Rebels & Lies (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 1) (21 page)

Paxton finished with Forte’s left index finger. He made sure the
nail stuck to the blade this time. He held the blade in front of the Agent’s
eyes. Gone was the look of defiance and fear…all that remained was sheer
terror. With a flick of the blade, the nail went airborne. The Agent followed
it with his eyes.

“Okay!” Forte cried out. “I’ll talk!”

“Come out with it, then.” Paxton replied.

“First, what kind of guarantees do I get…”

The blade penetrated underneath the middle finger’s nail. Paxton
didn’t take his time with this one. The blade was in and out within a matter of
seconds. The unexpectedness of the motion caused Forte to cry out louder than
the other two times.

“The only guarantee you get from me,” Paxton said, holding the
nail in front of Forte. “Is that I leave the rest of your fingernails intact.”

Paxton used the Agent’s cheek to wipe the nail off this time.
Forte looked around the room at a frantic pace, desperate in his search for an
escape which wouldn’t come. Maybe, in his wormy brain, he thought that other
Agents heard his screaming and were coming for him..

“Ohhhkay…okay,” Forte panted, eyes still darting. “What do you
want from me? What do you want me to say?”

“Don’t play games with me,” Paxton replied. He held the blood
stained blade up. “Or, shall I take another one?”

“No, no…please…no more.”

“You have a family, don’t you?”

His eyes gave away the answer. Paxton took out a phone and started
to press buttons on it. A new look of fear, with a hint of sadness, filled the
Agent’s facial expressions. Paxton talked into the phone, he told his men to
get into position.

“You wouldn’t dare harm an Agent’s family.” Forte said, anger in
his voice.

“Does it look like I care?” Paxton replied. He put away the phone
a returned his attention down at the blood stained blade in his hands. He
looked back up to Forte. “You don’t seem to care about your own wellbeing, and
that’s fine. If I was you, I wouldn’t care, either. But, think about your
family, Travis. I didn’t want to do this, but we are running short on time.”

“If you even think…”

“You can save them, you know.”

Forte looked straight to the ground. “What do you want?”

“Let me be clear. If I even think that you’re lying, I will send
my men into your home to kill your family. Clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Paxton slid the blade back into the handle and placed the knife
back into his pocket. Games again, this Forte prick just wouldn’t listen to
reason. He motioned with his head for Kilbourne to back away. Kilbourne did so
and the Agent moved his stiff neck in circles and breathed in heavy.

“You better start convincing me.” Paxton ordered.

“Okay, okay, man. But, listen, I’m only in this shit because the
pay is good…”

“Spare me,” Paxton reached into his pocket. “Or should I
continue?”

“No!” Forte cried, the chair’s legs shook with violence. “No, not
that!”

“Then start talking!”

“Our next target is Howard Anderson, some guy I interrogated…”

“Tortured.” Paxton corrected.

“Fine, tortured, you hypocrite. Like I was saying, we interrogated
some guy who said that Mr. Anderson was a member of your resistance. We are
going in to take him tonight.”

“Where?”

“At his apartment, man. Some little piece of shit for him, his
wife, and six year old daughter.”

“Six year old?” Paxton asked. A new type of rage burned in his
soul at the mention of the little girl. “What’s the plan for her?”

“Raise her in the schools, show her our way of thinking, you
know.”

“Just what we fucking need,” Kilbourne said from behind. “Another
fascist.”

“Look at yourselves, then judge me, okay?”

Kilbourne grabbed at Forte’s shoulders, “What does that mean,
little man?”

“You people are just like us.
Just
like us, all right? You
just hide behind those damned stars and stripes. You pretend that you are doing
something noble for those people out there.” Forte spit on the ground. “You
condemn me, that’s fine. But, you are doing the same exact thing that I would
be doing to you.”

“Now, you listen to me,” Paxton said, his face red with anger, his
index finger aimed at Forte’s face. “I am nothing like you. You and your boys
at the USR have pinned us into a corner. We’ve just taken the gloves off. We
would never murder innocent women and children…”

“What about your wars, leftover?” Forte asked.

“Wars are different…a little collateral damage is unavoidable.”
Paxton replied.

“Collateral damage? Does it make you feel better…calling your
victims that?”

Paxton could feel his blood boil in his veins. He wanted to reply,
but he bit his lip instead. He cursed himself under his breath for letting
Forte get to him. The situation had gotten out of control and it was up to
Paxton to reclaim it. No more games, he grew angry at himself for giving that
piece of shit the time of day.

“Enough! Where is the apartment?” Paxton demanded.

“15…15…Baxter. Uhhhh…second floor, 218.”

“When’s the raid?”

“I don’t know the exact time…I just know it’s when the little
prick gets off work.”

“Where does he work?”

“I don’t know.” Forte replied.

Paxton retrieved the knife and press on the handle. The blade shot
up in the air. Forte’s eyes widened at the sight of it. His body started to do
that tremble thing again.

“I don’t know where he works! We never know where these citizens
work, it’s forbidden for us to know. We are only permitted to take these shit
bags in from their homes.”

Paxton put away the knife confused. He looked down at red his
enemy’s eyes. “I believe you.”

“Have I convinced you enough, then?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“What about my family?”

“I guess,” Paxton replied, “we’ll find out.”

The old veteran stood and retrieved a Glock 26 from the small of
his back. He chambered a round and then reached for the silencer in his jacket
pocket. Forte’s eyes never left the gun. He tried to speak when he saw Paxton begin
to twist it onto the muzzle.

“What the hell is this about?” Forte demanded. “I told you what
you wanted to know!”

“Yes,” Paxton replied, “you did, and I thank you. I never said
you’d be getting out of this alive, though, did I?”

“What’s killing me going to prove? Killing an Agent in cold
blood…”

“It won’t be the first time. But, let me ask you one last
question.”

“What else do you want from me?” Forte demanded.

“That name…Jenna Kaspar, are you sure you don’t know it?”

“No, I’ve never heard that name.”

Paxton pulled the gun up and aimed it at Forte’s forehead. He used
the curved “U” shape and the metal pointer at the end to aim: easy shot. The
Agent would be dead before he felt any pain from the bullet entry. He breathed
in, the look of a hardened killer in his eyes. What was one more body?

“Wait! Wait!” Forte cried out.

“Last words,” Paxton replied. “Make them count.”

“Tell my wife and kids that I love them.”

PSST!

The silencer made the shot from the gun come out like a whisper.
Forte’s lifeless head now hung back and to the left. Paxton looked at the mess
he created as he twisted the silencer off. He motioned with his head for
Kilbourne and Li to get out. He gave the lifeless body one last look before he
joined them.

“What happened?” Krys demanded, wiping away at her eyes at the
sight of Kilbourne taking the lead.

“It’s done.” Kilbourne replied before walking outside.

Li said nothing and joined Kilbourne. Paxton refitted his Glock
into its holster at his back and walked into the lobby. The look on Krys’s face
caused a hint of guilt in his stomach. He tapped her on the shoulder and
motioned for her to leave.

“What happened to him?” Krys asked.

“He’s expired. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“So, you just killed him?”

Paxton scratched the back of his head, “Of course I did. He’s USR,
the enemy. We’ve been over this.”

“How are we supposed to…” Krys started.

“Krys, we’ve been over this. If you want to talk about it, we can
back at the safe house.”

Krys turned and walked out without saying anything or even looking
at Paxton. Kaspar looked deep into his boss’s eyes and did not like what he
saw. A horrible thought filled his mind: is this what he would have to become
to avenge Mother?

“Let’s go.” Paxton said.

“Sir,” Kaspar replied.

Kaspar led the way outside. At the far end of the alley, the USR
van awaited them. He looked over to his right and saw a woman, in her late
forties, wearing an old red and green dress. An older hat with faded, but
matching, colors covered her head. She stood there terrified. Kaspar wondered
if she heard the screams coming from the inside. Did she know…

“Let’s go!” Paxton barked.

Paxton ran towards the van at a pace uncommon for a man of his
age. Kaspar looked away from the woman and did the same. He climbed into the
back of the van and, before the heavy double doors closed, he heard one last
thing.

A terrible scream.

“What did you see?” Sullivan asked the petrified woman in front of
him. He had his notepad and pen at the ready. All he needed was for this woman
to calm down and tell him her story.

“I didn’t really see anything,” the woman replied, her eyes still
aimless, her right hand holding her hat in place from the wind. “I just heard
these…cries—screams. They were coming from inside there. I was too scared to go
in there by myself.”

“Why didn’t you call the authorities?”

“I was too scared. I just stood here, listening. After a while I
saw some people running that way,” the woman pointed to the end of the
alleyway. “They got into one of your vans and took off.”

Sullivan looked at her, confusion sent his thought process into a
tail spin.

“I’m sorry, citizen,” Sullivan said. “But, one of
our
vans?”

“Yes,” the woman replied. “It had the insignia on it.”

“Describe it for me.”

“Well, it was all black, had the letters USR in yellow. It was a
pretty big van, a full sized one, but it was old. Oldest USR vehicle I’ve ever
seen. I thought maybe you guys apprehended a criminal and those people worked
for you.”

“Watch that kind of talk. What happened then?”

“I walked in and discovered a dead man in there. He’s strapped to
a chair with duct tape wrapped around his body.”

Sullivan looked up from his notepad. “Those citizens you saw, did
you get a look at any of their faces?”

The woman shook her head. “No, not really. One of them was a
younger guy, though, that much I can tell you.”

“Heights? Builds? Any distinguishing marks at all?”

“No, they were running fast and I was scared.”

“Okay,” Sullivan replied, he scribbled something in his notepad.
“You can go and wait with those Agents over there. They’ll probably ask you
some more questions.”

“Yes, sir.” The woman replied but didn’t move.

“You can go now.”

The woman nodded her head. She turned and walked towards the
Agents at the end of the alley, deliberate in her steps. Sullivan threw his pen
to the pavement in disgust. They were here, he was sure of it. They could’ve
been the main leaders or, hell, for all he knew the last remainder of them.
There would be no way to know for sure now, as the only witness knew nothing.

“Fuck!” Sullivan cried.

“Sully,” Mason called out. He and Wilcox walked past the woman and
towards him. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes, George, a very big fucking problem.”

“What is it?”

“That woman didn’t see anything, but they were here, no doubt
about it.”

“Well,” Wilcox said with a bit too much eagerness, “let’s go ask
the dead guy.”

The three Agents entered the building. Sullivan looked to the
ground and saw there were three used cigarette butts. Filthy motherfuckers, he
thought to himself. They walked down the narrow hallway and opened the door at
the end.

Sullivan paused and looked at the dead man in front of him.
Forte’s lifeless body sat there, his head hung to the left. He felt his two
partners push against him from behind, eager to get a look at the sight. The
sudden wave of the beginning stage of human decay swept over him. He turned and
vomited onto the stained floor.

“You okay, boss?” Mason asked.

“You can’t smell that?” Sullivan demanded. He pulled out a white
handkerchief and wiped at his lips with it.

“Smell what?” Wilcox interjected. “You’re not cut out for this
part, are you, Sully?”

“Sorry I’m not as comfortable around a dead body as you are.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Mason looked around the floor and noticed more used cigarette
butts. He smiled at the memory of Forte, who would always sneak in smoke
breaks. Either nobody noticed…or nobody cared.

“Looks like our boys like to smoke.” Mason said.

“Nice observation,” Sullivan replied. He steadied his body and
composed himself. “Take a look around the room. See if you can find something
more useful.”

“Sure thing.”

Instead of doing any real detective work, the two numbskulls
played around with Forte’s dead head. Mason pulled out a pair of rubber gloves
and snapped them on. He then grabbed a pen from his pocket and shoved it
through the bullet wound. The two men laughed with each other, had themselves a
little fun at the fallen comrade’s expense. Sullivan, for his part, wanted to
vomit again. He never understood his two partners, how they could take so much
pleasure in seeing a dead body from a fellow human being. They were monsters
from another breed…a breed that Sullivan did not wish to know.

Upon further inspection on the ground, Sullivan found something
that disturbed him to the core. He found Forte’s bloodied fingernails, the damn
ground was littered with them. He bent down in between his two partners and
pulled up Forte’s hand. Three fingers were missing their nails. What kind of
barbaric monsters were these people? He stood, looked to Mason and Wilcox who
still played with the dead head, and fought back the urge to smack them upside
the back of their heads. Like he did when little Davie misbehaved.

“You fellas going to do anything?” Sullivan demanded. He started
to inspect behind Forte.

“No, we’re not.” Mason replied, eyes still on the bullet wound.

“And, may I ask why not?”

“No, you may not, but I’ll tell you anyway. According to Cap, we
can’t—what did he say—contribute to an investigation. He said that you’ve been
bringing up concerns about our detective skills so, we’re just going to sit
back and see how far you can make it by yourself.”

“Fine,” Sullivan replied. His attention focused on the hole in the
back wall. “Not like I’m not used to it anyway.”

“Have fun.” Mason said.

“Just don’t cum everywhere beating off to that dead body. We don’t
want to contaminate the crime scene.”

Wilcox snapped his fingers to get Sullivan’s attention. “Maybe you
were behind this shooting.”

“Kiss my ass, Wilcox, I was with you all day.”

“Just an observation. Think of it as a nice way of saying fuck
off.”

“Of course,” Sullivan said as he gave a fake salute to Wilcox.

Wilcox focused back on the dead body. “Fucking Forte, he had it
coming.”

“What do you mean?” Mason wondered.

“He was reckless, always going with his balls hanging out, only a
matter of time before they got clipped.”

“You’re a shithead,” Mason said.

Sullivan let the two talk, his eyes resumed their fixation with
the small hole in the plastered wall. He held his handkerchief up to his
nostrils, but the smell still crept its way in, only now it was manageable. He
tried his best to ignore the blood and brain fragments splattered everywhere
around the hole. He reached into his pocket for his pair of gold tweezers and a
clear baggie. Sullivan was forced to drop the handkerchief. He held the
tweezers in his mouth, the baggie under his arms, and snapped on a pair of
gloves.

After some fumbling around inside the hole with the tweezers,
Sullivan could feel something. He grabbed it and pulled the round from out of
the hole. He stared at it and recognized it as belonging to some type of
smaller handgun. Probably from a Glock 22 or 26 or any number of handguns that
could be bought on the street from the gun runners. He stared at the bent round
and noticed the size and weight of it.

“Armor piercing round,” Sullivan said to himself.

“What are you talking about?” Mason demanded.

“While you two were circle jerking each other, I found an armor
piercing round behind Forte’s…head.”

Mason and Wilcox stood and gathered behind their boss and looked
at the round in between the tweezers. Sullivan held it up to the light, the
blood stained gold casing glistened along with it. He then dropped the round
into the plastic bag, sealed it shut, then held back his gag reflex again. The
smell seemed to have gotten worse, but there was no gag reflex, no emotion at
all from his two partners.

“What are you going to do with that bullet?” Wilcox demanded. “You
know damn well they bought that shit from the underground, right?”

“Of course,” Sullivan replied. “But, this looks like a USR issued
round.”

“You’re shitting me.” Mason said.

“Afraid not. But, if you did some real detective work, you would
know the difference between our ammo and that bullshit you buy illegally.”

“What now?” Wilcox asked.

“We’ll take this to forensics, see if they can find anything,
which I doubt they will. They’ve never turned up anything before, at least.”

“So,” Mason observed, “we’re chasing our own tails, then?”

“Not exactly,” Sullivan replied. “We’ll hit up all illegal gun
shops that we know of, maybe that will turn something up.”

“Maybe?” Mason quipped.

“Yes, maybe, as in we’ll see, as in try our fucking best. You got
a better idea?”

“Yeah, I do. Forget this case and move on to the next one. It’s a
dead end.”

Sullivan was taken aback. “Forget this case? That’s your plan? One
of our own is sitting here, dead, killed by the resistance, and we just turn a
blind eye?”

Wilcox chimed in, “Your detective work has turned up nothing but
dead ends. I’m beginning to think that you don’t want these cases to be
solved.”

Sullivan dropped the baggie into his jacket pocket. He turned to
face them. The implications that his partners brought at his door step had
gotten more than old. Ever since they made him kill that boy—that boy who he
knew could not have been a member of the resistance…

“You got something you want to say? Go on and say it.”

“I’ve always had my suspicions with you, that’s not secret.” Wilcox
replied.

Sullivan pointed his index finger at Wilcox. “Let’s get something
straight, you want my job, then that’s fine. Do a good enough job under me and
get yourself a promotion. This accusing me of shit is going to end now.”

“Who says I want your job?” Wilcox inched closer. “I want the
rebels caught and killed as much as you do…or, should I say, as much as you
make it appear.”

Without warning, Sullivan reached back and sucker punched Wilcox
square in the jaw. Wilcox composed himself then went after Sullivan with a
killer’s look in his eyes. Mason stepped in front of him and he whispered
something in his left ear. Wilcox stood down. He dropped his arms and pointed
at his superior.

“You’ll pay for that.”

“Anytime, Dee.” Sullivan said.

Wilcox rubbed at his jaw as he turned and walked out of the room
with Mason. He slammed his fist on the doorway before he walked through it.
Sullivan watched, he shook the mild pain away from his fist, and smiled. A
great sense of relief, maybe even joy, filled his body. He wanted to do that
for a long time and, at last, he found the courage to do it. He knew that their
working relationship would only get rockier from here.

For a fraction in time, however, he would enjoy it.

***

Sullivan stood in front of Fitzpatrick’s desk, the Captain busy
flipping through paperwork, and awaited his answer. He rubbed his sweaty palms
together, his heart racing along with his mind. When the wait got to the brink
of unbearable, he wanted to snatch the paperwork from his boss and demand an answer.
He decided against it. It wouldn’t help his cause, anyway.

After what seemed like an eternity, Fitzpatrick dropped the
paperwork down on the desk and rubbed at his forehead.

“Have a seat, William.” he said.

“I’d rather stand, sir.” Sullivan replied.

“Fine. Stay as you are, the answer is no.”

“What?”

The request which had just been denied was for Sullivan to lead
the raid on the apartment. The resistance would no doubt show up there tonight,
after all that torture, they most likely got that much out of Forte. The
paperwork on Fitzpatrick’s desk outlined the planned arrest and capture of
Howard Anderson. The resistance would move in at some point to try and “save”
the family. Sullivan wanted to be the one to bring the bastards in.

“I talked with the Consul today,” Fitzpatrick replied. “He wants
you away from this thing.”

“With all due respect to you and the Consul, but this is my case.
I have to be there.”

“You are too valuable to this department, William. Stay away, for
your family’s sake.”

Sullivan clinched his fists. “What does that mean?”

“Relax,” Fitzpatrick said with a smile. “I didn’t mean it like
that. This is going to be a dangerous one. I’d hate to make beautiful Julie a
widow, or for your son to grow up without his father.”

“I have a dangerous job. I put my ass on the line day and night
for this department. The resistance is getting closer to us. Look at what they
did to Forte.”