“That's what we're going to be, boys. Good hardworking honest law-abiding farmers. We are going to do the same thing with this land that Ben Raines did with his Tri-States. Let's see if he's so two-faced he'll condemn us for doing what he did."
The mercenaries smiled.
“All the while,” Jake grinned, “working for the old man in Richmond."
“But of course,” Hartline returned the grin. “I spoke with him just before we pulled out. He said to keep our heads down and stay clean. Do some honest work for a change. Like farming."
“I was raised on a farm,” Jake mused, a faraway, wistful look on his face. “By God, that just might be kinda nice."
“Jesus!” Hartline gave him a disgusted look. “I can't believe you said that, Jake. Farming? For real?"
“Well, who the hell else is gonna do it?” Jake demanded.
“The people,” Hartline explained. “They'll be happy to do it for us. I bet they will."
“And we'll be ...?"
“The police, Jake. We'll keep the peace. And for our services ... we'll take just a ... small portion of the profits. Can you dig that, Jake?"
“Yeah,” Jake said. “I can dig. But I still want a little piece of ground for my own. I love the smell of fresh plowed earth."
“Ain't but one thing that smells better,” Hartline said.
“Oh?"
Hartline grinned. “Pussy."
Jerre had stood quietly by during this exchange. Hartline glanced at her. “Jerre,” he said, the one word an introduction. He looked at Jake. “How many women you gone through the past few months?"
“Just one. She's still with me. Lisa."
“That's a bit odd for you, isn't it, Jake?” Hartline asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.
Jake shrugged. “We get along, that's all.” He changed the subject, not wanting to discuss Lisa with Hartline. Lately his feeling for the teenager had ... deepened, he guessed that was the right choice of words. She had begun evoking a feeling within him he never knew he had; certainly had never experienced.
And he had changed in other ways, as well.
And it scared him.
“When do we pull out, Sam?” he asked.
“First thing in the morning. You'll be ready?"
“Count on it, Sam. Good to see you. See you in the morning."
Hartline watched Jake walk away. Something about the man had changed. And Hartline sensed it was not for the better.
Well, he thought, time to worry about that later. He looked at a young merc. “Where do we bunk, soldier?"
“We have a nice house for you, sir. If you'll follow me."
The house was a relatively new home, with a pleasant warming fire burning in the fireplace in the den. Hartline waited until after the young merc had gone.
“You fix dinner. I'm going to take a shower and read the paper."
“Aren't you afraid I'll run away?"
His smile was as friendly as the permanent grin on a snake. “Look outside, Jerre-baby."
She looked. The house had armed guards on all sides. She again faced the mercenary. “And then what?"
“You know what."
“No more Mr. Nice Guy, huh?"
“Oh, I wouldn't say that, honey. I never seen a woman yet didn't like a big cock. And that's what I got."
“I'm having my period."
“No, you're not. But even if you were, it wouldn't make no difference. I'd just take the back door."
Jerre's temper got the best of her. “Hartline, you are the most despicable person I have ever met."
He was in a good mood, a good personality. He laughed at her. “I'm a saint compared to some I've soldiered with, Jerre-baby. You go run on now. You're lookin’ a mite peaked from the plane ride. You can take your bath first, then cook supper."
She looked at him for a moment, thinking: Oh, Ben, where are you?
She remembered when she saw Ben again, after her leaving in North Carolina. But this time he'd been with Salina. Or she with him. They were in the northwest, in the area that would soon become Tri-States.
* * * *
The young people from the colleges Ben had visited rolled in and looked around. They were wary, for they believed the adults had caused the original mess (which was true), and they weren't too certain this new state could be any better. But they decided to give it a try.
Jerre saw Ben, at first from a distance, and for a time kept her distance as she realized the woman with him was more than just a friend. Then she worked up enough courage to speak to him.
“Hi, Ben."
Ben turned from his work and let a smile play across his lips. He was aware of Salina watching intently. He took Jerre's outstretched hand, held it for a moment, then released it.
“You're looking good, Jerre. I was worried about you, wondering if you'd made it."
She nodded, as emotions filled her. She wondered if those same emotions were flooding Ben. They were, but not to the extent they filled her. “This is Matt.” She introduced the beefy young man beside her.
Ben shook the offered hand. “I'm glad you two could join us up here. There's a lot of work to do. Going to live in Idaho?"
Jerre shook her head, answering for both of them. “No, Ben. We thought we'd try it over in Wyoming. Maybe go back to school in our spare time."
“That's a good idea. We'll have the colleges open in a few months."
There seemed to be nothing left for them to say; at least that they could say.
“See you, Ben.” Jerre smiled.
Ben nodded, watching the young couple walk away. Matt hesitated, then put his arm around Jerre's shoulders in a protective way; a possessive way. Ben had to smile at the gesture.
“That your young friend, Ben?” Salina asked.
“That was her."
“Just friends, huh?"
“Sure—what else?"
“Uh-huh.” She smiled.
* * * *
“What the hell are you smiling about, bitch?” Hartline's voice jarred her back to reality.
“Long ago and far away,” she replied.
“Go wash your cunt,” the mercenary said crudely.
Depression hit Jerre a hammer blow. She turned and walked toward the bathroom. Pausing, she looked around at him.
“I don't have any clean clothes, Hartline."
“Get you some in the morning. You won't need no clothes tonight, baby."
Two
Matt had left the twins with a family sympathetic to the Rebels. They worked a small farm just outside Burns, Oregon. The tall, rugged-looking man—who had been in love with Jerre since the first moment he'd seen her, more than ten years back—drove the pickup truck with a determination that belied the murderous thoughts fermenting in his brain. He'd heard Hartline was in Illinois, or maybe Indiana. He touched the M-16 on the seat beside him.
One thing for certain, he was going to kill Sam Hartline.
As he drove, he remembered. He remembered with tears in his eyes.
* * * *
“When will he be here, Jerre?” the young man asked her.
Jerre turned her eyes eastward. Her face was burned dark from the sun, as were her arms; her hair was sun-streaked and cut short.
She was not the leader of this group. But she knew Ben Raines, and everybody knew Bull Dean, the old Rebel who had killed his best friend to keep the movement alive, had put Ben Raines in charge. So that made Jerre something special.
“He'll be here, Matt,” she said. “I don't know when, so don't ask me, but he'll be here."
“Equipment coming in,” a Rebel called.
They all moved to the line of trucks rolling up the mountain road. The young man who had asked the question put his arm around Jerre's shoulders.
“Will you still be my girl when he gets here?” he asked.
“That depends."
“On what?"
“I'll know when he gets here. Then I'll tell you."
* * * *
“I'm going to kill you, Hartline,” Matt muttered, his big hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white from the strain. “I'm going to kill you."
* * * *
“Have you left that crazy bunch for good, baby?” Ben asked.
Tina laughed at him. “Daddy, you're an ex-Hell Hound and asking me about a crazy bunch?"
Ben grumbled a bit about that, mostly under his breath. He said, “That was different."
Dawn laughed and Tina liked her immediately. “You must know, Tina, Ben is a closet chauvinist."
“I am not!"
“How does it feel to be the next president of the United States?” Doctor Chase asked, first winking at both Dawn and Tina.
“I wouldn't know,” Ben snapped. “Because I have no intention of becoming the next president."
“Boy, it sure would be nice living in the new White House,” Tina said.
“Well, you're not going to live there,” Ben said, “so put it out of your mind."
The doctor and the two women looked at each other. Suddenly they all started laughing.
Ben sat in the chair by his hospital bed and looked at them. He had a sinking feeling in his guts that within the next week or so, he was about to be sworn in.
And he didn't want the job.
And just didn't fucking want the job!
* * * *
“So help me God,” Ben said.
He removed his hand from the Bible and shook the hand of the Chief Justice. Dawn and Tina kissed him, Cecil and Ike shook his hand.
The Joint Chiefs of Staff grinned at each other.
Senator Carson wiped a tear from one eye. Scenes like this always affected him. Deeply.
“Mr. President,” the Chief Justice said. “I'm wondering if I'm going to have a job this time tomorrow?"
“You will as long as you don't interfere with me,” Ben told him. They spoke so only they could hear.
“I don't believe I can work under those conditions, Mr. President."
“Speaking for all your colleagues?"
“Yes, sir."
“Perhaps, Justice Morgan, I am not the ogre a lot of liberals have branded me.” It was not a question and the Chief Justice did not take it as such.
“Perhaps not, sir,” the Justice spoke firmly, but with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “I rather doubt any man could be as terrible as the portrait that has been painted of you—by ... liberals, if you will."
“Work with me, Justice Morgan. Work with me and I'll bring honor and fair play back into this nation."
“At the point of a gun, sir?"
“If that is what it takes to convince some people, yes, sir."
“I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. President. I wanted very badly to refuse officiating at this swearing in. But I simply could not refuse. But I do not have to be a part of martial law."
“Who said anything about martial law?"
The men had walked away from the platform, out of earshot of the press, and the press was beginning to grumble about it.
“The press doesn't like this, Mr. President,” the Chief Justice said.
“Fuck the press."
Justice Morgan smiled. “You see, sir, that is what I speak of. Your attitude toward the press."
“Justice Morgan,” Ben said. “I used to enjoy watching good news-reporting. My favorite programs on TV were well-produced and reported documentaries. That does not include innuendoes, supposition, biased, left-leaning commentators, and nonobjective reporting. I don't like doubletalk, dancing around a question, sneering, rudeness, or any of a dozen other repulsive traits that can be hung on any number of reporters, print and broadcast. Are we clear on that subject, sir?"
“Perfectly, sir."
“Now what is this about martial law?"
“The military put you in office, sir. They can remove you just as easily."
“No, sir,” Ben replied with a smile. “They sure as hell cannot."
“Would you be so kind as to explain that?"
“Gladly. The Joint Chiefs of Staff will be going on nationwide TV within a week. They will publicly divorce themselves from any participation in the running of the government of the United States of America. The Supreme Court—all of you—will be present as witnesses. The next night I will be on TV, explaining as many of my policies as I have worked up by that time.
“I will be in office for four years, sir. And only four years. During that time, my people will be reclaiming the area known as Tri-States. You do remember that area, don't you, sir?"
“How could I forget it, Mr. President?” the Chief Justice's reply was thick with sarcasm.
“Just so we know where the other stands, sir,” Ben said with a smile. “After four years, I shall step down—sooner, if at all possible, and I will return to the Tri-States. There I shall live out the remainder of my years."
The Chief Justice's look was both wary and full of admiration. “All well and good, sir. But I wonder how many citizens of the United States will die during your four-year reign?"
“Just as many as choose not to respect the basic rights guaranteed any law-abiding citizen of this nation. That's how many, sir."
“Should be an interesting four years, Mr. President. And a totally unconstitutional period."
“Depending entirely upon your interpretation of the constitution, sir. But then, I've always felt any literate, law-abiding, tax-paying citizen had as much right to bend the constitution as you people on the high bench."
That stung the Justice. “I resent the charge that we of the court ever ‘bent the constitution'!"
“I guess the sadness in that is you really don't believe you ever did."
Ben walked away, to hold his first press conference as president of the United States.
Taking into consideration how he felt about the press, and how the press felt about him, it was a lively one.
Only the first of many.
* * * *
The people of America, on a whole, could not have cared if Big Bird occupied the Oval Office, as long as he did something to pull the ailing nation back together. Or, perhaps, that should have been: Most of the people of America. For no matter how hard one person, or a group of people try to attain what they not only felt, but knew, from years of observing the world around them, from years of laborious study of the history of civilization, or from just having the good sense to know one does not attempt to pet a rabid dog (one shoots it), there will be those who will proclaim, as loudly as possible, that they are not getting their due; that they are being discriminated against (and race has nothing to do with it); that they are being denied due process; that they are not being paid what they think they are worth. Et cetera. Ad nauseam. Puke.
One week after Ben was sworn in as president, the groups began surfacing.
And as is so often the case, they were not made up of those who fought and bled and were tortured by Lowry's agents; nor those who made up the underground train supporting Ben's Rebels. These people are usually made up of those men and women who “just know” they are going to be a success someday; it's a little vague just how that is going to happen, since these people never seem to do much of anything toward achieving that goal—except bitch about how the world owes them something.
But they are loud—Lord have mercy, are they loud!
* * * *
“Have you seen the headlines?” Cecil asked.
“Yes! Where in the hell is Ike?” Ben asked, more than a note of exasperation in his tone.
“Gone off to find Captain Gray. And then they will attempt to find Jerre. They..."
“Goddamnit, Cecil! I need as many of the old bunch around me as possible at this time. Where in the hell does Ike get off..."
“Whoa!” Cecil yelled. “Jesus Christ, Ben—calm yourself. You know Ike wouldn't be happy sitting around Richmond, no matter what position you placed him in. Ben, all Ike has ever been is a farmer or a warrior—that's all he'll ever be happy at. Now, I ask again: have you seen
the headlines in today's paper?"
“Which ones?” Ben asked sarcastically. “The ones that accuse me of being a racist because I told the president of the NAACP to get the hell out of this office because I was tired of listening to him bitch? Or maybe the one where the AFL-CIO has accused me of being anti-labor because I ordered that pack of assholes down in Florida to either get back to work or get off the job and I'll put someone in there who would work? Or maybe it's the goddamn teachers this go-around? Eh? Oh, and let us not forget that blazing headline in the Richmond Post about me being a baby-killer because I made the statement that whatever a woman wishes to do with her body is her business and nobody else's. Huh? Which one is it this time around?"
Cecil sat calmly and sipped his coffee, letting Ben get it all out of his system. He knew Ben had not wanted the job; and felt pangs of guilt because he had been one of those who pressured him into taking it. But he had to smile at that, recalling just a few hours after Ben had been sworn in.
* * * *
“Well, Cec,” Ben had said, walking up to him at the reception. Cecil had thought the smile on Ben's face sort of resembled a tiger's smile. “What plans do you have for your immediate future?"
“Going to go back to Tri-States and get the schools and colleges open again,” Cecil said, not quite comfortable with that odd smile grinning at him.
“Oh, no, you're not,” Ben's smile had broadened.
“I beg your pardon, Ben?"
“You folks been complaining for years you don't have enough people in elected positions of power; that you don't have enough blacks in high government positions. Well, guess what, old buddy, old pal?"
“I don't like the way you're smiling at me, Ben."
“Don't want to play guessing games, Cec?"
“No! Why are you smiling like that? You're grinning like Lady Macbeth after a hard night with the knife."
Ben leaned close and whispered in Cecil's ear.
Cecil recoiled like he'd been touched with a cattle prod. “Not this nigger, you ain't!"
“Cec! Shame on you. I've never heard such language from a Ph.D. in all my days. The Reverend James Watson would be ashamed of you."
“Fuck the Reverend James Watson, and fuck his brother, too. You're not putting me in that hotseat. I know what you plan to do with it."
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