A Simple Rebellion

by Christopher Ryan

  Chapter 32

  AFTER A QUICK, UNSETTLING discussion, Bob and Jackson rejoined the others who were watching a live, distant shot of the house on National News. Bob glanced at the screen, and then to Jeremy. “The company couldn’t send all their top guys to help you?” Jackson’s laugh was joyless. “As soon as this hit, private planes filled the air over LA,” he said. “Any executive who thought the press might call for a quote

  fled the country.”

  “Do you think Jeremy and I will be enough?”

  Jackson sighed. “They will want to see you out there, soon, begging forgiveness, and then on Miller’s show, begging forgiveness, and you may even need to appear before Statler himself, bending the knee.”

  “Doesn’t he think so little of me he won’t even meet for burgers?”

  Jackson leveled a look at his father. “Who do you think is sending TASE?”

  Chapter 33

  THE PRESIDENT HIMSELF HAD named his

  specially created “task force” True American Security Enforcement because he wanted a “cool acronym” and thought TASE sounded intimidating. Bob always thought it sounded like a name he and Lionel should have written into Monster Cops. After the revelation that Bo had sent TASE after him, Bob’s demeanor changed. The combative Bob from the films emerged. “Really?” His tone was a challenge, not a question. “He wants to play?”

  “Oh no,” Jackson said.

  Bob ignored him. “Merle, call Pop’s and tell him I need coffee and donuts for, let’s say 50 guests. Send it to where the media is being held, with my compliments.” The kid shrugged. “Should we really offer refreshments to the carnivores who helped propel you

  into this mess?”

  “Hopefully, we’ll lower their defenses.”

  The boy grinned. “Well played.” He sauntered off dialing his phone.

  Jackson was not amused. “Dad, this is not the time for your hijinks. We’re in dangerous waters here.”

  Bob smiled at his son, a long unlit fire now burning in his eyes. “Not while you have my back.”

  Jackson raised an eyebrow, a move his father made

  famous. It looked better on his son, Bob thought. “That’s a first,” Jackson said.

  “This whole thing is a first,” Bob nodded. “Dad, if this goes sideways….”

  Bob hugged him, whispering, “Jackie, the whole world already has. But with you here, no matter what happens, I’m already better off.”

  When they separated, Jackson’s face changed expression a few times before he nodded. “Dad … I … All right. All right. Let’s get going.”

  Bob shook his head, smiling widely. “Go? Jackson, we’re already there.”

  Chapter 34

  JACKSON, MERLE, JR., AND Jeremy stared at Bob, confused. Jackson told him, “Dad, we already discussed this. You can’t stay here.”

  “Technically, I won’t.” “Excuse me?”

  “You say TASE is coming and we should run.” Merle Jr. spoke up. “We should have already.” “What do they want with me?”

  Jeremy actually raised his hand before speaking. “They want to charge you with inciting public unrest.”

  “Actually, everybody stayed home, so I accidentally incited public rest.”

  Jackson stepped in. “They won’t be laughing, they’ll be arresting. If you insist on staying, they’ll be doing worse.”

  “I have an idea about that,” Bob said. “I’m worried about letting everybody down, right? Because I yapped on FaceTime and said I was staying home. But you all insist I leave. What if we ask everybody’s permission? We can FaceTime them and see what they say.”

  Jackson laughed, pulling his phone from a pocket. “That’s not exactly how FaceTime works, Pop, but your idea is almost genius.”

  “Story of my life,” Bob grinned. “Who are you calling?”

  “My executive goddess.” He hit speed dial, listened a second, and then spoke into the phone, “Dolores? Yes, we’re okay. About to get better. I need your team to blow up all my father’s social media platforms; announce he’s going to on Funbook Live right now.”

  Bob gave him a quizzical look. “I have social media platforms?”

  “You’re team has them covered.” “The Cubs?”

  “Jokes again.” Jackson shook his head, chuckling. “I hired a PR team years ago to keep you current. They work out of my office and have only one client. You have several million followers.”

  “I have a Funbook page?”

  Most people had abandoned Facebook years ago to the political trolls who had ruined it. To salvage his billions, Zuckerberg splintered his baby into several platforms. Facebook for getting into people’s faces, Funbook for positive sharing and fan interaction (pronounced promotion), Hobbybook for enthusing over hobbies, Nightbook for online flirting, and so on. Several platforms later, ol’ Zuck was a multitrillionaire.

  Jackson opened Pop’s Funbook account, hit some buttons, and then looked over the phone. “Ready?”

  Bob was a little misty.

  Jackson, startled, let his finger hover over the record button. “What’s wrong, Pop?”

  “Despite the TASE-manian devils heading our way, nothing at all,” Bob smiled, some of that mist rolling down his cheek. “I’m just thinking of how proud your mom and godfather would be seeing you in action.”

  Chapter 35

  AFTER BOB HAD MADE three hit movies with Lionel Jackson, Mary Angeline gave birth to a boy.

  Lionel Jackson came to the hospital with a giant stuffed panda. “See? Black and white, just like us.”

  Bob hugged him, and then said, “We want you to be his godfather.”

  Lionel scowled theatrically. “You will do anything to be related to me.”

  “And we’re naming him after you.”

  “Aw, Hell no! You can’t name a white boy Lionel!

  He’ll get beat up in kindergarten!”

  Bob was insistent. “We want to do this.”

  “You name him Lionel, you’re painting a target on him. Trust me, I know.”

  From her bed, Mary Angeline said, “Let’s name him Jackson.”

  Bob looked from his wife to his best friend. “That works for me.”

  Lionel looked at the little blonde boy in the basinet, and grinned. “We’ll tell the other whiteboys to call him Jack, that’s a whiteboy name.”

  Their laughter startled the sleeping infant, who jumped but did not awaken. “He sleeps like a rock,” Lionel said, nodding sagely. “He’ll do fine in my family.”

  Chapter 36

  JACKSON ADJUSTED HIS IPHONE. “You ready,

  Pop? Know what you are going to say?”

  Bob shrugged, ran his fingers through his hair, improving it not one iota. “I’ll think of something.”

  Jackson paused for a moment, concerned, until his father offered an encouraging wink. He hit the button, counted his father down: three, two, one, and then gave him an index finger indicating “go”.

  “Hey, everybody. First of all, I am amazed at what you’ve all been doing. To see news reports about millions of you crazy maniacs independently making the decision to stay home, that’s actual American spirit. Somehow, this became like a really relaxed Boston Tea Party, except no one is breaking laws, or inciting violence while a huge statement is being made — so, hey, bravo, you nuts.

  “And that’s why I’m here talking live on, well, whatever app we’re on right now. You see, this big sick out has ticked off Washington, and they’re sending some pretty irritable TASE boys to harass me on my own property.

  “Don’t worry about me, my son has his whole law firm here, but TASE is going to want me to renounce what all of us are doing. Why anyone cares about what I say mystifies me, but they have my good friend

  and film partner, Lionel Jackson, and his family, in an internment camp. Now, you and I know Lionel is wayyyyy better at getting himself into trouble than he is at getting himself out of it, so here’s where I need your help. We want the TASEr–in-Chief
to release Lionel and his family. They should release everyone in all those camps, but this is a start. The catch is, the TASE people are probably going to want to arrest me or at least will demand that I leave home for questioning. I don’t really trust storm troopers to keep me and mine safe, so it is probably a good idea to be gone when they show up.

  “They seem to think forcing me to leave home, under arrest or under duress, will betray all of you and get them a win. But I don’t want to betray anyone, so I need your permission.

  “Here’s what I’m asking: is it cool with all of you if I leave here to stay safe while we try to free Lionel, his family, and all the immorally imprisoned people?”

  Suddenly, Bob looked over the top of Jackson’s phone to his son. “Hey, is there a comment section below this?”

  Jackson nodded.

  Bob turned back to the camera. “Okay, there’s a comment section below this, and I’m asking you to write a comment either giving me permission to do this or telling me I suck or whatever. Can you do that? I’d really feel better having your support. Okay, I’m going to get off this thing and see how you answer. Thanks. See you soon, hopefully not in handcuffs.”

  Jackson hit some buttons to finalize, waited for it to go live.

  “Anything?” Bob asked nervously.

  “Hold on,” Jackson said, watching the screen, refreshing, watching some more.

  And then he laughed.

  Responses were flooding in faster than he could count. He showed his father:

  Responding to @BobMurphy:

  Silly4u: Bob, you never need our permission to do anything! We’re with you!

  MikeLovesEggs: Go for it, Bob!

  Stewed: TASE sucks! Monster Cops rules! Yes!

  LisaMcBride455: Yes!

  BillBesser: Yep!

  Tina2Mom: We’ll help free your friend, Mr. Murphy!

  JimJimQB10: You suck! JK! Go get’em, Murph!

  DorothyFan: Yes, Cutie, absolutely yes!

  Yennaya: Free my Lionel! He’s my favorite!

  FunnyRican: Of course you need to go. Want us to go with you?

  PietroLives: We should march on Washington! These guys play too much!

  CharlesChaun: You deserve to be thrown in with him, fascist.

  Cindirocks: A march on Washington might free Lionel Jackson.

  AngelaPickings: Yes! Go!

  BillyTercer: You should already be on your way.

  MarjeRoxx: CharlesChaun, your mother is a fascist.

  Gainesburger: Go! I’ll meet you there.

  It went on and on. Within minutes there were thousands of responses, overwhelmingly positive.

  Jackson nodded. “Guess we have our answer.”

  Bob rushed down the hall to his bedroom. “Let’s grab what we’ll need and get going before TASE catches on.”

  Bob’s Funbook page fluttered a moment, and then disappeared. Jackson swallowed, rushed down the hall after him.

  He found his father with an ancient canvas gym bag, already packed, slung over his shoulder, using his cell to take pictures. He followed Bob’s eye to what he was aiming at -- the wedding portrait. “We’ll take her with us. Just in case.”

  “Pop, I think the government already knows. They shut your page down.”

  “I gotta say I am disappointed they didn’t anticipate

  our move and block us from doing it at all,” he said, shrugging.

  Jackson smiled, on his phone again. “Dolores, did we get all of it? Good. Shares? Astounding numbers! Let’s get a full press package to every media outlet in existence. Yes, friend or foe! And lead with us getting shut down ‘by mysterious parties disrespecting American free speech.’ We want to keep it out there. Thanks.”

  “You slick orchestrator of chaos you,” Bob said. “I had a great teacher.”

  Bob scooped up Steve. “We’ll leave handsome here with Perri and Merle Junior. Steve loves them both so he can stay with—”

  The rest of Bob’s words were drowned out by gunfire.

  Chapter 37

  WHEN TASE ARRIVED, JACKSON’S lawyers

  presented them with injunctions, cease and desist orders, documentation of the premises having been searched by the investigative professionals and a K-9 unit, and so much additional legal paper work Sheriff Merle gave up trying to follow.

  The head TASE agent, who identified himself as Spatha, wasn’t having any of it. “Step aside.”

  Sheriff Merle said, “Now, now, boys, we are all gonna play nice in my sandbox, ya’all understand me?” Spatha turned his stony face and standard opaque sunglasses toward the sheriff for less than ten seconds.

  “This is no longer your jurisdiction.”

  “It sure is until you show paperwork to prove otherwise,” Sheriff Merle smiled, though his tense body spoke to his actual state of mind.

  Spatha seemed bored. “Sheriff, we are taking Robert Murphy and anyone else in that house into custody for Terroristic Activities—”

  “That is not what happened,” one of the lawyers said too loudly.

  Spatha reached over, ripped open the lawyer’s shirt, and yanked a wire unit off his body. He tore the mic off the power source and tossed both to the floor. “Are we just arresting this fool for covert acts against

  the government or do we need to search each of you?”

  Another lawyer removed his wire voluntarily. One of Spatha’s men ripped it apart and tossed by the first one.

  Spatha addressed all of them. “You have now been given an opportunity to cooperate with your government. Anyone else found wearing a wire will be charged with espionage.”

  Two more gave up their wires. “That’s all of them,” one said.

  Spatha nodded. “Okay, you have avoided prison so far. Next up, let’s get all of this out of the way,” he waved a hand toward barrage of legal forms. “You can repurpose all of this for your executive lavatory. TASE directives come from POTUS and that supersedes all this noise on the basis of national security. Boom. Done. Next, we are going through that house, confiscating all contraband we find.”

  The sheriff struggled to maintain his smile. “Mr. Murphy’s house was just inspected by trained professionals—”

  “Not TASE trained.”

  While none of them would ever officially admit they were waiting in the wings for the right moment, Jackson’s private security team and their K-9 dogs emerged from Bob’s house with admirable timing. Almost immediately the dogs began barking and straining against their leashes.

  The sheriff gave a nod. Security released the hounds. They charged one TASEr in particular, a tall man with close-cropped red hair. The dogs surrounded him, barking ferociously.

  The TASE agents pulled their weapons.

  Jackson’s private security did the same. The sheriff’s officers raised their shotguns.

  “Here we go,” Spatha murmured his own weapon instantly in hand.

  “Let’s all take a breath here, boys,” Sheriff Merle called out. “These here dogs are federally-trained to track down illegal substances. Seems to me your man is carrying. Now we all know the True American Security Enforcement Agency does not, and I repeat, does not plant evidence. So you might want to arrest ol’Red over there for impersonating a government agent and interfering with a peaceful, cross-jurisdictional investigation. Have one of your men take him to HQ for processing. Whatcha say ‘bout that, Chief?”

  Spatha’s frozen features tightened slightly. He looked from ol’ Red, trapped as he now was in the circle of trained dogs, then to the sheriff and his men, and finally to the private guns-for-hire. “I say I have had enough.”

  On that coded command, seven bullets sliced through the Sheriff, and when a lawyer took a step foward, ten shots ripped him apart.

  The TASE Unit immediately turned their guns on the dogs and Merle’s officers. Only one of the sheriff’s men got a round off before the slaughter.

  That shot went wide.

  Private security hit two TASErs before TASE ripped through them, firi
ng dozens of shots per second. Both of the hit TASErs rose, bruised and winded but otherwise unharmed due to high-tech armor under their uniforms.

  TASE reloaded and shot any opposition still moving.

  Once calm returned and no one except TASE remained, Spatha spoke. “Take the house.”

  TASE moved forward with purpose, stepping over the corpses without hesitation.

  Chapter 38

  INSIDE, BOB AND JACKSON hurled looks through the window in time to see Merle shot to death. When TASE started taking out the local cops, both men ran for the kids.

  They burst into the kitchen as Perri was heading to the window. Bob scooped her up and tossed her to Merle Jr. “Out the back door!”

  Merle Jr. caught his sister in a soft hug, pressing her face to his chest so she wouldn’t see anything, and followed them. He snatched up her pink backpack and fell in behind the adults moving across the kitchen.

  Bob cradled Steve in his arms, rushed out the back door to where three cars waited, two town cars, and Bob’s souped up sedan. The drivers of the town cars stood by their doors, guns drawn. The comedian turned to his son, “These armored?”

  “Highestdensitybulletproofwindshield, bulletproof tires, reinforced doors—”

  Bob cut him off. “All extra weight that will slow them down.” He pointed to the first driver. “You, drive around to the front, draw their attention. Get as far as you can, south on the turnpike if you out run them. If they do run you down, say that you abandoned us and were hurrying back to your family.”