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Freedom Manifesto

No one wants to be considered a conspiracy nut or an alarmist but sometimes you simply have to acknowledge the fact that it is way passed time for the alarms to sound and sometimes there are groups in high places conspiring against you. We are living in one of those times now.

We have (due to geography, immigration, and a host of other socio-economic factors) been a bit of a fractured society since our founding.  That is not in and of itself a bad thing.  It challenged us and motivated us. Yet, through the entire short history of this unique and inspired country, that was founded on the idea of self rule, we have when necessary, put aside those affiliations that separated us (religion, politics, race, gender, class) to stand together as Americans and to do our duty and pay whatever price be demanded of us in order to see that this government of the people, for the people and by the people would not perish from this Earth. In other words, generations of Americans before us had their own gut check moments.  Times that tested their true commitment to the principles articulated in our founding documents.  Times where they had to risk their wealth, property, and even their very lives to preserve liberty, and freedom, even when the likelihood of failure was very real and very possible.

We have been fortunate to have lived through a golden age of sorts.  We have heard the stories of the brave men and women in our past who fought against long odds for principles of freedom and many of us have heard tales from our very family members of America defeating European fascism while at the same time destroying the brutal Imperialism of the Japanese empire.  Yet no matter how much we read, watch, or listen to these tales from generations past, we can not truly appreciate them because we have never known a time when America was the underdog or the possibility of losing our freedoms was a reality. We sing the songs, and shoot our fireworks and bloviate endlessly concerning these crucial moments from our pasts.  We have turned them into our American mythology because deep down it is unreal to us.  The have become now to have more in common with tales of Paul Bunyan, or the exploits of Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett.

How can we appreciate just what the common citizens felt watching the pride of the American navy sink beneath the waves of one of our harbors, after being attacked on American soil. Watching newsreels that showed enemy planes coming in wave after wave, killing and destroying all they could. When we see or hear of that December day, we can not help our bias due to the fact that we know the ending. We puff up a bit and harrumph about our greatness and maybe even speak with pride of our American exceptionalism. Never really understanding what it was like for those people who awoke on December the 8th. Who saw our pacific fleet destroyed, and waiting for a president who could himself barely stand upright due to polio, call for our nation to join  yet another World War against enemies that not only had far superior equipment, better trained armies, but openly called for the destruction of the very principles that defined American life. Now with our pacific fleet, which included our great battleships resting at the bottom of Pearl Harbor, the thought that we were going to have to go to war in the pacific must have seemed equally delusional and terrifying.  That was our enemy and we were going to have to once again fight for our survival while also suffering from an economic collapse so large, and so long, and so painful that it would mark all who lived through it until their deaths.

When we ceremonially stand before one of our sporting events and listen to our national anthem, can we even remotely appreciate the spirit that moved Frances Scott Key to put pen to paper and pay tribute to something he cherished so dearly, in a country so bound by it, that a person's belief and commitment to it would define his citizenship far more than birth or station.  Finding himself stuck on the enemy's warships as the battle began.  Our nation so young and new, where the first flames of a liberty and human freedom that had been carried down though the long dark centuries in Europe and set alight in a new home, was once again threatened.  How easily this dream could be extinguished.  Key watching his fellow citizens and his country being bombarded seemingly without end.  Surrounded by an enemy who were so sure of their victory, so confident in their might, so sure that this rabble and their silly attempt of self government was to meet reality and be wiped away.

What was that night like for Key? Standing on the deck as the cannons roared and roared and roared so that it seemed mere fantasy that any human being could stand their ground in the face of it.  Meanwhile, his captors ate and drank and sang God Save The Queen as they fully expected to walk ashore in the morning to accept the surrender of the broken and shattered people who managed to survive their assault.  All Key could do was stand and watch and wait as the cannon fire went on and on and on.  How can we understand Key's long night? We know how it turned out and have now turned his inspired verse into just another symbol for our edification based on our own self centered image.  We have infused it with our shiny "gold plating" while allowing it's true meaning and inspiration to drain into the mists of time.  We have as a people never known such a night as Key's. We have never felt that type of fear for our country or known what it is like to not know if your country will survive. To feel the worry and anxiety that begin to draw the night out like a blade.  Yet, have we ever known the exhilaration and joy that he felt upon dawn's early light. Could we understand what such real patriotism even feels like?   Such a feeling that he sat down and began to write, with the previous night still so near his mind.

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?

O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,

In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream:

'Tis the star-spangled banner: O, long may it wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

O, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand,

Between their lov'd homes and the war's desolation;

Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land

Praise the Pow'r that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

  I have always been fond of studying and reading history, most especially American colonial history. As I have grown older there was a nagging question that would come continually to me.  History seems to show that freedom and liberty have not been the natural state for mankind.  Most people were born into servitude and ruled by tyrants, who claimed that their right to rule came directly from almighty God himself.  Our American history shows that freedom and liberty are not entitled to anyone and that they are purchased only at the highest of costs.  A costs that many times demands that the best among us must die for it. So, I wondered... If/When our time would come.  The hour come round at last where it falls to us to pay the cost of our liberty and freedom.  Would we, could we, sacrifice all that we have, or ever would have, even our very lives to protect the freedoms of not only our fellow citizens but the as of yet unborn generations who will be born either as free men and women as we were or into servitude, not even knowing the dream of liberty.

I began to perceive maybe a small microscopic bit of the emotions that must have been swirling in Key's mind that long night.  Would our generation, which has grown fat and lazy in the prosperity purchased by the blood of our forefathers, be able to rise and pay the price demanded of us for our continued liberty.  Only this time, I can't see the outcome.  I try to hold on to my faith but still find myself filling with doubt and worry.   At times I wonder...

O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

There is no need to enumerate all the quickly accumulating pieces of evidence that point to the fact that our payment for liberty and freedom has come due.  Every thinking man and woman with eyes to see and ears to hear from ever corner of the republic, from every race, and every religion feels it deep down in heart and soul.  "And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn’t there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission".  Yes that was quote from a movie, but whom among us does not see the meta-truth behind what it is saying.  It reminds us that we have duties and obligations that are written into our founding documents.  This citizen duty is not stated openly in them as our rights as citizens are, but are clearly visible to any mature reading of our deceleration of freedom and our bill of rights. That only a citizenry ready and willing to give everything to see those rights protected give the words any real meaning or turn grand ideals of the enlightenment into a guiding set of principles to liberate the body, mind and soul of individuals.  Jefferson outlined a statement of freedom so perfectly even while living within a society so unfortunately accustomed to the enslavement of one race and the massacre of another, that it's light would forever serve as our guiding star even in our darkest of hours.  Leading us by hook or by crook continually onward to it's beautiful and bright promise..

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal 

Those of generations past who fulfilled these sacred duties required of a free people, turn their eyes to us now from the halls of our fathers.  I wonder if they can see the outcome?  Will the price of freedom and liberty once again be paid by the citizens who are, and always will be it's true defenders and the reservoir of it's power or will this be the time that we simply reply; "Insufficient Funds".  I say that none who is truthful with themselves can offer an answer to that question with any authority. We know that we stand at the grandest cusp of history in our lifetimes.  Our time is upon us, where we will be judged and measured and history will render it's verdict on our worthiness for the high calling of the duties and responsibilities of a free man living in a free country.   

The first critical step is for us to admit the truth that we have known and felt for a while but have denied even to ourselves.  That today, right now -- our freedoms and liberty is not just threatened but it is under open attack and we either all drop all our petty squabbles and rush to liberties defense or we will damn a generation of Americans, yet to be born, to either a lifetime of servitude or a lifetime of violent battle and grave sufferings in order to regain the very liberties that we have allowed to be taken from us while we argued over nothing.  We must acknowledge that once again powerful and tyrannical opponents to our principles of freedom have come to our shores.  They once again appear to dwarf us in their power, and are confident in their victory.  The have come this time not with machines of war and men armed for battle but they have come to subvert and sabotage us from within. The want us to ignore the growing weight of the chains they are already attempting to use to bind us.  And even now they are beginning the ancient call of the tyrants, claiming their right to power is bestowed upon them if not from the divine, then from the natural order that shows the folly of living by such principles that ALL men are created equal.

The tasks and strategies for our defense of liberty will, I believe, become clear and demonstrable to all once the citizens awaken to this grave danger before us.  Yet make no mistake. History also makes another fact crystal clear.  That even once we have accepted our duties and responsibilities as citizens that there is still a long and rough road ahead of us.  Some of us are going to get scared up.  Some of us are going to be imprisoned and even tortured and yes some of us will never return.  And yes there will be many of our fellow citizens who will shirk from their duty and deny their responsibilities.  History also shows that these people always exists in every time of struggle.  Yet history remembers them not and forgets them as soon as they cease because they never really lived and never left any mark.  To pitiful to be either loved or hated, those cold and timid souls who never once knew either victory or defeat.

So let each person search his own heart and soul and come to the truth in his own way and then let him decide what a free man would do.  We do have reason for hope as well.  Because on those times when the grand citizen council of free men and women has come together, it has shown itself to be a powerful thing which has left the haughty plans of would be despots and tyrants in ruins and scattered those who saw themselves as our ordained rulers, fleeing before it. Let us show that we are worthy stewards of the grand idea of the ages which was placed in our charge.

Yes, I am aware that I have laced my rambling with the words of great Americans from our past.  That was intentional.  I will leave one last quote...

The boys grew up, and Esau became a skillful hunter, a man of the open country, while Jacob was a quiet man, staying among the tents. Isaac, who had a taste for wild game, loved Esau, but Rebekah loved Jacob. Once when Jacob was cooking some stew, Esau came in from the open country, famished. He said to Jacob, "Quick, let me have some of that red stew! I'm famished!" (That is why he was also called Edom.) Jacob replied, "First sell me your birthright." "Look, I am about to die," Esau said. "What good is the birthright to me?" But Jacob said, "Swear to me first." So he swore an oath to him, selling his birthright to Jacob.Then Jacob gave Esau some bread and some lentil stew. He ate and drank, and then got up and left. So Esau despised his birthright. - (Gen 25:21-34.)

Can you name the source that I used?

They are most easily recognized by their deliberate perversion of truth and fact. Their newspapers and propaganda carefully cultivate every fissure of disunity, every crack in the common front against their ideology. They use every opportunity to impugn the government.

They claim to be super-patriots, but they would destroy every liberty guaranteed by the Constitution. They demand free enterprise, but are the spokesmen for monopoly and vested interest. Their final objective toward which all their deceit is directed is to capture political power so that, using the power of the state and the power of the market simultaneously, they may keep the common man in eternal subjection.

Still another danger is represented by those who, paying lip service to democracy and the common welfare, in their insatiable greed for money and the power which money gives, do not hesitate surreptitiously to evade the laws designed to safeguard the public from monopolistic extortion.

The symptoms of their thinking are colored by environment and adapted to immediate circumstances. But always and everywhere they can be identified by their appeal to prejudice and by the desire to play upon the fears and vanities of different groups in order to gain power. It is no coincidence that the growth of modern tyrants has in every case been heralded by the growth of prejudice.

It is clear that they would claim to be a part of, or supporters of, whichever political party either a left/ liberal or right/conservative  that gave them the most successful chance to gain power.  

In an attempt to try and come to some grasp of what constitutes this ideology I looked at what actions were common in all groups who identified themselves with the movements.  

Hatred of Marxists of all stripes, from totalitarian communists to democratic socialists.

Did not attribute workers’ hardships to big business and big landowners and did not advocate measures such as progressive taxation, higher pay for industrial and farm workers, protection of unions, and the right to strike.

Banned all Marxist organizations and replaced their unions with government-controlled corporatist unions. declared that it was necessary “to restore absolute leadership to the natural leader of the factory, that is, the employer.”

State power joins to corporate power and talks of free markets but use power to control markets

Capitalists were allowed to keep their companies and their wealth, a distinction that was made in the their original program and never changed. workers were forced to toil for lower wages and longer hours and under worse conditions than had been the case.

Believed that owners of stores and workshops should exercise “parental” authority over their assistants, clerks, workers, servants, and tenants. Subordinates were not permitted to organize themselves into unions, and the small bosses assumed the leadership of town and village councils.

Generally supported capitalism and defended the interests of economic elites. In general it spared the wealth of the upper classes they attacked “statism” and advocated a more decentralized government that would favour local economic elites.

Adhered to a strict social darwinism through the entire society, where those that were suffering either because of poverty, health, etc. Were simply the natural results for those who were in some way inferior and thus deserved their fate and in fact it would be bad for the society to attempt to help these people who would only continue to drag down the whole.  

The economic programs of the great majority of the movements were extremely conservative, favouring the wealthy far more than the middle class and the working class.

Movements criticized parliamentary democracy for allowing the Liberal/Socialist threat to exist in the first place.

Economic problems related to large disparities of wealth between rich and poor were treated as problems of social status and class prejudice.

Used such gatherings to create patriotic fervour and to encourage fanatic enthusiasm for the cause.

Accused liberal “fellow travelers” of wittingly or unwittingly abetting communism. Berated “moderates”—i.e., democratic conservatives—for indirectly aiding the communists through their taste for “compromise and hesitation.”

Educators emphasized character building over intellectual growth, devalued the transmission of information, inculcated obedience to authority, and discouraged critical and independent thinking.

Accused their political opponents of being less “patriotic” than they, sometimes even labeling them “traitors.” spoke of “internal foreigners” who were “anti nation.” immigrants—particularly left-wing immigrants—were special targets.

Movements portrayed themselves as defenders of Christianity and the traditional Christian family against atheists and amoral humanists.

Posed as protectors of the church, their ideologies contained many elements that conflicted with traditional Christian beliefs, and their policies were sometimes opposed by church leaders.

Accused liberals and socialists of materialism and thereby portrayed their own politics as more spiritual. prospered politically only when perceived economic threats increased their appeal to members of certain social groups.

opposed the liberal individualism of the Enlightenment,

Indulged in racist and xenophobic scapegoating, portrayed themselves as protectors of traditional national culture and religion,

contended that not only were communists gaining footholds in the press, in the schools, among intellectuals, and in the trade unions but they were behind the breakdown of law and order and terrorism.

severely curtailed the rights of workers while emphasizing and protecting the rights of employers.

attacked cultural liberalism, claiming that it encouraged moral relativism, godless materialism, and selfish individualism and thereby undermined traditional morality

a belief in the right of natural elites to upward social and political mobility, and accommodation with members of the upper classes.

It was forceful toward the weak, and it was “male.”

pandering to fearful traditionalists who associated cultural modernism with secular humanism, feminism, sexual license, and the destruction of the Christian family

women were urged to perform their traditional gender role as wives and mothers and to bear many children for the nation.

Opposed the feminine ‘proletariat’ to the masculine ‘capitalist,’ that feminism is leading us.” equated women with hedonism and hedonism with decadence.

Criticized the Christian ideals of meekness and guilt. Despite the many anti-Christian elements , the vast majority of considered themselves to be religious, and most supported Christianity.

Condemned the Enlightenment for having subverted the dominance of traditional religion and traditional elite.

hatred and violence were energizing remedies

Scolded humanitarians for attempting to protect the unfit, and rejected the idea of social equality

the institutionalization of sexual repression and strong antifemale, antihomosexual and profamily biases

a hankering after a supposedly glorious past; by paramilitary associations; and by the creation of a convenient scapegoat for all social, national and economic ills.

often romanticizes the past as inspiration for national rebirth.

believes neither in the possibility nor the utility of perpetual peace. It thus repudiates the doctrine of Pacifism -- born of a renunciation of the struggle and an act of cowardice in the face of sacrifice

It emphasizes a myth of national or racial rebirth after a period of decline or destruction. Calls for a "spiritual revolution" against signs of moral decay such as individualism and materialism, and seeks to purge "alien" forces and groups that threaten the organic community.

Often, but not always, it promotes racial superiority doctrines, ethnic persecution, imperialist expansion, and genocide.

Usually espouses open male supremacy

It was a movement for failed men: of the marginally employed professional, the idle school graduate, the deeply indebted farmer, the unrecognized war veteran, the perpetually unemployed worker with no chance of work.

In all cases where it was successful, its rise was preceded by a period of political polarization and parliamentary deadlock

It was a beautiful spring day in Raleigh.  The sky was a soft baby blue with no clouds at all. Many from there called it a Carolina blue sky.  The sun was warm but not hot and the slight breeze from the north made it the kind of day that just made it hard to be in a bad mood.  It was the kind of day that made children dream of summer vacation and adults of walks on the beach. 

The gentleman who turned on to Salisbury street seemed to be lost in just such thoughts.  His broad smile showed off his perfect teeth and his dark brown eyes seemed to reflect the beauty of the day. On any normal day the sight of a very black man, wearing a bright white suit, complete with white leather loafers, and a white fedora, would have gotten more than a few looks and a few comments on why such a man was at the courthouse.   However the day was not normal, the people who were still downtown were busy trying to get what they needed from their offices before the police shut down all the streets in the area surrounding the courthouse and the capital building. Everyone’s attention was drawn to the two National Guard hummers that were parked directly in front of the courthouse building and the Guardsmen who were patrolling the sidewalk with Heckler & Koch UMP45 Machinepistol, Americans called them sub-machine guns instead of the German name machine pistol. .

Dakarai continued up Salisbury St.  He could see the top of the Holiday Inn where Rick should be waiting for him.  As he made his way by the police who were setting up traffic barriers, he tipped his hat to one of the officers.  The cop who’s name was Stephen Hodge, a 20 year veteran of the Raleigh police department, did not acknowledge the gesture, instead giving this stranger a long suspicious look.  Later that night while telling his wife about the events of the day, officer Hodge would remember the man in the white suit.  Because it finally dawned on him why the guy had bothered him so much; he had been the only person he had seen all day with a smile on his face.

As Dakarai entered the Holiday Inn,  he stopped momentarily as his senses were assaulted by the chaotic scene of  the lobby.  Nervous and anxious patrons were checking out and more than ready to make their way to safer locations.  He saw a young lady wearing a hotel clerk uniform and a man in blue jeans and a John Deere hat watching a small television.  He could see that it was currently showing a reporter giving an update from right up the street at the capitol building.  Dakarai paused to hear what these two were saying.

“You know what everyone is saying.  It was some of them damn illegals,” John Deere hat said.

“Shut the hell up, Harold.  I am trying to find out what is going on.” The clerk said.

“They come here and take our jobs, and take our money and then have the nerve to do something like this.”

“Harold, we don’t know who did this yet and frankly people need to wait until we do.  For the love of God, they have reported that two Mexican families in Durham were pulled out of their homes and beaten and one of the men was shot.  We need to be helping those poor people from New Hill and not going off half cocked and starting a damn riot.”

The scene on the TV switched from the reporter and was now showing an image of the Shearon Harris nuclear plant located only twenty two miles southwest of Raleigh.  The camera was obviously far away, but you could still see the column of black smoke rising up from the middle of the plant.  The text scrolling at the bottom of the screen said, “evacuations of New Hill and surrounding areas were complete.  The Homeland Security Administration was currently overseeing activities between the military, FBI, CIA, FEMA, and local law enforcement from a post set up in Raleigh”.

“The government has done nothing to fix the border problems and if it was them illegals that did this, then you can bet dimes to a doughnut that you are going to see a lot more country justice before this is done.” John Deere hat continued.

The clerk just looked at him and said, “Harold, you’re an idiot.”

Dakarai interrupted the conversation by asking the clerk if she could check to see which room his friend was located.  John Deere hat looked around when he heard Dakarai’s Nubian accent.  The expression on John Deere’s face led Dakarai to believe this man was an equal opportunity bigot, so he just smiled pleasantly back, as the man turned back to watch the television.

“Most people have checked out or are checking out but I can see if they are still here. What is their name?” The clerk asked.

“His name is Ralph Fremantle.”

The clerk began typing.  “He has not checked out yet...his room is 935.”

“Thank you,” Dakarai said.

The clerk called after him. “No problem, but would you tell him that he may want to look at other accommodations; we are not sure if we are going to be allowed to have guests here.”

Dakarai did not acknowledge the request and was already heading toward the elevators.  He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ninth floor.  The elevator opened and when he walked out, he could see that the hallway was empty, but a sign said rooms 20-40 were to the right.  He knocked once on the door.

“Come in”, said a voice from inside .  When he entered the room, Rick was standing and looking out the window, quietly observing the activity in the street below.  Rick was tall around six two with dark brown hair that was parted neatly to one side.  He had a muscular build and broad shoulders.  He was dressed in his usual cowboy boots and jeans.  He was still in his t-shirt.  His most striking feature was something most people missed; he had azure eyes.  They missed it because, whenever Dakarai had been around Rick and other people, he had observed others unconsciously looking anywhere but Rick’s face.

Dakarai took a seat on a small couch near the door.  “You are an artist Rick.  The boss was hoping for something good, but you really delivered.”

Rick continued to stare out the window.  He was thinking about the past few days. It had been just two short weeks ago when he had arrived at the bus terminal in Raleigh.  There had been a storm coming up from the west and the wind had smelled like rain.

It was convenient because bus terminals were always in the poorer sections; the area where you were sure to find desperate people. It was the kind of place he felt most comfortable anyway.  He began going to the local dives in the area surrounding the terminal.  Most were either redneck bars or juke joints that blacks tended to favor.  The boss had been specific, so he needed Hispanics this time.

He was about to give up for the night and go and find a place to sleep when he saw a bar just as he was rounding the corner.  The bar’s name was El hoyo de tequila.  This looked promising.  There was some Spanish music blaring out of the jukebox as nearly one hundred Latinos sang, danced and drank to relax from another hard day.  Some looked at him when he entered, but quickly looked away.  A tall white boy stood out in a place like this. He followed his usual routine and walked up and stood at the bar.  The bartender came over and he ordered a double shot of Patron Gold.  He then just started watching and waiting for the right person to show himself.

It was about two hours later that two men entered the bar.  One of the men was nursing a bleeding nose. The other fellow had fliers in one hand and the other arm around his friend.  They seemed to be known by most in the bar and several stood around to ask them what happened to Jose. 

The one without the broke nose said, ”We were beaten for trying to pass out the fliers against the highway safety bill”. A law that would make it impossible for any undocumented immigrant to get a drivers license.   

A fat man dressed as a gardener complete with straw hat said, “You are going to piss the gringo’s off enough to get you and your sister deported.”

“Well who is going to trim their lawns and clean their toilets then,” replied the unhurt one.

The crowd broke up and the two men sat down at a table in the corner of the bar.  His friend was still trying to help Jose with his nose.  Rick called the bartender again and dropped two one hundred dollar bills on the counter.  “Give me the bottle of Patron and when you see that this one is low bring another.” 

“Si” replied the bartender and slid over the bottle and pocketed the bills. 

Rick walked over to the table.  “You gentlemen need a drink?”

Un-hurt said, “What do you want?”

“I am not just any gringo.  You want justice.  I am all about settling accounts.” Rick said.

They talked in whispers for over two hours and they did manage to finish two bottles of Tequila. Rick was skilled in getting desperate men to do desperate things.  Sometimes he appealed to their hate or sometimes to their sense of justice or anything that would get them to agree.  These men were easy. 

He learned that Juan and his sister Maria had left Chihuahua after the family lost their small farm.  They had crossed the border and made their way to Mississippi to earn money for the family, working as day laborers in the reconstruction projects following the hurricane.  They had met Jose there and he had told them his brother in North Carolina could get them all jobs working for a chicken processing plant.  They had only been working at the plant for a month when ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) raided the plant.  They had not been caught, but they lost their jobs and it had been getting harder and harder just to feed themselves, much less send money back to the family.  Juan, Maria, and Jose had done their best to keep things going, but time was running out and their fear and frustration was rising.  This made them easy targets for Rick.  When he began speaking to them, he started by saying that they could show the world that they were strong. 

He had set Jose and Juan on a path and they were eager.  They never even asked how their actions would help their cause.  He had simply told them that those in power would see them as serious people and the rich would bleed.  Like all the other men he had used over the years, they just accepted his word.  When Rick met with such people, rhetoric became plans and plans became action.  Most could not say why he was so convincing and no one had ever been able to give a good physical description of him. Rick had discovered that ordinary people found looking at him difficult.  There had been one man a while back, who had described him to authorities as a un-man. A hole in reality that gave no light.  He was still telling this to anyone who would listen as they shipped him off to an asylum for the criminally insane. Usually though, people just described him as hard, cold, and dark. 

During the next few days he had pulled his own strings to make sure the men could get into the plant.  He had trained them on where to put the bomb.  They thought that they would have thirty minutes to leave once they activated it, but he had set it up to detonate immediately.  The boss did not like loose ends.  He had made a call to Juan’s sister Maria, telling her that Juan had been killed and that the authorities were on their way to get her.  He told her to go to Sanford and head north on I-95 and he would meet her at the first rest stop.  He told her to wear a red t-shirt so he could recognize her.

He then phoned the local police and told them exactly where to find her, and her role in today’s terrorist attack.  The dispatcher was still asking him for his name as he dropped the pre-paid cell phone into the trash. One more loose end tied up.  Juan had told his sister about the plot, but she thought Rick was just another Hispanic.  She would keep the authorities looking for a Hispanic man and her story would help whip up a fire against every immigrant in the state.  All in all it was a pretty good mission.

He smiled and turned to Dakarai.  Dakarai dropped his eyes.  Even he could not stand to see that face with a smile on it. 

Dakarai said, “I am going to see the boss today, you could be due a bonus for all your work.”

Rick stopped smiling, “No, I don’t need anything.”

Dakarai understood that this was another unusual thing about Rick. The guy never wanted anything extra.  All the other technicians in the organization always asked for perks or time off the job.  However, they also did not make it as long as Rick.  They always either ran or killed themselves in the end.  The job ate away at them like a cancer.  Rick seemed to, if not thrive, to adapt to his role like no one else.  Dakarai had asked Rick once early in his time with the organization why he never quibbled over the assignments.  Rick had just told him that he had owed a debt and he meant to see the accounts balanced. 

“Well, the boss loves ya.  He told me once that you might be the best recruit that he has ever had.  That is one huge compliment, big boy.”

He was not interested in compliments. “What’s next?”

“Well first we have got to get your big white bread ass out of town.  We need you to do a collection in Vegas.  Have you had a change of heart about flying?  It would be a lot faster and you could get a little time to gamble and go out to the pussycat ranch.” Dakarai said with a growing smile of his own.

“I prefer the bus.  It’s more my kind of people.” Rick replied.

“Suit yourself.  Just go by the terminal in about an hour and there will be tickets waiting.”

“Who is the collection in Vegas?” Rick asked.

Dakarai answered as he stood up from the couch. “His name is Steve Simms. He is the owner of the Bellagio.  I will meet you there and give you the details.”

“Fine,” Rick said.

Dakarai turned to leave, but paused as he was facing the door.  “Rick you are one of the coldest SOB’s in an organization filled with cold SOBs.  You grew up around here didn’t you?  Why don’t you take some time to relive some old times?  Quite frankly, if you lose any more of your humanity, you won’t be very useful to us.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No…I know who the boss would choose if it came down to a choice between you and me.  You are the best and we don’t want to lose you.  We need a man we can count on working the beat out there.” Dakarai found himself looking down at the floor as he said this.

“That is why I ride the bus.  I get up close to people.  Don’t worry your pretty little head about me, Dakarai.  I still have a few miles left in these old boots.”

“Sorry I said anything Rick, but dammit you need to keep centered, live a little, bang a few girls.”

Rick said, “That is how the other technicians ended up getting collected; they wanted to pretend they still had a life.”

“Do what you have to do man, and again, great job.”  Dakarai opened the door and left Rick alone in the room.

He turned to look out the window again, but this time he did not see the activity below; he was lost in his own thoughts.  Another collection, he did not mind those.  It was clear and easy with him.  You made a deal and each party lived up to their side of the bargain.  Sounds like this Simms fella had gotten his.  He was the owner of one of the biggest casinos in Vegas and now he wanted to get out of his part.  They always tried.  They always thought they could somehow be the one to beat the wrap.  Eventually, their accounts came due and if they tried to avoid payment then someone like Rick would go and collect it.  Rick preferred to tortured them first, to make sure they knew why he was there.  In the end he would collect them and mark one more account – paid in full.

He had been in the service of the boss and a member of the organization for nearly ten years.  He had made his own deal and gotten what he wanted. For that he served the organization as a technician.  A debt was owed and a debt was paid. While he did not mind the collections, he did feel some sympathy for people during operations like the one here in Raleigh.  Generally it involved innocent people.  Well that was not totally true; He was far too jaded to believe anyone over the age of twelve was truly innocent.  However, they did not owe anything to the organization, so it seemed unfair to see them hurt in such ways.  Yet he did owe the boss and those were the boss’s orders, so that was that. 

The sun was starting to set when the phone rang and woke him from his thoughts. It was the receptionist, “Sir, are you going to be needing accommodations for tonight, because we have been notified by the police that visitors must find rooms outside of the downtown area.”

“No, I will be checking out as soon as I have a quick shower.”

“Very good sir, how long do you think that will be?”

He hung up the phone without answering her last question.  He walked in the bathroom and began to undress.  Traveling always made him feel grimy, he wanted to be as fresh as possible before getting on the bus.

Downstairs Cheryl, the receptionist, slammed the phone down.  Just trying to do my job you big ass, She thought.  She saw Tim the bell boy coming in the front entrance. Waving, She shouted, “Hey Tim could you go up and ask 935 when he plans on checking out?”

“Screw that!  I had to take him some towels the other night.  When that dude opened the door, I nearly jumped out of my skin.  Something about him gave me the heebie jeebies.  Why don’t you do it?”

“Sure Tim, I will just do your job and mine.” Between the job she hated and the city that had lost what little charm it had with today’s events, she just might take up her friends offer to stay with her as she set up a new life in Sacramento. Tim was such a girl sometimes.  She would give 935 forty five minutes and then she would tell someone with a badge about the situation and let them handle it.

He stepped from the elevator, and into the lobby, clean and ready for his trip.  He had the only bag he ever carried with him, an old well worn army backpack.  He walked to the counter and slid his room key to the attendant.  She had obviously been busy the last few hours because she quickly took the card and began the check out procedures.  She paused for a moment as she read the room number.

“I apologize sir for the inconvenience, we are under orders from the police to have everyone out by the end of the evening.”

Rick did not say anything, and she continued to type into her terminal.  “Would you like a copy of your receipt?”  “That is not necessary,” He replied.

He turned and began making his way out to the street.  Cheryl turned and tried insert the receipt into the shredder, but her hands were shaking so badly that she was having a hard time feeding the paper.

Tim was coming back from helping one of the last families load their luggage into the courtesy van when he saw her struggling with the paper.  “You ok Cheryl?”  Tim asked.

“I see what you mean about the heebie jeebies, there is definitely something wrong with that dude.”

“I am just glad he’s gone.” Tim said. 

The street was still busy with police routing all the traffic away from downtown.  He was going to have to take the long way to the bus station, but it was a good night for a walk.  He shouldered his backpack and turned up Hillsboro Street.  He had gotten about three blocks when he came upon a group of people shouting.

There was a large group of Hispanics, mostly women and children with a few men in front, in the courtyard of the local Catholic Church. There stood an elderly priest standing in front of the gate.  On the other side was a slightly smaller group of people who were chanting “GO HOME” over and over again.  One man was holding up a crudely put together sign saying “ILLEGALS = TERRORIST..  Dakarai would have recognized him by his John Deere hat.

Police stood in between the two groups, but a larger group of police were facing the church.

“The church has bestowed sanctuary on these people.  You can not just come in and take them.” The priest was yelling at an overweight cop who seemed to be running things.

The cop had to yell to be heard over the chanting from John Deere hat’s group. “The executive order from the President of the United States says that we can padre.  So I am going to ask you one more time to step aside before you are charged with obstruction of justice.” 

“There is no order that can make me violate my oath to my church.” The priest was screaming now.

“Then let the church go your bail then.”  The cop turned to another policeman and said, “Jimmy take the Father into custody; you can put him in my car.”

When the other officer grabbed the priest, several of the men in the church yard began to move forward to help defend the reverend.  One cop, most likely a local yokel who never did much more than write parking tickets, shot a canister of tear gas into the crowded church yard.  Three other officers fired their tear gas after seeing the first one go.

Rick turned and started down McDowell Street which lead to the bus station.  He could hear cries and screams as the cops stormed the church and in confusion, anger, and fear began to beat the people who had sought shelter there..

He shook his head as he made his way down the street.  The bomb was placed so that there would be no chance of any nuclear fallout or core breach, but these people had been contaminated.  They were contaminated with fear.  The clean up at the plant would be completed in a month, but it would be much longer before this community would be made whole again, or maybe it never would be made whole again.

The bus station was packed.  He was trying to make his way inside when he saw another hand made sign posted beside the entrance, “Proper documentation needed before being allowed to board any bus.”

He had to chuckle at the asinine dichotomy of it, one group up the road is shouting go home and here they are saying just as long as you don’t take the bus.  The station was crowded with people but few of them were Hispanic.  It was mostly just people wanting to be anywhere less exciting.  The few Hispanics that were there were being checked out by National Guardsmen and some guys wearing dark suits. They had to be feds. 

He finally made his way up to the ticket window where a heavy set older man with grey thinning hair asked him, “Can I help ya.”  The man had a strong southern accent that made him suddenly think of his younger days for a moment.  He reminded him of the men that his father had known; democrat by birth and southern by the grace of God.

“Yes, I should have a ticket waiting”

“What’s the name?”

“Ralph Fremantle,” He replied.

The man typed away at his computer.  “I need to see some identification.”

He took out his wallet and handed the man his driver’s license.

The man grunted and hit a few more keys.  “They will print in just a sec.”

“That’s fine,” Rick said.

The old guy seemed to be watching the feds and weekend warriors as they questioned the ones that they had pulled aside.

“What kind of ape shit monkey mess has the country turned into?  All those boys need is some jack boots and a hearty Sieg Heil and it would be complete.  I don’t even recognize this place anymore.”  He finished his little speech just as the tickets finished printing.  He handed them over to Rick.

The old man added, “If I was you, I would board as early as I could.  We have been running slam full all day.”

“Sure thing, thanks.”   That was probably good advice and he walked out to where all the buses were parked and began searching for bus nineteen.   He found it at the very end of the row.  They were all idling and the smell of the diesel fuel was almost overpowering.  He climbed aboard.  The old bird was right about it being packed, this bus wasn’t scheduled to even begin boarding for another twenty minutes and it was already half full.  He made his way toward the back, putting his backpack in the overhead area and taking a window seat on the left side.   He did not have a book or radio to keep him occupied, so he just sat back and tried to doze for a while.

He was startled back to wakefulness by the bus driver who began making announcements before he even hit the driver’s seat.  “Folks, you can see that we are nearly completely full, so please be patient with those around you.  We will be departing in just a minute and our next stop will be in Burlington.  You can make connecting busses there or if you are staying on the bus, I will come around and check your tickets.  Thank you for choosing Greyhound.”  The driver hopped into his seat and began to prepare to pull out of the station.

Rick did notice that the only empty seat left on the bus was the one next to him.  That suited him just fine; he could use a little extra sleep.  The bus pulled out with a loud rumbling sound.  They turned down McDowell Street and headed for I-40 west.

A lot of time had passed since he was a little boy growing up in the area and in what felt like another life.  Maybe it was what Dakarai had said about reliving some old times, because he was beginning to feel old memories stirring.  He had done his best to bury that time in his life and forget about it, but tonight it seemed those memories were not content to rest in their graves but were determined to claw their way out and make some noise.

The feeling got stronger as he watched familiar highway signs pass.

Hillsborough, his father had known this obese mechanic from Hillsborough. He had two talents, fixing cars and eating.  It was rumored that he was asked to leave an all you can eat buffet before he finished all he could eat.  He had died when a car battery had exploded in his face.  He knew so much about cars and he was killed because he hooked up a set of jumper cables wrong.  That’s what passed for irony around these parts.

Mebane, His mom’s parents had lived in Mebane, along with his uncles and his aunt and a few cousins.

Haw River, The Haw River Ratz! It had been over a decade since he had thought of the old gang:  Randall, Jeff, Johnny, Chuck, and … Amy.  Those were some of the more painful and vengeful of the memories that seemed determined to haunt him tonight.

The next sign was the first Graham exit.  Graham, his hometown, he had lived just right up the road from this exit.  The only time he was truly happy had been stomping around this stupid town.  The problem with burying these happy memories is that when they come back they are not the happy feelings you put away so long ago.  They come back spoiled and they bring with them pain and a grim feeling of despair.

They passed the second Graham exit and he actually tried to see if he could see the old court house from the highway.  When he was a kid it had seemed like a castle standing in the center of town with it’s tall round columns on each side.  Main Street circled around the courthouse and on one side of the building there was a tall statue of a confederate soldier.  Remembering fun times at events held at the court square was not as painful as the other memories.  Unfortunately, it was too dark for him to make out anything from the highway.  Just as well, there was no use encouraging the ghost of Ricky’s past.

The bus exited the highway and made its way to the Burlington station.  When they stopped, the driver announced that everyone needing a connecting bus should see the attendant inside to confirm the bus number and that he would be back to check everyone else’s tickets.  Eight people stood and collected their belongings.  It looked like all but two were part of the same family.  They shuffled off  and into the statio.  Soon new people started to board and the bus quickly filled again, leaving only the empty seat next to Rick.  The bus driver came back and announced that they would be leaving in just a minute.  He figured that the bus driver must have decided not to check tickets after all because he was already getting in his seat.  The driver was just about to close the door when a young girl ran up, wailing, “STOP!! STOP!!” .

She stumbled up the bus’s steps, breathing hard, and with her arm outstretched to show her ticket. The driver inspected her ticket and motioned for her to take a seat.  Rick’s body stiffened, he felt like he was seeing a real ghost, maybe come to drag him back to the place he had banished them.  “We missed you Ricky, We missed you a loooot”. If Dakarai thought it was hard for people to stare Rick in the face on a normal day, He would have sworn that had someone looked into his eyes that night, they would have wet themselves in terror. 

She reminded him of so much of her.  Maybe it was just too many old memories this evening, but she did fucking look like her.  The girl was young and could not be more than sixteen.  She had long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.  She wore black high heel boots and a short denim mini, with an old jean jacket over a white blouse.   He could not see what color her eyes were because she was wearing a pair of old Roy Orbison style sunglasses.   She came to the only seat that was open and asked, “Is this seat taken?”

“No,” was all he said.