“I’m sort of glad he isn’t. He might have got himself shot.”
“They can’t get away with this.”
“I know, but even if we sue, which I plan to do, the officers themselves will get off scot-free. The taxpayers will pick up the bill. Heck, these guys might even get promoted. Maybe it works like the army; ‘Screw up and move up’. That’s what they used to say.”
“We have to do something.”
“We will. This is how this country treats its veterans. Remember the World War II vet a few years ago?”
“No.”
“Yeah this guy was in his nineties and got behind on his electric bill, so the city turned off his electricity. The old vet froze to death in his home in Michigan one winter.”
“No, that couldn’t happen.”
“Oh yes, it most certainly did. It’s been the same since World War I. Check it out; you’re on the computer all the time.”
“I’m not on the computer all the time.”
“Well, you cruise the internet more than I do. Anyway, look up Bonus Army.”
“What’s that?”
“Many World War I veterans were promised a bonus. During the depression, they tried to collect and camped in DC. Eventually the government turned troops loose on them, drove them out, and burned their belongings. It appears things haven’t improved.”
“I never heard of that.”
“They don’t teach you about that in public school. Now Washington is afraid their own vets will form some sort of militia. When these men figure out how the lives of their buddies are being wasted for nothing but lies, the ruling elite might have a problem, and they know it.
“And they’ve been making a lot of veterans, two wars with Iraq, then Afghanistan, and now Syria. Yeah, they are making a problem for themselves. Some old woman in the Senate is afraid that some or most veterans were mentally ill, and we don’t want mentally ill people with guns, now do we?
“They will use the excuse that vets are mentally ill to keep them from owning guns. They know trained, experienced, and armed vets are a danger to the powerful establishment. They’re not stupid, just evil.”
“You’re sounding crazy.”
“Crazy, you want crazy, go look at my house; go look at your mother. They’re doing all kinds of things. Towns are tearing up people’s gardens, SWAT teams are destroying small farms, and God help you if you want to drink raw milk. I guess it’s illegal to take care of yourself these days.”
“That’s silly,” she said.
“Silly or not it’s happening all over the country. Look at Detroit. They’re broke, but what do they spend money and police manpower on, shutting down small businesses that didn’t spend the money to get all the permits.
“You would think they’d be happy to have businesses start up in Detroit. No, those in love with power have to remain in control. But that’s not as bad as the cops.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is an epidemic of cops shooting unarmed citizens in this the land of the free. That’s in addition to sexual assault by cops.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but something’s gone dreadfully wrong in this country. It didn’t used to be that way. In fact, I read a while back that even older retired cops are concerned about this trend.”
“I always thought the police were here to protect us.”
“So did I, but who’s going to protect us from the police?”
“This is crazy talk. It must just be some mistake.”
“I would have said the same thing until yesterday.” There was a long awkward silence while Bill tried to gather his thoughts. What the devil was going on anyway, he wondered?
How did we ever come to this? The NSA is spying on each and every one of us. Did they run out of Russians to spy on? The FBI is setting people up and framing them for terrorism. The IRS is going after certain innocent citizen groups because some bureaucrat doesn’t like their politics.
We are sending real assault rifles to al Qaeda and its allies while some senators want to outlaw semiautomatic rifles that look military. Speak out and you might get the same treatment I got.
“But I didn’t do anything,” he said aloud.
“No Dad, you didn’t. What are you saying?”
“Sorry, I was just thinking out loud. I’m going to stretch my legs and see if I can find a paper.”
“You want me to come with you?”
“No stay here, and call me if you hear anything.”
“Okay Dad,” she said and kissed him on the cheek.
Prost felt like he was going to explode. He wanted to hurt something, somebody, anything to quench the anger building up inside him. He walked toward the front of the hospital. He stepped out front and took in the evening air.
It was cool and quiet. Occasionally, like now, he almost wished he had not given up smoking. It gave him something to do with his hands, something to concentrate on other than his problems.
This wasn’t supposed to happen, not to him, and especially not to Ilene. Ilene, she had been such a beauty, or at least he thought so. Back in the seventies, long straight hair, hip hugger bellbottoms, and peace signs on everything. They were an unlikely pair, but Bill could not help himself.
Her hair was long and sort of reddish on the top blending into brown down by her ample hips. Gold colored, metal rimmed glasses and freckles only make her more beautiful. She would never win a beauty contest, he knew. She was too rounded in all the right places, and she had been tough and loved the outdoors. No this was a real woman, Mother Nature walking. She was several years younger than he and possessed a natural healthy beauty, and Bill, just out of basic, could not keep away.
The short hair gave him away of course. He knew that society had programed her to shun soldiers. Much later she would tell him how impressed she had been because he was so kind, not a baby killer like she had heard so many times.
He had plans too, after the service he was going to college on the GI bill. When she took him home to meet her parents, he could tell they were shocked and delighted. Bill was always a favorite with his in-laws. As they matured as individuals and as a couple, the relationship grew stronger.
Then he shipped off to Vietnam, among the last of the ground troops. Bill was a true believer. When he said the pledge of allegiance, he meant it. When he sang the national anthem at a ball game, he sang it loud.
He wasn’t Prussian about it though, but it was his constitutional republic, and he took it personally. He listened patiently to his new girlfriend, not understanding much, but it’s hard to be rational when you are lost in someone’s big, baby blue eyes.
Then came the long months with him away in Vietnam, the news everyday showing wounded men being airlifted out of one combat zone or the other, then there were the body bags.
She began to attend fewer protests; her heart wasn’t in it any longer. She was still against the war, but he was over there. “Please God if he can just come home safe.” She was haunted by the fear that he would die over there, or come home maimed. A secret fear, one that she told no one, not even her mother, was that he would come home with a Vietnamese wife. Not that she had anything against the Vietnamese, but she knew about war brides.
Her fears were ended the day he got off that airplane. He was different in some ways; her father had warned her about that. However, true to his word, he started college as soon as he was discharged. They were married the summer before he started school.
Chapter 13 – Decision Time in the City
Cy soon found a convenience store where he could stop to buy beer. Might as well get some gas while I’m here, he thought to himself. He pulled up to the pumps.
When he went in the chime went off as usual, but there was no one at the counter. He headed back to the beer cooler and was almost there when he heard a voice from the back. It sounded angry and raspy.
He tried to choose a beer, but something made him keep an eye on the hall leading to the back, some sixth sense police
men develop. It was a good thing too as two men came out of the back quickly. The lead thug raised a pistol as he walked hurriedly forward.
Cy dropped down into a crouch and drew his pistol. He moved low and quick around toward the back of the store. They hadn’t seen him. They were almost to the front when Cy raised up over the racks with his automatic nine millimeters already in position.
“Freeze, police!”
The lead thug turned, and stepping past his buddy, raised his pistol. Cy squeezed and dropped him with one shot. He swung his aim over to the other one who put both his hands up in the air.
“Don’t shoot, I ain’t armed.”
“Keep your hands up,” Cy ordered. He moved cautiously around the rows but made one mistake. He left his back open to the hall leading to the back of the store.
Suddenly, there was a shot and a stinging in his right side. He spun around. There was a third thug he had not counted on behind him. He had the store clerk with his hand over her mouth, her eyes bulging with fright and shame. She had been stripped naked.
He jumped away from the hallway to where he couldn’t be seen. Even though he was hit he seemed basically okay, which seemed odd. The assailant had managed to get off another shot, but the struggling girl caused him to miss.
Cy remembered the other thug. He was no longer standing with his hands up. That probably meant he had the first one’s weapon. Great, he thought; now there are two of them.
He moved quickly toward the side of the store the way he had originally come and went looking for the second now armed thug. It didn’t take long. Cy fired, but instead of falling like the first one, he turned on Cy.
Cy quickly pumped three more rounds into him, zipping him from bottom to top. That put him down. There was only one scumbag to deal with now, and he had a hostage.
He started to call the special line for police officers, but it hit him he didn’t know the location of the store. Great work Cy, he thought to himself.
“Okay pig, I’m leaving the store with the girl. Hold still! We got a date, remember?”
Cy started to try to talk to him, but all he wanted to do was kill him. He would have a lot to think about later. Now, he only felt the adrenalin, the elation. Something about the naked, helpless, struggling girl awoke something in him, something foreign.
The book said to call for backup. He would have to figure out where he was before he could do that. If this scumbag got away with the girl, she was as good as dead. Therefore, no matter what Cy did to stop him, it had to be the best thing to do. Try telling that to a review board.
Okay, get down low; you can hit his leg. Cy got down on the floor in prone position. When he comes by, Cy would try to hit a leg, then if he let the girl go he would finish him off. All Cy wanted was blood. Saving the girl became a distant second; he wanted blood.
“Okay pig, we’re coming out. Where are you? Show yourself!” He paused where the back hall opened into the store. “Where are you pig? Show yourself, or I’ll kill her!”
Cy remembered something he had heard a long time ago; he couldn’t even remember where. “An enemy who doesn’t know where you are will soon act and think as though you are everywhere.” Keep quiet; don’t make a sound he thought.
Cy was flat on the floor. Don’t shoot the naked leg? Shoot the one wearing trousers. What if he’s wearing shorts? Shoot the hairy one.
The punk was nervous. Anything he said now was only nervous chatter. Keep quiet, his case of nerves will work against him.
Cy could hear him coming closer, heading straight for the front door. He could hear the girl’s struggles. She did not want to go out that door. He waited.
A slight shadow fell across the floor. They were near, blocking one of the fluorescent lights. Cy took in a couple of deep breaths.
“Where are you pig? You’re afraid of me, ain’t you pig? Yeah, you should be afraid.” He sounded out of breath.
The girl was resisting harder now. He hit her across the head. “Relax, me and you are going somewhere, somewhere quiet where we can be alone.
Cy saw her leg, then his; he squeezed. A miss. They jumped, and the girl fell. The thug exposed himself when he leaned forward to grab her again. Cy fired catching him in the left side just above the beltline.
The thug turned toward him, his face in pain and raised his pistol. Cy pumped several rounds into him and dropped him. He was up on his feet, automatic at the ready.
The girl was on the floor crying hysterically. This time he moved cautiously around to the back and methodically checked the back for more thugs. It was clean.
He walked back up front still on guard. The girl was in a fetal position, crying, sobbing. He carefully checked on the thugs. He kicked one hard, then the others. They were dead. He collected their pistols.
The girl was only sobbing now. “Miss, I’ll see if I can get a rape counselor here for you,” is what he said, but it was not what he felt.
Between sobs she said, “They didn’t rape me. They were just playing with me. You came in before they could do it. Please don’t tell my husband; he said he would leave me if something like this happened.” She began crying hysterically again.
What kind of screwed up world is this? Maybe it’s not just the NYPD that screwed up. Maybe it’s the whole town; maybe they have the police force they deserve. “Can you get up? Go get dressed. Do you want me to help you?”
“No, don’t look.”
Cy walked over to the telephone and dialed 911 on the landline. It would give the location automatically. When someone answered he said, “I’m a police officer. There has been an attempted robbery at this address. The clerk appears to be all right, but there are three dead suspects.”
They asked for his name and badge number which he gave. He finally remembered he had been hit. “I’ve been shot too, in the back.”
“What is your situation?”
“I seem to be okay at the moment.”
“We’ll have someone on the way.”
“Okay, thanks.” He hung up.
She soon came out, dressed but still crying. “Is there someone you are supposed to call when there’s been an incident?”
“Yes, but don’t tell anybody.”
“We’ve got three dead bodies; that’s kind of hard to ignore.”
His cell phone rang; it was his dad. “What’s holding you kid?”
“Something came up Dad.” He thought for a moment. “I had to go back to work. I’ll call you and Mom later, okay.”
“Okay son. Too bad, your mom was looking forward to seeing you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be over just as soon as I get off, and I’ll bring the beers.”
“You’re on kid. See ya’.
“See ya’ Dad.”
The girl was looking at him funny. “What?” he asked.
“Who was that?”
“My dad.”
“Your dad, you have a dad?”
“Sure of course, where the heck do you think we come from?”
“I don’t know; I never thought of pigs as having dads.”
Oh boy, he thought to himself. “You got something I can use to stop the bleeding till help arrives?”
“Bleeding?”
“Yeah, I’ve been hit.”
“There’s a first aid kit behind the counter.”
Cy went to retrieve it. “Your shirt is covered with blood.”
“That’s because I’m bleeding.” He walked over to her and raised his shirt. “Can you see where I was hit?” She fainted.
“Great, this just gets better and better.” He put a big pile of gauze where he thought it should go and leaned against a wall to provide pressure. He did not want to think about the poor sap who would have to clean it.
The ambulance finally arrived, followed by the police, and the ambulance chasers. Say what you want, the New York news media was Johnny-on-the-spot.
He was soon patched up and climbed into the back of the ambulance unassisted. It turned out to be fairly m
inor, just a nick. Besides, the guy was using a twenty-two. He would be in ER for a bit. He had been in no real danger, but it was annoying.
It was almost one when he got loose. He didn’t want to drive across town. He called his dad.
“Hi Dad, did I wake you?”
“That’s okay; I had to get up to answer the phone anyway. What gives?”
“I’m still on this side of town. I don’t really want to drive back to my apartment. Do you mind if I crash on your couch?”
“No son, my couch is your couch.”
“I’ll see if I can still find that six pack.”
“Don’t bother, I went out for a twelve pack just in case you called and still wanted to come over.”
“Thanks Dad.” He bummed a ride from another policeman and found his car right where he left it. The store was open so he went inside. The bodies were gone; the floor and the wall were clean. It was just like nothing happened.
He had been told to report to the local precinct early the next morning to file a report. “Sure,” he had said.
As Cy drove over to his parents’ house, he began to wonder. Is this how it happens? You get used to the violence, because if you don’t it will drive you crazy. Yes, they were scumbags, but they were still somebody’s sons. Some mothers would be crying tonight. You get less sensitive to perpetrators, then less so to victims, just to protect yourself, he thought. Otherwise you go nuts, “or get yourself killed,” he said aloud.
Maybe he was being too high and mighty. No, the things he had been asked to do were wrong, weren’t they? He drove on; soon he was at his parent’s house.
He stopped to ring the doorbell. He had never done that before. Then it struck him; this was no longer his home. Oh, they were still his family, and he loved them dearly, even the munchkins. But, this was no longer his home.
“Hi Dad, mind if I come in?”
“What kind of crazy question is that?” With that Mel opened the door. “Come on in son.”
“Thanks.”
Mel put his arm on his son’s back.
“Ouch.”
“Son, you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, just a little sore spot, nothing important.”
World War III - Home Front: A Novel of the Next American Revolution - Book One – As Day turns to Night Page 14
