Crowns and Cabals Page 7

  “Basically it means if someone wrongs you, then you wrong him back. This mentality does change in the New Testament, but I am beginning to prefer the old to the new.”

  “So if the government steals from you, then you steal from them? Isn’t that suicide?” I asked.

  “Well, yes, at this point. Guess it’s more of a pipe dream. We got to take it right now.”

  “What if there was a way, a way in which we didn’t get caught?”

  “Like steal from these U.N. assholes because they stole our homes? Jaxie, what are you going to steal? Units? What is a unit and how do you steal it from someone’s microchip? It’s all too abstract. Who are we kidding? Tomorrow, we are going to wake up and go to our once highly coveted jobs which are now part of a modern day concentration camp and continue helping Fogle surveil the survivors of the war.”

  “And promote the U.N.’s propaganda.”

  Sai laughed cynically. She looked up for a brief moment and then said, “Shit! Look, there’s a drone about fifty yards away. It’s headed our way. Time to go back.”

  Once settled in for the night in my new home, I poured myself a very large glass of wine and unpacked. Like Sai, I needed to throw out many things due to the lack of space. I saved my pictures, but got rid of the frames. Other knick-knacks were the first items to go. I couldn’t think of what to do with the gun and ammo. I casually wrapped all of it up inside of a sweater in fear there were hidden cameras in my new apartment. I then stuck it with the other sweaters on a shelf in the closet. That would have to do for now.

  I quickly drained the chardonnay and opened up a new bottle. As I drank and condensed, I thought more and more about an eye for an eye. How can a government just steal your home? Steal your privacy? Steal your life? They couldn’t do it alone.

  Fogle and four other tech companies, all specializing in different fields and services, survived the war. Fogle was by far the biggest. There were other victors in the banking, medical, pharmaceutical, energy, waste, water, and food industries. Did their competition also perish?

  I wanted to know more. Four or five news stations once reported their network’s version of the news. We called it fake news, but there were hints of truth. Now it was all lies. The only remaining network never reported on the new monopolies created after the war.

  Footage of death and devastation dominated the airwaves, always reminding us of the war. I thought of Raphael and his talk of ‘overpopulation’. Was this another final solution? I worried about Raphael and wished he would call.

  My department had once been an upbeat, young, vibrant group of geniuses who wanted to change the world. After the war, our youth evaporated and fine lines of worry surfaced on our gaunt faces. We once wore hip new fashion and fun accessories. Now everyone wore whatever was clean, no longer taking any pride in appearance. We all needed therapy. Fogle’s answer was supplying free SSRIs to cope with death and major changes. The pills and constant indoctrination of how we were the lucky ones was supposed to help us get back to production, security, and trouble-shooting. I preferred depression to being stoned out of my mind, but I took the bottle and secretly dumped the contents down the toilet. Sai and several other employees did the same.

  Our tech skills kept us above water, but those without skills were not so lucky. Sai told me about her mother-in-law who resided at Shady Oaks Retirement Home on the outskirts of town. She and all of the home’s residents were unable to work due and required extensive care. One day the home mysteriously caught on fire and everyone inside of it died.

  It wasn’t just the nursing home. Population control continued on a much more selective basis. All of the low-income housing projects in Boston were demolished. The news claimed they were evacuated before demolition, but there were whispers suggesting otherwise. Survivors who had nothing to contribute or dared to defy the new power structure were eradicated.

  Our new housing situation was never discussed at work, but my colleagues wore expressions and murmured subtle comments that simmered with anger. Rumors circulated that U.N. Peacekeepers, officials, and other top-level governmental officials were living in the nicest homes in Boston and the suburbs. The new unit of currency bankrupted us. There was nothing we could do, or was there? Once again, I thought of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

  I kept myself in shape for the greater part of my adulthood. Regular workouts kept me lean. I also ran. The rote activity helped me think. Now running became more of a metaphor for what I wanted to do with my life. Whatever the reason, I needed to run more than ever.

  I woke up extra early and hit the same park Sai showed me a few days ago. The path was fairly empty in the morning. Drones zipped around the area. Many runners wore hats and black athletic clothing. My pink and blue outfit stood out. It would be trashed as soon as I got home.

  As I ran, once again, words echoed inside of my mind. An eye for an eye… What could I even do for payback? And then exactly who would be the victim of my revenge? My CEO Maximillian Steele was on the list. Who else? I thought of some of the other key players hailed by the media. There were Henry Ronchild the banker, and Hal Greene of WBNX, and Doctor Stephen Laurie of the medical world, and the Pope if he was still alive... Then there were mayors, congressmen and congresswomen, senators, and governors were sold out and joined the U.N.

  The New World Order still had some things missing, at least according to Raphael. There was no official government or figure head. Was there chaos within the inner circle? A new world needed new rulers, if only we could kill them all. Could I even get close enough to have the chance?

  Maybe I was thinking too big. I never even fired off a gun, let alone assassinated a leader. Maybe I could start off by stealing something from them because they stole from me. But how and from whom? How would I not get caught? Who could be my first victim?

  Raphael grew up a con and a thief. Maybe I could be one too. I thought of benefits: shaking them up, driving a wedge between them, causing distrust and discomfort, and so much more. I couldn’t steal a unit, but I could steal their stuff. Some things still held value. Thoughts of revenge made me happy. I ran even faster. It was very cold outside, yet the gray skies and unseasonable weather had no effect on my endurance. Sweat lathered me up, and I smiled for the first time in a long time. The idea lit a fire in my belly and gave me a reason to live.

  I got back to my apartment and ran up the four floors to my apartment. Over the balcony, I saw a boy walking down the stairs. He looked too familiar. My stomach dropped to the center of the earth. Brick. What was he doing here? He saw me, so I couldn’t pretend otherwise.

  “Hi, Jaxie” he said. He jogged up to my floor. “Do you remember me?”

  I nodded and looked up. Brick knew already about the cameras. “Hi, Brick. Your parents work for Fogle? Is that why you are here?”

  He nodded. “My mom did, but she died a long time ago. My dad works there. His name is Camden Theriault. Security. Will’s mom, Yolanda Adams, also works there. She’s also in security. Funny, we still are neighbors. It must be fate.”

  He looked down the hall at the camera. I nodded. “I’ll try to find your dad and introduce myself. I recognize the name. He’s the director, isn’t he?” Brick nodded. “We should all have dinner sometime.”

  My mind raced with dozens of scenarios, all of them involving some kind of misguided revenge. Brick mentioned his father and Yolanda for a reason. He did not strike me as Mister Social Grace, but then neither was I. If I was reading him right, his name-dropping was meant for me to find them. Were they as pissed off as I? Surely, Will’s mother Yolanda had to be. If I could get Brick’s dad on board with a plan of revenge… Maybe, just maybe…Brick had to be Sai’s supervisor. I needed to feel her out on what kind of man he was.

  Yes, I could do this, but not alone. Together Everyone Achieves More-TEAM. Yes, I needed a team of people to pull this off. Like me, they needed to be angry and indifferent to death if we all got caught. This could be the most therapeutic, exhilara
ting decision I had ever made.

  Later during the week, I spoke with Sai about everything. It didn’t take much convincing. She assured me that both Brick and Yolanda wanted justice. Soon, I had four people interested in ‘an eye for eye’. With three of us working at Fogle, maybe there was some damage to be done to the U.N. and whoever was running the General Assembly. Revenge rejuvenated us to a new level. All we needed was a plan and a place to plan it in.

  On a Sunday afternoon, I drove downtown, curious to see changes in the small business hub of the city. I also wanted to see Wendy Grossman, my old neighbor. She owned a bakery in the downtown area. The bakery was open and Wendy stood behind the counter. I leaned towards her for a hug, but she pretended not to know me. Her watery hazel eyes shot up to the camera and I instantly dropped all familiarities. She served me a double chocolate cupcake. I paid with the newly implanted microchip in my arm. She scanned it and handed me the treat.

  I sat down at one of the few bistro tables, ate my cupcake, and fiddled with my phone. Wendy waited on a few more customers. She looked older than she did last month. I knew she was around seventy, but a young seventy. She was full of spunk. She was both my neighbor and my friend. Now she looked like a broken down mule that would soon be shot down and put out of her misery. Her white hair was once kept in a short, modern style. Now it hung like string underneath a hairnet I had never seen her wear before today. She strolled by my table with a napkin and a rag.

  “Can I get you anything else?” she asked. I shook my head no. Once she walked away, I unfolded the napkin. Leave. Wait in the alley. I followed her directions and stood by the dumpster. A few minutes later she walked outside with a trash bag and then lit a cigarette. I never seen her smoke before today. It was the middle of the day and I could barely see. The sky was a darker shade of gray than usual and the wind felt like ice.

  “Wendy, what happened to you? I was forced to leave a few weeks ago. Do you still own this place? Do you still live across the street from my old house?”

  My question opened up a fresh wound that would probably never heal. With tears streaming down her wrinkled face, she puffed on her cigarette and shook her head in sorrow. “The soldiers took it. They took this place as well. I can run the business for now and live upstairs. Rent free. How nice of them. Until I get too old of course. Then I’ll be killed like some of the others at the senior assisted living complex over on Band Street.” I nodded, knowing the exact location. Wendy had a friend she visited there. I shared what happened to Sai’s mother at a different nursing home.

  “I was told that the ones who couldn’t work were taken to another location…We both know what that means.” The bitterness in Wendy’s voice was new. She had once been so positive.

  As Wendy told me her tale of woe, I shook my head in disgust. Population control wouldn’t stop at the old and frail. Who was next in this brave new world?

  Wendy explained to me how they stole her business. With the new microchip economy, the U.N. easily created an automatic system of collecting taxes. These new taxes were earmarked for global security. The taxes were not based on sales, but imposed as an exorbitant flat tax. No matter how many cupcakes Wendy sold, she would never turn a profit. On Wendy’s busiest day ever, she might have been able to break even. Her business couldn’t keep up. Two weeks after the new tax was enforced, Wendy went bankrupt. Her savings floated around in cyberspace with everyone else’s savings. We all knew it was gone for good.

  Wendy’s little bakery now belonged to the world and was controlled by the city. Although she quit smoking decades ago, cigarettes eased some of the pain. Absolute vodka eased even more.

  I knew about the homes and ‘lost’ bank accounts, but the strangulating business taxes were new. Did Fogle have to pay more taxes too? Or did they pay the same amount as Wendy had to pay? Of course that would be peanuts next to their profits. Fogle became a monopoly. Max Steele was asked to sit on the ad-hoc General Assembly of the United Nations. Suddenly, the lightbulb went on.

  In a hushed voice, I asked, “Cameras anywhere back here?”

  Wendy shook her head. “Not yet. And I’ve been looking hard. But I’m sure they will eventually install them.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. You’re older, so you’re not exactly a threat.”

  “So what’s your point, Jaxie? We’re all going to die of cancer pretty soon, anyway. New York’s mess will soon blow this way. They say that radiation lasts what, one to five years? And that’s if we’re lucky.”

  “We don’t really know, do we? Besides, Doctor Stephen Laurie’s cancer institute supposedly has a cure.”

  Wendy laughed. “Yeah, a cure for him and his friends. Maybe you. No one knows what you big shot computer geniuses even do. Me? I’ll just die with dignity.” Wendy lit up another cigarette.

  “Dignity? Fuck that. Dignity no longer exists. How about glory? Revenge?” Wendy’s hazel eyes looked at me with new interest. “Listen, this war has been a catalyst for globalization, a last-ditch effort for peace, at least that’s what were told…”

  “Yeah,” Wendy interrupted, “I know the bullshit on the news. The point?”

  “Alright. I once thought globalization would be a good thing as did most of my colleagues at Fogle.” The very mention of Fogle caused Wendy to gasp. The remainder of the world believed they were behind the war. “Hey, I might work for them, but I certainly am not drinking their Kool-Aid. Others feel the same way. Some of my colleagues are missing. Some are dead. Anyway, you wanted the point, here it is. Can I use your shop for meetings?”

  “Meetings? What kind of meetings? Doesn’t matter. It’s not my shop anymore.”

  “Yes, but you still run it.”

  A loud bell rang. Another customer must have walked into the store. Wendy stuck her head in the back door and yelled, “I will be right there!” She turned to me and said, “Shit, I got to go. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but the U.N. officials come by to check on me, the inventory, computer register, all of it. They come with soldiers who have big guns strapped all over their bodies. Monica the lawyer and then Owen from the health food store established a set of hand gestures to be used as a warning, but it’s not foolproof. You use this place and…”

  “I know, you got to go. But think about glory and revenge. Can’t have them without risk,” I replied.

  “As of today, you could use the pantry. It’s big enough to hold a dozen people or so.”

  “I don’t have a dozen, but I am working on it. Maybe some Fogle employees and a boy. Go wait on your customer.”

  I texted Sai White. An eye for an eye-let’s make it a reality.

  She immediately texted back. I’m in.

  Chapter Ten

  Jaxie

  “We are not killing anyone.” I said once Wendy returned and lit up another cigarette.

  “Not yet,” Wendy said. Her hazel eyes turned green and looked at me with admiration. “But I like that idea. That’s what these fuckers deserve.”

  “For now, I intend to steal from the people who profit from the situation. Maybe we could somehow take away valuables and sell them, you know, finance the next act of vigilantism.”

  “Oh, I’m in, I am so in! One condition, you must get a hold of a bug sweeper. I can’t bother Monica every day and…”

  I interrupted her. “Done. One of my guys is in security.”

  “Shit! Security at Fogle! Oh what fun! But I’m not done. You have to accept one more member into your group. Me.” I nodded. “Okay then, can I suggest your, I mean our first victim? How about our mayor, that bitch, Cynthia Sheffield. She sold us down the river. I hear she’s living in one of those mansions outside of town. She’s been seen socializing in restaurants and bars with U.N. officials.”

  I smiled. The spunk and excitement in Wendy had returned. “Good choice. Maybe, but I can’t promise anything. Next week, the storage room.”

  A week later, on a Saturday afternoon, we entered the bakery one by one. All of us bought a treat, and drift
ed off into the storage room. Wendy set up some folding chairs as we munched on our sugary snacks.

  Wendy stood by the pantry door and carefully kept an eye on the store’s entrance. Camden Theriault, Brick’s father, swept for bugs with the sweeper he brought from work. As head of security at Fogle, he had access to all kinds of innovative equipment. I guessed him to be in his fifties, red hair mixed with some white, and a typical pot belly of an office worker. First thing he did was disable the camera. He then checked the storage room, and even went a step farther, checking the shop area, kitchen, and the restrooms.

  “We’re free to talk. Wendy, if a customer walked in, could he see us through the door crack?”

  Wendy walked over to the entrance and shook her head. “No, we’re good.”

  Introductions were made. Camden Theriault sat next to me. His son, Brick, looked like a thinner, more handsome version of his father with red hair and blue eyes. The boy no longer looked like a kid, but a man. He was tall like his father, but hardened looking, like an ex-con.

  Yolanda Adams, Will’s mother, was in attendance. She was a stunning black woman who looked more like a model than a security analyst. I guessed her to be around forty years old. Although I barely knew her or Camden, our paths at work had occasionally crossed. I found reasons to talk to her at work with the utmost discretion. The loss of Will left her enraged and depressed. This meeting was all she had left to live for.

  Sai White, my sparring and running partner, was also there. Her glossy black hair was piled in an elaborate bun. There were a few strands of gray that I never noticed before. I let everyone know she was the one who inspired me with her talk of the Bible. Wendy still stood by the door, watching out for strangers.

  All eyes were on me waiting for a plan, a task, something to get out the hate and the pain that pulsed through our veins. I was a remarkable achiever, but never a leader. I was never a follower either. Just a lone wolf who loved individual sports, computers, math, reading, and running. Martial arts grew on me like a second skin. My social skills were tolerable, but all who knew me agreed that I lacked tact and even empathy. My I.Q. hovered one point above one hundred and sixty, genius level, and one point higher than Albert Einstein and Stephen Hawking. Sometimes congeniality and intelligence didn’t mix, and I got along well enough with others to defy the example.