American Dreams | Book 1 | The Decline

by Parker, Brian

  It was an old argument between us. Jesse was all-aboard the censorship train. He wanted to remove any and all references to how things used to be before the ratification of the New Constitution and the implementation of the System. Consequently, this, coupled with his tendency to strongarm our citizens, his lack of trivia knowledge to help pass the time in the office, plus his overall general douchey personality, is why I thought he was a steaming pile of crap.

  “Sir, you’re referencing the Fourth Amendment in the Original US Constitution, the protection from unreasonable search and seizure,” I stated. “Under the NAR’s New Constitution, those prior protections do not exist. If a duly-appointed officer of the state or federal government request to search your home or offices, then you must comply.”

  “I don’t understand. We don’t even—”

  “You want to go to jail?” Jesse threatened, ramping up the situation a notch. There was a reason why the CEA took so many casualties. They took young, inexperienced and out of work individuals, gave them a few months of training and then unleashed them on the population. It was a recipe for disaster. “I’ll take you in without a moment’s hesitation if you continue to resist,” he warned.

  “Resist? I was asking a question.”

  I took a step forward with my hand up. “Alright, everyone. Just calm down. Sir, ma’am, we are going to enter your home to search for illegal items, specifically gang paraphernalia, however, if we do find something else, then we are within our legal bounds to confiscate it and/or arrest you. Do you have any questions?”

  “You can take anything that is illegal?” the man asked.

  “That’s right, Serrano,” Newman butted in once more. The guy was a major hothead. I was trying to diffuse the situation a little bit and he was fanning the flames. “That was a major disadvantage to requiring a warrant before,” Jesse continued. “Specific items had to be listed on the warrant or they were inadmissible in court. Now that we don’t need a warrant, we can search wherever we’d like for anything illegal.”

  The two of them exchanged quick glances. Something was up and my hand fell back to my pistol. “What’s up?” I asked. “Remembering that you have something that you shouldn’t?”

  “Please, officer,” the woman pleaded. “We know we’re not supposed to have them, but we have a couple of chickens. They provide us eggs, food we can’t get at the store. And we share with our neighbors.”

  “Not that bitch next door,” Serrano cut in.

  “True. We don’t share with her because she’s a terrible person, but everyone else. We got them for our son originally. He loves the way they run around and eat bugs. They make him smile.”

  “Chickens?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir. I know it’s against city ordinance to have them inside the city limits, but—”

  “Chickens?” I asked again. They both nodded and I glanced at Newman, then relaxed. “Look, guys. I don’t care that you have chickens. We get it. Sometimes food is scarce here in town. Supplementing is fine, as long as you’re not hoarding it all to yourself.” I wondered what Rationing Board officials would have to say about my statement. Not my problem, that was a different department that we’d have to inform after we wrote up our report of today’s events.

  “We aren’t hoarding,” Ms. Marin assured me. “We give eggs to everyone who asks.”

  “This is bullshit,” Newman grumbled. “I’m getting hot out here. Let’s go inside.”

  “Ah…” I shot him an annoyed look that he didn’t even see since he was staring at the woman’s chest. “Do you have anything else that you may be worried about?”

  “No, sir,” Serrano replied. “We’re honest, hard-working citizens.”

  I waved a hand over my head to bring up the soldiers from the sidewalk. “Okay. We’re going to enter your home. The two soldiers who are coming up the walk now are here for our protection.” I indicated Newman and myself. “They are not authorized to search your home. They’ll be watching the two of you to ensure you don’t try anything funny.”

  “Sir, please,” Serrano said. “We won’t—”

  “People do weird things when there are officers in their homes. The agency has learned that the hard way.”

  Serrano reached out to place a guiding hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder. Together, they moved out of the way for Newman, the security detail, and me to enter. When I went inside, I was prepared for anything. I’d seen a lot of stuff in my short time already. People were strange ducks. Some were clean to the point of hospital standards, while others were complete slobs. Serrano and Marin were somewhere in the middle. I could see that they tried to keep things clean, but there were toys strewn about everywhere, dishes from three or four meals were in the kitchen sink and on the counter, and the television was up too loud for my liking, but it appeared to keep the kid engaged, so I wasn’t about to suggest we change it.

  “Let’s search the living room here first, clear it and then allow the residents to sit down and relax,” I told Jesse. “Then we’ll split up. I’ll do the kitchen and you start in the bedrooms. Once we’re done inside, we’ll hit the garage.” The garage is where the supposedly anonymous informant had said she saw the gang paraphernalia. It was supposed to be an anonymous call, but we knew exactly who’d given us the tip. The family was right, it was the lady next door.

  After about twenty minutes, we decided the house was clear, although, Ms. Marin’s collection of sex toys was impressive. We moved to the garage and found a big Harley Davidson motorcycle, one of those expensive Electra Glide models with the hard cases on either side of the back wheel. There was a black leather vest draped over the seat with the name of some group on it and a couple of patches declaring the rider to be a proud veteran.

  I pulled out my phone and called it in. “Hey, Taya. I’m sending you a couple of images now. Need you to cross-reference them for criminal gang activity.”

  “Alrighty. That’s what I get paid for, right?” Taya Farley was the team’s cyber specialist. Her skillset was more suited to offensive and defensive cyber hacking against other foreign governments’ own hackers, but we didn’t do that sort of stuff at the CEA, so she had become the de facto database researcher. If there was an entry about what the patches on the vest meant in any law enforcement database, then she’d have the answers soon.

  While Taya searched for answers, Newman and I finished searching the garage. Minus the vest and motorcycle, I had no idea what else to look for that could potentially be gang-related here in Austin. Hell, the dirty rag on the workbench could have been a gang symbol if worn or put into a pocket in a certain way. It was all so ridiculous.

  My phone beeped and I opened up the video conference app. Taya’s face appeared on the screen. The glow of her computer screen was reflecting off her glasses. “Got any info on it?” I asked.

  “Well, hello to you too,” she smirked.

  “Sorry,” I replied. “Hello. Got any info on it?”

  “You boys need to work on your patience. Hi, Jesse!” She waved at the screen at the same time that I felt Newman’ presence creep up behind me.

  “Hey, Taya,” he said shyly. I thought those two should apply for a dating authorization. They were both single, possibly into one another, full-fledged citizens, and they both needed to do something to lower their stress levels. Maybe they already were dating, I didn’t know. I hadn’t gone out with the team for happy hour recently since Cassandra was pregnant.

  “So, yeah, about your biker’s cut there. It’s a—”

  “About the what?” I asked.

  “The vest. Bikers call it a cut, short for cut-off since there aren’t any sleeves.”

  “Ah, okay.”

  “The ‘gang’,” she made air quotation marks with one hand since the other was holding her phone, “is actually a benign motorcycle club. It’s a nationwide veterans’ organization that does a lot of charity work. Even after the establishment of the System, the club has continued to provide food and shelter for non-c
itizens in established locations—which isn’t illegal, just frowned upon. Odds are, we got duped by the neighbor hoping that you’d find something there.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “That’s about what I figured based on what I’ve seen and how the homeowners have presented themselves.” I looked around the garage. It was cleaner than the house. “You find anything else out about them?”

  “Nope. Clean as a whistle.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  I started to hang up, but another female’s voice called out, making me pause. “Agent Haskins?”

  It was Director Goodman. “Um, yes, ma’am?”

  Taya turned her phone around and I saw Goodman standing there with Rogan and Plummer, along with Deputy Director Stansbury and a couple of people from her office. “Good. I’m glad I caught you before the phone disconnected.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said again. I wasn’t sure what she wanted, so better to just play it slow.

  “I understand that the house you are currently at is clean, is that correct?”

  “Yeah. We just finished our search. The homeowners aren’t gangbangers like the tipster said.”

  “The informant is the neighbor, seventy-four year old Jessica Johnson, correct?”

  I looked up toward the door leading into the house where one of the soldiers held it open. I didn’t know if the sound of her voice would carry over the sound of the cartoons in the living room, but she really shouldn’t have said the lady’s name in the clear like that. “Um, yes, ma’am.”

  “You may not be aware of this,” Goodman stated, “but this is the third false lead that Ms. Johnson has provided in exchange for extra rations. The first two times, she did receive a minor bump to her account for her loyalty, but the agency is cracking down on these types of people. We want loyal, honest citizens.”

  “Okay, so what should we—”

  “The local media has been alerted that there will be a public beating in ten minutes. You are to remove Ms. Johnson from her home and carry out the sentence.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “You will remove Ms. Johnson from her home and read the statement that I’ve sent to your phone. Then you will carry out the punishment proscribed. It’s not hard, Agent.”

  “Ma’am, we can’t beat a seventy-four year old woman. Especially not on camera. Never mind the incredible morality issue, it would turn the population against us.”

  “This is not your call, Agent Haskins. It’s a directive from Washington. We are to begin exerting more pressure on the population for providing false information. We—”

  “I won’t do it,” I blurted out, mortified at the words that fell from my mouth. I couldn’t believe that I’d spoken that aloud.

  “Excuse me?”

  I took a deep breath. “I said I won’t do it, ma’am. I’m not going to beat up an innocent old—”

  “She is not innocent!” Agent Goodman screeched. “She has repeatedly provided false information about her neighbors, either to exact revenge for some unknown slight or simply to get additional rations. It doesn’t matter why she’s done it, she must pay for her transgressions against the law.”

  “Director Goodman, you can’t expect us to harm an inn—” I stopped myself. “An old lady. We can arrest her, but a public beating, on television? That’s terrible PR.”

  “I don’t give a shit about your perception of public relations, Haskins. Will you carry out the sentence against Ms. Johnson?”

  “No,” I replied. “I won’t do it.”

  I glanced over to Newman, who was reading his phone and waved. He looked up. I pleaded for him to refuse the order with my eyes.

  “I’ll do it, Director.”

  “What was that, Agent Newman?”

  “I’ll carry out the sentence, ma’am,” Newman replied.

  “Jesse! What the hell are you talking about?” I hissed. “She’s a little old lady.”

  “A citizen who willfully broke the law, Bodhi.” He pointed at the lines of text on his phone. “Ms. Johnson is not some sweet, innocent old lady. Read the judgement against her. She was willing to have us incarcerate Mr. Serrano and Ms. Marin—hell, maybe even kill them if they’d gotten scared when we came to their door. She is not a good person.”

  “Exactly,” Goodman stated through my phone’s speaker. “Agent Haskins, you are relieved until you can receive remedial training. Newman, you’re in charge. Haskins, give your sidearm to Agent Newman. I’ve sent word to your protection team that they are to escort you to your vehicle, where you will remain until the sentence is carried out. The security detachment is authorized to use deadly force if you attempt to stop the sentence.”

  The soldier in the doorway stepped into the garage as she was talking. The stock of his rifle was up in the crook of his shoulder, but the barrel was still pointed toward the floor.

  I held up my hands. “Whoa. Alright, I’m going to move slowly and take my pistol out of the holster.”

  The soldier watched as I used two fingers to lift the weapon out. It was incredibly hard not to drop it that way and now I realized why they always did that in movies. From that position, I would have had to have used my other hand to get it back up into a firing position and the soldier would have peppered me with bullets.

  Newman took my pistol. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, man,” he mumbled.

  “I’m not going to beat up an old lady, Jesse.”

  “Hands behind your back.”

  “What?”

  “Put your goddamned hands behind your back, Bodhi. Director Goodman contacted me separately. You’re to be arrested. The agency will decide if you’re worthy of remedial training or not.”

  “This is horseshit,” I replied. “Jesse. You have got to see that she’s gone crazy with power. We can’t—”

  Someone hit me behind the ear and my head exploded in pain. I dropped to my knees, woozy and disoriented. Another blow landed to my back and I instinctively covered my head as more blows rained down on me. Several kicks and punches later I was in handcuffs being dragged toward the Tahoe by two soldiers.

  My vision swam in and out of focus, but I did see Newman marching next door with the other two soldiers.

  Well, shit.

  EIGHTEEN

  I wasn’t able to see what happened to Ms. Johnson from my position in the back seat of the Tahoe. A single gunshot spoke volumes about the outcome of the situation. They’d executed her right there on the front lawn, on camera for the entire world to see, all because she’d called the cops a few times with false information. My refusal to carry out the order must have enraged Director Goodman, causing her to elevate the sentence from a beating to an execution.

  What had happened to our country? How were we stupid enough to let it go this far? I was young, but I still remembered being a kid and being allowed to go to the park with my friends without all the restrictions that came around during the first pandemic and never really went away. We’d willfully traded away our freedoms for perceived safety, and the government had remembered how easy it was to convince everyone to do it. They’d filed that information away for future use when their new System was ready for prime time.

  Now, we were in the midst of another extended public health pandemic and citizens had lined up to give away their freedoms once more. Only this time, I knew the hype about the virus to be mostly bullshit because of my position at the CEA—or was it former position? The severity of H5N8 had been massively inflated as a way to control the population and bring about true societal change. The System would grind America under its boot.

  I’d refused a direct order to beat, and apparently murder, an elderly citizen multiple times with a large audience present, both in person and on the phone. Goodman would make an example of me. I wondered if I would be the next one to die on camera in just a few moments.

  I heard Newman talking outside of the car and turned as best as I could in the seat with handcuffs on. Everything hurt. He was talking into his phone near the back bump
er. The conversation didn’t last long before the driver’s door opened and he sat down heavily into the seat. I could see the loops of a black agency face covering over his ears.

  “You wore your mask so they wouldn’t see your face?” I asked.

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he picked up the package of the baby wipes that I kept on the console between the seats and began to wipe at his hands. The wipe came away pink. “You don’t see the problem with that?” I accused. “You had to hide your face while you murdered someone. Just like a common criminal.”

  “You shut your fucking mouth, traitor,” he said softly. “I did my job.”

  The tremble in his voice betrayed his words. He may talk a tough game, but he was feeling the guilt, the shame, the horror, of what he’d just done because his job demanded absolute obedience from him. “Jesse, this is wrong. We’ve had our differences in the past, but I know you know that.”

  He whirled around in his seat to stare at me. His face contorted in rage. “That woman was a criminal. A drain on the System and she would have gladly seen her neighbors locked away for no better reason than to get a few extra cans of soup. I did the world a favor by ending her miserable existence.”

  “Jesse—”

  “You don’t get to talk to me, traitor. I talk at you. Not the other way around. You’re going to get locked away for a long fucking time. I mean, who the hell do you think you are? You’re a nobody. You’ll go into the prison system and get swallowed up.”

  Prison? I hadn’t thought about that. I leaned back and turned my head to look out the window.

  “Yeah. That’s right. Prison, bitch. Some big inmate will make you his bitch. You’ll have to toss his salad every night…Salad Tossing Prison Bitch. That’s your new nickname. I like it. It’s fitting, like your asshole will fit around his giant dick.”

  He went on and on for several minutes, ranting like the fucking crazy person that he was, that I’ve always known him to be. Finally, he stopped and turned back around. I heard the truck shift into gear and he backed the Tahoe up several feet until I had a clear, unobstructed view of the female reporter on the sidewalk talking into her microphone on camera. Behind her, two men wrestled Ms. Johnson’s remains into a body bag. He’d done that specifically to allow me to see the results of his handiwork.