by Ryan Garner
“There are quite a few reasons, but for starters you should know I wasn’t always this well off…” he said to Jessie making sure to add a bit of sadness into his tone. “I grew up in a small South Carolina town where my father worked in a factory and my mother owned and managed a small clothing store. I was able to see firsthand the struggles my parents were put through by big corporations who viewed their employees as little more than replaceable assets. I also saw the exploitation committed by right wing government officials who only wanted to make the rich, richer and the poor, poorer.” Darren had told his life’s story to so many people, so many times before that he had perfected his sentimental monologue.
“Thanks in part to my baseball scholarship and of course my parent’s hard work I was the first one in my family to finish college and I can remember how proud my family was of me when I was accepted into law school.” Darren paused for a brief moment as a group of college students went jogging by.
“Sadly, I wasn’t even considered much of a lawyer for quite a while. That is until I won my case against Craven County’s paramedics for their use of improper CPR procedures and training.” Jessie again nodded his head in response.
“After that things finally began to fall into place for me, but just as I was beginning to make a difference for people in this state and maybe even the country and right in the middle of my appeals court case against Duke Hospital, President Jordan shut down all the federal courts.” Darren’s tone shifted to one of noticeable animosity as he finished his sentence. He then hesitated for another moment.
“I could have made such a difference in those people’s lives if I had just been given the chance.” he said allowing his voice to shift into a more somber tone. Darren always made certain to hit that sympathetic note when referring to his last case.
“After they shut down the courts…that was when I realized what my true calling was.”
Jessie was visibly impressed by the recollection of events, just as Darren intended. He knew that he had taken some serious “artistic license” with certain aspects of his life and career, but ensuring that his influence would continue to be both heard and felt was far more important than mere facts.
“Well…” Darren said as he stood slowly, taking a last glance over at the volleyball nets. “I do believe I must go as I have several other pressing matters to attend to.” Jessie stood with him.
“Always good to see you.” he said as both men shook hands before parting ways.
....
Nasir Malik Zahir Kamil tensed his body and his eyes flared with rage as he stood silently in his hotel room staring at the flat screen television which sat on the dresser in front of him. Other than these two pieces of furniture, the bed, and a small table where he could eat, the modest room contained little else. The news report that he was currently watching dealt with the previously reported Israeli counterattack on Iran's capital and the current high state of tension within the Middle East. He clenched his fist as the news reporter spoke of the lack of intervention by any other country. Kamil heard the plastic in the TV remote which he held in his hand begin to crack as he tightened his fingers around it and his jaw clenched as the news report of the airstrike continued. To Kamil the only people he hated more than the American infidels were the Israeli swine. If he had his way he would kill every last one of them...preferably in a slow and painful way. Allah willing, he would live to see that day. Just then, there was a light tapping on his front door. Kamil glanced over towards the sound with an annoyed look on his face and then back at the TV before turning it off and angrily tossing the remote onto the dresser as he walked over to the entrance to his room.
Opening the door he observed a young female who he assumed could not be over 18 years of age, if that. She had short hair that did not even reach her shoulders and was dyed a bright orange color. She had applied dark mascara around her icy green eyes, and thanks to her somewhat heavy handed application of makeup it was obvious to Kamil that the girl was trying to make herself appear older than she actually was. With the life that she was now living he knew she wouldn’t have to wait long before her youthful look had been completely stripped away.
Her clothing consisted of a blue denim jacket and a dark colored tank top that was cut well above her midriff that easily exposed her stomach piercing and the tattoos on her hip and lower back. However, this also displayed the girl’s somewhat emaciated appearance. She was thin enough that he could see her pelvic bones which her extremely short black skirt fit snugly around. She wore five inch black heels and their finish was somewhat scuffed and worn; more than likely caused by walking the streets for countless hours on end.
Kamil slowly looked the young female up and down. She certainly was not the “classiest” of women, nor the most expensive that he could have afforded, but for what he planned neither of those aspects mattered. When his dark brown eyes met hers, she gave him a faint smile.
“You'll do...” he finally said as he stepped away from the door allowing the girl to walk into his room.
“What's your name?” he asked bluntly as she made her way inside. The girl momentarily glanced around the room taking note of Kamil’s Spartan living conditions. For an unknown reason she immediately felt that there was something different about this client. She had been with many men and some women in her young life and the frequency of her intimate encounters had given her the skills to read people relatively well. At this point she already suspected that something here was “off.” She immediately sensed a feeling of apprehension creeping over her.
Nevertheless, no matter how creepy this particular guy might be, she knew that to refuse him would mean that at best she would go hungry for yet another night. At worst she would face the wrath of her “employer” for disappointing a customer; a very well paying customer for that matter. Over time she had gained an ability to switch off her own personal feelings of fear, regret, shame, disgust, or anything else that might interfere with her work. Instead she let herself slip into the role that she was expected to play. She didn't particularly like the word “whore”, but she found that was what most people expected her to be. Still, there were days when she needed something a bit stronger than her own innate abilities to quell her nearly overwhelming emotions. She had an intense feeling that today would be one of those days.
“Samantha...” She responded in a placid voice as she gracefully made her way to the middle of the room, pulling her jacket off and tossing it onto the bed. Kamil followed a few feet behind her as she walked past it.
“What's your name?” she asked as she turned to face him. Kamil frowned in response.
“My name is not important.” He said gruffly. Samantha nodded her head.
“Fair enough.” she responded. It was not the first time a man had not wanted to share his name with her and it was by far not the most unusual part of her life. Names didn't matter much as long as she was paid. Samantha walked closer to Kamil.
“Care to get started?” she asked in a playful voice as she moved in closer to him.
“Very well...” Kamil responded in a flat tone as Samantha wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Jerald said you had some very particular tastes, care to enlighten me?” She asked still keeping the flirtatious tone in her voice. Kamil did not respond, or even move for that matter. He just continued to stare at Samantha with eyes that were dead and lifeless. It sent a cold shiver down her spine, but she again ignored her own instincts. After all if she refused to take every macabre client that had hired her, she would never make any money. When Kamil did not respond Samantha raised her eyebrows slightly and gave him another smile.
“Well?...” she asked as she shifted her voice to a more seductive one.
Suddenly, and before Samantha knew what had happened, Kamil grabbed a fist full of hair on the back of her scalp and forcefully brought her head back. She gasped in surprise. This was not the first time this particular act had been done to her, but the sheer lack of warning was start
ling to say the least. There was something else though; it was becoming frighteningly clear that Samantha could no longer deny her suspicions and that something was terribly wrong here. She felt her heart rate skyrocket and her breathing pattern increased rapidly as Kamil roughly forced her over to the bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked the playfulness in her voice was now completely gone, replaced only by anxiety. Kamil did not respond and a split second later he nearly threw her down onto the bed. Before Samantha knew what was happening he was on top of her holding her down. Next she felt him tugging and tearing at her clothes; Samantha tried to struggle against him, but he had her completely overpowered. She was growing more terrified by the second and she could not help by cry out in fear. Kamil quickly silenced her by placing his hand tightly over her mouth. Samantha was now panicking as Kamil continued his vicious assault on her body; she knew she was completely helpless and prayed that she would be lucky enough to survive this encounter.
…..
Hundreds of protestors many of whom wore black or dark colored masks, swarmed through the streets and adjoining sidewalk areas located between the numerous downtown Wilmington buildings. Screaming and yelling and at times throwing glass bottles or whatever other kind of debris that they were able to find, the protestors taunted the awaiting police riot squads that stood before them. What had started out as a somewhat peaceful, albeit agitated protest had now taken on a much more violent tone with the Occupy Congress protestors growing more aggressive by the minute.
High above the crowd was one of Wilmington PD’s SABLE helicopter units. Its thudding blades could easily be heard throughout the area as it hovered above the city allowing its multiple cameras to give a bird’s eye view to the mobile command center which had been established away from the scene and early on in the protest.
At a much lower altitude were two of the police department’s Dragonfly UAV’s. The small aircrafts darted about quickly in the air as masked protestor futilely attempted to hit them with different forms of debris. Their size and agile nature made it virtually impossible for the perpetrators to strike them.
Dozens of police officers had amassed in the area, but at least for the moment they had not advanced on the growing crowd. Forty of Wilmington PD’s Mobile Field Force anti-riot squad officers stood out in front of the larger mass of officers. They faced the protestors in a right echelon formation that extended from one side of the street to the other. Each MFF officer was equipped with various pieces of riot gear including a helmet with an impact resistant plastic face shield, gasmask, full head to toe body armor, riot shield, and a four foot wooden baton. Immediately behind the first row of Mobile Field Force officers was a second row. They stood at the ready to fill in any gaps should the officers in the front lines need to momentarily drop back.
Directly behind the Mobile Field Force units were several more officers who were equipped with modified 40mm M-32 grenade launchers which contained tear gas grenade rounds. A few yards behind these men were two Humvees; both vehicles had Active Denial Systems mounted to their roofs. What appeared to be nothing more than large satellite dishes, the ADS systems actually produced microwave energy waves that when focused on an individual or group of individuals produced a shockingly similar sensation to being on fire. The system had proven itself time and time again at being an excellent way to disperse large crowds without actually injuring anyone. In addition to the ADS systems the Humvee’s were equipped with loudspeakers which at the moment were being utilized by a supervisor to order the crowd to immediately disperse or face arrest.
Behind the Humvees were a few dozen more officers who were also equipped with modified forms of riot gear similar to what the Mobile Field Force officers wore. John stood next to Chris and the rest of his squad in a staggered line. Depending on the severity of the incident and at the discretion of the Chief of Police the MFF could be given an order to move into the crowd to push them back. Tear gas would be deployed beforehand and the Active Denial Systems would be activated to assist in the dispersal. If all went well the crowd would dissipate at a relatively rapid pace, and John and the rest of the officers would move in behind the riot squads to arrest any stragglers that had not vacated the area.
….
Wilmington Police Chief Herman Stickel sat quietly inside the WPD’s mobile command center. A large and well equipped RV with numerous sets of computers, cameras, video feeds, radios, and various other pieces of technological equipment it took at least six officers to man the impressive vehicle. Standing close by Chief Stickel was Kent Fearon, a Lieutenant with the NGP; he and two of his National Governing Police comrades had arrived within an hour of the Occupy Congress protest breaking out. A well-built and fit male, Lieutenant Fearon had yet to display a single emotion. The officers who had already encountered him had noted that when they looked into his ice cold blue eyes it was immediately apparent that they were being evaluated and assessed; the man was almost machine like in nature. His NGP dress uniform was perfectly pressed with not a wrinkle on it and his dress hat which covered his close cut blond hair was tucked under his left arm.
Lieutenant Fearon had been poised motionless for several minutes in front of the video displays monitoring the protest that was unfolding approximately one mile away from the mobile command center. A Sergeant sat in front of him typing away at a laptop, controlling the different sets of cameras and viewpoints which were currently being displayed. Fearon looked as if he were deep in thought; nevertheless no one was foolish enough to assume that he was not acutely aware of everything that was going on inside of the RV.
Chief Stickel stood up from the small chair where he had been sitting and walked over to the video display.
“I believe we’ll give them a few more minutes to disperse. If they don’t we’ll use the ADS systems to try and break them up first.” He said as his eyes scanned over all the monitors.
Lieutenant Fearon slowly glanced over his right shoulder at Stickel. It was subtle, but he appeared to be annoyed at the fact that Wilmington’s Police Chief had dared to even speak to him without first being spoken to. This was the first visible display of emotion that anyone had seen from the Lieutenant since he had arrived.
“No…” Fearon responded in a flat and emotionless tone. “We’ve wasted enough time here already. “Activate the ADS systems and launch several rounds of tear gas into the crowd. Wait a few minutes for both countermeasures to take effect and then send in your riot squads. Arrest any of the stragglers.”
“It’s not our department’s policy to engage in such heavy handed measures so quickly.” Stickel responded in an exasperated tone. Lieutenant Fearon immediately turned towards the chief and took a half step forwards almost forcing Stickel to take a step back.
“Chief Stickel!” he snapped, “…Your department’s policies are none of my concern.” Even though the Police Chief was more than half a foot taller and probably fifty pounds heavier than the NGP lieutenant; Fearon had a look on his face that seemed to imply that he would break Stickel in half if the man were to ever dare to cross him again.
“If you are foolish enough to choose to disobey one of my orders I will simply relieve you of your command and have one of my officers take you into custody and charge you with interfering with a federal investigation.” Fearon paused momentarily in order to allow for the weight of his words to sink in.
“Now do as I have instructed officer…” Fearon spoke in a snide tone making sure not to call Stickel by his appointed rank, “…or I’ll find someone who will.” he then added. The sergeant who was sitting in front of Fearon, jaw nearly dropped open when he heard the NGP Lieutenant talk to his chief in such a contemptuous way. The entire room fell deathly quiet as all of the other officers immediately stopped what they were doing and looked on in a state of shock as a dumfounded Chief Stickel took another step away from Fearon and momentarily stood speechless.
After a few seconds of eerie silence Stickel looked over at the officer who was sitt
ing at a table which had a laptop and a radio control console connected to it. Stuttering, out of fear he spoke, “Do…do as he says.”
The officer who appeared as if he was almost scared for his own life immediately nodded before turning and beginning to talk into the small microphone which sat in front of him.
“Thank you Chief…” Fearon stated in an arrogant voice as he turned and looked back at the monitors which were before him. The ghostly hush remained inside of the mobile command center as Chief Stickel stood quietly with a humiliated look on his face.
…..
Several consecutive hollow thuds echoed off the walls of the concrete and steel buildings as the 40mm tear gas grenade rounds were launched into the large crowd of Occupy Congress protestors. Shortly after their deployment the air was filled with the white, noxious, burning gas. John watched as the metal framed dishes of the Active Denial Systems which were affixed to the black Humvee’s began to slowly pan back and forth exposing the crowd to the unseen microwave energy beams. Numerous rioters attempted to flee the moment they began to experience the effects of the ADS system. While some sought safety by trying to vacate the area or hide behind objects, others just attempted to find different locations from where they could hurl objects or obscenities at the awaiting Police Officers who still stood in formation in front of the unruly crowd. For a few people in the crowd who were now merely attempting to escape, the confusion caused by the deployment of tear gas and use of the Active Denial Systems made fleeing the scene quite difficult and several of them were already beginning to panic; this only further enflamed the chaos.
Minutes after the deployment of the tear gas and ADS systems the Mobile Field Force units began to slowly march towards the mob. As the officers moved forward they all simultaneously rapped their wooden batons against their riot shields which produced an intimidating drum like sound as they closed in on the crowd. The officers with the tear gas grenade launchers and ADS units followed close behind the advancing wall of officers.