Boston

The sub basement smells musty
Scurrying and scratching noises assure me I'm not alone
A rat flits across the light from my light
My companion is quiet behind me
We don't speak as we pick our path through the neatly stacked items

"осторожность излучения"

I see those words and know I'm where I should be
The large container is on a wheeled dolly
My companion and I each take an end
Firmly grasping the handles
Pushing against the 600 pounds at rest
Setting it in motion

Back though the neat stacks of items
Squirreled away for god knows what
Never to be used again
Whether needed or not

The freight elevator's door gapes
The upper cage door looking like a giant set if teeth
We roll our cargo inside it's maw
Pulling the gate down with a mechanical crunch

My companion grasps the brassed handle of the ancient elevator
The old lift mechanism pulling us upwards
The ride is long and slow
My hand reaches out and grasps his
An unconscious need for courage
He grips me back gently
All the way to the fortieth floor
Never saying a word
Both of us with eyes front
Watching the slow passage of each floor

Caged outer door
Then floor structure
Conduits, steel, pipes
Repeated in order
Forty times

The top of the shaft is reached
We drop our hands from one another's
The cage jaws once again opening to release us
Turning to the container
Pushing its bulk out of the elevator
Down a short hall to a room on the north exterior wall
I take a knee in front of the box
Cyrillic writing telling me what to do
I proceed as it advises

Unlatch the eight latches and remove the lid
Insert key
Turn counter clockwise ninety degrees
When lights and screen turn on rotate key clockwise one hundred eighty degrees

Red lights glow
An old computer screen built into the control panel comes to life
Giving everything a green tint in the gloom
Instructions stream down the screen
I ignore most of them

No, this isn't a test
No, I don't want a delay timer
Yes, I do want to detonate

"Пожалуйста, подождите, внутренние тесты, чтобы занять несколько секунд"
(Please wait, internal tests to take a few seconds)

I turn to my stalwart companion
My eyes meeting his
I embrace him with love
Our lips meet in a final kiss

How better to spend these few seconds?

Still holding him tightly
I turn my head to look at the panel
All the lights were glowing warmly
The screen advising its last command
"turn key 90 degrees clockwise"

And with my partner held close
That's what I do

Helena

Faggot!
You cocksucking traitor faggot!
Fuck you!

He spat the words at me
Through his broken teeth
His split lips
The gash where his nose used to be
Spittle and blood flying as he yelled his obscenities at me
The cold fluorescent lights of the file storage room bright
Reflecting off the red sheen covering his face
Like the skin of a red apple
Held in your hand in the late summer sun

I looked back at him calmly.
Looking at a piece of paper in my hand
“You are Samuel Pelkin, personal aide to Senator Hughes
You know everything that he does, every day.
You need to tell me where I can find him.”

Samuel started crying again
Tears running down the mess I’d made of his face
Body shaking with sobs
Straining to reach me
Not to harm me
Not at this point

To beg my mercy

I hadn’t wanted to do this
But the ends justified the means
I believed it
What else were we doing this for?
Except for change
Very very big change

Senator Hughes was the last state elected official in Montana
All the rest of them
From the Governor down to the freshest Representative
Were either strung up on the gallows we’d hastily put up on the lawn
Or laid out nearby
Each with a sign around their neck
Telling all who they were
And why

Montana had gone well otherwise
Minimal civilian casualties
Central command was pleased

This one last detail had to be wrapped up though
The last rogue Senator had to be found
And this Samuel bastard knows where he is
I just know it

So I put him to the question once again
Again he denies that he knows

After a little more persuasion
More swearing
More tears
He tells me about four locations the Senator might be

Unfortunately for him
We’ve already looked in them
Quite thoroughly

So I get more creative
I break out the razor blades
The floor grows slippery with Samuel’s blood
He isn’t screaming anymore
It’s my voice raised now

“Tell me! Tell me! Tell me where he is!”

Samuel never speaks again
I asked him a little too hard
A little too much
I’m sort of new at this

The door bursts open
One of my lieutenants bursts in
Takes one look around, and doubles up, vomiting
After he heaves his guts out
His lunch mixing with what’s left of Samuel on the floor
He turns his pale face to me
Voice shaking

“We found him
We found Hughes
He was hiding in a car in the parking garage”

Looking at me
Then down at Samuel
Then back at me

“Jesus Christ, Nick…….why….”

I don’t have time for this pansy.

“Clean this up! I’m calling the General.
I don’t want to see anybody for at least an hour”

My boots striking the marble floor of the statehouse
Making a satisfying noise
As I leave the room

Honolulu

The tall grasses in Makiki Heights completely hide me from view
Waving in an imitation of the nearby ocean
Moonlight illuminating all in a platinum glow
Distant voices sound as murmurs in the bright night
I wish to call out to them
But I cannot
The breath won't come
The strength deserts me

My thoughts travel
To a safer place
An oak tree hard against my back
Instead of rocky volcanic soil
Casting out a line again and again
An effortless repetition of motion
Rather than an impossible one
Such as calling for help
A beer in my right hand
Sweating in the humidity
Hanging like a veil in the Georgia summer day
Instead of holding a gaping wound in my belly
On this balmy Hawaiian early morning

I reluctantly look down
Every millimeter of movement an effort
To see blood
Black as the night should be
Seeping past my fingers in a relentless flow
Almost
I can see the pulses of my heartbeat in the current
But not quite
I expect I'll be able to before long
If I'm still conscious

I hear the head count being taken
I hear myself being missed
My name being cautiously called out
I can't answer

The voices grow softer
Footsteps crunching on the gravel road
Doors slam
A Chevy Suburban starts and pulls away
One unconscious Senator heavier
One foot soldier light

The man in the moon
Gazing at me intently
His features crisp in the lunar soil
I stare back
Nothing more to do
Grasses waving lazily around me
Longing for the riverbank in Georgia
Dying in this field in Hawaii
An unmarked grave
In the grassy sea

Albany

The stench wafted through the cabin
I roared a warning in the form of a question
"Alright! Who cut the cheese!"
The quarters were cramped
And the mood was ugly
Bowels were nervous
And were spouting gaseous opinion

But couldn't they wait until the damned door was open?

The armored personnel carrier crouched in the shadows
A converted heavy Duty GMC truck
Twenty men sat woodenly on the mirror image benches
Running lengthwise on the walls
Converted AK-47's set to three shot fire
A little rock and roll and a hint of conservation
Guerrilla warfare for the green generation
Waste not want not
And the ammo wasn't endless
The shooting better be done quickly
Or our goose is cooked

At the appointed hour
And precise minute
The engine roared to life
The chassis assumed motion
Forward ho! Into the streets
Downtown Albany becoming a moving picture
As viewed through the gun ports
People staring as our APC drove through town
One of two dozen vehicles
All approaching four separate targets
From different routes
With any luck most would make it to the kill zone
Any that didn't
Well you're on your own

A police car tries to stop us
Clearly interpreting us as out of the ordinary
But we don't stop
Our Sergeant barks out an order
Two of us stand up in the rear
The next two men forward grabbing their belts to steady them
Gun barrels poke out of the gun ports
Two three round bursts
Suddenly the police car is not following us anymore

Thirty seconds later we come to a halt
Almost like a ballet
We move as one unit
Ten of us charging into the Capitol building
Through the Classical arches
Neutralizing the guards
Who all wisely surrendered to us on sight
Four men secure the front of the building
Six men running across the plaza
To secure the exits of the connecting tunnels into the Capitol

Three other units arrived within seconds of our own
Each mirroring our deployment
Covering the doors to the Assembly Chamber
Attaching explosives to the now locked doors
On the concussion we charged into the smoke to the chamber
It was all over except the hanging

With a few pockets of resistance at three police stations
The center of the city is secured
Satellite uplink in place next to the pre-assembled gallows
We've got room for six at a time
The rest will get laid out on the ground in a straight line
Signs pre made with each officials name upon it
And a statement proclaiming him to be a part of the corrupt system inscribed

The first six soon to be ex-lawmakers are ushered up the short set of stairs
Nooses secured around their necks
Their faces grim and confused
It's been exactly thirty-four minutes since we jumped out of the APC
The soldier holding the video camera walked a little closer for a better shot

At 2:35 pm ET
On the button
I pull the lever for the first time

Out with the old!

Money

The money flows

As any fool knows

It finds it's own level

And that isn't in the nooks and the crannies

The hands of fools and wise grannies

It's in the mahogany coffers

Of the old families

At least in the amounts that matter

And here come the Saints

Blessing us with coin

To purchase many things

Influence

Not enough to finish the job

But enough to get started

Softening certain laws

Hardening others

Putting people in positions

To suppress certain responses

It's the long game we played

Not as long as some

But long enough for me

All thanks to the Saints

The coin for the gunrunner

The weapons dealer most rare

Not one

But many

Some looking like bums

Others flashy debonair

The guns you now know of

The bombs not so much

Ten briefcase bombs

Though less like briefcases

More like trunks

Five hundred pound trunks

With Cyrillic writing

Carefully translated

For our careful pleasure

Ten cases of death

Radioactive and unclean

Places near the most troublesome spots

Out of sight and unseen

With luck

None will be the wiser

But if required to show strength

I'll not be the miser

Better to slay one million for a good cause

Than to leave a billion in bondage

The needs of the many

You know the drill

But don't worry your little head over it

I'll be the one to swallow that pill

The Saints of the Revolution

Blessed me with funding

Sharp swords and rabbit holes

Nuclear weapons and rolling armor

Will negate all the debate

And hit much harder

With money under the skids

Helping to accelerate

This Revolution

Guns

Dirty boxes
Row upon row of them
Stacked eight high
Disappearing from my sight
outside the circle of light
Cast by the lone overhead at this end of the warehouse


On the top of the dirty crate in front of me
A few samples sat
One half wrapped in oil cloth
Covered in cosmoline
The other darkly shining
Clean and pristine

My trucks and men waited outside
Armed and on alert
For anything out of the ordinary
Nonchalantly eating sandwiches and sipping on coffee
One hand always close to their weapons
My Polish friend across from me
Doubtless having taken similar precautions

But we were both in earnest that day
Him to have me buy
Myself to have him sell
We haggled good naturedly for last minute perks
I got two more crates in the deal
Along with ten gross of matching uniform shirts
We were both pretty happy

A toast was poured to seal the deal
Drank in salute to one another
I called my men to invite them in
He called his to open the overhead door
They even helped us load up

Now on the dusty west Texas highway
Our convoy was spaced out over ten miles
Twenty semi trailers of arms and ammunition
To be placed in the hands of American soldiers
Not the regular army
Though an army just the same
Spread out across the country
Under the guise of numerous militia groups
Weekend gun clubs
Even a PTA in Illinois

This will help put us on track
For the next step for America
A second revolution
Out with the old
and in with the new

Tomorrow's breakfast at the cafe
I can share the good news
We've got our guns
The short game is afoot
The until now vague and near future date
Can now be penciled in

This is our last resort
To protect America from itself
The tyranny of a puppet government
Controlled by a deep pocketed few

Revolution!
We are still recruiting
Care to join in?

Lawyers

Across the street from the Statehouse
Our weekly luncheon was going smoothly
The two State Senators in attendance
Each paired up with a young single lady
And a never emptying plate of fine cuisine
Too pleased to go along with proposed bills as agreed
On this major day of lawmaking
Money well spent it would seem

After lunch
We bade goodbye to the Senators
With an invitation for next week
And do please bring your friends
Can’t make too many friends in the legislature
It helps when the laws need to be changed
For as good a lawyer as one can be
Every now and then you get backed into a corner
That’s when the special phone numbers can come in handy
A Senator here
A Representative there
The odd Federal Judge or two
All the grease on those heavy wheels

Today was April first
My group of associates here
Most of us from different firms
Were quite a diverse group
I was totally expecting a prank or two
But none had so far reared it’s head

I thought it was time to change all that
And I readied a stink bomb
Just a little stinky thing
I’d bought in a small shop across the lawn
I lit the fuse
Threw it under the table
And nonchalantly walked away
Giggling quietly to myself

Just then everything went to hell

The whole building shook
And I lost my footing
Rolling under a table
Panic in my eyes as I looked back where I’d been
I thought something had gone wrong with my stink bomb
Don’t laugh
I was a bit in shock
Not thinking clearly
I barely could process what I was seeing
Looking across the restaurant and out the shattered front window

The State house was on fire
And half of it was gone
There were armed men running around shouting
Flashes of light
Speeding vehicles
Not really making sense
Not making any sound
I touched my hand to my left ear
Coming away with a little blood
I threw up my fine lunch
And lay down on the soft carpeted floor
Curled up into a ball
A grown man in the fetal position
Wrapped in an Armani suit
Biting my thumb
And desperately hoping
That today wasn’t the day
That they come to hang all the lawyers