by Glen Tate
Rich and Bennington walked back to the police car. Bennington opened the passenger door for Rich as a gesture of respect. Rich nodded and got in.
“So, John,” Rich said once they were both in the police car, “What brings you to Pierce Point?” Might as well get down to business.
“Commissioner Winters would like to talk to you,” Bennington said.
That’s what Rich was afraid of. He tried to act calmly. “About what?” “About this,” Bennington said, handing Rich the fax with the picture of the hanging in the Pierce Point Patriot.
“Oh, that,” Rich said nonchalantly, even though fear shot through him. He realized they had a spy in Pierce Point. An active spy who was trying to get them killed. He knew who it probably was and knew what needed to be done. He’d deal with that later.
“Yeah,” Rich said with a shrug, “we tried calling 911, but no one answered.” Rich looked at Bennington as if to say, “Duh.” Rich pointed off in the general direction of the Richardson house and said, “We had a little felony murder and child rape thing we had to handle.” Rich looked Bennington right in the eyes, “You understand.”
“I sure do,” Bennington said. “Frankie Richardson and what’s her name, the article says. We knew them downtown, before all of this. Not surprised.”
“So why does Winters care about this?” Rich said, looking at the word “Patriot” on the fax and knowing exactly what the answer was.
“This,” Bennington said, pointing to that exact word. “‘Patriot’ is a word we don’t like. Olympia got this fax, too, and is bitchin’ to Winters to do something about Pierce Point.”
Rich was scared. Really scared. Adrenaline-rushing scared. He was struggling to control his appearance and not convey how terrified he was.
His mind racing a mile a minute, Rich casually said, “The guy who does the paper is a big New England football fan.” He looked at Bennington and forced a smile, “You know, the New England Patriots.”
Bennington rolled his eyes. “That’s all you got?”
Rich pretended to not understand what Bennington meant.
“Winters would like to meet with you,” Bennington continued. “He said ‘Rich has a good head on his shoulders.’ He wants you to tell him that you’re not into this ‘Patriot’ shit.” Bennington looked Rich in the eyes and said, “He wants to make a deal with you so he can get Olympia off his ass.”
What a relief. Probably.
“What kind of deal?” Rich asked.
“Pledge your loyalty, all that shit,” Bennington said. Rich could tell that Bennington was not exactly a devoted government employee. Bennington knew how corrupt his boss was.
“No problem with that,” Rich said, knowing he could lie to Winters, and Winters couldn’t do anything about it. It was significant that Winters had sent Bennington alone. If Winters had the ability, he would have sent a force to bust through the gate and arrest the people responsible for two “murders” by hanging. Rich was getting solid evidence of how weak Winters really was.
“How about breakfast at the courthouse?” Bennington asked.
“How do I know you won’t be taking me for a longer stay than just breakfast?” Rich asked.
“Fair question,” Bennington said. “Well, it’s pretty simple. If we piss you guys off, we’ll be visited by your fifty Marines and the contractors you have.” Rich thought Bennington actually believed that. Good.
“Not to mention,” Bennington said motioning to the guards, “some of them.”
Bennington shrugged, “All that violence just because we want to ‘arrest’ someone for hanging some druggie dirt bags?” Bennington shook his head, “Nah. Not a good deal for us. We don’t really care about the hanging thing. It’s just that Winters wants to know you’re loyal out here so he can tell Olympia.”
Rich realized that Olympia thinking Pierce Point was “loyal” would be good for Pierce Point, so he was willing to risk getting arrested for that. Besides, Rich was fairly confident Winters was actually afraid of the “fifty Marines.” Wow, that little story was paying off.
Rich knew that if he refused to go see Winters that Winters might try to attack Pierce Point, for his pride, if nothing else. Did Rich really want his community attacked just because Rich was scared for himself? No way, Rich thought. When this whole Collapse started, Rich had mentally considered himself dead. He just happened to be alive right now. He’d be dead soon, he kept telling himself. Might as well die with your boots on.
Rich pointed toward Frederickson and asked, “What’s for breakfast?”
Chapter 188
Deal Making from Behind Barbed Wire
(July 9)
Rich got out of the police car and flashed the number seven with hands, another meaningless hand gesture mean to imply deep tactical meaning. When he got over to Dan, he quietly said, “I’m going to see Commissioner Winters. Everything is cool. Winters got faxed the newspaper.”
Dan mouthed the name of the person who must be the spy, and Rich nodded. “We’ll need to talk to him.”
“So, that’s why Winters wants to see you?” Dan asked.
Rich rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, he wants me to pledge Pierce Point’s loyalty.”
Dan laughed and said, “Kind of hilarious, given our conversation last night with the green team.” Rich smiled and walked back to Bennington’s police car.
Dan turned to the guards and gave them the signal not to shoot. This was a real hand gesture.
The ride in the police car to Frederickson was quiet. There was chatter on the radio. Rich missed that. He felt like he was back on the force as he rode in the Crown Vic and listened to the radio.
Rich was observing everything he could on the ride in. He noticed that there was only one other car on the road. No trucks. About half the houses and cabins on the way to town looked empty. There were abandoned vehicles on the side of the road. They had been looted. One was burned down to the frame.
They came up to the Blue Ribbon Boys and the checkpoint at the Frederickson city limits.
Rich said to Bennington, “I don’t have my purple arm band with me but, let me guess, I don’t need one when I’m with you.”
Bennington nodded.
The Crown Victoria police car slowed down, but didn’t stop at the check point. The guards just waved them through. Rich was amazed at what he saw. The Blue Ribbon Boys were a pathetic unit. They were goofing off. One was pretending to shoot another one with a real gun. They looked tired. Exhausted, actually. One was nodding off in a lawn chair. Then Rich saw something amazing.
Some of them were passing a bottle around. On guard duty! In the morning! It was shocking and troubling.
The Blue Ribbon Boys looked like a gang, not a guard unit. They were the complete opposite of the Pierce Point guards Dan had whipped into shape. Rich could tell these guards were barely controlled by whoever claimed to command them. It was only a matter of time before they ceased to be a functioning guard unit and instead were a bunch of thugs camping out. Maybe there were already there.
Bennington didn’t say anything to Rich as they passed through the checkpoint. Rich assumed Bennington, who was a decent guy, was disgusted with the Blue Ribbon Boys, but didn’t want to admit that Commissioner Winters was not invincible. As they went into town, Rich saw a military Humvee escorting a semi- truck.
“Morning delivery to Martin’s,” Bennington said, referring to the town grocery store. “Good. They’re late. They missed yesterday’s delivery and we got a little nervous. So did the crowds outside the store.”
So some food was getting into little places like Frederickson. But, sporadically, and under military escort. How long could that be sustained?
Rich was getting the impression that the Loyalists’ hold on Frederickson was tenuous. The guards and police were too tired, scared, and stressed out to do much, except boss around a largely unarmed population.
The Blue Ribbon Boys and the lack of regular police in Frederickson reminded Rich of his
one and only bar fight several years ago. Everyone had been drinking for hours and it was 2:00 a.m. They had tons of energy at the beginning of the fight. As they started getting hurt and tired out, their energy level went down. Way down. After a few minutes, everyone was exhausted and just sitting on the floor trying to get the energy up to keep fighting. But no one was. They just sat around looking at each other.
A handful of cops walked into the bar. They were outnumbered about five to one, but weren’t afraid in the least. Those few cops managed in about one minute to take over that bar. How? Because they were fresh and knew what they were doing (and had guns and backup). That small number of fresh cops could have beat a group of tired, drunken idiots outnumbering them five to one.
Fresh and skilled fighters can beat a much larger force of tired amateurs, Rich thought. Then he thought of Ted and Sap and smiled. Rich could now see that a small group of Special Forces-trained Pierce Point fighters could breeze through Frederickson.
Then Rich saw something that changed his mind about breezing through Frederickson as Bennington turned down Silver Street toward the courthouse. It was a fortress, barricaded with guards two blocks out and a machine gun nest one block out. There was barbed wire—two rows—around the courthouse itself. Pierce Point fighters couldn’t take that place.
Rich looked at the courthouse fortress, which looked weird. There was the courthouse he’d seen a million times—but with barbed wire and guard stations. It looked like something out of a movie.
Ten years ago, when things were humming along in the economy and everyone was happy, it would have been absurd to think the courthouse would be a fortress. Five years ago, when things had started to really go downhill, it would have been unlikely—but not impossible—to think of the courthouse as a fortress. Two years ago, it seemed possible. But, even today, it still seemed hard to believe.
“I miss America,” Rich thought. He’d seen that spray painted on a building as he was coming into town. “I miss America,” he repeated to himself as he looked at the now-fortified courthouse.
Bennington drove right through the barricades and through the open gate. It seemed like he or people like him were the only ones to get into that place.
The guards at the courthouse and surrounding area were more disciplined. About half were in National Guard uniforms or FCorps helmets. They looked halfway professional. They looked almost as good as Pierce Point’s guards, but with way better equipment, like belt-fed machine guns and good radios.
As they got closer to the courthouse, Rich noticed the parking lot was empty of the usual cars. Now the parking lot was full of military vehicles and two semis. There were two military fuel trailers, the smaller kind that could be towed by a Humvee. They held several hundred gallons apiece.
Bennington was pulling in toward them. “Do you mind if we gas up while we’re here?” he asked Rich. “Commissioner Winters isn’t expecting us for a few minutes, anyway.”
“No problem,” Rich said, glad that he was being given a tour of the Loyalists’ facilities and supplies so he could report back to Ted and Sap.
Whoa. Rich realized what he had just thought. He was considering himself a Patriot on a reconnaissance mission. He had always been resistant to the idea of fighting the government, at least head on. He just wanted Pierce Point to be safe. He didn’t want to fight the government, but now he was seeing this as a battle between freedom and the Loyalists who, except for the courthouse fortress, were weak. At least in Frederickson; but maybe everywhere else, too. Rich had wondered why Ted and Sap were risking their lives to take on the vastly superior military of the government. Maybe because they had seen things like what Rich was seeing: a weak government barely holding onto power.
It took a while to fuel up Bennington’s Crown Vic. “Thirsty,” Bennington said as he pumped the gas. So, Bennington was driving a lot. Good to know.
When the car was full of gas, Bennington put the nozzle back and motioned for Rich to get back in. They drove to another part of the parking lot and parked.
“Time for the meeting,” Bennington said. He pointed to Rich’s pistol. “Can’t wear that in there,” Bennington said pointing to the courthouse.
“Fair enough,” Rich said and he took off his pistol belt. It felt weird not having that weight on his hips. He felt naked without his pistol but he had no choice.
“That’ll be safe in the car,” Bennington said. “The barricades, rows of barbed wire, armed guards, and,” Bennington said pointing to the roof, “sharpshooters keep the riff-raff away.”
Sharpshooters on the roof of the courthouse? Good to know, Rich thought. He wondered if Bennington was trying to give him all this information or was just being too chatty.
They got out and went into the back basement entrance to the courthouse. Rich had been there a million times because he used to be a Sheriff’s deputy. But he couldn’t believe what he saw.
The halls were full of cases of food and bottled water. There were generators and cans of gas. It didn’t look like government-issue things. It looked like they had seized civilian items and were storing them there.
As they got up to the first floor, the stolen merchandise was no longer in the halls. The first floor offices were crowded. People were everywhere, working in cramped spaces. He recognized some of them as county workers. There were quite a few strangers. Some had National Guard uniforms and there were plenty of FCorps.
It took a surprising number of government employees there in the courthouse to run what little government was left, but then Rich thought about it. There was no private sector anymore (except the gangs and tiny businesses and people bartering). All the former grocery store employees, truck drivers, and the dozens of other people who were employed by the private sector in the past to stock up Martin’s were no longer doing those jobs. Now it took dozens of government employees to get the food to Martin’s. That’s who was running around the cramped halls of the courthouse, which is why it took so many government employees to do so little governing.
Bennington took Rich up the stairs to the second floor, which Rich remembered was the top floor. There were two well-armed and professional looking guards at the entrance to this floor. It must be the VIP floor. Bennington walked right past the guards, who were looking at Rich carefully to see if he was armed. Out of courtesy, Rich lifted up his shirt and spun around to show them he wasn’t armed.
They were headed for the county commissioner’s offices. Bennington came up to the receptionist. A receptionist?
It seemed so weird to have a nice civilian woman—a very attractive one, by the way—sitting there like things were normal. She must be someone’s girlfriend. Before the Collapse, when unemployment in the private sector was so high, cushy government jobs like this were highly sought after. Rich noticed that many of the old government workers who had been there forever were disappearing. Some got reassigned and some got laid off. But new employees—many of them beautiful women—replaced them. It was obvious what was going on. Everything was corrupt. Everything was unfair. Everything was a scam.
“Here to see Commissioner Winters,” Bennington said to the receptionist. It was hard for Bennington and Rich not to stare at her. She was in her early thirties, gorgeous, and had nice clothes. Most people were wearing tee shirts and jeans nowadays; no one dressed up anymore. But she was wearing a nice dress and her hair was perfect. She had showered recently, too, which was pretty abnormal these days. She looked like people looked before the Collapse. It was quite a contrast to everyone else.
“He’ll be right with you,” she said. She picked up the phone and said, “Your guests are here.”
A minute later, the phone rang and she got up and took them into Winters’ office.
Rich saw Winters and was reminded about how he looked like a rat. A human rat. He had beady eyes and was slightly hunched over, like he sat a desk all day plotting and scheming. “Welcome, gentlemen,” Winters said in that warm, charming, fake politician way.
Rich was struck by the old and the new in Winters’ office. The old was that it was a basic government office with standard furniture. The new was that there were bottles of booze and boxes of cigars everywhere. There were antique shotguns, the ones that cost thousands of dollars. Winters’ office looked like some high-end fencing operation full of stolen goods. It was.
“Have a seat, please,” Winters said. He looked up at the clock. “Too early in the morning or I’d offer you a brandy. Oh, what the hell. Want a brandy?”
“No, sir,” Bennington said.
“Me neither,” Rich said.
“Well, you got me thinking about an eye-opener to get the day going, so I believe I will have one myself,” Winters said.
The bottle of brandy he was pouring was now worth a month’s groceries. Winters was pouring a glass like it was no big deal.
Drinking in the morning? Rich looked around and saw that most of the dozen or so bottles in the office were half gone. Winters must be drinking pretty heavily. That was more information that was good to know and then tell to Ted and Sap. He was under a lot of stress and the bottle and receptionist were probably how he dealt with it. Winters had not been known as a drunk or womanizer before the Collapse. Maybe all of this had brought it on.
Winters started the meeting with small talk. He asked Rich about his family, obviously not knowing that he and Amy didn’t have kids. Rich answered politely. Winters told Rich how former Sheriff’s deputies were doing, only mentioning about a third of them, the third who hadn’t gone AWOL. Winters asked Rich how things were going during the Crisis and Rich answered that, after leaving the Sheriff’s department, he had become a security consultant helping people with home security.
“You were an Oath Keeper back on the force,” Winters said, suddenly getting very serious. “Isn’t that right?”