Rule of Nightmare

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  The three looked around at the enthusiastic, applauding audience and sat down again.

  “Please remove this woman,” Travers demanded, looking over at Rhonda who shook her head in the negative.

  Travers pointed at Nick. “What? I try to honor fallen heroes and this real poser gets away with his crap?”

  Nick stood with folder in hand. He walked to the microphone. “I didn’t know if it would come into question today, but I have hard copy backup to what I am. This is my DD214, providing information to the units I’ve served in, along with details, including an honorable discharge with my reserve status. I served in special forces, Delta Force, and I have friends who are today Marine Recon. I have here pictures of my Delta Force unit with me in it. Everything this young woman said is true.”

  Nick walked into Travers’ airspace, pointing at a ribbon. “As she stated, this yellow green ribbon is a Vietnam Campaign ribbon. Travers never served as a Marine in Vietnam or anywhere else. I made a vow to a Marine Recon brother, that I would defend the few and proud. Take the jacket off now, or I will remove it for you.”

  An old, thin gnarly man stood at the back, fists clenched. “I served in Vietnam, 1st Battalion, 26th Regiment at Khe Sanh in ’68. You do as McCarty tells you to do, or I’ll be dead before you leave this fucking room… poser! I lost brothers there you couldn’t measure up to in your wildest fucking dreams! Get the fucking jacket off now!”

  Travers looked at Rhonda with wide, frightened and yet outraged eyes. Rhonda turned away. Nick smiled. “Take the coat off, or else I will take it off for you.”

  Travers surveyed the silent audience with outrage surging past logic. He threw a right-hand roundhouse at Nick’s head. Nick caught it, snapped it to the right, forcing Travers onto his knees with a scream of pain. One of Travers’ bodyguards rushed Nick, only to be met with a sidekick to his head as Johnny launched to Nick’s side. Jian and Gus rushed to the reaching other bodyguards.

  “Grab the lapels on your jackets and kneel, or die,” Gus ordered, his Taurus 9mm half out of his holster. “We will not hesitate to kill all three of you in a heartbeat. Johnny will snap your partner’s neck. Jian and I will shoot you both right between the eyes. I am US Marshal Gus Nason and this is US Marshal Jian Chen. Grab your lapels!”

  The men followed Gus’s order slowly and to the letter. Johnny restrained their wrists at the back. Jian dragged the unconscious bodyguard Johnny had kicked into another reality, and restrained him also.

  Nick shook Travers’ hand slightly. He unbuttoned the Marine dress blues jacket. “If you resist, I will hurt you. I see you have a t-shirt on underneath. That’s good. No one wants to see your blubber. Once you are released, take off the coat and cover, and hand them to me. Do you understand?”

  Travers nodded. Nick released his hand and helped him up. Travers shakily disrobed from the jacket, handing it and his hat to Nick. The woman in the back who had accused him at the start, stood again, pointing at Travers. “A real Marine would have died rather than strip off that coat… poser!”

  “We’re running these guys’ names, Nick,” Gus told him. “They’re all packing without license.”

  “Crap. Neil will be pleased at another McCarty adventure. Tell me what you get on them. We may simply confiscate their weapons. Sit over on your chair, Hardin. Why did you bring your three helpers with you?”

  “I am in the process of converting to Islam. They attend the same mosque and were outraged at the treatment of Islam in your pulp novels.”

  “Getting me here was their idea, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “You thought you’d have more credibility wearing the uniform while attacking me about Islam. That makes sense. I can tell you’ve done this before without getting outed as a fraud. You can bet this event was covered in the media. It would be best if you sent your minions home if they check out. Do the book signing and stick with your original story about honoring the military.”

  “I’ll still look like a fool.”

  “There are plenty of your more liberal followers here. They’ll think you were mistreated. It’ll work out.”

  “They’re okay,” Gus called over.

  “Keep their weapons. They can pick them up at the police station.” Nick turned to Hardin again. “Go ahead and get them on their way.”

  Hardin trudged over to where his companions were now standing. After a quiet conversation, the men left. Hardin then spoke to a concerned Rhonda. She nodded and addressed the crowd. “We have the book signing tables set up on opposite sides of the store. Nick McCarty will be on the right, and Hardin Travers on the left. That was more exciting of a talk than I prepared for. It’s over. Let’s get some books signed.”

  A round of applause greeted Rhonda’s directions. As predicted by Nick, Travers drew many of his solid fans with books in hand. Nick introduced his crew, along with Jean and Sonny. His book signing line, enthusiastic and demanding, kept a running dialogue of questions about what they saw. Nick and crew answered all questions concerning the US Marshal’s service, with boating, sidekicks, and romance with Diego’s new love, Fatima, close seconds. So many asked to see his military picture and DD214, Nick left them on display.

  “One’s in line from Travers’ flock,” Jean whispered. “She went from happy to sullen in the few steps from his line to yours. Green blouse, mousy brown hair, five and a half feet tall, thin as a rail – she’s clutching a book with both hands so tightly, I can see the white knuckles from here.”

  “I believe you’re right.” Nick greeted the next man in line, recognizing him as the Marine veteran from the Vietnam War era. “Thank you for your service, Sir.”

  He shook hands with Nick somewhat hesitantly. “Sorry about the foul-mouthed outburst around the children. That jerk’s dress blues drove me nuts. I see you did your time.”

  “Still doin’ my time, Gunny, just like you. As they say, there are no ex-Marines.”

  “You have that right. Thanks for the hours of entertainment I’ve gotten from your novels. I’ve read the Diego series over from the beginning many times. Write faster!”

  “I will endeavor to do so. Take care of yourself, Gunny.”

  “Will do.”

  The sidekick and Fatima questions dominated the discussion as Nick autographed books, centering on his inclusion of real life in many of his plots. Nick handled those questions with care, reminding everyone Diego was a pulp fiction character. The woman Jean picked out as a Travers’ emissary stalked to the table, glaring at Jean and Sonny.

  “I hope this man is not influencing you two kids to do his bidding. He’s a racist of the worst sort.”

  Well-schooled on what they were to say in reply to a verbal attack, Jean and Sonny stared directly at her with smiles. “I can tell he’s brainwashed the both of you!”

  “My dad taught me how to survive in a world with America hating scum,” Jean replied.

  The woman reached for Jean. “Why you little-”

  A big hand blocked her reaching appendage.

  “No touching, ma’am. Say whatever it is you want to say and then move on. If you reach for the kids again, my associate Cala will help you find the exit. Believe me… you don’t want that.”

  “Who is-”

  “That would be me.” Cala slid between the woman and the signing table. “I’m Cala. As Nick asked you, say whatever you need to say and move the line. If you don’t, I will remove you, with force if necessary.”

  “I am here to inform others of your blasphemous treatment of sacred Islam in your novels. You malign the blessed religion of nearly two billion people.”

  “You are an idiot,” Cala stated. “There are three ex-Muslims with Nick McCarty today. He personally saved me and my cousin from honor killing relatives. Islam is a cult of pedophiles, misogynist enslavers of women and outright slavers of any who do not believe in the cult, guilty of murderous terrorism the world over, exterminators of gays, Christians, and all other true religions. You are too stupid to ope
n your mouth in public, lady. Where is your slave costume? Cover yourself, harlot! Better yet, take your ‘taquiyya, lying to the infidel’ nonsense somewhere else!”

  The lady tried to meet Cala’s eyes, but broke into sobs instead, fleeing from the bookstore. Cala gestured dismissively at the woman’s back. “Do not give her a second thought. Have any of you seen the Facebook page for the City of Hope we created with refugees turning their backs on Islam and Sharia Law?”

  There were many who had, but also many who had not. Cala turned her iPad holder into a tilted base on the table by the kids, instantly generating the Facebook loop of daily updates, featuring the escapees from Islam’s death cult, and their new refuge. The highlighted laughter, success, and incredible living improvements continued to generate awe as the book signing went on. Rhonda watched the iPad program through once and put it on the network within the bookstore. Travers left in a self-indulgent tirade of outrage after seeing the loop on the screen near him. By then, his line had disappeared anyway, so Nick figured it was more of an exit gimmick. Nick and company stayed well past the allotted time.

  Rhonda joined them as they gathered their belongings for the walk to Nick’s house. “Except for the confrontation, this has been an incredible day, Nick. We only hear the praises of Islam from the media and its sycophants. Is it true your team helped create the City of Hope?”

  “We did. The City’s current leader updates us daily with everything, good and bad. The only bad so far has been the malcontents sent to sabotage the progress. Kahn has a dedicated staff who prevent the setbacks before they occur and deport the criminals back to Islam run countries. They salvage more and more of the former wasteland with added desalinization plants and community additions. A huge medical facility servicing all peoples in the Western Sahara will be run by an ex-Muslim doctor we recruited here in the United States.”

  “I never realized what a petty, egotistical wretch Hardin was until today,” Rhonda said. “I am so happy this event took place. It opened my eyes too. I’ve had blinders on.”

  Nick handed her his card. “Put this somewhere you can access it easily and keep my number on your instant contact list. If the Sharia Cult swine, Antifa, or BLM surrogates of this leftist plague trying to bury us, threatens or physically appears to disrupt your business, call me.”

  Nick’s urging had the intended effect of making Rhonda aware of unintended consequences. “Do you think we’re doomed to have another civil war, Nick?”

  “My personal opinion is there aren’t enough ‘Snowflakes’ in this country to cause a civil war. A vigilante uprising against them is far more likely.”

  “Is…is there any room for middle of the road folks?”

  “Only if you don’t mind becoming middle of the road kill, Rhonda. You said you have the blinders off now. Good… take the rose colored glasses off too while you’re at it. We are already at war for the preservation of America.”

  “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I will call if I get any trouble. Thank you.”

  “Above everything else, we are US Marshals, sworn to uphold the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. We take our duty seriously.”

  * * *

  As they trekked up the hill toward the McCarty domain, Jean asked something that was in the minds of everyone walking. “Do you think Rhonda will be okay, Dad?”

  “She will be if she keeps her eyes open for danger. If she ignores it, then no. At some point, no matter how much we would like to protect people, the moment of danger happens when least expected. When we walk you to school, we’ll walk down to Lighthouse Ave and check on the bookstore. Deke will love marking new territory. I’ll head down to Lover’s Point coastal path and then to Otter’s Point. It’s a great hike before Otter’s Point libations.”

  “You’re on the sauce too early in the morning, Dad.”

  “Jian has corrupted us, Jean. He’s relentless. If the heathen doesn’t get his Irish in the morning, we all must pay the piper in his foul moods, Chinese laundry, and pestilence.”

  “Pestilence?” Jian pointed warningly at his companions. “Keep this disrespectful offal cascading down upon my head and I will be forced to seek justice, white-eye!”

  Gus put an arm around Jian’s shoulders. “Never seek vengeance on Muerto. He is protected by the God of evil cartoons: Mothra.”

  The mention of a Japanese movie monster, one of the most ridiculous of all time, as a protector of Muerto sent Jian into snorting fits as he both tried to stay outraged, and also stifle amusement.

  “I’m serious, Dad. One day these people will stake you and the cartoons out. Everyone in Pacific Grove knows you guys go down there nearly every morning and drink. It’s pitiful, thinking about the Unholy Trio, Dark Dragon, and Reaper getting blown apart while throwing down Irish coffees.”

  “You placed Reaper last in the cartoon train, Jean,” Cala pointed out. “That is not very insightful or respectful to put Dragon breath in front of me.”

  “You cartoons are getting a little needy,” Jean retorted to more amusement. “Maybe we should rename you cartoons since there are five of you. It could be something with hand in it, like the ‘Drunken Hand’, or the ‘Hand of Self-Indulgence’, or the ‘Blitzed Hand’, or ‘In Alcohol Cometh the Hand’, or-”

  “Or the ‘Hand of Grounded Smartasses’. How does two weeks without electrical devices sound to you, little miss high and mighty?”

  “Oh sure… kill the messenger.”

  * * *

  Nick sat with Neil Dickerson in his office, having delivered the confiscated weapons, waiting as Neil jotted down serial numbers. He explained what happened, describing the incident as a publicity ploy gone bad.

  “You have their names and addresses, so I’ll issue citations for carrying concealed weapons in a public place without licenses. If you sign the citations, it will mean a hefty fine if they want the weapons returned. If they are the legal owners of the weapons, I will leave it at just the fine if the weapons were never used in a crime.”

  “I like your idea. I wish we had legal concealed carry for everyone in this state, but enforcing the law on these three is the right course. They were going to draw on us.”

  “Thank God they didn’t. That would have been a mess. I’ll have a car swing by the bookstore on a more regular basis, since the place has been jinxed with the Muerto curse.”

  “Muerto curse? It’s called notoriety. Notoriety makes money. The Carmel bookstore I had a couple of incidents in made a lot of money. I put them on the map.”

  “Incidents? You killed one guy in unarmed combat mode, and shot the other one through the head. Only you would call them incidents. Did your US Marshal friends reach you? Tim called me to see if you were okay. They have real Marshal business for you cartoons.”

  “I saw they called. When they have something important for me, they usually text me a bulletin.” Nick signed the citations Neil turned for his signature. “If you’re done critiquing my actions, I’ll go do some real work.”

  “We’re done. Did you get your new novel done? I’ve been waiting patiently after ‘Blood Beach’ to see where you go with Fatima. When do I get my advanced copy?”

  “Never. I’ve crossed you off the advanced copy list for accusations unbecoming of a policeman and I didn’t want to upset your sensibilities with my violent pulp any longer.”

  Neil waved Nick away. “Send me my copy or the next time you need local cover for your cartoons, you’ll find yourself off the cooperation list.”

  “You know better than to play that card.”

  “Send me my copy… damn it!”

  Nick waved as he left the office. He called Tim while leaving the precinct building. “The cops told me you have a warrant out for my arrest.”

  Tim chuckled. “Grace and I are on our way to you. We have the location for two escaped felons. We tapped the lines of anyone they ever knew. One of them called an ex-girlfriend in Portland, asking if he could see her. She told him no… an
d hell no, but we know where he is now.”

  “No offense, but what do you need me for?”

  “We believe Vince Talbert and his partner, Bill Cloverman, took over the farmhouse at the address. A couple lives there with two boys, ages four and six. We don’t need more bodies. We need a sniper. Talbert and Cloverman killed two guards while escaping from Atwater. They had a car waiting for them. The prison officials asked the Marshal’s service in on the case immediately, hoping to nab the two before they escaped the area. No such luck.”

  “Count me in, but you do understand the consequences, right?”

  “They will kill that family if they haven’t already, Nick. If you get a shot, take it. Can you do some research on the address for us?”

  “I’ll tap into our satellite coverage and do you one better. We can detect bodies from space now. I’ll count heat signatures and let you know if we still have a family to save. I’m hoping they’ll keep the family as hostages. What put them in Atwater?”

  “Home invasions with rape and murder,” Tim answered. “We know of five deaths the jury convicted them of without their testimony. A neighbor called the police at the scene of the fifth one we know about. The police arrived in time to get them, but not to save the older couple living there.”

  “We’ll be ready when you get here. Come to my house.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Nick.”

  * * *

  Nick and his crew, including Jean and Sonny, networked with everything from satellite coverage to farmhouse plans. Rachel showed Tim and Grace onto the deck.

  “The kids too?”

  “They have better instincts than either of you cardboard cutouts, Grace. We have some good news. Our satellites show four practically unmoving figures in the back bedroom of the ranch style house. The other two move around, including one of them checking on the other four periodically.”

  “Excellent,” Grace said. “For good news of that sort, I would have expected more enthusiasm. Did I interrupt the bad news report?”