Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

“Don’t worry about Nicholas, he’ll be fine.”
Roberson said.

“Who said I was worried about him?” Kaspar asked.

“Listen, he’s right about one thing. You must
show us more respect. However, you are in, that is, if you still want in.”

“Of course I do.”

“Listen to John,” Blackman said. “He knows what
he’s talking about. He’ll make a soldier out of you, yet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, please, don’t go and mess this up.”
Roberson ordered. “We’re taking a huge risk with you…Mr. Paxton is taking a
huge risk with you. We’d hate to see our cause jeopardized because of you.”

“I won’t let you down, sir.” Kaspar promised.

“Go on about your business. If you need anything,
John knows how to reach us.”

Roberson shooed the newly christened rebel out of
the room with his right hand. Before he turned to the exit, Kaspar saw the
others huddle around each other. The sounds of low voices filled his ear drums.
He wiped the perspiration off of his forehead as he walked for the door.
Outside the Chamber, Paxton sat on the chair, his head nodded up and down.

“Wake up, old man.” Kaspar said with a kick to
Paxton’s right shin.

Paxton’s head shot up. He looked left to right a
couple of times to gain perspective on his surroundings. He was losing to old
age. That old age took away his balance, instincts, and his warrior’s edge.
Back in the killing fields of North Korea, there was no way in hell he would
have fallen asleep like this.

“How’d…” Paxton said, his speech interrupted by a
deep cough. He cleared his throat, “How’d it go?”

“I’m in.”

Paxton stood and a look of shock matched with a
sly grin filled his tired face. The kid did it, he actually pulled it off. He
put on a full blown smile and stuck out his right hand. Kaspar embraced
it. The two men shook hands for the first time.

“Welcome aboard, soldier.” Paxton said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, it’s time to meet Joe Young.”

“Prick.”

Paxton’s taunt shook Kaspar away from his inner
thoughts. A peek outside of the passenger side window revealed the reason
behind it. An Agent was in the middle of beating an older gentleman who looked
to be around fifty. The Agent relented for a moment. As he backed away the man
tried to get up, but was met with a surprise riot stick to the face. As the van
pulled forward, Kaspar could see the blood come out of the man’s mouth.

A pair of old hands gripped the steering wheel so
hard that the knuckles turned white. Paxton wanted with everything in him to
turn the van around and help the innocent out, but he stayed the course to
Young’s place. He let out a sigh and rested his grip. He spit out the open
window and, in his head at least, told the old man that he would be saved.
Those people outside just needed to hold on…just a little bit longer.

“Asshole,” Kaspar said as he leaned back in his
seat.

“Tell me about it,” Paxton agreed and wiped his
lips with his free hand. “We are the cause of that.”

“We are?”

“That’s right, kid. In an effort to ‘protect and
serve’ the USR has given its Agents full reign over the cities. Ha, back then,
they used to talk about the police state like it was some kind of wacked
conspiracy theory.”

“How did you…we…cause that beating?” Kaspar
asked.

“We’ve been busy, reckless that Olyphant would
say. They are trying to smoke us out and, in turn, they are getting restless.”
Paxton smirked, “They just can’t get rid of us quick enough. There’s now a
Resistance Unit in every major city across the country.”

“Is there a Committee in every city, too?”

“Most.”

“Are we the only rebel team here?” Kaspar asked.

“No. There are at least two others, The Committee
tells me, but God knows how many there actually are.”

Kaspar rubbed his chin, “You ever get in contact
with them?”

“No. We will never see or hear from any of them.
They don’t know who we are, we don’t know who they are.”

“Smart plan,” Kaspar quipped.

“Yeah,” Paxton replied, “it is smart. One of us
gets captured and, when the torture starts, we can’t give them any answers.”

“I see.”

“So, how does it feel?”

Kaspar looked puzzled. “How does what feel?”

“To be drafted into a war.”

“I feel the same, I guess.”

Paxton laughed, “That’ll change. Trust me on
that, kid.”

“So, who is this Joe Young character we’re going
to see?”

“Joe Young is our weapon’s dealer. He receives
shipments from various gun runners, stolen weapons cache’s from the USR and
overseas. He gives us a good deal on his inventory.”

“How do you get funded to buy from him?” Kaspar
asked.

“The Committee funds us.”

“How does The Committee get funded?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“You said you’d provide me with answers.”

Paxton sighed, “The Committee’s hackers steal
money from the USR. Not a whole lot, nothing that would be noticed to the blind
eye.”

“How’s that?”

“The amounts they steal at a time are very small.
But, of course, that builds up over time. We are almost there.”

The fake USR van took a sharp left and entered
into a dank alleyway. Paxton applied the emergency brake then cut the engine
off. Kaspar opened the passenger side door and hopped out of the van. Paxton
reached behind him for two black duffel bags. He gripped them in his strong
hands, and then got out of the van himself. The rain from the night before
created puddles of water into the various cracks and pot holes in the unkempt
blacktop. After Kaspar took a deep breath, he immediately regretted it. The
smell of mildew sucker punched his nostrils. The sheer wickedness of the smell
forced him to cough and look away.

“You’ll get used to that,” Paxton said. “I almost
don’t smell it anymore.”

The old veteran led the way to a chipped wooden
door, with remnants of green paint all around. Paxton reached up with his fist
and banged on the door three times, took a moment, then banged four more times.
Something inside barked with violence. Kaspar knew that on the inside was a
really big dog.

The wooden door opened. In the doorway stood a
middle aged Puerto Rican with a thick steel chain in his left hand. The chain
led to the collar of a brown and white Pit Bull Terrier. Kaspar’s heart began
to thump and the speed of which caused his head to go light. He tried to ignore
it and got a good look at the guy in the doorway. He had a mean look on his
mustached face, a shaved head, and the wife beater he wore revealed two arms
covered in tattoos. They all ran together and it took a good, hard look to make
out any of them. Save for one of a naked woman with large breasts on the left
arm and the tip of a cross which ran down his chest.

One thing Kaspar knew for sure was that this
man’s real name was not Joe Young.

“What’s up, homes?” Young called out. He nodded
his head upward in a swift motion.

“Hi,” Kaspar said, his eyes focused on the dog.
“Fine specimen.”

“Oh, this bitch? Name’s Daisy. She’s a mean fuck.
What’s the matter, ese, you scared of dogs or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Hold on,” Young said.

The Puerto Rican walked back inside and dragged
Daisy across the tiled floor in the kitchen. Young yelled inaudible words in
Spanish and the sound of a loud dog cry filled the building. Kaspar almost felt
sorry for the poor mutt…almost. The gun runner reappeared seconds later.

“Sorry ‘bout that, but she knows when Papi’s
angry not to misbehave.” Young said. He turned his attention to Paxton. “S’up,
John?”

“Joe,” Paxton said.

“So, who the hell is this?”

“Ryan. New guy.”

Young laughed along with Paxton. Paxton reached
up to his gun dealer and grabbed his hand. Young pulled the old man in close
and the two bumped their fists on each other’s back. Kaspar watched the whole
thing in a state of confusion. Was this some kind of man love ritual? He looked
around the alley and was unable to shake the feeling that the three of them
were being watched.

“Come on,” Young said. “Let’s get inside, no?”

Inside the small apartment was a shit hole.
Clothes laid around everywhere, the trash can in the corner of the kitchen over
flowed, and the pungent smell of marijuana filled Kaspar’s nostrils. The thick,
heavy aroma of hash caused his eyes to water. He glanced over at a cracked
window in the living room and saw where Young grew the plants. Kaspar coughed
again.

“That’s the colonel’s secret herbs and spices.”
Young said. He grabbed the joint behind his ear and lit up. “Care for a taste?”

“No,” Kaspar said in between coughs, “thank you.”

“You’re missing out, homes.”

Young took a hit on the joint and held the smoke
in his lungs. He breathed out seconds later with a laugh. The terrible noise of
Daisy’s barking caused Kaspar to think about the Doberman who harassed him
every day on the way home from school. Poor dog got hit by a car one day, not
that Kaspar or the owners gave a damn.

“You going to burn up all day or are you going to
sell me some guns?” Paxton demanded.

“Chill out, man. I’m almost done.” Young replied,
smoke escaped his mouth as he talked. He took one last hit and put the joint
out. “Let’s go.”

“Grassy ass.” Paxton replied.

Kaspar followed the other two into the kitchen
and saw his would be tormentor. She snarled and showed her menacing teeth, the
hair on her back stood straight up. He could tell that Daisy wished the metal
bars of the cage weren’t blocking her from her next kill. Young lifted his boot
and kicked the front of the cage twice. The rattling sound of the metal caused
Daisy to back down and stick her head underneath the torn quilt inside.

“Sorry again,” Young said.

“No need.” Kaspar replied.

Young reached to the wall and opened the skinny,
red wooden door. Inside, the stair case was narrow, Young didn’t appear that he
could fit through, but he managed to squeeze in. Kaspar grabbed at the hand
rail and the piece of wood fell off. The gun runner stopped and looked up over
Paxton’s shoulder.

“You messin’ up my place, bro?” Young demanded.

“No, this thing’s just a piece of shit.”

Young laughed, “I like you, homes.”

“Come on, Joe,” Paxton said. He gave a slight
shove to Young’s back. “We haven’t got all day, you know.”

“All right, all right, seriously.”

Down in the basement sat rows of guns on metal
racks. Everything from hand guns, assault rifles, submachine guns, and
shotguns. It was the weapons cache at the safe house on steroids. Along the
walls hung grenades with boxes of ammunition and fully loaded magazines laid on
the shelves. Kaspar headed straight for the gun racks to get a look at Young’s
product. Paxton started to fill one of the duffel bags full with mags.

“Pick out something nice.” Paxton said.

“Yeah,” Young said. “I’ve got lots and lots to
choose from.”

“Where’d you get all this?” Kaspar wondered.

“I’ve got my connections.” Young replied. “Don’t
worry about it.”

Kaspar looked around at the large inventory of
handguns on display. After several moments of searching, a pair of black
handguns caught his eye, and in that instant he was mesmerized. He wondered if
this is what Mother meant by “a twinkle in her eye”. He couldn’t take his eyes
off of them; they were unique from the others. Kaspar grabbed one and inspected
the barrel, which read “
Pietro Beretta-Gardone
V.T.-Made in Italy”.

“Beretta 92,” Young said, a grin on his face as
he walked over. “Nice choice, homes.”

“Why’s that?” Kaspar asked, his attention on the
handgun, he moved it up and down to get a feel for the weight.

“They stopped producing those some years ago,
it’s a classic. Not many left, actually, I just got those beauties in a few
days ago. It’s a great character, so strong and elegant.”

“No shit.” Kaspar pulled the chamber back and
pressed the chamber release, it slid forward in a nice, smooth motion. “I’ll
take both.”

Young’s eyes widened, “Both? That’s some serious
dinero.”

“You find something, kid?” Paxton asked, a full
duffle bag slung over his right shoulder.

“Yeah,” Kaspar said. He picked up both pieces and
stared at them. “I think I did.”

“Beretta 92? How come you didn’t tell me you got
some of those in?”

“I was gonna, but it looks like the cherry over
here beat you to it.” Young replied.

“You seriously want
both
of them?”

“Yes,” Kaspar replied. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

“All right, let’s go then.”

Young walked over to his wooden counter. He
flipped it open at the end and let the strong piece of wood slam down. He
walked over to his laptop and started to punch some numbers into it. The amount
owed showed up on a small, rectangular screen in blue indigo. Paxton chewed on
his bottom lip as he looked over at Kaspar who already had feelings for his new
toys. The old veteran reached in his pocket and handed over a plastic card to
his dealer.

“You need a receipt?” Young asked.

“No. Let’s go, kid.”

Kaspar’s eyes remained fixated on the twin
Berettas in both palms. These would be it, he thought to himself. These would
be his tools of vengeance. It took another yell from Paxton to break the spell
the weapons put on him. He placed the Berettas in the duffle bag by his feet
and slung it over his shoulder.

He walked up the stairs with a renewed sense of
hope.