by Joseph Storm
“Who bought it?”
“A mystery...a trillionaire, so the rumors say.”
“That’s a given. Money equals power...and who ever did this...they sure as hell have a lot of power.”
“It’s the guy that purchased all the other stations, firing the anchors and replacing them with talking heads, talking points...Sorka is his name. It was just a matter time before they devoured our own station. I looked into him, found not a trace of info. The irony here? The F in WFTV? It stands for freedom.”
“I guess now it stands for fucked.”
“That, I agree with.”
“Well, I think the Capitol Hill police force suffered the same fate as your station. Replaced by the kind of people...who appear to have very different interests than our freedom and protection.”
“That’s exactly what I tried to uncover today. The only answers I seem to find are more questions.”
“Do you plan to stop asking those questions? Give up the fight...fall in line with the other ass kissers?”
“You clearly don’t know me, Mr. Striker, but you’ll find out. I never give up the fight...if it’s a fight worth fighting. And mark my words....this is worth fighting.”
A look of hope came across Joe’s face. He realized that someone else existed who was willing to sacrifice everything for their country. It was the moment he realized there may be more left to live for than just personal vengeance. Maybe my life can still count for something, he thought to himself. The two goals now merged into one. The outcome would serve the same purpose. Vanquishing the enemies of freedom is the same as bringing justice to his family’s murderers. “Count me in,” he said, turning and looking into Becky’s eyes. “Even if it’s just the two of us.”
“Oh Joe...I believe there are more...many more. Whether they know it yet or not.”
“For the sake of this nation...they better find out sooner than later,” Joe said, checking the rearview mirror again. No one was on their tail, causing Joe to spawn an uneasy, paranoid look on his face.
Becky looked around. She noticed that the scene turned from a jungle of concrete to one of trees. “Where are we going to hide? In fact, where are we going now?”
“To a funeral,” Joe answered in a cryptic tone.
A shocked look came across Becky’s face. The pain on Joe’s face indicated that it was a chance to say goodbye to someone very dear. She remained silent, reflecting upon a disturbing fact.
In a matter of moments, she had gone from a reporter to an outlaw.
Chapter Four:
The Trap
A large squad of D.C. police officers stood at attention. They were awaiting a scheduled visit from the newly elected leader of America. The massive auditorium was lined with television cameras, photographers, and print reporters, each one eagerly awaiting the fate of the American security forces.
Gunner Shoman, 35, a police officer of the lowest rank, donned an unshaven face, baggy eyes, and mud colored hair. The look on his face was one of stone, as he took another glance at the pink slip in front of him. It read: DISMISSED. That one single word was almost as painful to him as the relinquishing of his firearm. It was an act that every officer in the country had to comply with. Shoman never even went to bed unarmed, though he didn’t sleep often, and didn’t even own a mattress.
The pink slip returned him to a time of bad memories. Gunner was once a model officer, who ruled by the book. He rose in rank faster than most officers in squad history. On the day he made 3rd Captain, it was a proud one, though not good enough for a man with such ambition. Word around the precinct was that the current chief of police was near retirement. Gunner Shoman was the chosen one to replace him.
Treading carefully with every step, he always enacted the safe decision, rather than following his heart. He couldn’t threaten the way of life that he gave his attractive wife, Stacey, and their loving daughter, Fate. When the little girl was born, he swore to live his life for her, always providing for them both. In fact, the need to provide a lavish lifestyle was more than a desire, it was a necessity.
Gunner’s wife Stacey came from a well-to-do family. She was daddy’s princess who always received what she demanded. Her father proclaimed, “I can’t see my daughter marrying some street cop...she’s better than that.” The odds were not in his favor, since this average man was considered out of her league in the looks department. However, Gunner used his charm to assure her that one day, he would get to the top. As luck would have it, he proposed during her rebellious stage, when challenging a family’s authority supersedes one’s material needs. She accepted the proposal, and they rode the credit cards until Gunners promotion.
The plan was working to perfection, when one moment changed everything. A scum-bag criminal named John Ratman was led into the office. He had a smile a mile-wide on his sly, dark, drunken face. “Get my lawyer,” he said. “He’ll get me off...as usual. You got no proof!”
It was the man’s third time arrested for abusing his child. The hospital reported unusual bruises, broken bones, all the warning signs of sexual molestation in a fearful child. Add in a mother who pleaded the case of accidental child’s-play, and the evidence rang the bells of guilt.
Each time John Ratman was brought in, Gunner cringed. He managed to hold back his anger for the sake of what was lawful, though his breaking point was closer than he realized. The past ways of threatening speech never worked on the criminal, so Gunner decided to go a different route.
“Sit down,” an officer said, as he slammed Ratman into the hard, wooden seat.
“I said...get my fucking lawyer!”
Captain Shoman entered the room, ready to do the usual interrogation. He sat in front of the suspect, “You know your rights by now,” Gunner said.
“Damn right...as in, I have the damn right not to saying nothin’! I let my lawyer do the talking.”
“Nothing new there,” Captain Gunner Shoman said. “Forget this cop stuff...I agree. You’ll walk free and clear. I want to know...not as a cop...more as a friend. Kids...they can set you off so easy. What did she do to set you off?” he asked.
“We ain’t friends.”
“Not yet...but I’d be willing to bet that we have more in common than you think.”
“Bullshit!”
“Seriously,” Gunner said, removing a cigarette from the pack, lighting one up. “I love the taste of nicotine. A smoke?” he offered.
John Ratman didn’t respond, though eventually nodded, “Gimme one.”
Gunner flung the pack of cigarettes to the suspect, “Enjoy.”
“How can I smoke with these cuffs on?”
“Open the cuffs,” Gunner said, as the nearby officer nodded, releasing him.
John Ratman slid his grubby, sweaty hands across the table. He placed the cigarette to his lips. Captain Shoman lit it up, allowing the prisoner to suck it deeply into his lungs. He exhaled with pure pleasure. “Thanks...tax payers,” he said, laughing loudly.
Gunner shook it off, moving forward with his plan. “Kids...they can be a pain sometimes...can’t they?”
“Tell me, what the hell do we have in common?”
“I have a kid...a daughter. I know how irritating they can be. Crying, wanting to be fed, watching horrible television shows. How old is yours?”
Ratman paused, though suddenly seemed interested. “I don’t know...two...three...they’re all the same.”
“True...at that age...two, three...they’re the terrible ages. They get loud, misbehave...”
“How old is your girl?”
“Why?” Gunner asked suspiciously.
“You said we’re friends, right? I wanna picture her.”
Gunner gulped with apprehension in revealing such a fact. However, it was a sacrifice he had to make to get him to talk. “She’s two. Two year-old girl.”
John Ratman’s eyes lit up with delight. “What does she look like?”
Gunner gritted his teeth. “Cute as a button. blue eyed...”
“In what way do you like them?” Captain Shoman asked in masked anger.
“You have a girl...you know what way.”
Sickness came across Gunner’s face. “No, friend...I sure don’t. Explain.”
Ratman leaned in, “They’re old enough to feel...though not to tell. You got a picture of this little girl of yours?” he asked, as the look of the devil danced in his evil eyes.
All of a sudden, a rage of untamable anger exploded from Captain Shoman. It caused him to rip the cigarette from Ratman’s mouth, gripping his neck, and shoving him backward in the chair. Gunner crawled over the desk, leaping down on the floored criminal. He placed a knee against John’s throat, forcing his mouth open. The tongue that sputtered such vile things, stuck out. It allowed Gunner to run a trail of burning tobacco across the sensitive nerve endings of the appendage. He forced the cancer stick deep down his throat.
John Ratman coughed up plumes of smoke, causing him to vomit a charred mess. Visions of Gunner’s own daughter surfaced, merging with the photos of Ratman’s daughter. He imagined his little girl, Fate, with the same bruises and scars.
Shoman’s tightened fists started pounding Ratman’s face. Pools of blood spilled onto the dirty floor. Bits of red splattered his own face. He did not think of consequences, or the opening door behind him. The current chief of police entered the scene, rushing to break up the madness. He motioned the nearby officer to stop the show. Together, they pulled Gunner away, handcuffing him like a jailed criminal. He didn’t realize that he could become one of them; nor did he care at that moment.
The officer in the room testified at Gunner’s trial. He said that the criminal attacked the captain first, and that Shoman was acting in self defense. It kept him out of jail, although jail would have been more welcomed than what happened next.
“You are demoted to the position of a rookie...a beat officer, walking the streets. Your pay will be lowered with your rank. Understand this,” the current chief of police said. “We can’t have loose cannons running the ship.”
Gunner’s wife Stacey stood by him for a while, until the savings ran out. She realized that her way of life would never be restored again. Her final words after the divorce were, “I guess my father was right. You’re just a street cop...a caveman...and I deserve better.”
“Daddy!” Gunner’s crying, two year-old daughter, Fate yelled for him. He helplessly watched, as she was removed from his arms, exited from his foreclosed house. His ex-wife Stacey remarried, hiding their daughter from his sight. She got a restraining order which protected the girl from such a violent man; a danger to society. All of that happened, as the real danger to society, John Ratman, beat the rap. He sued the police station, and became a rich man that bludgeoned his daughter to death in just three years time.
The light of Gunner Shoman’s life went dark on that day. He hit his knees and crumbled, losing his family. From that moment on, his life had broken to pieces. He went through the motions of eating, sleeping, and working, along with searching for his daughter every spare chance that he got.
Eventually, the search for the little girl that barely knew him, went cold. He never found his daughter, although he found a bottle of whiskey every night, numbing the pain. The disciplined, controlled officer, unleashed years of anger, lashing out at anyone who tried to help the hungover man. He was written up numerous times, though never fired out of pity.
The loud chatter of his fellow officers snapped him from past thoughts, returning him to the unknown present. Each man seemed to be in an oddly cheery mood for having just been canned. This only angered Gunner more. He gripped the piece of pink paper tightly in his fists, crumbling it into a small wad of nothing.
A fresh-faced, fellow officer, Tommy O’Brien, witnessed the defiant act. He said, “What are you doing? We need that to collect our benefits. Each one of us has a number.”
The annoyed look on Gunner’s face only grew longer. “I’m no number, kid. And who do you think is gonna really benefit from this bullshit?”
“Haven’t you heard? We’re all being granted paid leave...a check for nothing,” O’Brien said excitingly.
“There’s no such thing as something for nothing...haven’t you learned that by now? I guess you’re just too new at the game.”
“Well...I may not have been in it long, but from what I’ve seen on these D.C. streets, I’ll take the free check!”
“Nothing’s free, kid. You better damn well remember that,” he said, as the young officer rolled his eyes, shifting his attention to the incoming Leader Judas.
The crowd rose to their feet, paying praise to this revolutionary man. Sickness rose from Gunner’s stomach. He watched his brethren accept complete submission for a buck. These officers are not the same ones I started with, he thought.
Over the years, as the paychecks and benefits grew, he watched the principles of law enforcement trickle down the drain like storm water in a flood zone. The men and women who received a salary worthy of peanuts, joined for something much larger than dollar signs: they wanted to clean up the streets. They battled the bureaucracy, paperwork, 12 hour shifts, and persecution just to make the country a safer place to live.
The crowd continued to cheer, as the rare sight of clapping reporters joined them. Leader Simon Judas walked through the crowd, waving at all his supporters. He walked along the edge of the men in blue, shaking hands with each one of them. Every officer responded with thanks, sounding appreciation for relieving their thankless duty to early retirement.
Leader Judas thought to himself, this is easier than I thought it would be, as he approached Gunner with an extended hand of friendship.
Gunner Shoman gripped the leader’s hand tightly. He gave the crumbled, pink sheet of paper back to its owner.
The surprised Leader Judas opened it up, seeing the wrinkled DISMISSED. He looked into the angry eyes of Gunner. The cop didn’t have to say a word. Simon Judas suddenly realized that it may not be as easy as expected. “Thank you for your support,” he said, briskly escaping an awkward confrontation.
Leader Judas whispered into a mercenary's ear. It caused the man in black to look back at the man in blue with suspicion. Much like the day he handed John Ratman his due, Gunner Shoman was now on the official shit list of the administration. He was even prouder of that fact.
The dear leader entered the stage. He approached the telepromter, basking in the praise. As it finally died down, he began his speech.
“Today, each of you...have fulfilled your duty to the American people. Your days of service will be cherished, your attempt to thwart crime admired. Though as we move into this next phase of a more secure...more just system of law, I am personally assuring that everyone who wore the badge will be rewarded for their hard work.”
The crowd cheered.
“Your pay and benefits will continue, enabling each of you to transition to another career, one free from paperwork...”
The crowd let out another cheer mixed with laughter.
“To one which...hopefully...serves this nation, not for the good of ones-self, but for the greater good of a collective goal.”
The men rose to their feet, cheering out loud.
“You’re dismissed,” he said over the applause. The dapper man stepped away from the teleprompter, facing the crowd with a friendly wave. The narcissist soaked in every moment of applause, clearly filling a void, which gaped in his life.
The cheering continued, though suddenly died down. A loud, unexpected shout filled the halls of the auditorium. “You socialist...commie pig!” Gunner yelled at the top of his lungs. The fate of free speech hadn’t been revealed yet, though even if it had, speaking his mind was just a part of his bitter nature.
A collective gasp filled the room. All eyes turned on Officer Shoman. The TV cameras turned towards him, as a panicked look came across Leader Judas’s face. He turned to a group of mercenaries, barking
at them quickly. “Deal with that man! I am still in danger of being discredited! Dissent cannot be tolerated!”
The group of mercenaries nodded, running toward the disgruntled officer. As they approached him, he considered fighting them. Being unarmed, he decided to back off.
The mercenaries in black grabbed him by the arms, “Come with, sir,” they said, trying to keep a polite and professional appearance.
Interested in seeing what the new way of life included, Gunner cooperatively went with the men. The applause started up again. He was led into a back room, the door sealed tightly behind him.
Officer Gunner was belted over the head with a police issued nightstick, causing him to spill to the ground. “You disgrace, leader!”
Blood trickled from the back of Gunner’s head. He stared up at the armed men. “He’s not my leader!”
A mercenary lifted the stick again, as Leader Judas entered the room, “Wait.”
The mercenary looked disappointed.
“I’m willing to offer you amnesty...for your support. I suggest you take it....go free without any consequences,” he said, extending Gunner a hand out.
Gunner Shoman kicked the leader’s hand away, causing the favor to be returned by the mercenaries. “Pig!” they said in chorus.
“You gave your answer...and it was the wrong one indeed. We have no room for insubordinate thought in our new system.”
An aching Gunner caught his breath, as he pulled himself together. “Just another dictatorship...who’ll fall like the others. Burn in hell with the others.”
“You are wrong, sir. We have the support of the people...we have the political capitol....and most of all...we have the resources of America,” he said, turning to the mercenaries. “Take him to the warehouse...introduce him to the consequences of falling out of line,” he said, straightening his tie, and arranging his hair into neat order.
Gunner lunged for the leader, though he never got close. An array of steel-toed boots entered his sides, putting him down. He was cuffed, hooded with a black cloth, and dragged out the auditorium’s back door.