by Johnny Jacks
“Just hang on a minute!” Ramirez scowled. “You’ll learn what you need to know from your assistant in your new job, Professor Mark Hamilton.”
“Mark Hamilton, the guy that works part time at the range? Isn’t he a college professor?”
“Yeah. Teaches economics at Houston Baptist.”
Grayson shook his head. “It’s official, Chief. I’m lost.”
“Stop where you are! Mark is a prepper expert and can explain everything. If you find it’s not for you, I won’t hold you to any commitment. Just listen to him.”
Grayson took a deep breath. “You’ve never steered me wrong, sir. But I reserve the right to opt out if it doesn’t suit me.”
“Take a couple of days to get some food in you and clean yourself up before reporting to work at the range.”
“I took a shower and shaved this morning,” he lied.
“Well, you didn’t stand very close to your razor and either you didn’t use soap or it’s your messy clothes that smell like that outhouse we used in Iraq.”
Feeling like a private who had just taken an ass chewing from his respected sergeant, Grayson looked at the floor. “I’ll clean up and make you proud of my work at the range.”
Ramirez put his hand out for Grayson to shake. “I can’t ask any more than that, soldier.”
Grayson hesitated at the door. “Thank you for trusting me, Chief.” His flushed face stiffened to avoid tears, as he closed the door silently.
Chief Ramirez sat in quiet contemplation for a long while. Grayson had helped to fill the void in Grace and his lives after an ISIS sniper’s bullet took their son from them. Just a few short months ago, Grayson was a man’s man. Now, smacked down, his confidence diminished. If they could get past the Delgado civil case with a win, Grayson would be home free and on the road to recovering his self-worth. If they lost, his career would come to an abrupt end, his future uncertain.
~~~
“Thanks for meeting me for dinner, Joe. I just left the chief’s office and need some company, somebody to help me put my ass back together.”
Joe chuckled. “The chief’s teeth are sharp. He’s a tough old buzzard.”
“He was the toughest commander I served under in the Army, but a straight shooter and the men loved him. Hope you’re hungry.”
“Yep. I never turn down a free steak dinner, especially at Ruth’s Chris. You want to know all about being a prepper?”
Grayson gave him a questioning look.
“The group voted you in, and we knew the chief was going to tell you today.”
“That’s not why I asked you to meet me, but I do have a lot of questions about that prepper business. But tonight, I need help to figure something else out.”
“You can save your money. Yes, you do need a bath.”
Grayson chuckled. “So, I hear.”
Settled at the table, Grayson hesitated over their drinks, so Joe took the lead. “When are you joining us for a prepper meetup?”
“You believe America is on the verge of collapse too?”
Joe took a sip of beer. “It was hard to wrap my mind around, but yes. Maybe not today, but sometime in the near future. Mark teaches our group with facts, not theories. This is some serious crap. We’re not to the point of collapse, but I’m convinced it’s inevitable sometime before the middle of the century. If you’re like me, you don’t remember a lot about history, but America began as a capitalist nation.”
“I do remember that much, Joe.”
“The executive branch got the power to regulate commercial enterprise in 1895 when Congress passed the Sherman Antitrust Act. That’s when things began to change.”
“The only Sherman I remember is Tecumseh. History is not my forte.”
“Me neither. Mark taught us that since 1895, congress increasingly gave the president power to regulate commercial enterprise. Hundreds of federal laws followed the Sherman Antitrust Act. America gradually moved down the slippery slope toward socialism and fascism. Mark showed us the executive branch’s power compared to 1895 and the difference is shocking.”
“Joe, you don’t honestly believe the United States is going to declare bankruptcy over some obscure act from the nineteenth century.”
“This is more than a history lesson, Grayson, and I do believe it. That’s why we need men like you in our group, strong leaders to help us weather the violent storm headed our way. The United States is at risk of failure.”
“Okay, I get it,” Grayson sounded exhausted and frustrated, “and I promise to come to one of your little meetings, but can you help me weather my storm while we cut into these delicious steaks?”
“Sorry I got off on a tangent. We’ll talk more prepping later. In the meantime, discuss it with Mark. What do you need?”
“Maybe a lot, maybe nothing.”
“Start anywhere and let’s work from there.”
Grayson’s brow furrowed. “A short time ago, I was on top of the world. I had my dream job, a loving family, the best wife on the planet—no offense to you and Belinda.”
“None taken.”
“People looked up to me. First, I lost my family. Two hours ago, Chief Ramirez demoted me. If the Delgado case goes bad, I’ll have to resign. I can’t get a handle on things, where to go next. I don’t fit in anymore, not on the force and not in my old life.”
“Grayson, straight up…are you considering suicide?”
"Hell no! How could you…. Oh. I see. I was the guy others came to for counsel. Now, no one will even look at me. Asking for advice makes me feel weak.”
Joe’s derisive laugh annoyed Grayson. “You are anything but weak. Maybe a little vulnerable right now, but you’ve suffered a serious setback, one few men could weather successfully. Believe me; it won’t stop you from going forward and building a new life.” Joe screwed his face into a frown, leaned forward, and spoke gruffly. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, asshole. You sound like a little pantywaist.”
Grayson’s emotions flamed. “I never feel sorry for myself, asshole yourself!” he hissed through gritted teeth.
Joe looked at Grayson over the top of his glasses. “Oh, yeah? Taken a look in the mirror lately?”
Joe’s accusation hit Grayson like a Mack truck. He leaned back hard against his chair and stared at the ceiling. Slowly, he nodded acknowledgement.
“Look, man. You asked for my counsel; here it is. I know that I don’t need to tell you what your family meant to you, the depth of your feelings for them, and the pain that nags at your soul. Those intense feelings are a large part of what’s confusing you and throwing you off balance. But I think there’s something else, something hidden within that’s pushing you toward the brink of surrendering to insanity.”
Keenly aware of his friend’s wisdom and shocked at how well he knew him, Grayson focused on Joe’s comments, pushing all other thoughts from his consciousness. Just as ordered several times in combat, he held his ground and awaited further instructions.
Joe paused to gauge Grayson’s reactions to his comments. Feeling safe, he continued. “Your sense of self-worth, your manhood, is empty right now. Unlike the pajama boys of today, you’re among what’s left of the real men in Western Civilization. You have an innate compulsion, a primal calling, to provide and protect. Thousands of generations of men passed it down to you. It’s what drives you, but the object of your calling has vanished. It will not return until you have another woman, and maybe, children to protect and provide for.”
Grayson stilled in his chair, his jaw moving, as he absorbed Joe’s words.
“Don’t make any major decisions for a while, Grayson. Get back in the gym. Go to the range and work with Mark. You have more in common with him than you know. Relax. Let life run its course.”
“Ain’t gonna happen.”
Joe spoke with discernable deliberation. “Grayson, if you are patient, the thing you seek will find you. You don’t have to go looking for it.”
Grayson rearranged his napkin. “How did I allow mysel
f to sink this low? Margaret would be ashamed of me.”
“Margaret was never ashamed of you one day of her life. And take note, my friend, this counseling session is costing you the most expensive steak on the menu, which I am enjoying.”
“That’s just like you, Joe. Treat me like crap and then make me pay the bill.”
His profound grief would not allow him a glimpse into his future, but he’d cleared this first hurdle, thanks to his best friend.
Humph. Screw you, Joe. I’m a man, not a damn pantywaist!
Islamic State of America - 2
Texas State Prison
Year -4
Akeem followed Imam Omar’s instructions and, as planned, a brother judge remanded him to Texas State Prison. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Islam had spread to all corners of America, including a low-ranking prison administrator who placed him in the cell across from the Murtadha brothers. After only two months, he had the hook dangling in front of their faces, their mouths open, and ready to take the bait.
Acutely aware of his target’s interest, Akeem feigned indifference as he prepared for evening prayer. He firmly believed Allah gave all the lands of the earth to his chosen people and beloved servants, the Muslims. Occasionally, anger infiltrated his senses. He fantasized about cutting the heads off hated infidels who occupied the Muslim land, called America, and restoring Sharia, the law that pleases Allah. Until they killed or enslaved every kafir, unbeliever—Jew, Christian, pagan, Shia apostate—who would not revert, and established Sharia under Sunni domination, there would be no peace for the Muslims. It was Allah’s order, clearly written in the pages of the Quran and defined by the Hadith. They must conquer all lands in the world through death or slavery and revert the lands to Islam, their original roots.
Every day, Carlos and Miguel sat on their bunks and stared unabashedly at Akeem as he kneeled on his prayer rug, shoes off, forehead on the floor, and sang his evening prayer. Carlos’ faded memories of praying and attending mosque with his father were beginning to reemerge, bringing him to life.
Akeem’s melodic tone and the words were faintly familiar; it soothed Carlos. He soon began to chant the sounds in his own mind, and the meanings of a few of the words returned to him. Akeem’s incantations beckoned him, as the deadly flame lures the moth to its gruesome, certain fate.
Chapter 10
New Horizons
Year 1
Grayson sat in his truck and studied the small, concrete block building; its plain, ugly face stared back at him, indifferent and without beckon. He lectured himself on the drive to his new job, seeking confirmation that he would scrupulously perform his new duties. He didn’t want to let the chief down, and he was curious about the prepper business, but entering the squat building had stopped him cold. He wasn’t sure he could face police officers he’d known for years silently deriding or pitying him when they came through the facility for training and weapons qualification.
He’d been to the inconspicuous, beige building many times without giving it much thought, but today the tactical site stared back at him—boring and unfriendly—an insult to a man of his stature.
Who was he kidding? A man of his stature? He killed his wife and daughter, lost his son, brought shame on the officers in the Houston PD, suffered a demotion, and disappointed his mentor. Who the hell did he think he was? He stepped from his truck and entered his new inner sanctum.
“Hi, boss.” A young man in his late twenties poured the first cup of morning Joe from a full pot. “Take this. I just brewed it.”
“Thanks, and good morning, Dr. Hamilton. It’s good to see you again.” Grayson enjoyed a long sip of coffee.
“Please call me Mark.”
“Call me Grayson.”
The men shook hands.
“I enjoyed your class a few months ago on urban counter-ambush tactics, Mark. Great job.”
Mark downed a slug of coffee. “Thanks. We have a group of four officers for annual weapons qualification due any minute. Everything is ready. All you have to do is observe and sign off on their qualifying scorecards. You know the drill.”
“Did the chief give you a rundown on my latest woes?”
“Of course, he did; and I’ve seen the news reports. The liberal media has no principles, but I determine a man’s make-up based on my own opinion. If you’re worth a crap, we’ll work well together. If not, I’ll do my duty and treat you with the same respect you show me.”
“Can’t ask for more.” He took an immediate liking to Mark, a straight shooter. The big smile permanently plastered on Mark’s face was a refreshing change from the glances and dead-face stares he met at HQ the past few days.
“How did an economics professor become a weapons trainer and qualify for this job?”
“This is only a part-time position when I’m not teaching. My first real job was as an infantryman in the 75th Rangers.”
Grayson’s eyebrows lifted. “Iraq? Afghanistan?”
“Both. Sorry, but we’ll have to hold off getting to know each other and discussing the Houston MAG.”
“Houston what?”
Mark chuckled. “Mutual Assistance Group. We use the acronym MAG for prepper groups. Don’t worry, Grayson, it won’t take you long to get the hang of it. Right now, we need to get to the range. You know the officers here today, including Harold Weber. He can’t hit the broadside of a barn.”
“Yeah. He’s a choice Houston police officer.” Grayson’s voice trailed off. Just like me.
~~~
After barely scoring to qualify with his service weapon on the third try, Weber complained loudly. “How the hell do they expect us to qualify with these new shooting time limits? One minute ain’t enough time to aim and shoot a full magazine.”
Yeung chided him. “Hey, Weber. Nobody else seemed to have that problem.”
Mark lowered his voice to speak to Grayson. “I know he’s a problem, but what’s the real deal?”
“He’s got an enormous inferiority complex and is only marginally competent as a cop. Word is they hired him because he was the previous chief’s brother-in-law. During a major drug bust that included a high-speed chase, he accidentally wounded an undercover cop. If not for the union, he’d be gone….” As the words spilled from his mouth, Grayson’s blood ran cold. His voice faded to a whisper. “They only assign him paperwork…so nobody has to clean up behind him.”
“Grayson?” Mark withdrew his hand before touching him. Grayson’s face forewarned him.
“What? Yeah, he passed, barely.”
“Everybody qualified,” Grayson spoke to the officers. “Please recheck your areas for spent brass. Mark will enter your scores into your personal training record on the computer and provide your certificates.”
“Listen to the big deetective giving orders. How does it smell when you’re relegated from the top of the rose bush to the compost pile?”
The other cops gave Weber disapproving looks and stooped to retrieve their spent brass.
Weber wouldn’t let it go. “Must be pretty stinky.”
Grayson clenched his fists, but he didn’t take the bait.
Yolanda whispered a warning. “Back off Weber. You’re playing with fire.”
“Everybody knows the zero-tolerance policy for punching another officer.” His sense of power building, Weber stepped closer to Grayson, cocked his head, and stared up at him. “I hear the traffic around your neighborhood is much slower these days, fewer cars on the streets.”
Grayson’s vision washed in blood red. In a matter of seconds, Weber was on the ground holding his bloody, snot-dripping broken nose and mumbling a final threat through split lips. “You just ended your career, Detective Dean.”
Teeth gritted, Grayson responded. “It was worth it. You’re a sorry excuse for a cop and a pathetic excuse for a man. Don’t ever mention my family again, or it’ll be the last words you utter.”
Yolanda stooped to examine Weber. “Hey, man, that’s a terrible fall you took!”
“Yeah,” Yeung said. “Grayson warned us in the safety briefing about the top steps being wet and slippery. Too bad you lost your footing.”
Samuel glanced at Weber. “You need to see a doctor, and complete an accident report to explain how you fell. Maybe you’ll get paid time off for injuries received while on duty. Dickhead. Didn’t you listen when Instructor Dean gave the safety briefing about the top steps?”
Weber pulled himself upright in stunned silence, watching the others walk to their squad car.
“Weber! You want to ride back with us?” Yolanda called.
He glanced at Grayson whose expression sent him running to catch the others.
Grayson gave the three officers a nod of thanks as two of them returned his nod and the other gave a small salute.
In the car, Pablo spoke first. “Keep your stupid mouth shut about this if you know what’s good for you.”
Still holding his nose, Weber glared at them but said nothing.
Yeung whistled. “Grayson hits like a jackhammer.”
~~~
Mark read the post-combat-action look on Grayson’s face: dead stare, false air of calm, and a need for reflection and recovery. Grayson needed room.
“I’ll take care of the used targets and paperwork.” You’ll find sandwich-makings and soda for lunch in the refrigerator.”
Grayson thanked Mark and walked back to the building.
Chapter 11
A Friend in Need
Year 1
Mark and Grayson ate lunch in silence and worked their way through other officers’ evaluations throughout the day. When Grayson appeared approachable, Mark invited him to his favorite bar. “It’s Friday, the sun is low on the horizon, and I feel like a burger and a beer. Want to join me?”
The thought of going back to his house, no longer a sanctuary but a grinding malevolence, hit Grayson. “That sounds like a great idea, Ranger Mark. Where’s your favorite watering hole?”