Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

bites and picked through whatever meat remained. Their collective attention was focused outside.

  “Is he still alive?” Wayne asked while looking down at his lunch.

  Greene snickered and looked out the window. “Still alive.”

  Across the street, sitting in his usual pre-tour spot, was a fidgety Franklin. Shadowed in the square behind the Hall, he twitched and turned continuously to maintain a constant eye on his surroundings. Will noticed how nervous Franklin was, as the old man crossed his feet and legs in as many ways as his distracted mind wouldn’t notice.

  “I wish there was some other way,” Wayne stated. “I was never any good at all this covert business. Where’s Tallmadge when you need him?”

  “William, will you recognize these men if they arrive?” Greene inquired.

  “Yeah. They’ll stick out in the crowd,” Will answered. “What if they don’t show up?”

  “Then look forward to lots of lunches with us until they do,” Greene responded, “or until we can conceive some other way to track them. We’ve got nothing but time.”

  “You may; I don’t,” Will corrected.

  “Now you’re getting it,” Wayne encouraged with a smile.

  Will rolled his eyes. “Suppose we track them to wherever they’re hanging out, and manage to do it unnoticed. Then what? We negotiate with murderers? Go in guns blazing?”

  Greene and Wayne looked at each other.

  “It has worked in the past, but we haven’t agreed on that point yet,” Greene said. “I guess we’ve always had different commanding styles.”

  “To say the least,” Wayne dug.

  “How many times did the Pennsylvania line mutiny?” Greene said with a sarcastic tone. “Was it seven?”

  “No thanks to your supply lines Quartermaster General. Rhode Island troops, on the other hand, always seemed to be well fed.”

  “At least they don’t call me ‘Mad,’” said Greene.

  “Quaker,” Wayne insulted.

  Both turned away and grinned callously. Will’s left brow arched as he remembered Franklin’s remarks about the Founding Fathers’ contentious personalities. After just those few authentic quips, he was beginning to believe.

  “So, humor me,” Will drew their attention. “How does it work?”

  Greene responded after turning to look at another group of diners sitting within earshot. “The artifact? I suppose there is some divine science involved, if you’d like to refer to it as such. Of course there are limitations.”

  “It isn’t a suit of armor,” Wayne butted in. “More like a very powerful antibiotic.”

  “Generally, it staves off natural regressions to match the conditions of a celestial essence,” Greene added. “That being aging, disease, minor wounds and other non-lethal ailments. It’s not magic. The vessel itself is insignificant. It’s something in the blood, like a holy enzyme that combats the body’s degradation. It bolsters your immune system and responds to any anatomical threats with omnipotent extraction. Whether heavenly providence, or a miraculous genetic advancement, it aligns the human body with the continuity of its elements. You could say it follows a biological parallel to the principle of matter never ceasing to exist.”

  “Decapitation, burning, asphyxiation, dismemberment, disembowelment, massive hemorrhaging, or any other means of quick destruction will still have their desired effect,” Wayne added grimly.

  “I can’t tell you to apply it to religious observance,” Greene further explained. “Christ never appeared before us. The sky didn’t part. No chorus of angels. Saints never marched in blaring trumpets. All we know is what was told to us, and the measurable result that the consumption of the liquid in that bottle has had on our lives.”

  Just then a silhouette obscured the gleam of sunlight on Will’s face. Gathering on the other side of the window was a contingent of mean-looking sunglasses. Five large men, muscles bulging from their T-shirts, converged from different directions without bothering to shake hands. Each nodded, and then began scanning the intersection. Their faces creased and they began to sniff the air curiously. Suddenly spinning around, they all angled towards the restaurant window. Will frantically covered his face, and leaned away from the glass. Greene and Wayne looked to the street. The five men outside stared in, appearing to look directly at them. The Generals casually looked above them to the square. The outsiders gaze was fixated, but obscured from by the shades.

  “These windows are reflective, right?” Wayne asked.

  “Under normal circumstances,” Greene answered worryingly.

  “Are they still looking?” Will inquired.

  “Quite intently,” Greene’s voice emanated though his lips did not move.

  The outsiders whipped around to look at the square, and directed themselves right at Franklin. He, who was looking at them, turned with noticeable haste and tried to keep up his elderly facade. The five men crossed the street. When Will heard Greene and Wayne exhale simultaneously, he straightened back around.

  “They’re heading right for him,” Wayne gasped.

  Something clicked under the table, drawing Will’s attention to Wayne who had reached underneath. Greene put his hand on Wayne’s shoulder. “Hold on, cowboy.”

  Two other gangs crossed opposing corners. With perfect synchronization, they all touched down on the sidewalks framing the Hall. Franklin was completely surrounded. They fanned out, moving along the edges and creating a seamless perimeter. In militaristic fashion, one turned out to guard the street and the next turned back to watch the square. The pattern continued, as every other man positioned to create a perfect web of observation.

  “They know he’s not alone,” Wayne said.

  “Who’s that?” Greene asked looking back at Franklin.

  An older-looking man, having emerged mysteriously from the crowd, sat down next to Franklin on the bench. Casually, he propped a leg up on the opposite thigh. He then clasped his hands around his knee, and while lounging very ordinarily began to move his mouth. Franklin’s head turned slowly towards him. His back arched and his posture became acute. The diners then witnessed the other man turn his chest toward Franklin with more familiarity. With a patronizing smirk he spoke in a manner that made Franklin more rigid by the second.

  “William, do you know that man?” Greene asked.

  “No,” Will replied, “but he looks like the guy in charge.”

  “Well that didn’t take long,” said Wayne. “Now how do we extract Ben from this situation?”

  “As long as he doesn’t go anywhere with them, we can wait it out,” Greene said.

  The conversation only lasted a minute. The man got up and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He continued speaking with a condescending appearance, while standing menacingly over Franklin. When he was finished he checked his watch, turned, and began to walk away. Franklin remained motionless on the bench. With the same unceremonial departure, the men that circled the square began to reconvene and walk away. Still, Franklin didn’t move, he didn’t even turn to look.

  Will jumped up from his seat. He forced on his ball cap and sunglasses, tossed his napkin on his plate and pushed out his chair. Speedily, he got several steps away from the table before Greene and Wayne could react.

  “Where are you going?” Greene sputtered with surprise.

  Will turned and motioned. “That guy is going off by himself.”

  Greene hastily signaled for the check. Wayne got up in the same active manner, throwing down his napkin. Before either could join, however, Will had already dashed out of the restaurant.

  Halting abruptly at the curb, Will grimaced up at the ‘Do Not Cross’ signal. Traffic was streaming without interruption. Will jumped out, tried to run across, but was immediately thrown back by a chorus of horns. He looked to the square, where Franklin remained glued to the bench. The other man was gone.

  Will turned and shot off down the sidewalk, rocketing past the cars that weaved around in the left lane. He slithered between clustered touri
sts and businesspeople who cluttered his path. Upon reaching the next corner, he skidded to a stop again and frantically spun his head around in all directions.

  Behind him, one of the groups of men had crossed the street and gotten into a white van. From an alley beside the Hall, the man who had been sitting with Franklin emerged. He circled around a black Mercedes that was waiting, opened the passenger side door and slipped inside. It instantly pulled out into the lane and up to the light.

  With his eye trained on the car, Will crossed the intersection and raced to catch up. Its license plate was darkened with a tinted cover, but he could almost make it out. He bumped along as quickly as he could without knocking anyone down. The light changed and the car started to pull away. Will braked, flustered and out of breath as the vehicle accelerated out of reach.

  The crowd in front of colonial legislature looked normal again. All of the stalkers had scampered away and vanished into whatever rides brought them. Turning back, Will jogged up the alley. In the courtyard behind the structure, Franklin was still stuck to the bench with a glazed complexion. Will reached him just as Wayne and Greene did.

  “Did that guy talk to you?” Will asked Franklin.

  “He did.” Franklin said.

  “I couldn’t catch him, got in a car, couldn’t see the license plate,” Will explained doggedly.

  “Wouldn’t have done us any good,” Franklin responded.

  “What did he say?” Greene inquired.

  “We are to meet him at Isaac Potts’ house on Sunday