Tue, 29 November 2005  Chapter 13 - Apparently Answering PrayersDirect download: Chapter_13_Apparently_Answering_Prayers.mp3 Category: podiobook -- posted at: 4:04 AM Comments[0] |
Tue, 29 November 2005 Chapter 12: Crystal (Where?)
As George sat down at his darkly stained oak desk he let out a sigh of exhaustion. He began to reach for his feather quill pen, but mid-motion realized that he was not here to sign anything. He scanned his desk for priority documents that he needed to read, but alas, his desk was clear as it always was kept by his excellent secretary. George was at a loss to his objective, and he felt very uncomfortable about his growing lack of clarity.Now, he was a busy man by definition, but this ran far beyond job induced perplexity. He imagined this is what it felt like when one's memory goes, or when a mental breakdown is in its infancy. He could not control it, nor could he figure out the root of the issue. He was in the best shape ever, confirmed by the ever watchful, "you have to be a national image of health" committee, which unfortunately spawned from some former first lady. This was much to George's dismay. President George Jonathan Washington, direct descendant of the great, had also lived in Mount Vernon, Virginia. His Father, of the same name, was also elected to the highest office in the land two presidents before George now. Even though he and the rest of his family were in the same light as those other similarly famous American families, George continually had his share of trouble. He was a popular guy doing popular things back throughout his youth, and even with his mother's disapproval he would never hide the act of enjoying these pleasures. He was wild, but not out of control. He got in trouble, but nothing major. He didn't take school as seriously as he could, but he earned a high grade average, and he always made sure it wasn't his relatives that earned it for him. Nowadays he still occasionally had a glass of bourbon, or wine during a celebratory dinner. This, his wife addressed at the first mention of 'the election' when George was governor. He never understood why she, and the general public, thought of it as a bad example. He thought to himself at his wife's first mention of going dry several years ago the public would never come out and say it, but they think alcohol is bad. It's the substance that they identify with evil, and not the one imbibing. Even the one drinking acts as though the action is taboo, hiding it from some, and secretly reveling in it with their peers. What is the use of a premise nowadays? How has this happened? Do Christians forget the days of Jesus being criticized by the Pharisees for drinking wine? Is this not proof enough? Is not the Holy Bible the word of God? Something has changed the mind, especially American minds, against the actual substance. People are now creating their own rules… there own good and bad, but what do they factor against? Not their religion? Not a premise? I cannot place my finger on it, but it has already happened. How can people be lead down a blind path? The past mental conversation ran through his head as clear as it did the day his wife mentioned it. Then anger set in again. He was angry at America. He did not like the hypocrisy, or the hiding and lying. The trend of other people pointing fingers and passing judgment, without addressing themselves first, was always something George thought he was alone in noticing. He had never met a person who did not have faults, but he always met with people that pointed out everyone else's. Due to his job he was subject to listening to many people's opinions on the way things should be, the way people should act, and the rules people 'need' to follow, and every time he heard anything of the sort his mind would trail and he would look at the speaker. It was not the Mother Teresa's of the world. They asked for help for the under privileged. It was always the one's who were screaming on the inside. The one's who figured if their one request was met the world would be amazingly balanced in a moment. These were the one's George worked with. There was no other kind. There seemed to be no more Mother Teresa's left. Then George noticed something. To his utter bewilderment this was the clearest he had been thinking in the past three days. How did he even trail off onto this subject, and why is pondering it so clear? Then the door to the oval office opened, and Attorney's General Taggart entered with a folder full of his thoughts on balancing the world. "Good afternoon Mr. President," he greeted his boss. "Welcome General Taggart. I apologize for postponing our meeting earlier, but I was feeling out of sorts throughout the morning." George explained. "I understand completely sir. You have a lot on your plate lately, and I will make this meeting brief." Taggart mentioned as he handed his folder across the desk to the President, "Everything that we spoke about is documented in there, and it all should be fairly to the point." "What exactly did we speak about General Taggart? I remember discussing some concepts with you, but we never defined anything. What are you proposing in this heap of paper?" George replied wearily, as he quickly flipped through the document glancing at a page occasionally. "My proposal, Mr. President, is to remove the separate classifications of all substances under the 'controlled substance act', so that they are all equally measured in all senses, along with the reclassification of controlled substance trafficking, producing, and cultivating as acts of terrorism." Taggart spewed as if reading from a queue card. Silence set in, and George was again thinking clearly. A feeling of caution set in, and he began to review what Taggart's proposal really meant. He stared at the Attorney General in disbelief. The proposal was enormous, and fundamentally impossible, and George knew this. More importantly, The President knew that Attorney's General Taggart, the highest lawyer in the nation, knew this fact too; undeniably. Then the President noticed something. Taggart was standing at attention across the desk with his hands folded behind his back as he always did, being the stuffy guy that he was, but his face was pale, and he seemed strangely nervous. George had never seen him nervous. George said to himself something is wrong hear. Something is going on. George wiped any expression off and replaced it with his poker face. He wanted to feel Taggart out, "You understand this means that cultivators of cannabis, even for medicinal use, will be arrested and charged as a meth scientist, or a drug lord?" Taggart nodded, "Correct sir." "And you are aware that if classified as terrorist acts you would be able to pursue and locate the offender you are referring to, in this case a marijuana cultivator, with the highest level of clearance, and disregard for privacy?"p> "Correct again Mr. President. I believe this gives us an incredible platform from which to launch a final war against drugs. I am confident this will be the bellwether for us." Taggart gave his sales pitch, but seemed even more nervous now. "Who is 'us' Taggart?" George slowly asked in the tone of suspicion, which threw the Attorney General off guard and into a spin of anxiety. George was still trying to keep his cool on, and didn't know how the suspicious tone came out himself either, but the reaction in Taggart's manner was enough to confirm any suspicion the President had. The President of the United States and the Attorney's General stared at each other in complete silence. The senior, wondering what sort of conspiracy was be planned behind his back, and the junior knowing that some level of cover had been blown and was now completely frozen as a deer is when caught in headlights. George sat back in his chair in the slowest of motion. He wanted Taggart to remain in his immobile state, and felt that any sudden move might cause a change in demeanor. He reached his hand slowly towards the phone on his desk, which could call his secret service men to his side in the quickest of fashion, but he stopped. He could not understand why, but he stopped. A feeling inside told him not to pick up that phone. George looked at his life at this very moment. I haven't been thinking this clear in a long time. Either I'm going crazy or something that's supposed to happen is happening. I shouldn't pick up that phone. At the moment of George's decision the door to the oval office opened, and Thomas, the secret service man, barged in with Glenda, the President's secretary, ordering, "By who? By me Thomas! You're forbidden by me to go in there when the door to the oval office is…" George was still in a state of disorder, and did not speak but just gave Thomas a look of confusion. Thomas spoke out as soon as his eyes met the President's, "Mr. President sir, I would never do this unless I thought it was of absolute necessity. There is an incident in California, and I believe that many officials and possibly some within the administration did not want you to know this (Thomas motioned towards Taggart with his eyes), and are in fact hiding, I think, something from you. I beg of you to speak alone with me." General Taggart's eyes were wide and he began to tremble and shift his weight from one foot to the other. "Actually Mrs. Tilford will you leave Thomas, the Attorney General and I alone, and make sure that absolutely no one at all comes into this room until I have opened the doors. Have the rest of the servicemen man the entrances to and surrounding the oval office, and order that their weapons be drawn. Is that clear Glenda?" "Crystal, Mr. President." Glenda said nervously, as she backed out of the office starring at the carpet also trembling. George now stood up, and Thomas said, "Mr. President may I have permission to turn the television on?" "Thomas, this is of the most extreme condition, please do whatever you need to proceed and tell me what the fuck is going on, now." He was still starring at General Taggart as if his frightened state would disappear once his gaze was removed. Thomas turned on the television, and pulled out his two-way, "Matthew, will you play the tape from the beginning for the president on channel three?" The reply came back, "Sure thing Tom. Give me five." George interrupted, "Thomas you can bring me up to speed verbally in five min…" The images started, "Five seconds Mr. President." At the beginning of the video George was intrigued but still confused. He saw a couple of officers in an upper class suburban setting through the camera work of what resembling the filming of a Cops television show. The footage bounced to and fro in concert with the pace of the cameraman, and three task force members quickly moving towards the door. The President was still unclear on what was going on as the members kicked down the front door. The firing of the live round was followed up by the clearing of dust through the doorway, and then, in slow motion, George saw faint silhouettes. The dust gradually dissipated and through the cloud George saw those shadows form into a real American father and son. The camera quickly pans to the high chair, to the one who fired the gun, and then back to the crying child. Now George’s legs went weak and he sat down with his mouth agape, upon the velvet sofa in the middle of the oval room, and watched the remaining events unfold all the way up to the point where one of the people he nominated to the Committee of Economic Stability, a professional acquaintance, Jacob Hughen, was now on television angrily spewing like one of the sons of liberty. President George Washington now turned, with a very serious look on his face, to his still fossilized Attorney General, and said, "Taggart, the 'us' you were talking about… I think you were speaking of a different group than I belong to." The President stepped back a step and aligned himself at Thomas' side, "Even though it looks as though you don't need it, you do not have my support or approval on your proposals. They will not pass." Taggart remained frozen, "Thomas, you have a side arm, correct?" "Always Mr. President, of course" Thomas said as he drew with his sight locked on the Attorney's General.
"Thomas you are ordered to apprehend and detain Attorney General Taggart on suspicions of terrorism and of conspiratorial high treason of the president and people of United States of America.". Category: novel text -- posted at: 3:46 AM Comments[1] |
Thu, 17 November 2005 Chapter 12 - CrystalComments[0] |
Thu, 17 November 2005 Chapter 11: Silver Lining of the Golden Hinde
Chapter 11: Silver Lining of the Golden Hinde
Juan-Pedro sat upon the leather couch inside his hotel suite, and closely watched the events unroll on television. He had been watching the arrests, and now he was watching one of the neighbors of the criminals with amusement. This old man, who was dressed in his fancy robe and flannel pajamas beneath was speaking to the camera in a way Juan had never witnessed before. The neighbor was apparently agitated with the officers at the scene. He had commandeered the microphone and now had captured and captivated the local bay area viewers.When the elderly man introduced himself as Jacob Hughen, one of the most powerful businessmen, and cornerstones of the accounting sector, Juan knew that something out of the ordinary had happened. The equation didn't make any sense. A young father, who was caught growing a substantial amount of cannabis, was being supported by a senior citizen of an ultra-high social class. Jacob Hughen didn't attack or accuse Bradley of being an irresponsible father, or of being a criminal. No, Jacob Hughen cared not about the charges. In Juan's country something like this would not even happen… any of it. He was surprised that it happened in America at all, even with the amount of liberalism that runs rampant in the states. He had not ever even witnessed a senior citizen supporting a young adult such as Bradley in any case. The two seemed to be different species, exact opposites, or even combatants. Mr. Hughen continued on to the subject of the criminal's son. His wife, Madeline, had come to his side with pressing questions. She had become terribly worried when Jacob mentioned that fact that a gun had been fired, and was now wondering if anyone had been hurt. Jacob was without the answers he was looking for too, so he turned and located the agent who had fired the gun off, and called him over to the camera for grilling. He asked the agent, agent Barker, what the offense was. Agent Barker stated the charges, and then informed Mr. and Mrs. Hughen of the maximum penalty of twenty-five years, and at that moment it happened. The camera had not been perfectly still the whole time, bobbing to and fro methodically with the sway of the flabbergasted cameraman, but there was no missing the single tear that immediately rolled down the face of Madeline Hughen that moment. The tear dropped at the echoing ring of the officer's last words. The pure emotional attachment was realized by anyone watching at the very instant. All could identify with the heartbreak, and sorrow the old woman was feeling, without even knowing the history. She communicated everything that the father and son meant to her with one large tear. He husband comforted her and he embraced her momentarily, and as he turned to face the camera and the world again he still wore the angry fire in his eyes, but his eyes had glassed over. With the motivation of rage and sadness Jacob Hughen drew a line in the sand, and told the government he would be crossing over to their side, and that he demanded to know where little Gregory Harris was. This was special Juan said to himself. He could feel an intensity about the event, a defining historical moment he was to witness in his life, and that something had just changed in the world, and there was no human ability to stop it. Juan imagined how far Jacob Hughen's platform would or could reach. Then the television rang out, "The boy is at the San Francisco Federal Reserve Building on Market…" What was this? Juan heard the officer state the location of the child, and he knew that meant something more. He tried to remember why that fact was so important, but it was a subject so new that he had not formalized any aspect about it in his head. His brain was in a blank state only searching for the importance of the whereabouts of the child. He did not have any tie to the child, and he would have cared less where the child was if Jacob Hughen wasn't so adamant about the subject. He looked back to why his interest had emerged in the first place to make him watch the news before he took off to SFO to return home. And then it all came together in his head. The phone rang and Juan answered, "Hello," mind you in his native tongue, "This is Juan." "Estoy Tomas. Are you aware of what has become of your situation?" a deep thick gruff voice asked. "Hola Tomas, you have called at a very strange time." Juan began to explain. "I agree." The tone in Tomas' voice was unexpectedly pleasant and relaxed. Juan could tell something was up. Tomas continued, "Are you aware of the events unraveling near you?" "Of what events?" Juan asked. "I can hear the television in your room, and that tells me you know of what I'm talking about." Juan was even more in shock now, "The event involving this neighbor Jack…. o Jacob Hughen?" "Si." Tomas plainly responded. "You are correct, but now I must ask you how did you hear of this?" "I too am watching thee very same footage you are watching now. It is on the local news here too, and I can tell you that means it is also being viewed in Europe and most Asian countries." Tomas calmly stated. "Si, this is not good for us…" Juan started to divulge. "Actually you must, as they say over there, see the silver lining." Tomas said esoterically. Juan now became uncomfortably confused, and his temper began to rise, "Tomas I have no idea why this would cause you to call me, much less please you." "Because the child is being kept in the Federal building on Market," Tomas eluded. "I am still not following you Tomas." Said Juan. "This is important because, what were the exact word 'The minor has been taken to the head quarters of the operation along with any and all confiscated evidence.'" And now Juan understood. Tomas continued, "We have contacted the Golden Hinde." "What for?" Juan said with disgust. "I have propositioned them with a deal." "This is bad Tomas. I must leave the country now. To me, the plan has back fired, and I can only gain exposure by staying here. This is not worth the risk." "Juan where are all the policia right now?" Tomas asked getting more esoteric by the moment to Juan dissatisfaction. "They are all out on the operation." "And where are the drugs?" "They are all..." Juan paused taking in the final equation, "at the Federal Reserve on Market." "I am sure that we could acquire the product at a much lower cost than from you Gringo partners, if we were to go through the Golden Hinde." Tomas came out with it. "What is happening Tomas." Juan had lost all his patience, and demand to be shot straight. "Time is of the essence Juan. To accomplish this, things must be hastened." "What did you do Tomas?!?!?" "The Golden Hinde is now amassing and will invade the Federal Building later in the afternoon. It is still early in the day, and the task force, I assume, has many hours ahead of them, but our window of opportunity is small. Our amigos are incommunicado, and there is no turning back." Juan hung up the phone in anger, and the only thing that came to mind was Giovanni Paulo.
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Thu, 17 November 2005 Chapter 10: The Guardian (Where?)
"Good Morning for those that are joining us. I'm Cindy Chen, and for those of you who have stayed tuned in, thank you for your patience. We're back from an unannounced break. The footage you saw previous to the break was of a raid upon a north Marin house, which was occupied by a man and childâ?¦ Yes, it has been confirmed the father and son were the tenants of the house, and I have also been informed that the raid has finally ended.The task force confiscated approximately two hundred plants. The spokesperson for the task force also stated that the owner of the house, who will remain nameless, had been identified as a potential target for sometime now, and the task force was just waiting for the right time. The spokesperson continued stating that the bust will put a huge dent in the "Golden Triangle" black market. Also that the citizens of this small town, and of the greater Marin area should feel much safer after today knowing that the large majority of people, like the mentioned criminal, are being targeted and arrested today. We now go back to Raymond the camera man who caught the intense bust on camera. He is speaking with one of the neighboring residents live... Hello Raymond. I know you're only on a cell phone, and can't see us, but can you get a feeling for the mood of the neighbors? Are they worried? Relieved? "Hey, yeah Cindy. I can hear you fine, and you're going to have to forgive my interviewing skills. I'm still a little shaken up from the turn of events in the last few minutes, so I'll do my best. I have, although, connected a mic to the camera so that we won't have to rely on the cell phone. Cindy returned, "Go ahead and keep the call live if you can, but take the interview from here Ray. Thanks" Ray continued, "Several neighbors have come out of their homes asking about the gun shot. They are conversing with one of the police officers, and there seems to be some concern, rightfully so." [The camera zoomed in on the officer and neighbors. One of the neighbors, an elderly man wearing flannel pajamas covered by a silk robe, and wearing slippers was pointing towards the house exclaiming something. He saw the camera, stopped his conversation, and immediately headed over to the cameraman.] Cindy, here comes one of the neighbors right now. Let see what he has to say... Hello sir, I'm from channel 4 local news, and I can understand if you would like to remain anonymous at this time, but we'd like to get your reaction to this and the other series of busts that are going on right now. Keep in mind this is a live feed with no delay, sir. So you're on TV right nowâ?¦ The man looked into the camera, and then back at Ray. He seemed extremely distraught, and his eyes were staring hard. He looked in to the camera one last time, and began, "My name is Jacob Hughen. I am the acting chairman and president of the largest public accounting firm in the world, Hughen Accounting, and as a citizen, neighbor, and a substantial contributor to the local public services I am fucking outraged," Ray's mouth dropped open. That's not what they were looking for, "Bradley Harris and his son Gregory are about the most loved members of this entire community. Everyone thinks highly of the family, and has grown to love them. Now I don't know what he got himself into, but I'd be willing to bet it does not warrant kicking down his God damn door, and blindly opening fire." A gasp was heard from behind the man. "That was a gun shot?!" an elderly woman asked in astonishment, "Why were they shooting at Bradley? Is anyone hurt? Where is Gregory?" "I don't know Madeline. The officer over there wouldn't tell me shit," Mr. Hughen momentarily turned to what seemed to be his wife and then promptly returned to the camera, "I don't know what happened to Mr. Harris and his son, but I'm going to fucking find out." Jacob turned, searching the area. He was an old man and he showed it, but the determination could be felt emitting from his steaming demeanor. He spotted a task force member, "Hey!!!" The task force member looked up at the old man and pointed to himself mouthing, "Me?" "Yeah you. You're the one who fired off the gun right?" The task force member bowed his head and beckoned to Jacob Hughen's call. Jacob began, "What has Mr. Harris and his son been charged with officerrrrrrrrr?" "Barker. I am special agent Timothy Barker from the Drug Task Force of the office of Mayor McCain. The target has been charged with the cultivation, trafficking, and sales of marijuana. We entered the house, found and confiscated over two hunâ?¦" "Did you call Mr. Harris, the target? Don't you think that's a word you want to stay away from considering you're current situation? And what would Mr. Harris' maximum sentence be?" Jacob was getting the hang of interviewing. He held the mic out to Agent Barker for a reply. "Mr. Harris could serve a maximum penalty of up to of twenty-five years in jail." At the statement Mrs. Hughen covered her mouth in utter horror. She clutched her husbands forearm for support as a tear silently trickled down her face. Jacob turned to her and whispered consolingly to her. His gaze returned to the camera teary eyed himself, "What has become of his son Gregory?" "The minor has been taken to the head quarters of the operation along with any and all confiscated evidence. He will remain in the custody of theâ?¦" "Bull fucking shit," Jacob replied with his wife wincing at his language, "Where is the child? I'm his guardian. The boy should be with us. We're his family." "Sir," Now agent Barker had heard enough. He wasn't here to answer questions, and he wasn't about to believe that out of everyone, Gregory's guardian would be an aging neighbor instead of a relative, "this matter is not up for discussion, and let it be known that the child is in the care of public servants and will be kept safe there until his real parent or guardian comes to pick him up." Jacob stood staring angrily at agent Barker in disbelief, and there was an uncomfortable silence for about 4 seconds. Jacob sternly returned, "Actually since his father and mother, Mr. & Mrs. David Wayne Harris, died in the United Airways attack of 96'; and the fact that both his wife and daughter were killed in a car accident almost two years ago; Mr. Harris has no surviving relatives, and in turn picked me, longtime friend of the family, as the rightful guardian to his son Gregory." This silenced agent Barker. A vague smile appeared on Jacob Hughen's face that moment, and he saw a weakness in the eyes of the man opposite him, "Where is the boy, agent Barker?" The agent remained silent, "As the boy's rightful guardian I am asking where he is so I may pick him up. He needs to be with friends," Jacob looked to the camera with a gleam in his eye, "Not the enemy." "I want the public to know that I am going to put up as much money as it takes to defend Mr. Harris of these charges, and I also would like Mayor McCain to know that there will be litigation revolving around the handling of firearms both unwarranted and around an unarmed minor of the age of three," the agent was now looking very alarmed. "Where is the boy agent Barker?" "Sir I would need proof that you are the boy's rightful guardian. I can not disclose the location of the boy until that time." Right then Wally interrupted with a cell phone up to his ear, "He is. I've confirmed that Mr. Hughen is the guardian of Gregory Harris." Agent Barker looked at Wally in disgust. Wally continued, "Hey my boss is on the line and he's not about to lose funding and take the wrap for Mayor McCain just because he sends out poorly trained agents to a drug raid. Mr. Hughen is the rightful guardian of the boy. You must inform him of the child's whereabouts" Jacob returned his look to Agent Barker for answers. The agent continued to remain silent. Wally once again interrupted, "The boy is at the San Francisco Federal Reserve Building on Market." Jacob once again looked to the camera, "That's still rolling right?" Raymond replied, "Sure is Mr. Hughen."
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Tue, 8 November 2005  Chapter 10: The Guardian
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Chapter 11: Silve Lining of the Golden HindeComments[0] |
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Tue, 8 November 2005 Chapter 9: Time For You to Lost the High Chair (Where?)
Bradley awoke in his office and immediately felt the soreness of his hands. He opened his eyes only to become blinded by the high wattage lights he had installed around the room. He struggled to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes with his palms. Upon the wall the clock showed five in the morning.As he exited the room Bradley headed down the hallway and swung open Gregory's bedroom door, "Let's get up and get some food buddy. What d'ya feel like for breakfast?" Gregory rolled over turning his back to his father and Bradley could barely make out, "Pancakes." Brad chuckled under his breath, "Sorry dude. You know we don't have time for pancakes. We got to get you dressed and ready for school. You have mass today," Brad was pulling out Gregory's dress clothes, "So I'm gonna have you put everything on except your button up until you're done eatin'." Gregory was still motionless in his race car bed, and Brad sat down next to him and ran his fingers through his son's blonde hair. As he did this, Brad caught site of his bloodied knuckles, and decided to let Greg sleep a bit longer while he cleaned them off. Brad stepped into the bathroom, and flipped on the lights. He looked at himself in the mirror, and starred at the large bags beneath his eyes. He rubbed the short bristles on his shaved head, and massaged his temples a little. He wasn't much more awake than his son was at the moment. He proceeded to scrub the blood and dead skin off of his hands. He reached into his medicine cabinet, and pulled out a roach clip with a joint fastened at the end and lit it up. He took one pull from it, and placed it down on the sink. After splashing some water on his face, and doing some more waking up Brad took another hit from his joint and turned the sink on. He dabbed the lit cherry into the water to put it out, and tossed the clip and joint back into the cabinet. Brad once again sleepily walked down the hallway and turned into the kitchen. He pulled out two bowls and two spoons. "Come on Greg I'm pouring you a bowl. We'll get your clothes on after. We gotta hurry." Brad got the milk and cereal box and placed them along with the spoon and bowls down on the table. He filled both of them up and turned to call Gregory again, "Greâ?¦" Gregory was already standing in the doorway with a sleepy but very large smile on his face. He had dressed all by himself, and had left his button up still on his bed. "I'm like you daddy." Greg said referring to their matching out fits. Khaki pants, and an undershirt. "Dude come here." Brad commanded as he patted his knee. Greg hopped up, "I am so frickin' proud of you. I can't tell you how much, but I haven't been proud of anything as much as I am with you. I mean that." Gregory laid his head on his father's shoulder, and asked, "What about mommy and sissy?" "I was really proud of them too buddy, but you most of all now. Let's say our prayers and get some food." With that Bradley lifted Greg off his knee. As Brad took Greg off his knee and lowered his son's feet to the dining room floor a loud screeching sound came from out front. As the screech quickly came to an end the abrupt honking of a horn blared. Bradley's hands tightened around his son as he waited for the standard crashing noise after the skid. None came, and he let go of his son. Gregory walked over to the chair next to Brad, and pulled it out. He hoped up into the seat, and looked at his father for a reaction. Bradley looked over at his son, and as he eyed his son's school outfit he smiled, "Maybe it's time for you to lose the high chair Gee. I think you're big enough for the table. There is one thing about sitting at the big boy table though," Greg looked at his father eager to find out the requirement, "You'll need to switch off with me and say grace for the meals." Gregory smiled due to the fact that he was quite comfortable talking to God. He began, "Thank you Jesus for the food. Thank you for Daddy annnnnnnnndd," Gregory opened one eye to look at his father for some more material. Bradley mouthed "Mommy." "â?¦and thank you for Mommy and Sissy. I want to see them again. I miss them veryâ?¦" all of a sudden another screech sounded from outside starling Gregory, but this time much louder. Bradley waited for the accompanying crash, but instead heard a deep thud, and the clang of metal-on-metal which seemed too close to ignore. Father and Son still had their hands folded and fingers crossed for prayer. As Brad's head angrily rose up scowling to peer towards the front of the house, a tremendous noise, that of the breaking of fibers and splintering of wood, sounded and the front door was throttled and fiercely unhinged. It flew through the air quickly shattering, and then proceeded to the floor in a mangled state. At the same time a flash emitted from the front door, and a tremendously loud sound echoed through the house. Along with the door going forward was a small thirty-five millimeter round, which blew through the unhinged door mid-flight, and proceeded to fly through the living room piercing the unforeseen high chair and dismounting it from it's upright position. Gregory gasped in fright, and Bradley placed his hands on the table bracing his surroundings in utter shock. As the high chair landed, and the dust cleared, a figure remained in the doorway. His silhouette augmented by the lack of morning light outside gave little detail to his identity. The figure, which seemed to Brad like a SWAT team member, was looking down at his smoking weapon and seemed quite taken aback by it's discharged state. Two identically clothed crouching figures quickly brushed past and entered the room. Both men stopped dead in their tracks about five feet from the entrance, and five feet from the table. They looked at the father and son. The fact that they had obviously been in prayer seemed to momentarily stall the two teammates, and then their gazes turned to the tipped high chair with an inch and a half whole gapping in the backrest. Bradley was still unable to comprehend what the reasoning was for all of this. He eyes jumped from point to point around the room to gather clues to the meaning of the intrusion. His gaze moved along to the mangled door, the hole in Greg's old high chair, the camera, and then the man with the smoking gun. Bradley saw a badge upon the man's chest, and when he read the word's "S.F. Drug Task Force" everything began to come into perspective. Then several local police officers came through the door followed by a man holding something with a bright light on his shoulders. The three officers stopped in the middle of the room behind the two wing men task force members who had advanced, and they dreadfully looked at the high chair and then at the family. Wally saw Gregory with his hands folded, and then he noticed something devastating. The wall behind Gregory was bright with light, and a clear crisp shadow of the boy and his father was also present. Wally turned to see the source of the light, and his fears were confirmed. That shadow confirmed that they had just walked into a target's house after the drug task force had kicked down the door without any warning, accidentally fired a live round that tore through the house which had blown a gapping hole through a child's high chair, and the settling aftermath was caught on camera and broadcast live to all the local networks. "Ohhhh Fuck!" Wally exclaimed as he equated the big picture in his head. He turned to Tom, and Tom turned to him. There were no words that could possible surface in either of the officers at this moment. Each and every person inside the house was still, including the tenants. As Wally's exclamation echoed the task force members where removed from their shock-like state, and the lead man who fired off the round yelled, "Freeze! Step away from the table!" This shook everyone up. Brad scooted his chair back and stood up. The camera man re-angled himself to include all parties. The three police officers pulled out their guns, and made sure the camera man was keeping out of harms way. The two wing man task force members crouched and pointed their guns at Bradley. This made Gregory leap from his chair towards his father. One of the wing men rushed and grabbed Gregory around the waist denying his father's grasp. Bradley immediately darted for his son yelling, "No!" and the standing man issued the butt of his rifle into Bradley's stomach causing him to buckle forward. As Brad gasped for air clutching his stomach and stumbling, the man raised the gun over his shoulder with both hands and brought the stalk down upon Bradley's head knocking his head into the door frame and knocking him out. With the target out, and Gregory contained, sobbing in disarray, the two wing men proceeded past the dinner table and down the hallway with the camera man following. They kicked in Gregory's bedroom door, and scanned the room briefly and moved on. Next they kicked in the bathroom door, and searched around quickly. Next they arrived at Bradley's office door, and as one of the wing men raised his foot the camera man stating, "Stop fucking kicking down the doors God damn it!" The wing man turned to the camera man, was met with the blazing light, and froze. The Camera man continued motioned towards the hysterical Gregory in sympathy, "None of these doors are locked." The other wing man slowly turned the knob. As the door opened the light shined through the hallway, and the S.F. Drug Task Force member knew their operation was legitimate.
Category: novel text -- posted at: 12:12 AM Comments[0] |
Tue, 8 November 2005 Chapter 8: Half Dozen to Another (Where?)
In a residential town in north Marin, the sun had not quite come up yet, and the immense morning dew has settled on the soil giving everything a look as though it had just rained. This was typical climate for the north Marin area, and even though it looked cold outside, the temperature was quite comfortable.A police car was parked at a street corner, and inside were two officers. The driver was smoking a cigarette while the officer in shotgun was sipping from a paper coffee cup. Both of the men seemed anxious, and were waiting for something. The driver took a final drag from his cigarette and as he tossed it to the street he turned to his partner, "Shit Wally, I can't stand much more of this sitting around crap. Sarge shouldn't have even told us what was going on until this morning. I was up all night goin' crazy." "Same here. I haven't slept or even ate since they walked us through it all. This is exactly what I've been waiting for, too." "What? Bustin' dope dealers? Wally this is Marin. That's one of our specialties." "No, I mean a real initiative to do something about the problem. I never figured McCain to be a man of action. I mean I know that the guy gets stuff done over there in the city, but I never figured he would do something solely for moral reasons." "Fuck morals. If we were movin' out today on a moral crusade we'd be bustin' half our own guys." Wally shook his head "See Tom, now that's what's fucked. I'm tired of actin' like nothings going on. Like I don't see anything. I swallow my pride every time I bust a guy for something I see one of you doing. Feels like it's not making any sense anymore. Am I doing this to protect, or am I doing this to collect?" "Collect what?" "A fucking check Tom. A check. Shit. It seems like all the department is doing is running a business. Sarge prints out the "sweeps week" report at the end of the month, and he knows the dollar sign for each bust. He has a budget, and he spends his time trying to balance the figures. Balancing fucking figures Tom. That's not what the cops did when I was younger." "Yeah well Walter things have fucking changed too. We weren't always under such a huge fucking magnifying glass. Back when their was a right wing to be found somewhere in this state we got money when we needed it." "See that's what I'm talking about. There used to be no price on serving the public." "Yeah well there used to be less crime around here." "Whose fault is that, officer?" "I don't know whose fucking fault it is Wally, and really, I don't give a fuck. I know what I do, and I bust guys. When I bust a dude we get money to bust bigger and badder dudes. That's how it works. Missions like this are only possible because of busting any dude that is going forty-five in a twenty-five even though we all speed. If I see those punks in the alley after schools out you can be sure as hell I'm going in there looking for a joint or a bowl. I'll bust them, we get paid because we did the job right, and you get your public served. It all makes sense in the end." "And you pocket the bowl on the way out." Wally said under his breath. There was no comment from Thomas. At that moment the officers spotted a mini-van size car coming towards them very fast. The van came to a skidding halt next to the cop car before Wally and Tom could even react. As the van skidded next to the police car in a driver side-to-driver side formation the driver was slightly propelled forward, and his forearm cushioned his impact using the steering wheel. The van's horn gave out a short and abrupt honk, and the driver smiled a goofy smile as he rolled down the window. It was a cop from the same department as Wally and Tom. "Hey Tom..." the van driving officer greeted his buddy, "Sup P Town?" the officer greeted Wally with his hometown derived nickname. "Sup Charlie. What's up with the fucking van?" "I got a local news camera man in the back," Charlie said while smacking gum, and sporting a toothy grin. "What?!" Wally said as he leaned over Tom to get a better look in the van. "Yeah I think McCain is running for Gov or something. This whole operation is going to be on the news after the objective is complete." "Actually we're gonna be live." A voice corrected from the back of the van. "Fuck," Tom said as he lowered his head in defeat. "See Tom I fucking knew it. The whole fucking thing! "Shut up Wally," Charlie interjected, "We're on right now. Get out of the car. You guys had better be ready." "Who's pulling rank? The three of us are the only one's here." Asked Wally. "Nope," said Charlie as he motioned behind the van with his thumb. Right then an armored vehicle came blazing down the street, and as it turned into a drive way it came to a screeching halt and its front right tire jumped the curb creating a metal-on-metal sound from the vehicle. Three fully covered task force members exited the vehicle in unison, with hip-side assault rifles strapped over their shoulder, and bolted up to the door within seconds.. They sported swat team style helmets and gear which made them look intimidating even to their police officer cousins. They lined up, gave each some sort of hand signal, and the one bringing up the rear waved Charlie into action as the two other flanked the side of the front door in a wing man position, the third took a step and a half back to give him room to kick down the door. "Alright we're on." Charlie said as Walter and Thomas undid their seat belts, and unholstered their guns, and exited the car. And standing outside at that moment you could hear the camera man say, "3... 2... annnnnd 1, we're Rollin'," followed by the sound of cracking timber.
Category: novel text -- posted at: 12:05 AM Comments[0] |
Mon, 31 October 2005 We have a great announcement to make. At The Appointed Time can now be found at Podiobooks.com a website which provides serialized audio books which are made available in podcast format.It is thee greatest service offered to authors who are releasing their books in audio format. Please visit Podiobooks.com and check out the many books which the site provides. There are great books by great authors, and EVERYTHING IS FREE!!! Category: general -- posted at: 6:45 PM Comments[0] |
