by Mark Goodwin
When they arrived at the small market in Kingsland, Texas, Ulysses parked at the rear of the lot. After scanning the parking lot for souped-up lowriders, Ava and Ulysses passed their rifles to Foley to stow under the back seat.
“Hats on. Avoid eye contact and only speak when spoken too.” Ulysses stepped out of the truck and closed the door.
Ava and Foley followed him through the entrance doors of the grocery. Ava kept her eyes peeled for anything unusual. The first item of interest to catch her attention was the pump-action shotgun leaning up against the register. She made an effort to not stare and grabbed a cart.
Ulysses led the way down the first aisle. He began filling his cart with pasta and cans of sauce. He quickly emptied the canned sauces from the shelf and began carefully gathering several glass jars of sauce.
Ava looked at her father. “Sam and Betty have made some room in their freezer since we arrived. I’m going to stock up on meat. I’ll see you guys over there.”
“Good idea, but let’s stick together.” Ulysses seemed satisfied with his haul of pasta and sauce.
“Okay.” Ava waited, then pushed her cart to the butcher’s section in the back of the store. She looked through the window where a man was packaging more meat. He wore a leather belt with a long-barreled revolver in the holster. Ava looked at Foley who had also spotted the armed butcher. Neither of them spoke.
Ulysses began piling stacks of beef into Ava’s cart. Ava selected several packages of pork, while Foley focused on restocking breakfast sausage and bacon. Next, they hit the coffee aisle, nearly filing an entire cart. The store only had six large bags of rice, so they took all of them. That cart was topped off with the lion’s share of the store’s dried bean selection.
“We’ll need to make two trips,” Ulysses said as he pushed the heavy cart. “We’ll check out, then come back for another haul.”
“I’ll stay outside and watch the truck.” Foley shoved the grocery cart which was laden down with rice and beans.
“I appreciate that.” Ulysses worked his way to the checkout counter and began unloading his cart.
The cashier was an older lady with grizzled hair. Her voice sounded like she preferred non-filtered cigarettes and her eyes looked like they belonged to someone who wouldn’t hesitate to empty that shotgun leaning up against her register. “I reckon y’all come from the city. Hear tell ain’t many grocers open in San Antonio; Austin neither. Lots of folks stockin’ up. Truck just left a while ago. Lucky for y’all. By the time we closed last night, could have fit about everything we had left on the shelves in them three carts y’all got.”
She continued scanning the items and looked at Ulysses' face. “What happened to your eye?”
“Accident.”
She nodded suspiciously and scanned the remaining groceries from Ulysses’ cart. Without looking back up, she asked, “Did you get that scar down your lip in the same accident?”
“Same one.” Ulysses didn’t elaborate.
She glanced at her shotgun and proceeded to run the groceries from Ava’s cart across the scanner. “Can’t be too careful. Bunch of ne’er-do-wells came through Blanco yesterday, robbin’ grocery stores of all things. Sister lives down there. Said it was Mexican gangs; Tango Blast or some such foolishness. I ain’t never heard of gangs robbin’ grocery stores. They get all that money selling meth and runnin’ whores. Don’t make no sense.”
She quickly scanned the rice and beans from Foley’s cart, then looked at the sales total indicator on the register and watched as Ulysses pulled out a roll of one-hundred-dollar bills. The woman looked at the store manager standing by the door holding a bolt-action hunting rifle. He looked to be in his late fifties with a balding head. “Collin thinks that devil, Markovich, is sending them gangs into all the small towns to give us a hard time. Ain’t none of us voted for him. All I can say is he best not send nobody to come get my shotgun. They might get it, but they’ll have to take it bullets first.”
Ava made a conscious effort not to look at the woman, but she couldn’t help but crack a grin at the woman’s determination and wit.
“We’re coming back for few more items after we get this out to the truck.” Ulysses handed her the money and waited for her to count out the change. “If that’s okay.”
“Suit yourself. If we sell out of everything, I can go home early.”
The load was quickly transferred into the bed of the truck. Foley waited outside while Ava and Ulysses went in for a second round. Once the two carts were filled to capacity, they returned to the register. Ava paid for the follow-up run. She let the old woman chatter away, but followed Ulysses’ instructions and kept quiet. Having been spoken to, Ava said, “Have a blessed day,” as she pushed her cart out the door. She smiled politely at the manager while they exited. Ava saw no harm in that.
CHAPTER 12
And Samuel told all the words of the Lord unto the people that asked of him a king. And he said, This will be the manner of the king that shall reign over you: He will take your sons, and appoint them for himself, for his chariots, and to be his horsemen; and some shall run before his chariots. And he will appoint him captains over thousands, and captains over fifties; and will set them to ear his ground, and to reap his harvest, and to make his instruments of war, and instruments of his chariots. And he will take your daughters to be confectionaries, and to be cooks, and to be bakers. And he will take your fields, and your vineyards, and your oliveyards, even the best of them, and give them to his servants. And he will take the tenth of your seed, and of your vineyards, and give to his officers, and to his servants. And he will take your menservants, and your maidservants, and your goodliest young men, and your asses, and put them to his work. He will take the tenth of your sheep: and ye shall be his servants. And ye shall cry out in that day because of your king which ye shall have chosen you; and the Lord will not hear you in that day.
1 Samuel 8:10-18
Ava sat at the kitchen counter Monday morning, checking the news on her computer. Charity helped Betty prepare breakfast for everyone. Ulysses sat next to Ava, sipping a cup of coffee. Foley sat on the other side of her, looking on at her computer screen. Sam was in the FROG, keeping watch. And James was sleeping, having been on watch the night prior.
Ava said, “Woods just signed a temporary firearm’s ban. Congress had it waiting on his desk this morning.”
“I saw that coming.” Ulysses took another drink of his coffee.
“Why bother calling it temporary?” Betty tended to the sausage patties sizzling in the pan.
Foley spun around on his stool. “I’m sure Markovich will want to sign a permanent ban after the inauguration. Otherwise, the ban doesn’t get credited to his administration. It’s all about legacy.”
Ava continued to read the article. “They’re claiming the ban was rushed through in an emergency session. Supposedly, Congress is trying to curb violence stemming from disagreements over the states who have declared themselves independent.”
Charity cracked eggs into a skillet. “Do you think the ban will apply to Antifa, MS-13 and Tango Blast?”
“Not a chance.” Ava shook her head. “Antifa has been co-opted by the government as part of the Social Justice Legion. And since most of the weapons in the hands of MS-13 and Tango Blast came from the DOJ via Fast and Furious, they’re probably exempt.”
“So basically, it’s just conservatives who can’t be trusted with firearms.” Betty put the sausage patties on a plate with a paper towel to absorb the grease.
“Now you’re catching on.” Ava scrolled through the news.
Ulysses stood to refill his cup. “We should stash some weapons. I’m sure the government will eventually go door-to-door collecting firearms.”
“I’m with Ma Kettle back at the grocery store. If they want mine, they’ll have to take them bullets first,” Ava said defiantly.
Ulysses nodded slowly. “In theory, I’m with you. But that isn’t practic
al nor effective. When they come, they’ll come with an overwhelming force. If we shoot it out with them, we’ll take a few with us, but we’ll all be dead when the smoke clears. It makes much more sense to hand over a few guns, let them go on their way, then dig up our real arsenal after they’ve gone. Afterward, we launch an insurgency attack from the shadows.”
Ava looked at Foley. “What do you think?”
“Jihadists kept the American military running in circles for well over a decade with that tactic. If they’d have hit us head-on, it would have been no contest. We’d have crushed them in a matter of days. Your dad is right.”
“Do we have what we need to do that?” Ava turned to her father.
“Sam has a FoodSaver vacuum sealer. We can double bag our ammo and firearms with that. It’ll be airtight and watertight so we can bury them. It would be nice to have some large-diameter PVC pipe to keep the FoodSaver bags from being pierced accidentally, but as long as we’re careful, the weapons should be fine.”
Ava replied, “Good to know, but that’s not what I meant. Do we have the materials we need to launch an insurgency campaign?”
“We don’t have RPGs, grenades, or explosives if that’s what you mean.”
“They sell that stuff on the dark web.”
Ulysses chuckled. “You’re not talking about a quarter bag of weed. People don’t just ship that kind of thing to your door. You have to meet dealers in person.”
“Okay, if that’s how it’s done.” Ava lifted her shoulders.
“No, no.” Ulysses shook his head. “These guys get set up and taken out by ATF all the time. Once they take down a darknet dealer, they use his online profile to make controlled sales to other buyers. A dealer could have a perfect rating on Hidden Wiki and still, it’s a fifty-fifty shot that he’s an agent.
“Even with the darknet, the only way to make a purchase like that is through someone you know.”
“What about Antifa? You know them,” Ava said.
“I’ve stalked their hangouts online. I’ve never made contact with anyone and never intended to. My profile for the message board and Blackbook is a girl, remember? Even if I could set up a meeting, a sixty-year-old man with a lazy eye and a scar down his jaw isn’t exactly who they’d expect to show up.”
Ava bit her lower lip and stared at her father.
His head shook from side to side slowly, then faster. “Nope, absolutely not, Ava. Quit thinking it.”
“Why not?”
“A million reasons why not. We’ll be here all day if I start telling you why not.”
“Top ten.”
Ulysses gritted his teeth. “Number one reason; the only one that matters—the best-laid plans of mice and men.”
“Often go awry.” She finished the saying.
“Exactly. The internet didn’t exist back then, but this is what I did for a living. My last mission was perfectly orchestrated, planned to the T, everybody who was anybody had been paid off. We bought green lights and hall passes to get us all the way from Moscow to Beijing, yet I still missed out on being a father to my little girl because the perfect plan failed.”
Ava felt sorry for the man sitting beside her. She felt sorry for herself. She wondered if all the pain and heartache of growing up without a dad could have been averted. If only Ulysses had cashed in his chips on the mission prior. What might have her life been like? She sighed. What a futile endeavor to consider what might have been. It is what it is, and we have to make the most with what we have to work with.
“Y’all get to the table. Breakfast is ready,” Betty called.
After breakfast, Ava took her computer up to her room. She booted the TAILS operating system which she’d downloaded from her father’s flash drive. She launched the TOR browser and navigated to Blackbook. She hesitated before logging in with her father’s credentials for his Harley Quinn profile, but not for long. Once inside, she’d crossed the Rubicon. Turning back was not an option.
Ava spent the next two hours surreptitiously reading all of Harley Quinn’s posts and threads. She put herself in the shoes of this fictitious character, trying to guess how Harley would respond to threads and posts before actually reading Quinn’s comments.
A knock came to the door. Ava panicked and slammed the laptop shut.
Charity stuck her head in the door. “What are you doing in here all alone?”
“Nothing,” Ava said much too emphatically.
“Oh.” Charity’s eyebrows tugged toward one another. She looked around the room skeptically. “Well, when you’re finished doing nothing, why don’t you come downstairs. The guys built a pen to trap pigs. You and I have been tasked with catching some fish so we can use the guts for bait.”
“I’ll be right down.” Ava sat with her forearms on the closed laptop.
Charity inspected the bedroom one last time before closing the door.
Ava took a deep breath, relieved at not being interrogated further. Her clandestine operation would not be approved by her father. She could not put Foley at odds with Ulysses by sharing the information with him, and Charity wouldn’t share her sense of urgency nor understand why this mission was so critical. At least for the planning stages, Ava was on her own. Once everything was in place, she’d share details on a need-to-know basis. But for now, no one else needed to know.
“You’re a million miles away.” Charity reeled in her lure and recast.
“What?” Ava ignored her bobber floating lifelessly into the grass near the bank.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing, just being quiet so we don’t scare the fish.”
“They can’t hear us.”
Ava reeled in her line and picked a tuft of grass from the hook. She sent the lure hurtling through the air, hoping it would stay where it landed so she wouldn’t need to keep recasting. Her mind was occupied with more important matters. ZZZZzzzzz. Her reel began spinning.
“You got one!” Charity cheered.
Ava set the hook and began slowly bringing the fish in. “How many do we need to bait the trap?”
“It’s supposed to be for our dinner also, so quite a few more than one.” Charity watched as Ava brought the fish up out of the water, removed it from the hook and dropped it into the bucket of river water. “Obviously you don’t want to talk about it right now, but whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”
Ava knew what that meant. Charity would passive-aggressively hound her until she spilled the beans. She sent her lure back out to trick another fish into the frying pan. Ava willed herself to put her secret objective on the back burner for a while, to be present, and engage with Charity. “Oh, you know how it is. Our whole world is upside down. I guess I’ve been so caught up in the activities of it all that I haven’t realized the gravity of everything. I suppose it just hit me all of a sudden today.”
Charity furrowed her brow. “I know what you mean.” Charity’s bobber went under. “I think I’ve got a bite!”
Two hours later, the girls had seven good-sized bass from the river. Ava grabbed the bucket and her rod. “This is enough for dinner. Let’s clean them so we can eat.”
After dinner, Ava was up for night watch. She welcomed the time alone with her thoughts, having nothing else to do except stare through a rifle scope and concoct her devious scheme.
CHAPTER 13
Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.
Psalm 103:13-14
Before sunrise on Wednesday morning, Ava was abruptly ripped from a state of deep slumber. Her bedroom door flew open. Instinctively, she rolled out from beneath the covers and onto the floor between the bed and the wall. She stuck her hand on her nightstand and grabbed her 1911.
The lights came on and she heard her father’s voice. “Ava! What have you done?”
Ava let the pistol drop to the floor. The sound of utter disappointment pi
erced her soul. Her shoulders slumped. “Why are you up so early? What time is it?” She looked over the side of the bed with one eye squinted.
Ulysses closed the door. “Answer the question, Ava.” The tone in his voice was one of deep emotional loss, not of anger. She could’ve handled anger. But not this; not hurt—knowing she was the source of his pain.
Ava kept her gaze low, both because her eyes were still adjusting to the light and because she dared not look him in the eye. She placed the gun back on the nightstand and crawled up on the bed.
Ulysses took a seat at the foot of the bed. “I saw the conversation you initiated in the message board using Harley’s profile. No one else had my login credentials. Please don’t make this worse by lying.”
“One of the guys you message regularly, I think his screen name is Chewy2K, he seems to have gotten a hold of some military grade explosives; PBX. From what I gather, lots of toys are being shuffled out the back door and being turned over to the higher-ups within the Social Justice Legion. The group is recognized by the Markovich regime and no formal regulatory guidelines have come out to advise them on what is considered proper conduct. I assume this gray area is intentional and it’s open season on conservatives.
“Anyway, I guess the Antifa contacts in Austin have so many goodies they don’t know what to do with it all. They’re offering some of it for sale to like-minded comrades. I was just curious how much stuff like that was going for.”
“You set up a buy, Ava. That’s not just curious. How did you intend to pay for it?”
“I’ve got cash. Quite a bit of it.”
Ulysses shook his head. “These guys don’t usually want cash.”
“Then what do they want?”
“Monero, or Litecoin. But usually Monero.”
“Isn’t Monero like Bitcoin?”
“Yes, but harder to track. It still uses blockchain technology to verify transactions, but it’s passed through a network of shell wallets to make tracing nearly impossible. Monero is to Bitcoin what Tor is to Internet Explorer.”
