Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

“Blow me,” Mason said to Sullivan’s backside.
“Better yet, go blow Fitzpatrick again.”

The maggots inside the pit of Sullivan’s stomach
began their infestation. Their movements slow and deliberate. He could feel
them crawling around. The only thing he wanted to do at the moment was pull the
car over and vomit them out. He did all he could to keep his pale hands from
shaking on the steering wheel. A squint of the eyes and the words “Sycamore
St.” could be read on the green sign in white letters that glowed with the
sunlight.

The eagerness of the dip shits did little to
relieve him of his pain. Mason sat in the front with Wilcox in the back. They
both examined their Glocks with murder in their eyes. Fitzpatrick just didn’t
want to listen anymore. After a lengthy debate on leaving the two trigger happy
fuck heads behind, the decision was final. They were both going. If there was a
problem, a meeting could be set up with the Consul.

A part of Sullivan just wanted to pull the car to
the side of the road and be done with it. If Mason and Wilcox had anything to
say about it, he would give them both two in the chest and one in the head. He
thought better of it, though. There was still the roof that needed to be kept
over the family’s head. There was also the money that still needed to be earned
to keep Davie in school so he could earn a better education. Not to mention the
preservation of…

“This is the street boss,” Wilcox said from the
back seat. He cocked his pistol, placed it back into the shoulder holster, and
left the strap unbuckled.

Sullivan cleared his head. “I got it.”

Take some deep breaths. She’s an old woman.
She’ll come out quietly.

“Just making sure you’re not having second
thoughts,” Wilcox replied. “That I don’t have to use my weapon on you.”

“Wilcox, shut the hell up for five seconds.”

Mason sighed, “Both of you shut up.”

The right blinker clicked and the squad car’s
wheels turned in that direction onto Sycamore. The apartment building sat ten
feet in front. The bricks on the outside of the building showed their age. The
once bright red vibrancy was now a sea of gray and faded red. Sullivan was
careful with his parallel parking. He parked in between a black Suburban and a
blue Town car.

“Damn it,” Wilcox sighed. “You drive like an old
man.”

“Whatever you say,” Sullivan replied. He pulled
out his Glock from the hip holster and began to inspect it. “Weapons check.”

“Way ahead of you partner.” Mason replied.

“Let’s do this shit.” Wilcox added.

“Remember,” Sullivan instructed, “we are here to
gather Intel. Don’t start shooting unless she pulls something.”

Mason said, “Trust me,
we
know what to do.
You just make sure to cover our asses.”

“If you two have some predetermined plan then
this assignment is over right now.”

“The fuck?” Wilcox blurted. “I think the real
issue here is if
you
have something up your own sleeve, pretty boy.”

“I’m just saying. If you two already have it in
your heads that you are going to kill this woman, without gathering any
information from her, then we’re done.”

“Let’s just get this over with, Sully.” Mason
said. He opened the car door, slammed it shut, and began his walk towards the
apartment building. Wilcox followed with eager steps behind him.

The charade could be ended at any time, Sullivan
thought as he followed his two partners into the building. They kept the straps
on their holsters undone, a tactic used by a gunman with shooting on the mind.
His thoughts of killing the two monsters and driving back home to his family
clouded his mind once more.

“Jenna Kaspar,” Mason asked the lobby attendant,
his booming voice heard through the open glass door. “Where is she?”

The lobby attendant struggled, “Ap…apartment 404,
sir.”

Sullivan could see the uneasiness of the boy.
Hell, who could blame him? He had armed men in front of him, after all. If
anything went wrong, who was to stop an Agent from killing him and walking away
home free? All one had to do was say that he was a suspected member of the
resistance and…bang!

Wilcox pulled out his pistol. “You’re not lying
to us are you, kid?”

“N…no…it’s just that Ms. Kaspar has never caused
any problems.”

“It’s because she’s busy plotting against the
government…” Wilcox said.

“DeMarcus,” Sullivan interrupted, “holster that
sidearm.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mason and Wilcox jogged to the elevator, Sullivan
followed at a slower pace behind. His heart raced now. It felt like it would
explode out of his chest. This whole thing stank like a rotten corpse. He knew
the intentions of the shit heads in front of him. He just needed to keep it
together. To do his best to not let the nerves get the better of him. There had
to be a peaceful solution to all this. A way to get that old lady out of
there…alive.

Sullivan fit into the tightly packed elevator. A
sense of claustrophobia hit him as the double doors screeched shut. Mason hit
the number four. The ancient elevator rumbled and shook to life.
1…2…
There
was an increase in Sullivan’s heart rate. He could feel the beads of sweat
start to accumulate on his brow. The leader hoped his subordinates couldn’t
sense the nervousness that ate away at him…
4.
A light Bing and the two
doors struggled themselves apart before they stopped on either end.

With conviction, Mason and Wilcox exited the
elevator and moved down the hallway in desperate search of apartment 404.
Sullivan followed behind. He tried to compose himself as he did. This was the
type of job he had done dozens of times before. The only thing left to do was
to get over his anxiety. Just get the job done and get out.

He arrived at the door, his two partners on
either side of the frame. In front, were the rusted numbers “4” and “4”. All
that remained of the “0” was a dark circle overlapping a smaller one. The
number had rotted away from the door years before. Sullivan breathed in one
last breath and started to bang his right fist against the wood.

No answer from the inside.

“USR,” Sullivan called out. “We only want to talk
Ms. Kaspar, please open up.”

Nothing but silence.

Sullivan banged his fist against the door three
more times. When there was still no sign of life, he nodded towards Wilcox. The
bigger of the circle jerks walked over to the door and took in a deep breath.
His left boot shattered the door’s foundation. The three men moved in with
swiftness, guns drawn.

“USR!” Sullivan cried out. “Nobody move!”

The target sat on the couch in a stunned silence.
A yellow knitting project lay on her lap. Sullivan’s eyes narrowed onto her. He
aimed his Glock at her fast beating chest. The mark looked at him and tears
welled up in her eyes. The sight in front of him penetrated his soul. The image
forced the Agent to lower his handgun.

“Sully, what the hell is going on?” Mason called
from the kitchen.

“We’re bringing her in.” Sullivan replied. He
holstered his pistol and extended his right hand. “Ma’am, I need you to come
with us.”

“Why?” Mother asked. “I have done nothing wrong.”

“Ma’am, we have evidence against you. Evidence
which links you to the resistance. We need you to come in and…”

“Bitch, drop that ugly piece of shit and put your
hands behind your head!” Wilcox demanded. He moved in and brushed against his
superior’s shoulder. His right hand with his pistol aimed at the head, his left
arm extended reaching out for the old woman.

“Wilcox, lower your weapon and stand down!”
Sullivan ordered. Wilcox did as ordered and backed away.

“Are you with us, sir?” Mason asked from
Sullivan’s left. “You’re sure you’re not working for them?”

“What makes you think that?” Sullivan asked,
turning his body to face Mason. “We need answers, information, and she is going
to give it to us. Isn’t that right, ma’am?”

“What answers?” Mother replied. “What have I
done?”

“You’re a fucking leftover,” Mason said. He
inched his body closer to Mother. “We know that you’re sensitive to the rebels.
Don’t play dumb shit with us.”

“What?” Mother asked again.

“You’re sending out letters, you worthless
whore.”

“Letters? I have no idea…”

“I think that’s resisting arrest, sir. I’m going
to have to use necessary force.”

“Mason, if you don’t stop undermining me…”
Sullivan said.

“You’ll do what?”

While the two Agents bickered back and forth,
Wilcox kept his eyes on Mother’s lap. She was fidgeting with something
underneath the blanket. What it was, he did not know, but he trained his eyes
on it. The Agent moved his gun towards Mother’s head and her eyes grew to the
size of softballs.

“She’s got something underneath…” Wilcox began to
say.

BANG BANG BANG!

Sullivan looked with horror to the terrible sight
in front of him. The smoke from the barrel of Mason’s gun could be seen from
the corner of his left eye. His partner executed the poor woman: two to the
chest and one to the head. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He fell to one
knee and felt like passing out. Behind closed eyelids, Sullivan told himself to
pull it together.

Sullivan opened his eyes. “What the hell was
that?”

“She had something under there.” Mason said.
“Self-defense.”

“Self-defense?”

Sullivan got back onto his feet and walked with
wobbled legs to the dead woman. He pulled the yellow blanket back. The knitting
needles once held with weathered hands lay flat on her thighs. Sullivan wiped
the sweat from his brow. How was this possible?

“Knitting needles?” Sullivan cried. “Are you
kidding me? Were you afraid she was going to rub your skin with them?”

“How was I supposed to know?” Wilcox demanded.
“She could have had anything underneath there.”

“Why didn’t you ask her to freeze and show you
what she had?”

“She’s working for them,” Mason said. He moved
closer to the body. “Who gives a rat’s ass?”

“I do,” Sullivan replied. “Now, we’ll never get
anything from her because you two fucked this whole thing up.”

“I’m sorry to say this, sir,” Wilcox said as he
approached. “You seem a little…I don’t know, disappointed in this result.”

“She was an aging woman.”

“Who cares? She was a leftover and she was
working for the enemy.”

“Let’s just get out of here. Report back to
Fitzpatrick.”

“What about the evidence?” Mason asked. “Don’t
you want to find the evidence?”

Sullivan turned, “Like it matters, now. We’ll get
a cleanup crew to come here and find all that. Let’s go.”

The three Agents left the apartment. Sullivan led
the way, making his way past the terrified tenants that started to crowd the
hall. He heard the two neophytes behind him bark orders for the citizens to all
to return to their units. After giving the order for a cleanup crew through his
walkie, Sullivan pushed the down arrow by the elevator and waited for it to
open up.

What have I done? What have I become?

Kaspar saw a black and white pull off the side of
the street in front of his building. He watched it speed off into the distance.
Not many reasons existed for Agents to be in this rotten place and none of
those reasons were good. With tired legs, he willed himself to the front step
of the entrance way and pulled the fogged glass door open. The blast of cold
air felt good against his hot, bare arms. He glanced over to the lobby
attendant who looked like a ghost.

Kaspar approached the boy. “What’s up with those
Agents?”

“I don’t know, man.” the boy replied.

“What were they doing here?” Kaspar persisted. He
moved himself over to the desk.

“I don’t know…all I know is that they were asking
for your mother.”

His heart sank and mind raced. What would Agents
want with Mother? Did Razor’s people have something to do with this?
Ridiculous. What would an illegal street fighter want to do with the
authorities? Then, like a streak of lighting, it donned on him: her age.

“You told them where we lived?”

“Yes…yes, sir. They were Agents. I wasn’t going
to lie to them. They didn’t ask about you…”

“I don’t give a shit about myself. Did they leave
here with her?”

“No.”

Kaspar’s eyes grew wide. He cut off his
conversation with the boy and ran straight for the stairs. The once tired legs
no longer ached. He pushed with all that was inside of him up to the fourth
floor in record time. He opened the door and fought his way through the tenants
and noticed the horrible look in their eyes. Their faces gave away that
something very bad happened.

When he arrived at his apartment, he noticed the
door had been knocked off of the hinges. His stomach turned and he didn’t want
to walk in. With reluctance, the prize fighter moved his legs into the
apartment. It didn’t take long for him to arrive at the couch where the most
horrifying sight he ever saw came into view.

Mother lay motionless on the couch. A half made
yellow blanket on her lap, two bullet holes in close proximity on her chest.
One matched them right between her eyes. Her eyes…they were opened wide despite
the fact their owner was dead.

Kaspar approached Mother’s dead body and fell to
his knees. He sobbed without control. Every time he tried to breathe his lungs
collapsed. He was forced to breath in small breaths. His lungs contracted with
violence each time. When the sight of Mother’s opened eyes could no longer be
handled, Kaspar shoved his eyes into his opened palms. The tears saturated the skin
with a vengeance.

When he finally poked his head up, he saw
something lying on the floor. Out the corner of his tear filled eyes, the
yellow blanket could be seen. Knitting was Mother’s one true passion. The only
thing she lived for other than her son. Kaspar grit his teeth together and the
tears flowed once more. What had she ever done to deserve this? A loose piece
of the blanket hung from the lower left hand corner. After a slight tug, it
separated from the rest of the project. Kaspar placed the torn piece into the
right pocket of his sweat pants. He stood up and gave a slight kiss on Mother’s
cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Kaspar cried. “I’m…so sorry.”

Kaspar rubbed his damp right hand across his
buzzed hair. What now? He thought about what Mother had told him, about
quitting fighting altogether and finding a higher purpose in life. He
disappointed her by going through with the fight anyway, despite her pleas. Did
she die disappointed in her son?

Thoughts raced to the nameless father. If there
was any justice in this world, Kaspar knew that he would have suffered a
similar fate years ago. Mother was the only person…the only one who would
always be there for him. Now she was gone; taken by the USR for nothing…for her
age. Being a leftover had cost her life. Now, Kaspar had nothing. Would never
have anything.

Kaspar looked down with closed eyes. “They will
pay for this. I swear to you, I will find them and…”

Footsteps.

His eyes darted toward the front door. Kaspar
hoped with everything inside that the person responsible would walk through. A
figure wearing a black jacket over top a black shirt walked in. He recognized
the dark clothing from the alleyway in front of Danny’s gym. The intruder wore
a black helmet with tinted glass over the eyes giving no hints towards the
owner’s identity. From the looks of the intruder’s figure, Kaspar could tell it
was a woman. She held a second helmet in her left hand. Kaspar’s eyes grew in
both shock and anger. What the hell was going on?

“Put this on,” a female voice said as she held up
the helmet. Was she the one from earlier?

Kaspar did not move. “Who the hell are you?”

“I don’t have time to explain.”

“Were you the one from this morning?”

“Look, mister, put this on and…”

A USR Agent moved in from behind her, three more behind
him. They each held their black pistols at the ready. Kaspar remained in his
knelt stance but put his hands straight up in the air. The woman was more
defiant and stood, her body remained stiff as a board. The lead Agent walked
past the woman and slowly approached Kaspar. Two approached the woman on each
side. The last one approached her from behind.

“Put your hands up!” the Agent behind the woman
shouted.

She remained still. The Agent moved in from
behind. When he touched her back shoulder, the woman’s helmet covered head flew
back. The force of the blow broke the Agent’s nose and he fell to the ground.
She lifted the black helmet in her hand swiftly to stun the left Agent. She
spun the helmet violently to her right. The battering ram knocked the right
Agent out cold.

The intruder dropped the helmet. She spun to
reach for the right Agent. She grabbed him underneath the arms and held him up
before he fell to the ground. The Agent in front of Kaspar turned. He raised
his handgun then pulled the trigger five consecutive times. The rounds ripped
into his partner’s midsection. The woman pushed the human shield forward with
her left forearm. With her right hand, she reached into her jacket.

She retrieved a P99 hand gun. She placed the gun
beside the shield’s ear, muzzle pointed forward. Three rounds rocketed out of
the gun. One round hit her target’s shoulder. The other two tore holes in the
wall. The intruder shoved her shield forward into the man in front. The force
of the impact knocked the gun out of his hand. She fired three more shots: two
the chest, one to the head.

The Agent that was to the woman’s left regained
his composure. He aimed his pistol at her. The woman dropped to the ground and
rolled across the floor. The Agent fired consecutive shots which ripped through
the old wooden floor. She finished her roll. She raised her weapon and fired.
One shot between the eyes.

Kaspar looked at the carnage in front of him. A
fear he had never felt before froze him. Who this woman was no longer mattered.
To get the hell out of here was all that mattered. The screams of the tenants
outside filled his ear drums. He wanted to join them in their screaming.
Nothing came out. His mouth just stayed open. The woman retrieved the spare black
helmet and approached.

“Put this on.” the intruder ordered once more.

He obeyed this time. The helmet fit snug over his
head. It became a minor struggle to get it all the way down. He flipped the
tinted visor down and followed the woman out into the hallway. All the tenants
who were out of their units before retreated back to them. The woman continued
to lead the way. She held her P99 up with her right hand, poised to kill any
Agents who might linger through the hall. She walked to the elevator and pushed
the down button. It took an age for the old doors to open. The two walked
inside. She pressed the L button. The doors struggled to close once more.

The two said nothing while the elevator shook and
rattled its way downward. Kaspar’s mind was scrambled. He looked over to the woman
through his visor. Who was she? What the hell just happened? What about Mother?

A strong jolt from the elevator left Kaspar
stunned. He could not remember the last time he used this damn thing. The doors
opened with a screeching cry. The woman walked out with her gun held up. Kaspar
once again followed close in the rear. Behind the desk, the lobby attendant
dropped to his knees in fear. He reached up for the phone…

“Don’t.” the woman said. Her tone was strong
enough that the skinny hand left their sight.

Her pace quickened and Kaspar’s matched her from
behind. Once outside she sprinted towards a black motorcycle parked against the
sidewalk. The woman replaced her hand gun back into the holster inside her
jacket. Kaspar did not know the model of the bike. It had two head lights in
front and a silver inscription which read “Triumph” along the gas tank. The
bike’s sleek design told him that this particular bike must have cost this
woman a small fortune.

“Get on.” she said. The engine roared to life.

Kaspar lifted his left leg over the seat cushion
and inched his behind onto the seat. Before his right foot was off the pavement
the bike roared forward. The bike raced like a rocket out of hell. The woman
maneuvered the bike along both sides of traffic. She avoided the cars on either
side with sweeping turns from left to right. The sound of the car horns were
deafened by loud roars of the engine. Kaspar’s grip on the woman tightened. He
could feel the firmness of her breasts along the top of his forearms. He was
never a ladies’ man, yet here he found himself, groping this one and holding on
for dear life.

Sounds of sirens came from behind. Kaspar heard a
loud curse. The woman turned left down a one way street: going the opposite
way. He closed his eyes and buried his covered head into the woman’s back.

“Get off me!” she screamed.

Kaspar moved his head off her head just in time
to see a honking car speed in their direction. The woman veered left onto the
empty sidewalk. She maneuvered back onto the pavement and took the next right.
The two were with traffic once again.

The sirens returned. The squad car’s tires
screeched along the pavement as its driver took a hard right to follow the bike
in hot pursuit. What now? The woman’s right hand jerked downwards on the
handlebar. She tried to say something that Kaspar could not hear.

“What?” Kaspar yelled.

“Reach in my jacket!” the woman screamed. “Take a
gun!”

Kaspar moved his right hand inside her jacket and
felt around. His hand reached the shoulder holster. He took hold of a gun,
yanked it out, then his arms returned to their death grip along her midsection.
The woman took another right.

“You have to shoot the tires out!” she yelled.

“What?!”

“Shoot the…”

A sharp left turn. The car in front slammed its
brakes and pulled to the right. On the opposite side of traffic, a car blared
its horn. A sharp right avoided that car. The driver of the squad car remained
in hot pursuit as the desperate citizens in front got out of his way.

“The windshield is armored!” the woman cried.
“You have to shoot the tires out! You can do it!”

Kaspar gripped the handle of the gun. He prepared
to turn his body around. What the hell did she think he would do? The handling
of a gun was completely foreign to him. The idea came to his head that all he
would have to do was point and shoot. After a deep breath, he moved his index
finger towards the trigger. He wasn’t ready to die, but what choice was there?
Kaspar, still trying to get a firm grip on the handle, felt his thumb hit some
type of lever by the trigger guard. The magazine went crashing to the pavement.

“Are you kidding me?!” the woman screamed. “Hold
on!”

A jolt propelled the bike forward. Kaspar held on
as the force of the acceleration sent his body into her back. His heart never
beat faster. The sirens got closer. The woman continued to accelerate. The cars
in front moved to the right at the command of the squad car’s sirens. It made a
clear path for whatever the woman had in her mind.

“Don’t you move!” she yelled.

She gripped the brakes. Kaspar could feel the
bike’s tail start to move up. He closed his eyes and squeezed the wild person’s
midsection. The back tire lifted off of the pavement. The tail continued its
rise. Kaspar’s grip on the woman was now so tight that her circulation was cut
off.

The woman rode the bike on its nose tire for several
feet. She steered left and a car on the opposite side blared its horn before
the driver narrowly avoided them. Kaspar could feel the weight shift and his
head go light. She completed the 180 endo and pulled out a P99 from her left
holster. The back tire slammed onto the pavement.

She fired consecutive shots into the front and
back tires of the squad car. The Agent started to roll his window down to fire
back. Control of the car had already been lost. A car coming on the opposite
side of traffic slammed into it. The woman accelerated the bike forward and
steered right into an alleyway.

“Are you crazy?” Kaspar yelled.

“If you weren’t such a…”