Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1)

by Cotton, Brian

  “No shit.” Kaspar pulled the chamber back and pressed the chamber release, it slid forward in a nice, smooth motion. “I’ll take both.”

  Young’s eyes widened, “Both? That’s some serious dinero.”

  “You find something, kid?” Paxton asked, a full duffle bag slung over his right shoulder.

  “Yeah,” Kaspar said. He picked up both pieces and stared at them. “I think I did.”

  “Beretta 92? How come you didn’t tell me you got some of those in?”

  “I was gonna, but it looks like the cherry over here beat you to it.” Young replied.

  “You seriously want both of them?”

  “Yes,” Kaspar replied. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

  “All right, let’s go then.”

  Young walked over to his wooden counter. He flipped it open at the end and let the strong piece of wood slam down. He walked over to his laptop and started to punch some numbers into it. The amount owed showed up on a small, rectangular screen in blue indigo. Paxton chewed on his bottom lip as he looked over at Kaspar who already had feelings for his new toys. The old veteran reached in his pocket and handed over a plastic card to his dealer.

  “You need a receipt?” Young asked.

  “No. Let’s go, kid.”

  Kaspar’s eyes remained fixated on the twin Berettas in both palms. These would be it, he thought to himself. These would be his tools of vengeance. It took another yell from Paxton to break the spell the weapons put on him. He placed the Berettas in the duffle bag by his feet and slung it over his shoulder.

  He walked up the stairs with a renewed sense of hope.

  Twenty

  “We’ve got two more stops to make.” Paxton said. He took a right turn when the light turned green.

  “Where to?” Kaspar asked, his head rested against the window.

  “A friend is waiting for us at this small sandwich shop downtown. That’s stop one.”

  “What kind of a friend?”

  “His name is Greg Boler,” Paxton said as he took a left. “He works for the USR.”

  “For the USR?” Kapsar asked, puzzled.

  “Relax, he’s undercover. He really works for me.”

  “He just gives you information, then?”

  “That’s correct. We meet every week…here.” Paxton said. He pulled the USR van into another alleyway and drove to the end. The alleyway connected to the back lot of the sandwich shop.

  Kaspar opened the passenger door while Paxton moved to the back. In the back, the old veteran fumbled around with a duffle bag. He grabbed two black jackets that read “USR” in bold yellow letters. He exited the van and tossed one of the jackets to Kaspar. Both men slipped theirs on before they walked into the shop.

  Inside, the dim light from above accented the maroon colored carpet and the rusted yellow paint of the walls. There was a good crowd this day, with about twenty or so citizens scattered about for the lunch rush. Kaspar looked around and noticed how everyone seemed to grow uptight at the sight of men who wore USR attire. One lady in particular refused to look up from her plate of salad and watery dressing.

  Paxton found his undercover in the far back corner. Greg Boler sat alone at the table with nothing but a half empty glass of water in front of him. Kaspar got a good look at Boler before they reached the table. The undercover had a clean look about him, a fresh crew cut and a smooth face with not a strand of facial hair to be found. There was something odd about the man, though. He kept looking around from side to side like he was going through a nervous breakdown. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and dripped onto the table.

  “Greg,” Paxton said, “nice to see you today.”

  “Oh, John, what took you so long?” Boler demanded.

  “Had things to do today.”

  Paxton took a seat in front of his mole and slid over for the new recruit to take a seat beside him. Boler got a look at Kaspar as the two made eye contact with one another. His face went expressionless, then turned to the look of a man ready to pull his gun out to blast somebody. The two remained dead locked in a staring contest…the type where no one gave a shit who smiled first.

  “Who the fuck is this?” Boler demanded.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Kaspar demanded right back, his eye brows scrunched together.

  The other customers inside heard the confrontation and turned their attention to the table. Kaspar immediately cursed himself for letting his temper get the best of him once more. He also knew that the same question going on in his mind went on in the rat’s brain: what if one of the customers happened to be an Agent?

  For his part, Paxton remained calm, as he had to. He ignored the other customers and kept his focus on Boler. He reached over the table and patted the mole on the back. The situation must be put to an end before it escalated. It would be a damn shame to be thrown in prison, getting Boler killed in the process, over a little tissy fit.

  “It’s cool, Greg,” Paxton said. “Compose yourself.”

  “Sorry, sir. Who are you, anyway?” Boler asked again.

  “I’m Ryan,” Kaspar replied. He stuck out his right hand which Boler embraced. “New guy.”

  “New guy, eh? Where’d you dig this one up at?”

  “He was a prize fighter. Danny’s friend.”

  “You know Danny?”

  “Yep.” Kaspar replied.

  “He’s a prick, ain’t he?” Boler asked with a nervous smile.

  “Sure is…sometimes.”

  A young waitress walked over to their table. She wore a pleasant smile on her face while she approached. Two things jumped out at Kaspar from the very start: her emerald green eyes and auburn hair and his heart started to do that thing again every time he saw a woman he found even remotely attractive. She carried a note pad and a pencil in hand. Her smile got wider upon approach.

  “How are my Agents today?” she asked.

  “Just fine, Traci,” Paxton replied. “How about you?”

  “I’m here. What can I get for you fellas today?”

  “I’ll have the usual.” Paxton replied. Traci knew exactly what to write down on that cute little notepad of hers. He really liked her, not only was Traci good at her job but she was good looking to boot.

  “Usual here, too.” Boler replied. She wrote down his order.

  “And, for you, sweetie?”

  Kaspar picked up a menu and flipped through it at a rapid pace. His mind raced for something, anything, to say to the attractive waitress, but nothing came to mind. He found something he might like towards the middle of the menu.

  “I’ll have the BLT, please.” Kaspar replied. “And, how are you? Your hair looks really nice.”

  “I’m here and thank you.” Traci said. “I’ll get that order out for you guys in just a second.”

  Paxton looked over at Kaspar and made a gun out of his index finger. He pretended to shoot the thin air and then made a motion with his other hand. The hand flew out of the sky and crashed onto the table which caused a laugh from Boler.

  “Crash and burn, kid.” Paxton said.

  “Ha ha.” Kaspar replied.

  Paxton turned his attention to his mole. “So, what do you have for us today?”

  Boler took a sip from his water and moved his nervous glance around the restaurant. It took a few seconds, but he grew satisfied that there were no off duty Agents in the café. Kaspar sipped at his water and tried to get a feel for this Greg Boler guy. He felt…uneasy about this whole situation. Boler did work for the USR, so what were the chances he was…

  You’re thinking too much, Kaspar told himself. He took another sip of the water and let the cold liquid run down his throat. Chill out, Paxton seems to trust the guy, so it’s cool. Then again, how much can the old bastard be…

  Stop it.

  “I think…” Boler said, then hesitated.

  Traci came out with everyone’s order. She slid the bowl of Garden Vegetable soup in front of the mole. Paxton’s salad was filled with thick lea
fy lettuce and what looked skim milk poured on top. Then, the BLT for the new guy. The sandwich contained three large slices of Tomato, a healthy amount of lettuce, and one slice of that tofu shit in the middle. He took a bite and grimaced. These damned rebels ruined him.

  “Go on,” Paxton ordered.

  “I think there is something going down tomorrow night.” Boler said.

  “What do you mean?” Paxton demanded. He swam his fork around the salad for a little bit and contemplated taking a bite. He thought better of it.

  Boler looked around with that nervous glance again; the one that started to get on Kaspar’s last nerve. This guy was nothing but a giant pussy. Kaspar wondered just how difficult it was to get into the USR as an Agent. This guy, from his too clean look to his jitteriness, managed to get in. He didn’t seem to be the type of guy cut out for this spy stuff. He seemed to be more at home doing nothing.

  “There’s this underground church,” Boler said with a voice just above a whisper. “They meet up in this abandoned house…in the basement once a week. The USR has found out and they keep a watchful eye over them. They have confirmed that this is, indeed, an illicit practice of religion. They plan on taking them out tomorrow.”

  “You got an address for me?” Paxton asked. He pulled out a pen and slips of paper from his jacket pocket.

  “Sure.” Boler said. He gave him the address.

  Paxton jotted down the address then placed the pen and paper back in his pocket. He took a bite of his salad and regretted it. The big gulp of water didn’t do a good enough job to wash out the bitter taste. He wondered why he always ordered this piece of shit salad but, then again, no matter what he ordered here would taste like shit based on USR health regulations.

  “Anything else I should know? Names?” Paxton wondered.

  “No, not really. Access to their names is above my pay grade.”

  “Greg,” Kaspar said, he placed his sandwich on the glass plate.

  “Yes?”

  “Let me ask you something. You work inside the USR, right?”

  “Of course, why?”

  Kaspar’s eyes were focused solely on Boler. “You ever hear the name Jenna Kaspar?”

  Boler bit his bottom lip. “No, can’t say that I have.”

  “Really—name doesn’t ring any bells?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Can you look into that name for me?” Kaspar asked.

  Boler placed his spoon back into the steaming bowl of soup. He shook his head no. Did anyone know about Mother’s death?

  “No, no, and no.” Boler replied.

  “What do you mean, no?” Kaspar demanded.

  “Look, I’m putting my ass on the line enough as it is. I don’t need to be drawing any extra attention to myself by snooping around in someone else’s department.”

  “But, you just told us about this church, I don’t understand.”

  Boler started to answer, but Paxton held up his index finger. He sighed and looked over at the kid, the poor bastard who was more ignorant about how the world worked than he anticipated. Paxton took a sip of water and patted his new recruit on the shoulder.

  “Greg works for another department separate from the Resistance Unit, so he’s not privy to what goes on in there. He works for Citizen’s Affairs. He finds out about missions, like this church, from his superiors.” Paxton said.

  “Why can’t you just…” Kaspar started to say.

  “Because…” Boler said, his face turned pale. “I’m having panic attacks, okay? I don’t know how much longer I can…I can’t do this spy shit anymore. John, when can I get back into the unit with you?”

  Paxton sighed, “Greg, we need a man in there, and you are the best man for the job.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Because, you know how to keep your mouth shut. You’ve just got to hold on…just a little bit longer, okay?”

  Boler slammed his fist on the table. “Really? Just a little while longer?”

  “Speak your mind.”

  “You’ve been giving me that same song and dance for the past seven damn months. I can’t take this anymore, always looking over my shoulder. I even sleep with my gun. Let me tell you something. From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you and the boys are making all that much progress.”

  “We will,” Paxton reached over and rubbed at Boler’s shoulders. “Just have some patience, son.”

  “Patience?” Boler demanded. He hunched his back and leaned in closer to Paxton. His voice was low and shaky, “They are going to find out, sooner or later.”

  “What are you suggesting, then?”

  “Let me quit. Join the frontlines with you guys.”

  “You are on the frontline,” Paxton replied. “More than any of us, I can guarantee you that.”

  “I’m not cut out for this.”

  “If you don’t believe in our cause anymore…”

  “It’s not that,” Boler said. “I assure you it’s not that.”

  “Like I said, we need someone on the inside. If you quit your current job, you will need to find a replacement.”

  “I can’t trust anyone in there. Besides, that would mean exposing myself…”

  “It’s a tough call, I’ll give you that. But, you do know who you can trust, right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Boler replied, he took another spoonful of soup.

  “Well, then.”

  “I guess I can hold out a little while longer.”

  “That’s a good soldier.” Paxton replied, unable to contain the smile.

  “Make sure you tell Krys hi for me.” Boler said.

  “Will do.”

  The old veteran turned to Kaspar and motioned for him to get up. Before he left the table, Paxton reached into his pocket and threw some credits down. It was enough for all three lunches plus the tip. He winked at Boler who put away his own wallet. Paxton told him to cheer up and exited the café with Kaspar. Outside, the thick gray clouds began to leak moisture down the atmosphere. The two jogged towards the van to escape the approaching down pour. Kaspar scratched at his head while the engine roared to life.

  He met The Committee, the arms dealer, and the rat. What next?

  Twenty-One

  On the way out of the grocery store, Paxton told Kaspar all about how the USR did their best to starve out the poor. With their high taxes, low wages, and high unemployment rate, a lot of people were forced to take to the streets without a place to call home. The two picked up several items from the grocery, not much, but enough for at least some of the homeless to get by on. Upon approach at an old park, Paxton talked about how beautiful the place used to be, how it was once a haven for parents to take their children to. Now, it became a slum, a place for the homeless to congregate and fight for everything they could get.

  “These people,” Paxton explained, “have nothing. You think that rinky apartment you lived in was bad? You haven’t seen anything, yet. You ever make it out to the park?”

  “No, I guess I never really had a reason to.” Kaspar replied.

  “Too busy preparing for your fights?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, prepare to have your eyes opened.”

  Paxton pulled the van over and parked it to the side of the front entrance. Once out of the van, he ordered Kaspar to take off the jacket. When the kid pointed towards the sky, Paxton re-enforced his command. They did not want to be seen here, in this place, wearing USR attire. Not here. With reluctance, Kaspar threw the jacket into the van and felt the rain dribble at the top of his forehead. Paxton pulled out a hooded sweatshirt from the back.

  “Where’s mine?” Kaspar asked.

  “Should’ve been more prepared.” Paxton replied. He pulled the hood over his head and took the lead.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  The two men each carried a brown paper bag full of groceries in each hand. Paxton took the lead down into the park. Kaspar followed behind and awaited the eye popping, jaw dr
opping sight that his new boss promised. The once green grass of the park now had become overrun with dead weeds and thick mud from the rain. The USR failed to maintain this once rich property because their eyes, and money, were on other things. At least, that was how Paxton put it.

  Once at the top of the hill, the promise that was made came true. Kaspar’s jaw dropped wide open at the sight. He mouthed, “holy shit”. There were poles of rotting, splintered wood which held up cloths of different colors. It was like a concentration camp; almost as if the USR gathered up all those who were unworthy and forced them to live in those make shift tents. Suddenly, Kaspar’s own life didn’t seem so horrible. He couldn’t fathom living in something like this, but apparently that’s what the people down below did. How could he have never heard of this place? Nobody, not Mother or Danny, not even the news which seemed to cover everything talked about it.

  The two men treaded down the hill, careful not to let their asses fall into the mud, and approached the tiny huts. Kaspar saw nothing but skinny, starved men, women, and children huddled together. One little girl got up and ran towards them, a bright smile on her face. Paxton laid his bag on the wet ground and picked her up. He gave her a little kiss on the cheek. He reached into his bag and pulled out a loaf of bread. The girl’s eyes brightened up even more as she snatched the bread from Paxton’s hand and ran back into the hut.

  “Thank you, John.” the girl’s mother called out from inside.

  “It’s no problem, Margie.” Paxton replied.

  “Who’s that with you?”

  Kaspar looked down at the middle aged woman, her face covered in dirt. When she stepped out from the hut, the rain drops caused the dirt to run down her face like make up. He wanted to give her a smile, but he felt too sorry for her to do so.

  “This is Ryan,” Paxton answered. “New guy.”

  Margie put her smile on, “Well, Ryan, it is so nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, ma’am.” Kaspar replied.

  “Come on inside, you two, before you catch something.”

  The two men ducked their heads under the cloth and took a seat on the once soft, now crusted blankets. Kaspar leaned his body back unto a wooden pole and felt the whole structure move. He moved back up and hunched his back over in an attempt to get comfortable. There was no way to get comfortable, not in this place, he wondered how its residents did it. Paxton sat Indian style beside him and started to pass around loaves of bread and vegetables to the hungry.