“Then what’s it about?”
“It’s about the right to protect ourselves from a tyrannical government.”
“Surely you don’t think ---?”
Before Henry could get the sentence out, Cobb was off and running.
“In 1935, Adolph Hitler wrote, ‘For the first time in history does a nation have complete gun registration. Our streets will be safer, our police more efficient. The world will follow our lead in the future.’ Seven years later, after slaughtering and enslaving millions, he wrote, ‘The most foolish mistake we could possibly make would be to permit the conquered Eastern peoples to have arms. History teaches us that all conquerors who have allowed their subject races to carry arms have prepared their own downfall by doing so’. Did you know that our government is stockpiling hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition? Did you know that they have built hundreds of armored vehicles --- not for use overseas? Did you know that the president has said that he would not hesitate to use drones against American Citizens on American soil?”
“But this is the United States!” Henry protested.
“Exactly!” Cobb replied. “Thomas Jefferson and the founders of our country did not craft the Second Amendment just to protect the rights of hunters and target shooters. It was included – right after the First Amendment guaranteeing free speech – to ensure the right of citizens to violently oppose a tyrannical federal government if need be. In fact, Jefferson wrote, ‘The strongest reason for the people to retain the right to keep and bear arms is, as a last resort, to protect themselves against tyranny in government’. We have every right to protect ourselves from those that would take away our freedoms. That’s why we have made this unholy alliance with the Aryan Brotherhood, and that’s why we are giving you a very large sum of money.”
As Henry lay in his lean-to, listening to the tree frogs and locusts, he reflected on what he had heard from Jaeger and Cobb.
He certainly didn’t buy into the hate-mongering of the Skinheads. In fact, some of his closest and dearest friends were black, Jewish and Latino.
He was more disturbed by what he had heard from Cobb. While he couldn’t really get his head around the possibility that the government’s agenda was to subjugate its citizens, he also remembered seeing newsreel footage of Adolph Hitler addressing huge crowds and being cheered on by German citizens not realizing that they were part of one of the most ghastly chapters in world history.
He also remembered seeing the movie, Red Dawn, where armed citizens fought valiantly against communist invaders. It didn’t turn out well for the armed Americans.
If indeed the president were to send a drone in search of the Ozark militia, these hardy woodsmen, even with their automatic rifles, wouldn’t stand a chance against the drone’s missiles. There would be nothing left of Cobb’s encampment but smoldering ash.
He realized that in any event, it wouldn’t matter to him one way or the other. If he succeeded, he would soon be a prisoner of the state for the rest of his life.
The first rays of the morning sun were just penetrating the woodland glade when Henry heard men stirring around the camp and smelled the irresistible fragrance of sizzling bacon.
He groaned as he stumbled out of his thatched lean-to. It had been many years since he had slept on the hard ground.
“Mornin’ bright eyes,” Cobb said, as he watched Henry walk gingerly to the campfire. “Let’s get you fed so that we can get started on your training.”
“Somebody make a trip to the supermarket?” Henry said, looking at the pan of bacon.”
Cobb roared again. “Supermarket? Another joke! I like this guy. No, Henry, a couple of the boys spotted a feral hog the other day. This is the last of the old boar. He’s been mighty good eatin’!”
Henry wondered what other woodland delicacies might be waiting for him from Cobb’s kitchen.
After breakfast, which Henry found surprisingly tasty, Cobb directed him to a path through the woods that opened into a grassy area next to a dry creek bed. Targets had been set up at various distances.
“You ever handle firearms before?” Cobb asked.
“I hunted with a .22 and a twelve gauge when I was a kid. Nothing recently, and I’ve never even held a pistol.”
“Well, that’s better than nothin’” Cobb replied. “Might as well get you started.”
He handed Henry an automatic pistol. “This is a Glock 17. As the name implies, it holds seventeen rounds. That really don’t matter much. You’ll be lucky to get off one, maybe two rounds before the Secret Service boys have you on the ground. We’re using this because it’s an easy weapon for a beginner, but the 9mm cartridge has enough umph to get the job done.”
Henry took the gun and just stared at it for a moment. With this weapon, he would take a human life and change the course of history forever. Life as he had known it, would be over.
Cobb could sense his student’s hesitation. “Hey, I know what you’re feelin’. It’s scary as hell, but just keep in mind the bigger picture. I know about your situation. You’re not doin’ this because you believe in either of our causes. You’re doin’ it because you believe in your family and you’re doin’ what you have to do to take care of them, and I respect that.”
Cobb had pushed the right buttons. It was all about his family.
“Then let’s get going,” Henry said. “How far away am I going to be?”
“We’re going to try to get you somewhere between fifty and a hundred feet from the president. That’s not an easy shot with a pistol, but we’re not going to rest until we know you can pull it off.”
Cobb showed Henry the proper stance and the two-handed grip. “Go ahead,” he said. “Fire a round at the closest target. Let’s see what you got.”
Henry stood and pointed the gun as Cobb had directed and pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in the target a few inches outside the rings of the bull’s eye.
“Well, at least you hit the paper,” Cobb said. “That’s a start.”
Over the next few hours, Cobb instructed Henry on the details of firing the Glock, controlled breathing, sighting, and squeezing rather than pulling the trigger.
By lunchtime, Henry was putting the rounds into the bull’s eye of the closest target consistently.
They had just returned to the campsite when two of the militiamen entered the clearing carrying a young buck.
“I thought deer season was a few months away,” Henry observed.
“That’s the government’s deer season, not ours,” Cobb replied. “Think of us as Robin and his Merry Men in Sherwood Forest. Like them, we don’t kill for sport, or so we can hang a head with a big rack on our wall. We kill to eat. There are thousands of deer in these woods and the Sheriff of Nottingham isn’t gonna miss the few we take to fill our bellies.”
Henry watched with interest as the men hung the buck from a tree branch and slit the animal’s throat.
As the blood drained from the carcass and soaked into the ground, Henry marveled at the ease with which some men could take the life of a living creature and he wondered if he would become one of those men.
He would know soon enough.
CHAPTER 13
After Willie and I left Bruno’s Blue Moon Bar & Grill, I called the Captain and asked him to have Franco Harriman from the Gang Unit meet us at his office.
They were both waiting when we walked in the door.
“Got something for us?” Harriman asked eagerly.
I shared our morning’s adventure including the fact that the Vipers had a meeting scheduled at an old garage somewhere on St. John Avenue.
“Any idea which garage?” he asked hopefully.
I shook my head.
“No matter,” he replied. “There can’t be that many vacant garages on St. John. I’ll have a man sitting on every one of them. We’ll find the bastards.”
I had noticed that as I told my story, Harriman had scooted his chair as far away from me as possible. He had tried to do it inconspicuously, but it was actually quite obvious.
I had also noticed the Captain wrinkling his nose.
“I really appreciate how you and Willie embraced your roles as homeless derelicts. You’re both quite authentic --- right down to the B.O. Take the rest of the day off. Go home. Take a shower. Burn your clothes.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You have no idea!”
As we walked out the door, I saw the Captain pull a can of Glade Air Freshener out of his desk and liberally spray his office.
I had hoped that Maggie would be at the real estate office and I would have time to clean up before she came home, but no such luck.
She had taken the day off and had been pacing the floor worrying about Willie and me in the Cobra’s den.
Willie went straight to his studio in the basement.
When I opened our apartment door, Maggie rushed over to give me a big hug, but stopped abruptly.
“Whoa! Are you ever ripe! I’m so glad you’re okay, but no hugs or kisses until you shower.”
I was about to strip down when there was a knock on the door.
When Maggie opened the door, a UPS driver was standing there with a package.
“Is this the William’s residence?”
Maggie nodded.
“Sign here, please,” he said, handing her a clipboard.
Maggie signed and took the package.
“Are you expecting anything?” she asked.
“Nope. Who’s it from?”
“Pricilla’s. Ever heard of it?”
The only Pricilla’s that I knew of was a lingerie and novelty shop on Main Street.
Maggie got the scissors and opened the box. I saw the look of surprise on her face.
“Walt! If you wanted to spice up our love life, why didn’t you just say so?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, as I walked over to view the contents of the box. “Our love life is just fine.”
I, too, was shocked when I saw the package of edible panties and strawberry shortcake motion lotion.
We were both trying to figure it out when there was another knock on the door. It was Dad, Bernice and Jerry.
“Hi Son. I’ve been expecting a package. I don’t suppose ---. Ohhh, there it is!” he said, spying the cardboard box. “You’ve opened it!”
“Well, it was addressed to Mr. Williams,” Maggie said. “We didn’t know that they meant the kinky one!”
‘Kinky’ was probably a fairly accurate description of my horny old man. I hadn’t seen him for years until I got a call from a senior center in Arizona. Dad was be
ing ‘asked to leave’ because of his lascivious behavior.
Shortly after moving into my building, he latched onto Bernice, another octogenarian tenant, and they have been an item ever since.
Anyone claiming that old folks are devoid of passion hasn’t seen Dad and Bernice in action. They even got arrested for doing the nasty at the top of the World War I Memorial. They claimed that it was on their bucket list.
While Dad’s libido may be chemically enhanced, it certainly hasn’t withered away.
Dad grabbed the box from Maggie and examined the contents with Bernice looking over his shoulder.
“Ohhh, strawberry shortcake!” she gushed. “It’ll be just like licking a big old strawberry popscicle!”
That was waaaay more information than I wanted. I desperately fought to erase the image from my mind.
Jerry had been standing back, taking in the whole scene with a big grin on his face. Seeing an opening, he couldn’t resist.
“Sending stuff like that in the mail can be very risky. I heard about a shipment of Viagra that got hijacked on the way to the warehouse. The cops warned the public to be on the lookout for a gang of hardened criminals!”
“Sure glad that didn’t happen to our stuff,” Bernice interjected. Then she wrinkled her nose. “John, what’s that awful smell? I think something might have died. You should have Willie look around.”
Maggie had seen and heard enough.
“Out! All of you,” she said, shooing them out the door. “And take your toys with you!”
Then she turned her attention to me. “Hit the shower, buster. I may not have any strawberry shortcake, but I’ve got some Hershey’s syrup and I’m in the mood for a chocolate long john.”
That was the image that I was looking for!
The next morning after squad meeting, the Captain asked Ox and me to come to his office.
Franco Harriman was already there.
“Much better!” he declared, sniffing the air.
[Lady Justice 13] - Lady Justice and the Assassin Page 8
