by Patrick Sipperly (Visual Prompt ~ Bench Photo)
His line of work isn't found in the Yellow Pages. He doesn't have a website. There is no storefront for his services and the woman seated next to him in the gray Taurus SHO isn't his wife. He once referred to himself as a metals distributor. Every so often he would deliver small amounts of lead up to a mile away at over 2,800 feet per second to an unsuspecting receiver. Thirty days earlier, he'd sent a package into the chest of a man who made a living making girls disappear.
He let the engine idle while he studied the two and three story buildings that lined up near the edge of the park. Every minute or so he looked up to the rear view mirror. An old wooden park bench, wearing a fresh blanket of snow, rested dead center in the reflective glass.
“Traffic should be light heading south tomorrow,” Sylvia said. “East is a good option too.”
“More snow?”
“No. Clear and cold.”
“If it's too cold he won't be out walking his dog,” Mike said. “Some of these old farts don't like the cold.”
Sylvia looked down to the papers and email print outs on her lap. Some had sticky notes or yellow highlighted sections.
“He's like clockwork when he's in town, Mike. I think he'll come. He likes this park. If not, it won't be because it's cold out. The slime is all ice inside. He's probably right at home in all this snow.”
Mike considered his passenger for a moment. “You don't look the type.”
“Oh? We have a type now?”
“I didn't mean it like that,” he said.
“A little too Suzy Homemaker for you? I might have some Resistance grunge in my purse if that would help.”
Mike shook his head and chuckled. “Never mind. You're perfect, actually. I'd never guess you were Resistance.”
The low rumble of the car engine was the only sound seeping into the warm cabin.
“They took my kids about a year and a half ago,” she began. “A botched drug bust at the wrong address. The cops came in through the door with Protective Services right behind them. They thought I was a dealer. Instead of finding crack they saw our Bibles and freaked out. They turned our house upside down without a warrant, took Amy and Joel, six and eight at the time. Kept them for three weeks, 'pending an investigation'. When they were finally returned, they weren't the same. Mentally and physically abused in state care. Severely abused. No apologies, no one was fired, no reprimands, no press.”
“What about your husband?”
“I lost my husband in Iraq back '04.”
“Sorry to hear that, Silvia.”
She nodded. “Thanks. Anyway, something's bad wrong when the government can just kick in the door and ruin your life. I used to think my parents were a little crazy. Always talking about the country's going to hell in a hand basket. I know now I've been the crazy one. Living life with my head in the sand. It's got to stop somehow.”
Mike searched the terrain again. “Got to contain the sound. He'll have Secret Service around him.” Mike tapped the steering wheel. “I don't like these buildings. What about a vehicle?” he asked. “We could put blankets up on the inside. Keep the brass from getting away.”
Sylvia nodded. “That's good,” she said before straightening her papers and closing the her notebook. “Do you think we'll ever be looked at as patriots instead of terrorists?”
“I wouldn't hold my breath.” Mike looked back to his passenger. “I don't expect too many people to understand or agree. But I took an oath once to defend our country and Constitution from all enemies foreign and domestic. Just because a person is elected to public office doesn't exempt him or her from being that enemy.”
Mike kept his hands below the window and pointed to his 10 o'clock position. “See where the trees thin out just this side of the road?”
“Yeah.”
“We can make things happen from there. Then drive up to 6th street. There's a donation drop box where we can toss the blankets and all the GSR. We'll ditch the ride near that repair shop across from the hotel. No one's gonna notice it for a day or two.”
“How are we carrying everything out?”
Mike scratched the side of his face and shifted his Ford into drive.
He drove near the thin treeline then down 6th street. In the same parking lot as Uncle Tom's Auto Repair was a newer All Hours Fitness. Fifteen minutes and a courtesy tour later, Mike and Sylvia had two complementary 3-day memberships.
When they were back in the car, Mike continued talking his thoughts. “Let's dress for workouts. Hats and gloves too. Hardware goes in the gym bags and locked in our shower room lockers while we change. We'll park this car over there close to the exit. We go in looking like snow bunnies hitting the gym, but come out looking ready for a night on the town carrying gym bags.”
“Sounds clean,” she said. “Works for me.”
A half smile formed across Mike's face. Nothing was ever really that clean; that perfect. But the plan seemed solid enough for now.
“Are we car shopping now?” she asked.
“Yes we are. I think Suzy Homemaker needs a minivan.”
His line of work isn't found in the Yellow Pages. He doesn't have a website. There is no storefront for his services and the woman seated next to him in the gray Taurus SHO isn't his wife. He once referred to himself as a metals distributor. Every so often he would deliver small amounts of lead up to a mile away at over 2,800 feet per second to an unsuspecting receiver. Thirty days earlier, he'd sent a package into the chest of a man who made a living making girls disappear.
He let the engine idle while he studied the two and three story buildings that lined up near the edge of the park. Every minute or so he looked up to the rear view mirror. An old wooden park bench, wearing a fresh blanket of snow, rested dead center in the reflective glass.
“Traffic should be light heading south tomorrow,” Sylvia said. “East is a good option too.”
“More snow?”
“No. Clear and cold.”
“If it's too cold he won't be out walking his dog,” Mike said. “Some of these old farts don't like the cold.”
Sylvia looked down to the papers and email print outs on her lap. Some had sticky notes or yellow highlighted sections.
“He's like clockwork when he's in town, Mike. I think he'll come. He likes this park. If not, it won't be because it's cold out. The slime is all ice inside. He's probably right at home in all this snow.”
Mike considered his passenger for a moment. “You don't look the type.”
“Oh? We have a type now?”
“I didn't mean it like that,” he said.
“A little too Suzy Homemaker for you? I might have some Resistance grunge in my purse if that would help.”
Mike shook his head and chuckled. “Never mind. You're perfect, actually. I'd never guess you were Resistance.”
The low rumble of the car engine was the only sound seeping into the warm cabin.
“They took my kids about a year and a half ago,” she began. “A botched drug bust at the wrong address. The cops came in through the door with Protective Services right behind them. They thought I was a dealer. Instead of finding crack they saw our Bibles and freaked out. They turned our house upside down without a warrant, took Amy and Joel, six and eight at the time. Kept them for three weeks, 'pending an investigation'. When they were finally returned, they weren't the same. Mentally and physically abused in state care. Severely abused. No apologies, no one was fired, no reprimands, no press.”
“What about your husband?”
“I lost my husband in Iraq back '04.”
“Sorry to hear that, Silvia.”
She nodded. “Thanks. Anyway, something's bad wrong when the government can just kick in the door and ruin your life. I used to think my parents were a little crazy. Always talking about the country's going to hell in a hand basket. I know now I've been the crazy one. Living life with my head in the sand. It's got to stop somehow.”
Mike searched the terrain again. “Got to contain the sound. He'll have Secret Service around him.” Mike tapped the steering wheel. “I don't like these buildings. What about a vehicle?” he asked. “We could put blankets up on the inside. Keep the brass from getting away.”
Sylvia nodded. “That's good,” she said before straightening her papers and closing the her notebook. “Do you think we'll ever be looked at as patriots instead of terrorists?”
“I wouldn't hold my breath.” Mike looked back to his passenger. “I don't expect too many people to understand or agree. But I took an oath once to defend our country and Constitution from all enemies foreign and domestic. Just because a person is elected to public office doesn't exempt him or her from being that enemy.”
Mike kept his hands below the window and pointed to his 10 o'clock position. “See where the trees thin out just this side of the road?”
“Yeah.”
“We can make things happen from there. Then drive up to 6th street. There's a donation drop box where we can toss the blankets and all the GSR. We'll ditch the ride near that repair shop across from the hotel. No one's gonna notice it for a day or two.”
“How are we carrying everything out?”
Mike scratched the side of his face and shifted his Ford into drive.
He drove near the thin treeline then down 6th street. In the same parking lot as Uncle Tom's Auto Repair was a newer All Hours Fitness. Fifteen minutes and a courtesy tour later, Mike and Sylvia had two complementary 3-day memberships.
When they were back in the car, Mike continued talking his thoughts. “Let's dress for workouts. Hats and gloves too. Hardware goes in the gym bags and locked in our shower room lockers while we change. We'll park this car over there close to the exit. We go in looking like snow bunnies hitting the gym, but come out looking ready for a night on the town carrying gym bags.”
“Sounds clean,” she said. “Works for me.”
A half smile formed across Mike's face. Nothing was ever really that clean; that perfect. But the plan seemed solid enough for now.
“Are we car shopping now?” she asked.
“Yes we are. I think Suzy Homemaker needs a minivan.”