Stolen Liberty: Behind the Curtain

by Thomas A. Watson

  “They are going to get themselves killed,” Mr. Wojciechowski grumbled.

  “You think?” Jerome asked.

  “If Dexter was being honest with you, then he has already attracted too much attention. A tyrant once said that ‘the nail that stands out gets the hammer’, and he is crossing a dangerous line by putting himself out in the public eye.” The aged bartender leaned against the shelves at the back of the bar area and his eyes glazed over for a second.

  “Shit, I agree with you, but we can’t do much to help, can we? We both have our own businesses to protect. Hell, Jerome, your ex would love to see you get locked up over some stupid protest. She’s just looking for a reason to pull your visitation rights.” Robbie flexed his left arm and articulated his prosthetic enough to make the triple metal “hooks” open and close.

  “Yeah, and I still can’t get why the judge gave her primary custody over my parents. I mean, yes. I know with my history, I’m not winning any awards for Daddy of the Year, but she is a hot mess even off the pipe.” Jerome glanced down as he thought about his own failings that led to him not having his children at home with him full time.

  “That’s why you are staying here while I scout this out.” Robbie pulled out his phone and checked the address of the condominium he had listed across the park from the courthouse.

  “You are going to their protest rally? That’s risky,” Jerome warned.

  “Not really, I have practice at this. Can you hang tight? I’ll be back in a few, and I’m not going to be using my phone.”

  “Do you need some foil?” Jerome glanced to Mr. Wojciechowski.

  “I’m just being cautious. You ever get that tingling at the back of your neck like someone is watching you?”

  “What, you having paranoid delusions of grandeur? That’s a sign of a deeper psychosis, you know?”

  “It’s not paranoia if they really are watching you. Mr. Wojciechowski, do you mind if I call you using your landline? I don’t think anyone will be monitoring those just yet, but if Dexter is right, they may be surveilling cellular signals.” Robbie pulled out his phone and handed it to Jerome.

  “Mr. Wojciechowski, will you wrap this up in multiple layers of foil and then plaster some around his dome? I think he’s lost it.” Jerome took Robbie’s phone and laid it on the bar.

  “He may be onto something.” Mr. Wojciechowski turned and walked to the cordless phone behind the counter and laid it before Jerome. “Be cautious, Robbie.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo, guys. Man, I hope I’m wrong about this.” Robbie zipped his leather jacket and pushed his way out of the Polka Dot Tap, walking to his bike parked in the adjoining parking lot next to Jerome’s blue pickup with a white camper shell over the cargo bed. He cranked the bike over and let it idle as he pulled on the full faced black helmet and snapped the visor down. Robbie took his seat and shifted the bike to the right and raised the kickstand with his left booted heel. Working his prosthetic to activate the clutch took practice, and he hadn’t been lying to Cassie. Robbie didn’t want to risk a passenger throwing off his balance while he learned to work through the gears.

  Robbie took the one way street down a block and cut over to double back to the center of Kenosha. The harbor area had been revitalized in the last twenty years and retro streetcars ran along the trendy shops. The blocks around the county courthouse were currently an “up and coming” neighborhood where Robbie had several properties listed for sale. The one he had in mind had a clear shot of the city park and the courthouse from the living room windows. The sixth floor condo also would give Robbie unobstructed views of the streets around the municipal buildings.

  The garage for the building, accessed from a side street, allowed Robbie to motor directly up to the parking ramp and use his garage opener from the owner to access the building. The owner, currently living in an extended stay hotel in Seattle, had left his condo with all of the furnishings until it sold. As Robbie parked his bike and used the access card to open the elevator, he smiled to himself. Mr. Janick, his client, had also left his telescope in the living room. Robbie punched the right button and waited for the car to reach the sixth floor.

  Mr. Janick might have been a peeping tom, or he might enjoy amateur astronomy. Robbie didn’t care as long as he got his commission at the time of the sale. He also remembered he was doing an open house here next week, so Robbie had an excuse for being here anyway. He paid a sweet older lady, Margaret Reid, to run a crew of eager beavers to do his open houses when he had other things to do. Getting tied down at a single property for three hours when he could be doing paperwork was a waste of his valuable time. Besides, having a few drinks with Jerome and watching the game took priority.

  The elevator door opened to a beige hallway with slate-colored carpeting. The condominium association was in charge of the common areas, so he couldn’t do anything to help the bland décor. Mr. Janick did a great job himself with his own space, though.

  Robbie pushed his access code into the key storage box hanging from the door handle and retrieved the deadbolt key. Robbie unlocked the door and pocketed the key, so he didn’t make the rookie mistake of leaving the key on the counter when the door shut behind him. That had happened to him once, and he’d learned from that embarrassing mistake, with the cost of a locksmith on the weekend hammering the point home. Keep the key with you until you leave.

  The blinds in the living room and the drapes were closed, so Robbie pulled the drapes aside and peeked through the horizontal blinds. The sun, coming from the west, shined on the green park and the trees still without leaves. In a month, Robbie would not be able to see the gathering crowd on the steps of the courthouse.

  Robbie pulled a chair from the cozy eating area and perched himself at the window with only a single slat pulled up. It limited his field of view, but Robbie didn’t want to give away his position.

  The snipers on the rooftop next to the courthouse didn’t seem to notice him watching. Robbie jerked away from the window in a reflex move before he processed the scene. Someone had people on a roof in black tactical gear watching the protestors. Robbie pulled the chair out of the way and pulled the tripod mounted telescope into position. The scope needed a bigger opening in the blinds to be effective, so Robbie pulled the string and raised the blinds just high enough for him to see out.

  The black-clad individuals on the rooftop didn’t have sniping weapons, but they did have cameras with long lenses. One of the teams had a directional microphone scanning the crowd with a separate technician monitoring it with headphones and what appeared to be a recording device of some type. Robbie scanned the gathering crowd holding signs and he watched Dexter mount the courthouse steps with a cheap megaphone. Dexter stood front and center and gave his speech, but Robbie could not hear a word of it through the insulated double pane windows. The signs carried by the protestors had unusual demands. “Free the water” and “Freedom” and “Save our Farms!” were the most common themes to the signs. “EPA let us be” caught Robbie’s attention. Robbie continued to scan the crowd and the rooftops for other observers.

  “Now, why the hell would these obviously violent thugs need to be monitored instead of arrested?” Robbie muttered to himself. He scanned the cars moving along the square until he saw the one he’d hoped he would not see. The blacked out Suburban crept along the street and paused at each car before moving along.

  “They are scanning the plates of every car around the square, and I’ll bet they are also going through the parking lots.” He knew that if the government had a team on the ground, the cell towers in the area also had surveillance. Robbie went to the kitchen and got the phone to call the Polka Dot Tap.

  “Can they monitor cordless calls too?” Robbie stopped and stared at the handset. The signal could be intercepted, but probably only if the team had someone closer to the condo. Robbie took a risk and called anyway.

  “Polka Dot Tap, this is Jerome,” his friend answered the call.

  “Do you ha
ve a crazy old Polack named Wojciechowski working there? He’s my baby’s daddy, and I want child support.” Robbie used his goofy high-pitched voice that Jerome had heard many times in the past.

  “No, but we do have a crazy Mandingo on the line who can show up and relieve your needs, ma’am,” Jerome replied with a laugh.

  “Stay there. I’ll come back to you. Make some calls for me, would you? Cancel everything we can for the next few days. And yes, I said ‘we’. You need to clear your schedule, too.”

  “What’s going down, Robbie?” Jerome sounded panicked.

  “No names. I’ll tell you in a few. Get the ball rolling before I get back.”

  Robbie hung up and put everything back in place. He paused and took another look at the protestors standing before the courthouse. He estimated less than a hundred people had gathered there to voice their complaints peacefully. They had definitely gotten someone’s attention, but he didn’t see a news crew or any expensive cameras shouldered by one of the major networks. That bothered him more than the troops on overwatch. A slow news day would have drawn someone out to fill in some airtime. Kenosha didn’t get a lot of protestors.

  He relocked the door and replaced the key before heading back to the basement garage and his bike. Robbie took a more circuitous route back to the Polka Dot Tap and avoided the streets anywhere close to the courthouse protest. It took him longer to get back because he took the block twice to check for tails.

  A block away from the Tap, Robbie heard sirens converging off in the distance and a chill went up his spine. Something had gone down, and it couldn’t have been good. He parked his bike in front of the bar in an empty spot and hurried inside, struggling with the chin strap of his helmet and finally pulled it off as he pushed through the door. His one hand shook as he fought back the adrenaline rushing through his system.

  “What happened? I heard sirens on the way back.” Robbie dumped his helmet on the bar.

  “It just broke on the news. Protestors tried to storm the courthouse and set it on fire. Local law enforcement fired into the crowd when they were themselves fired upon.” Jerome stared at the television as the feed from the courthouse came through over the air. The angle of the camera told Robbie the real story.

  “The news never showed up. I just left, and nobody was covering it.”

  “Well, who is filming this?” Jerome gestured at the ambulances and police cars converged on the scene, and several bodies laying in a tangle near the top of the steps.

  “Look at the angle of the camera, they filmed this from the rooftop. I saw them there. I didn’t see the sniping team or the protesters rushing the doors. All I saw were people waving signs and Dexter giving a speech. Nobody looked agitated or ready to storm the barricades.” Robbie rubbed his stubble of hair on his head and thought for a second.

  “Did the video show where it started? I mean, who rushed the doors?” Robbie stared at the screen, trying to piece the scene together.

  Jerome replied, “They didn’t show that part. All we saw were the cops rushing the scene and taking charge. What are you thinking, Robbie?”

  “I need to call Charlie. He will know what to do. I don’t want to use my phone, though. Mr. Wojciechowski, can I call my buddy in Toledo? I’ll pay you for the long-distance charges.” Robbie got his phone from the bar and checked the number for Charlie.

  “We don’t worry about long-distance, Robbie. It comes with the plan. Just call him. This sounds wrong to me, too. Those kids were not looking for a fight, no matter what the news is screaming.” Mr. Wojciechowski pulled another drink for Robbie and placed the pint on a coaster for him with a nod.

  Robbie started to dial when the riot broke out. Someone in the crowd threw a drink at the local police cuffing protestors. The police responded by wading into the crowd and trying to arrest someone. A shot rang out, and all hell broke loose on the steps of the Kenosha courthouse. The camera didn’t pan away and captured everything.

  “Oh shit,” Jerome muttered.

  “Jerome, go home and load up. We have to get out ahead of this.”

  “What do you mean?” Jerome’s voice shook.

  “We gotta get our families out of Chicago and to the retreat.”

  “You sure, Robbie?”

  “Man, I don’t know. I can’t tell if I’m just paranoid, or if we are staring at the beginning of something horrible rolling down the hill. Do I take a risk of looking like an ass and scaring everyone with my Chicken Little cry, or do we sit and wait for the other shoe to drop? I have that old feeling it has hit the fan for all of us.”

  Robbie unlocked his phone and went to his favorites to get Charlie’s number. Grabbing the bar phone and punching in the numbers, he waited for Book to pick up and tried to calm himself as lists of items ran through his head like a jumble from a chemistry textbook. He heard a click on the line after three rings.

  “Book, no names, I’m considering bugging out and taking the family to the farm. Tell Mom and Pop to expect some packages in the next few days.”

  “Hold on, Blaster, I’m seeing some crazy shit over here too, but is this the right move? I was about to call you and give you a heads up.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kenosha, WI

  In the end, Book convinced Robbie to sit tight and avoid doing anything rash, for now.

  “Call me if you see anything else that looks squirrely on your end. I’m going to suggest that you get an evac plan together. If things go south, that entire metro area could go on lockdown,” Charlie advised. “Just get momma bear and the cubs out if this goes sideways.”

  “My partner is here right now in the bar, and he’s up to speed on this. I haven’t asked him yet, but do you think there is room for him and his kids? He can use my cabin or the clubhouse if we need the room.” Robbie glanced at Jerome and shrugged.

  “I don’t even know if I can get to my kids, but I would be willing to help out and contribute. I know we are just making plans, but are we actually thinking the crap is about to go down?” Jerome raised his glass and took a sip. Robbie noticed Jerome had a case of the shakes. Robbie understood and felt his own heart drumming along from the adrenaline dump from earlier.

  “You and your kids are welcome, Mr. Partner. You know we probably can’t take in your ex, though. She’s too much of a wild card,” Charlie said through the speaker.

  “There is no way in hell I’m letting that woman come and mess up your retreat. I agree with you wholeheartedly. Why couldn’t you have been my divorce attorney?” Jerome chuckled.

  “Now, you get run over by a runaway tanker truck or have an industrial accident, and I’m your man. I don’t do the family law. There’s only pain there, buddy.”

  “No kidding. Hey, me and Ladies man will handle this end of it. Between the two of us, we’ll keep them safe. I know they are like family to you guys, and I would be honored to help.”

  “It’s settled then. I’ll let the rest of the crew know to expect three more. I agree with you. Let’s keep the chatter down and avoid acronyms as much as you can. We have players involved that might have some deep pockets and even bigger ears.” Charlie and Robbie bantered back and forth for a few more minutes before Robbie hung up.

  Jerome looked across the bar and caught Mr. Wojciechowski’s eye. “You have an opinion, sir? I’m all ears.” Robbie leaned into the bar and waited as the gentleman thought.

  “What you need to worry about is how to avoid detection. They are going to monitor phone calls and track license plates where they can. Toll roads are out.” He paused and pointed at Robbie. “You are a veteran, and even though you can’t use but one arm, they will want to keep up with you for no other reason than to see if you are connected to anti-government activists. With the way things are going, they can easily label you as a domestic terrorist and lock you up. Keep your nose clean and fly close to the ground.” The older man wiped his hands with the bar towel and walked to the register, took a key from his pocket and inserted the key into the regist
er. He twisted the key and hit a button. The register started spitting out a long sheet of paper.

  “Are you closing up early?” Jerome asked as he took the hint and drained his glass.

  “You aren’t the only ones who need to get their ducks in a row, gentlemen. I have a cabin I need to see about stocking up for what’s coming. I don’t plan on being anywhere close to a major city when the idiots in power start trying to divide by zero. When they initiate door kicking and confiscation, they will start something they can’t back away from.” Jerome and Robbie looked at each other in amazement.

  “Mr. Wojciechowski, have you been through this before?” Jerome asked.

  “I was a boy, but I remember enough. My father filled in the blanks for me when I was old enough to understand. You’ve had a good run but look at what is going on here in our small city.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wojciechowski. We’ve enjoyed coming to your establishment.” Robbie offered his hand to the man.

  “Call me Frank. Mr. Wojciechowski was my father.” The bartender squeezed Robbie’s good hand and nearly crunched some bones in the process. Robbie grinned back and tried not to wince.

  “If I hear anything, is there a way to contact you?” Robbie asked.

  “Nope, after tonight, you boys will not see me again. I’m ‘heading for the hills’ as they say.”

  Robbie and Jerome walked out, and Frank locked up behind them. He didn’t come out, so Robbie assumed he lived over the bar.

  “You still want me to clear our schedule?” Jerome asked.

  “Not just yet. I’ve got to switch out my ride and pick up some items. How much can your truck haul? My Ford is just a quarter ton, so I can’t take too much of a load.”

  “The Beast is rated as a three quarter ton truck. I can tow around ten thousand in a trailer.” Jerome pointed at the Harley. “Your bike is not going to carry much, will it?”

  “Nope, but it can go on a sidewalk and split lanes if I get caught in a traffic jam. I’m off, man. Keep this between us, though.”