Byrd Man

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

You've opened your mouth, fool! Now you've marked me for death.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Lavonia, Georgia

Russell Reed skipped rocks across the waters of Lake Hartwell and ignored the sounds of the party coming from inside the house. The sun was a beautiful golden ball as it began to slowly sink over the tree line. With Russell and his wife Robin back home, the Reed family had come from across the state for a party. He had no desire to see any of them. His daughter and two sons were one thing, but the distant cousins and aunts and uncles who he barely knew were just too much for him to take at the moment.

Two days had passed since the fiasco in Rome and he was still holed up here at the lake house. The papers in Georgia and the segregated south were ripping him apart for his meeting with Wolde and discussing his complaints. They cried that he was cajoling to dangerous radicals, that he was defying the constitution and laying the ground for full on communism in America. Wilbur Helms, that giant liver spot with eyebrows, wrote an editorial in a South Carolina paper saying that Russell was selling out the South, working as a puppet for the Norman Administration to step on the god-given rights of the state. Helms, the man who had a half black daughter, raged that federal desegregation was the start of a military dictatorship under Michael Norman Africanus I. Russell called the president several times over the last few days only to be told he was in a meeting and that he would get back to him as soon as possible. Like Jim Sanderson, President Norman wanted Russell as far away from him as possible.

"You're missing the party."

Russell turned and saw Robin standing by the shore, her high heels in her hand as she walked barefoot across the sand. For twenty-five years this amazing woman had been by his side. They'd met at a political event in Elbert County where Robin was from. He was floored by her brains as much as her beauty. She was attending law school at UGA and had a razor-sharp mind for politics. As much as he respected the advice of the old pols and brilliant minds he knew, there was nobody else he trusted quite as much as her. Robin could read people and see all the angles almost as well as he could, but her strength lay in her compassion and sympathy. Had she lived in another place or another time, Russell she would have been the political star of the family instead of him.

Instead, she had to console herself to the role of key advisor. From the impossible highs to the unbearable lows she was always there. He made his ambition known to her shortly before their wedding and she accepted her life as a politician's wife. That fervent wish of his to one day sit in the Oval Office was known to her and only her. Robin never said it, but he knew very well she shared that dream. She wanted to see him there and be at his side as First Lady.

"I don't want to talk to any of them," he said as Robin took his hand into hers. "I talked to Sally and the boys, and I saw and played with all the grandkids. I consider my family obligations through. I don't give a damn if my cousin Lee accidentally chopped off his little toe cutting firewood, or how the diabetes makes it hard for Auntie Miriam to get up the stairs. Besides..."

He pulled her hand up and kissed the knuckles, his eyes glittering in the evening sun.

"With you outside now, I have no need to go back inside."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she said with a grin.

"Not with some people."

"How long do you plan to hide out here on the lake?"

Russell shrugged and slipped his hand away from hers. He began to pick more rocks up and throw them into the water. Now they weren't skipping at all, just sinking straight away.

"My value as VP is tied to the president's trust in me," he said through gritted teeth. "How in the ever loving hell can I get him to trust me when I can't even control politics in my own state. We've got five goddamn days to get Jim Sanderson elected and this civil rights shit is hitting him as much as it's hitting me."

"Do you regret meeting them?" Robin asked. "Knowing what you know now, would you still do it?"

He stopped throwing rocks and looked back at his wife for a long moment.

"No. I just regret it leaking. It's time, baby, we can't go on living with half of this country so goddamn hypocritical. 'Land of the free? Sure, but y'all just can't come in through the front door and don't think twice about eyeballing that white woman or we will lynch you, boy. And voting?'--"

Robin put a hand on Russell's back and rubbed it.

"Listen to you, the idealist."

"Don't call me that," he snapped. "I am not an idealist--"

"Sure," she said with a wink. "I know you, honey. You're pragmatic as anybody else, or so you let them think. I've had your heart for a quarter of a century, I know how it works. You don't get moved much, but when you do everyone needs to get out the way. Once you're wound up, nothing stops you. You know what you need?"

"What's that?"

"Winding up. Go out there and show Taliaferro who controls this state. After that, we're going to go back to Washington and remind the President and Congress just who you are."

He looked into his wife's eyes. Those deep green eyes that he loved to just look at for no other reason than the beauty and warmth that radiated for him. It was odd to hear her talking so bluntly while her eyes were filled with so much love.

"Whose that? Because ever since the election, I feel like I don't know who I am."

Robin pulled him close and kissed him softly. "You are my husband, Russell Reed, the man who has dominated national politics for nearly twenty years. The man who can read and bully and motivate men like nobody else. Forget your title, forget the Constitution, forget the hangups that come with the vice presidency and just do what you do best..."

They kissed again and she held him close.

"Win."

-----

Sun City, Arizona

Roderick Marston adjusted his tie and looked out through the two-way mirror down onto the casino floor. Old ladies chain-smoked unfiltered cigarettes while they worked clattering slot machines with dead eyes. A half dozen dolled up ex-strippers wobbled across the floor on too tall heels while they dished out chips and cigarettes. The heavy make-up did a bad job of hiding the miles and the years. Roderick figured for the right price a man could take one of them home. Drunk businessmen played blackjack while geeks in Hawaiian shirts and Shriner fez hats played roulette.

"Everything looks to be in working order," Roderick said to the man behind the desk.

The sprawling office above the casino floor was decorated in a very gaudy fashion that included leopard print wallpaper and a faux fur carpet. Fake Venus De Milo statues flanked a walnut desk big enough to hold an orgy on. The desk looked out on the long mirrored glass where Roderick stood. Behind the desk, his leopard fur slippers up on the desk, was Benny D'Amico. He wore a bright pink shirt with half of it unbuttoned, a large gold necklace and medallion caught in the steely gray fur on his chest. He also wore a white pair of pants that would have looked embarrassing on a man half his age but made Benny look clownish.

The Desert Rose Hotel & Casino was the casino on the Sun Strip. Like all the big joints in Sun City, the Boys from back east owned it. The Fortunato Family from New York had the Lucky Gent, while LA's Valestra Family co-owned the Lion's Den with the Kansas City Como Family. The Desert Rose belonged to the Chicago Outfit. Benny was their point man. Roderick owned points in the Desert Rose and the Lucky Gent. Not enough to make some noise, but enough so that he never had to worry about money.

"Suckers come in with cash, they leave lacking it. Sunrise, sunset," Benny said with a shrug.

"My friends at the Arizona Gaming Commission are very interested in how much of your take is getting skimmed. They say they may launch an investigation into the Desert Rose's books."

Benny's face went a deep red that matched the scarlet tie Roderick wore. The AGC was without a doubt the most powerful force in the state. The five-man board decided the rules and regulations that dictated the gaming industry in Arizona. Other states across the country had gaming or some sort or another, be it a lottery or on-site horse race betting, but Arizona was the only state in the US that had fully legalized gambling. The gaming helped with the image of the state as a rowdy place. Arizona was the last of the forty-eight, the last part of the Wild West that got tamed. To Roderick, it was still the Wild West. He had the old bullet wounds to prove it.

"Fucking gaming commission assholes," Benny shouted. "Always up my ass."

"Relax." Roderick placed his hands on the large desk looked down at Benny. "You know they're just busting your balls until you cough up a big enough bribe."

"Jesus... and they call me a fucking crook. You and your people are the goddamn crooks!"

Roderick sighed and checked his watch.

"I golf every other week with Red Mulligan, he's the chairman. I'll be in Phoenix with him the day after tomorrow. I'll talk to him and work out a deal. I already know he'll want points."

Benny's face went from deep red to near purple. "What? That's a bunch of bullshit, so now I gotta keep bribing this prick?"

"You give him enough points in the Rose, he'll keep the rest of the commission off your back, Benny. I promise you. He did the same shit with the Gold Dust down the street. Once he gets his points, no more problems."

"Fucking Arizona," Benny mumbled. "Back in Chicago, I could clip this goddamn cocksucker and everybody would be thankful for it. Back east, everyone knows how to take just their share and not get greedy. But out here, you all have your goddamn hands in everybody's pockets and keep wanting more and more--"

"What do I tell Mulligan," Roderick cut him off. "Besides a string of expletives?"

"Four percent, alright?" Benny said as he shook his head. "And that's non-negotiable. Fucking Bobby C. is gonna whack me because I'm giving his money away to all you fucking crooks."

Roderick said his goodbyes to Benny and left the Desert Rose out through the back. He got into his waiting car and looked out at the glowing, blinking lights of Sun City as his driver sped him across town to the conference center. Early in the evening and the town was already lit up in full glitz and glamor mode. He was a Sun City native, his dad an original city councilman back when the town was first incorporated. He remembered it as a sleepy desert town forty years ago and now it was the booming pleasure captial of America and Roderick loved every bit of it. This town was America right down to its core. Bright lights and the hope, the prospect that anybody could get lucky and hit it big. Like most of America, it was bullshit. The game was rigged and the house always won in the end. To Roderick, there was nothing more American than that.

At the conference center, he slipped in the back entrance and stood backstage waiting for his introduction.

"Rod," Red Mulligan said as he came up with his hand out. "How'd it go with our friend?"

"Four points, Red. That's all he'll give up."

"Shit, Rod, that's only going to mean two for me when you get your cut."

"It's free money," Roderick said with a shrug. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Will you back off the Desert Rose?"

"For now," Red said with a scowl.

"Good, because that asshole already wants to kill you," Roderick said as he readjusted his tie and scrutinized his appearance. "You push too hard and he'll push back hard. You'll go to start your car one day and you go sky high."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Sun County Republican Party," the MC said. "Thank you for coming out to our annual Lincoln Day Dinner. Our guest needs no introduction, but how about I give him one anyway? Six years on the Arizona Gaming Commission, four years as a Congressman, and now in his second term as the junior US Senator from Arizona. Please welcome your senator, Rod Marston!"

"Remember these mob guys are amateurs at grifting when it comes to guys like us."

Roderick gave Red a playful wink before he came out onto the stage to thunderous applause.

------

Boston

Elliot Shaw slowly opened the door of the bowling alley just enough to let him look out a small sliver in the door. Two heavyset men in suits were climbing out a car and talking to themselves.

"Think they're in that dump, Gino?" The muscle on the left asked his buddy.

"I guess so. The guy's car is out front, where else could he be?"

Elliot stepped away and scampered back in the darkness just as the door swung open. The two men stepped into the abandoned bowling alley and tried to see through the shadows. Elliot watched and waited to take advantage for their confusion. The gun in his hand felt very heavy as he jumped and struck one of the men in the back of the head. He fell to the ground in a heap, the noise causing the other man to shout in alarm.

He felt meaty hands on his shoulders that tried to wrap themselves around him. He struggled and fought in the dark, reaching back and pistol whipping the man with the barrel of the gun. Elliot kept swinging until he felt blood hitting his hands. He pushed the man away and heard him fall to the ground.

"C'mon," he said to Jane in the dark "We gotta get out here. These men were following me, this place isn't safe. Get your stuff, and we'll go."

A few minutes later and the two were headed out the bowling alley to Elliot's car. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and pierced the two front tires of the thugs' car with his knife. "That'll slow him down," he said as he got in and started the car. "I got a place you can stay and hide out. It's the last place they'll look."

He peeled rubber leaving the dilapidated parking lot.

----

"What's going on, Shaw?" Helena asked from the other side of the door.

Elliot leaned against the doorframe and smiled "Howdy, my dear. I was wondering if you'd let me inside."

"Depends. Who's your friend?"

He looked back at Jane and then back to Helena. "I was trying to get a ménage à trois going. Wanted to know if you were up for it."

"I told you I only like three-ways when two guys are involved."

"Oh, well. A guy can dream. You gonna let us in?"

Helena stepped aside and let Elliot and Jane into her apartment. It was more than just an apartment. Penthouse would be more like it. Nice, open spaces and plenty of rooms. Not like the rattrap Elliot called home. Helena Murphy, Elliot's off and on girlfriend, was also a high-priced call girl.

"So what the hell is going on, Shaw?"

"Helena, this is Jane Wilson. Jane, meet Helena Murphy, she's my sweetie. You see, Jane, we're courting--"

"--If that's what you call it--"

"--and I was hoping Helena would let you stay here for a while so we can figure this thing out."

Before Helena can voice her protest, her phone began to ring. She walked across the room and answered, speaking for a moment before holding it out.

"It's for you, someone named Stan Mertz."

Elliot cursed and took the phone from Helena.

"Stan, long time no see," he said in a cheerful tone.

"Elliot, nice to talk to you as well," the BPD sergeant said from the other end of the line. "How are you?"

"Ummm... busy. Just dealing with work. How did you know to call this number?"

"Your old buddy Sean McKenna. I tried calling your place, but you never picked up. The Deputy told me you had a girl who you might be with so I gave her a ring. Listen, I have one hell of a case that I can't seem to figure out. You mind giving me your expertise?"

"That's what I'm here for, Sarge."

"So, yeah. I'm working a murder case and I've pretty much got everything I need. I mean I got fingerprints, and eyewitnesses that saw the vic and suspect arguing a half hour before the murder. The victim is a William Henry and the likely perp is his girlfriend, one Jane Wilson."

"That sounds pretty straightforward, Stan. Don't see how you need my help."

"Well, here's the thing. I go to order a trace on the phone line of the apartment where the vic was found, and the lady operator tells me that I've already ordered a trace on another phone. Now that is curious because I have no memory of doing that. But it's on their log, clear as day. Just a half hour before I call, someone tracked a number to an old bowling alley using my name and badge number. Isn't that very strange?"

"I gotta be honest, Stan, it puzzles the shit outta me."

"Alright, Shaw, well we know about your notebook, me and the rest of the Homicide guys. We've always felt like we owed you one because of that bad shake you got, but we tracked down that number you traced and it came to a bowling alley where we found a car with flat tires. It's not yours, so someone must be after you. Bring Jane Wilson in, Shaw, and we'll all talk. I know you got a job to do, but I got mine."

"I'll think it over, Stan."

He hung up quickly and turn towards Jane. "Who did you kill?"

"Nobody," Jane said with a shake of her head. "Nobody, I swear!"

"This boyfriend of yours, was in on the blackmail scam, right?"

"Right. He came up with the blackmail idea once I told him about Kane. He used to flirt with me, you could tell he was just waiting on me to say yes. It was Will's idea that I sleep with him and take photos."

"The cop I just talked to said a witness heard the two of your arguing shortly before he was murdered."

"We were at his place. He wanted to give Kane back the files. He said it was getting too heavy. I told him that if we did that now, we'd be dead."

Jane closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I left, went to blow off some steam when I came back he was..."

"Dead," Elliot finished for her. "How'd he die?"

"Shot a few times with a small pistol."

"How'd you know it was a small pistol?"

She pointed towards Elliot's jacket. "The gun I gave you, it was the one I found on the floor beside his body."

"Fuck me," Elliot said under his breath.

"You have no idea, Shaw," Helena said as she looked up from the documents Jane stole from Kane. "What this girl stole, no wonder she's in trouble."

-----

Vancouver

Arthur Stewart watched Joanna from across the hotel lobby. She was all dolled up tonight in a slinky red gown and high heels that matched her flaming red hair. She sat at the bar and chatted with a middle-aged man next to her. Tonight was the result of a week's worth of watching and waiting by the Friends. He, Alex, Joanna, and Chris all took turns shadowing the man at the bar and getting his routine down pat.

Peter Leigh served as president of the Territorial Legislature. It was mostly a ceremonial position, allowing the longtime politician plenty of time to booze it up. Leigh served as a minor cabinet official in President Rans' administration before defecting to the Pro-US side after General Norman's Eight Army Group invaded NWC territory. That defection was the only reason Leigh hadn't been sent to prison or put out to pasture like the rest of the NWC's government. To Arthur and the Friends, Leigh's defection was tantamount to treason.

He felt his face flush in anger as he saw Joanna's slender fingers caress Leigh's arm and feign both laughter and interest in whatever he was saying. Arthur went back to pretending like he was reading his newspaper. After another half hour, Leigh stood and wrapped a flabby arm around Joanna's shoulder. He whispered something into her ear and laughed loudly before paying the bar tab.

Arthur followed them through the hotel lobby and out onto the sidewalk. Leigh hailed a cab that pulled up quickly. The cab, stolen that night, was driven by Chris. The taxi pulled out into the street and sped off. Another car pulled up with Alex behind the wheel. Arthur got into the passenger seat and held on as Alex hurried to catch up with the cab.

"How drunk is he?" Alex asked as he handed Arthur a heavy object covered in an oily cloth.

"He's completely shit-faced."

Arthur pulled off the cloth and gripped the pistol tightly in his right hand. His heart was beginning to pound as Alex gained on the cab and started to draw close. It was parked at a red light when Alex stopped behind it. Arthur jumped out and ran to the car. He peered in and saw Leigh was busy pawing on Joanna's breast with a fat hand. The sight of him doing that sent Arthur off more than any political theory or difference of the opinion the man had. Things like territorial sovereignty and imperialist aggression seemed distant concepts, intangible compared to the fact that this traitor and coward was touching his woman.

"President Leigh," he said as he tapped on he glass.

Leigh turned in time to see the gun go off. The bullet shattered the window and drove into Leigh's head. The man slumped forward as Arthur shot him two more times in the head. Joanna was already scrambling to get away from the dying man. The roar of the gun filled Arthur's ears and made it hard for him to hear. He felt detached from his body as Chris and Joanna started to pull him away from the dead man. The next thing he knew, he was in the backseat of Alex's car and feeling Joanna's lips on his cheek.

"Did you leave the note?" Alex asked from the front seat.

"Sure did," Joanna said before turning back to Arthur. "You did good, baby."

"I did it... for you," he said softly. "The thought of that animal touching you like that."

"You killed for me?" She asked, her eyes shining with tears. "I love you so much, Arthur."

"I love you too," he said as they kissed.

"And the VX, baby?" She asked between kisses. "You'll do that for me too?"

The VX didn't seem like that big of a deal if she wanted it. As long as it made Joanna happy and he got to see that proud look she gave him just a few minutes ago when he told her he killed Leigh for her. For a man like Arthur, someone who never really had a family or friends to speak of, companionship and love was a hundred times more potent than any drug. He got high off their respect and admiration and he'd do anything to keep that feeling.

"Of course," he said into her ear. "Anything you say."

----

Atlanta

Jim Sanderson gazed out at the skyline of Atlanta from his hotel room. Looking at the city always brought him back to his first time seeing the city. He was twenty-one years old when he left Hawkinsville for the first time to serve State Representative Jack Bartley as his chief of staff. The city looked so huge driving up from South Georgia. Hawkinsville had maybe two thousand people total, that was a few city blocks here in Atlanta. The size and scope of it all gave him a sense of vertigo that took days to overcome. He spent his first night here in Atlanta on Bartley's couch, his shabby suit coat his only cover. That was so long ago and he'd come so far. He was now a US Senator... for at least the next few days, anyway.

His big lead had evaporated once the governor jumped into the race. Jim hadn't been serving in the Senate long enough to establish himself as a firm incumbent. All the slack-jawed folks knew Hampton Taliaferro after six years in the governorship, but Jim Sanderson was nothing but some podunk congressman from a tiny town, just a placeholder until a more senatorial man could take over. He had wanted to be a Senator ever since he learned about it in law school, every decision and race was a stepping stone to that old, great chamber. He was there, and now it was all slipping out of his grasp.

Patsy and Jacob, two members of his staff, burst through the door into his bedroom and snapped Jim out of his reverie.

"Vice President Reed is coming up on the elevator to your suite, sir," Jacob said in a rush.

"Shit, why didn't you stop him?"

"He's the vice president, sir," Patsy replied meekly.

Jim let out a long string of curses. He was in this mess because of Reed cajoling to those civil rights radicals. He knew he had Reed to thank for his career, but the man was always a meddler. He had to control everything. If he couldn't lead then he didn't want to play. It was ten times worse since he became VP. Being second banana galled him so much he had to take it out on everyone else and micromanage every little thing.

"Bring him in here when he gets up here," said Jim. "We'll talk."

Five minutes later Reed strolled in. Jim did a double take at the man's attire. He wore an immaculate three-piece suit that was pitch black with a dark red tie almost the color of blood. By his side stood a shorter, heavyset man with a bad combover. The short man looked familiar, he'd seen him somewhere.

"Senator Sanderson, have you met my friend? James Sledge. He's a Jim, too."

"Senator," Sledge said with a firm handshake from his plump, sweaty hand. "It's an honor."

"I know you," Jim said as he showed the two men to a table beside the bed. "Done a lot of work for the party, right?"

"Here and there," Sledge said with a shrug. "Wherever I'm needed."

"Is he your fix, Mr. Vice President?" Jim asked. "Some kind of peace offering to get you back involved in this race?"

Reed flashed a tight smile and folded his hands together. "He is the fix, Jim. He can stop this slide and have you win the race by twenty points easy."

"What do I have to pay for such a gift?"

Reed clicked his tongue. "Jim, is that how you speak to me? Who was it that plucked you from the State House and brought you to Washington? If not for me, you'd have wasted ten years of your life carrying Jack Bartley's water. I brought you along, I brought you political contacts in Georgia and the rest of the country, I--"

"You made me work sixteen hour days, six days a week typing out bullshit replies to constituents," Jim snapped. "You made me miss my own children's birthdays so I could go to every goddamn podunk town in this state and stump for you. You cost me two marriages in pursuit of your political goals. You, you, you, you! Now that I've become my own man, you can't stand it. You have to control every goddamn thing about this campaign and make me look like your puppet. That's why I'm losing because they think I'm just Russell Reed's houseboy. You destroyed my life--"

"I gave you everything!" Reed roared, slamming his fist onto the table. "If not for me, you'd be a fucking ambulance chaser in Hawksville or whatever the hell that little hometown of yours is called. This is down to the wire, son--"

"I am not your fucking son."

"This is the time to prove how bad you want it," Reed went out without missing a beat. He reached out and placed a hand over the top of Jim's. The anger had disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, replaced now by a sadness or sympathy. "Think of all you sacrificed, Jim. Working sixteen hour days, six days a week to learn how to handle constituents. Missing your children's birthdays so you could learn about the local level of politics here in Georgia, two marriages ruined in pursuit of that goal of seeing your name on the US Senate rolls. That has to mean something then a few months inside the chamber. A single misstep now and you risk losing everything you've spent twenty years trying to achieve. Jim, son, do you want to win or not?"

Jim swallowed hard and nodded. His voice was thick when he tried to speak and he finally croaked out a reply after swallowing again. "Yes. More than anything."

"I need two thousand dollars," Sledge said softly, reminding Jim that he was still in the room. "Some of that is my fee, but the rest is going to be for operational costs."

Reed squeezed his hand and nodded. "Jim, the less you know the better."

"What about your cost?" Jim asked Reed. "What do you want?"

The Vice President stood and adjusted his tie. He walked beside the bed and beckoned Jim towards him.

"When you return to the Senate, I want your unquestioned fealty on all Senate matters. You vote how I say you vote, you lobby how I say you lobby. To hell with those old Southern bastards who think they run the Senate. We are going to run the Senate. You and I. And all you have to do, son... is kneel."

Jim shuddered and fought back the tears as he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Reed's legs. The tears were from desperation and his own self-loathing at a realization. When his second wife Mary left him, she said that she couldn't be his wife with him already married to Senator Reed. He thought then that her remark was just a spiteful taunt, but now he knew the truth. He loved Russell Reed. Despite all years of abuse and from Reed, he had kept up his slavish devotion. Jim loved this cruel man with all his heart, this man he had given his soul to now held his political future firmly in his hands... and he was fine with it.

"I swear, Russ... Whatever you want, it's yours. I swear. Please, please, please just let me win."

Reed placed a hand on top of Jim's head and smiled as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"That's what I want to hear. Now stand up, son. We've got work to do."

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

I think the evidence is obvious. You need your car to fuck up more since that's your true muse.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

I had something kind of similar happen to my truck a few months ago. There were some bearings inside the right front wheel that had burnt up. Damn wheel was about to fall off before I figured out what was wrong.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

The words seem to be flowing consistently after several months of backlog. I use the diarrhea metaphor because it seems to be apropos.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

I wrote another post. (Who needs good grades?) So somebody else post when you get a chance, please.

The Pickett County War: A Rural Noir RP

Mark Echols climbed out his car and walked across the gravel of the Miller's Creek boat ramp. The headlights of his car illuminated the back of DJ Johnson's Caprice. DJ and Jim Brown were standing on opposite sides of the car's trunk, eyeing Echols as he approached.

"I got the message," said Echols with a hint of contempt. "Now what the hell is so all-fire important you had to wake me up in the middle of the night?"

"Billy has some work he needs done," Jim Brown said as he slipped on a pair of leather gloves. Echols noticed DJ wore a similar pair. "He said you've been doing a good job so far, but he needs to know you're as real as you say you are."

Echols felt his heart start to race. Shit, had the found him out? He blew it, he should have acted more hesitant when Billy offered him a chance to earn some money on the side. The fact that both of Billy's pet killers were wearing gloves made Echols start to fidget. They saw the discomfort on his face. DJ just smiled while Jim Brown did what he always did and stared at him with unblinking eyes.

"I just want to make some money, y'all," Echols croaked out. "I got a promotion, but the job still pays chicken shit. Helping Billy out just makes good economic sense."

"No doubt," said DJ. "But the man wants to fully initiate you into this little brotherhood of ours."

DJ reached over and popped the trunk. It sprung open and showed a man, tied and gagged resting on plastic wrap inside. He squirmed and tried to yell through his gag. Even in the dim light Echols could make out the many cuts and bruises on the man's face. He leaned in before quickly leaning back out.

"Is that George Silver?" He asked Jim Brown.

"Sure is. He fucked the man over one too many times, I'm afraid. He knows too goddamn much to be allowed to live."

"Christ Almighty, Jim Brown... he's your goddamn brother."

"Shared blood that's all," Jim Brown said coldly. "Used to be my brother before the crystal got its hooks into him. Now pull out your gun and kill him."

"Fuck you," Echols snapped. "The both of you. If you think I'm going--"

Before he could blink, both men had their own weapons out and trained on Echols.

"This is how it's gonna go," said DJ. "Either you kill George here and we dispose of the body, or we'll be getting rid of two motherfucking bodies."

Echols looked between the two men, not seeing anything other than blank stares on their faces. He cursed and reached for his service piece. George started to scream as he took the pistol out and pointed it down at him. He struggled so much the Caprice rocked and bounced with his movements. Echols pulled the trigger twice, two shots took off part of George's face and stopped his shaking. His hands shook so bad it took three times before he holstered his gun. DJ and Jim Brown said something, but it was distant and far away and he couldn't hear it. He barely remembered them leaving.

He looked up and realized he was alone out at the boat ramp. The lights from his car were the only lights in the world. What had Parker gotten him into, exactly? He saw George's face and felt the urge to puke but fought it back. He'd killed a man tonight. Not like the shit with John Norman on a rampage. He'd committed murder... for the sake of the job? That's what he told himself. Parker wanted to get Billy and Echols wanted to get Billy. A cockroach like George Silvers getting what was coming to him was part of it, right? The headlights flickered and died.

He was alone. Out in the dark wilderness with no light to guide the way.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

I just want to go America all over everybody's ass.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Nashville, Tennessee

"I agree with y'all that something needs to be done for Negro rights on a federal level."

James Calhoun sat with Isiah Wolde and his daughter Sarah while the Vice President of the United States spoke. The meeting was being held in the conference room next door to Tennessee governor James Fogle's office. Fogle protested Reed bringing Wolde and his followers in the capital, let alone the governor's own office space, but Vice President Reed shut him up with a curt word and sent him back to his office.

"Now I want you to know President Norman agrees with what you're doing. He sent me down here to meet with y'all and to hear you out. He'd come in person, but matters in Washington are taking his time."

"We've seen the news," said Wolde. "Everyone up there seems to be losing their minds about this whole African war thing."

"They call you the Ethiopian, yes?" Reed asked. "Spent some time there before coming back here. I see several of you are wearing Pan-African flags on your lapels. I guess I know what you all make of the war."

"Naked aggression, Mr. Vice President, nothing more than imperialist greed from Spain. I believe the president partially agrees with me based on his comments to Congress a few months ago, but yet he seems to delay on sending aid to my adopted homeland."

"It's not that simple," Reed said with another grin. "Legislation and bills take time and debate before they can be passed."

"We know the legislative process, Mr. Vice President," Sarah said with a hint of sadness behind her voice. "We know how politicians delay and kill bills, how they horse trade and cut deals while people suffer. The people of Africa are facing war while the colored people here face oppression..."

Reed started to reply, but Sarah raised a hand to cut him off.

"We support the people in Africa because at least they're able to fight back."

"Mr. Vice President," Wolde said, placing an arm on Sarah's shoulder. "This young woman here has been with us since the very beginning, as has her father here on the other side of me. James, show Vice President Reed your mouth."

James opened wide, showing Reed his mouth of metal wiring.

"What happened?" Reed asked.

"A Mississippi policeman groped his daughter. He thought he was in his rights as a father to protect his daughter."

"The policeman had other ideas," James said through his wire tightened mouth. "Ideas that involved a billy club and my jaw."

"Every day," said Wolde. "Mr. Reed, every day the millions of colored people in this country are in a struggle. It's the struggle to get up every morning, to take a job that pays a fraction of what a white man earns, to play nice and mind your manners and not look to long at the white folks if you don't want any trouble. The stores take our money, but they won't let us come in the front door. This government asks us to fight for freedom, but we can't fight for our own. A hundred plus years after the end of slavery and we're still on our knees."

James saw the emotional look on Reed's face. The vice president swallowed hard and nodded.

"We want to rise up, Mr. Vice President. We don't want to stand above white people, we want to stand as equals. Is that so much to ask for, sir?"

"It isn't," Reed said after he cleared his throat. "It's goddamn basic decency. I promise you, all three of you, that when I get back to Washington I will do all I can to see some kind of civil rights bill passed by this Congress."

"We've heard the promises before, Mr. Vice President," said James. "For years we been hearing promises. What we haven't seen is follow up on those promises."

"You will this year, by God," Reed said softly. "You will this year."

-----

The White House
Washington D.C.

A secretary escorted Clay Foulke and the rest of the Democratic House leadership through the halls of the West Wing. Behind Clay was House Majority Leader Harry Hayes and Chief Whip Jennifer Armstrong. Clay glanced behind him and saw Harry and Jenn had that nervous look that came when you were called to the Oval Office. For his part, Clay had become used to it. It got old after the sixth time he had to come up here and get his marching orders from the General. As much as Clay wanted the Speaker gavel, he wasn't too happy about playing second banana to the president. Because of President Fernandez's political leanings, Russ Reed's Senate Majority Leader job meant he had been the top Democrat in the country. He got to dictate their legislative stategy in the Senate and House and to hell with the White House. Now with Reed as VP Clay had been looking forward to being his own man... but now President Norman made sure he couldn't scratch his balls without presidential approval.

"Clay," the president stood as the three Congressmen entered.

President Norman's company for the meeting included Secretary of State Lilian Mather and Secretary of Defense Phillip Dalton. Clay recognized the young woman at Mather's side. A State Department wonk who served as Mather's right-hand woman. Handshakes and greetings were exchanged before the seven men and women settled into the couches and chairs in front of the Oval Office desk.

"Thank you all for meeting me," President Norman said with a look around the room. "I know you all have busy schedules, so thank you for taking the time to come here. I'll cut straight to the matter. This bill that Congressmen Lewis introduced, the foreign aid one. Where is it at?"

"In committee," said Clay. "It's in the appropriations committee under debate."

"Who is the chair of that committee?" Mather asked.

"Walsh out of Oregon's Third District," Jen answered. "Democrat, of course, in his fifth term. Caucuses with the rest of the western liberals."

"Like every Democrat on that committee, He's indebted to the leadership for his assignment," Clay said with a nod towards Jen. "The bill dies in committee if we say so, Mr. President."

Norman nodded and leaned back in his chair, his hands wrapped behind his head. While he was lost in thought, the old admiral took up the thread.

"What are the chances of the bill getting out of committee if you don't back it?" Dalton asked.

"The Democratic majority is too overwhelming," Harry replied in his thick Southern drawl. "A lot of the people on Appropriations want to stay there. Pissing us off will see them swiftly removed. And hell, even if it made it out of that committee the Rules Committee would hamstring it with rules and bury it on the calendar. It wouldn't see the light of day until the year 2000."

"Let it pass," Norman finally said. He pulled his hands down and leaned forward in his chair. "The story is already out on the bill, so we look bad if we try to bury it. Pass it through the House. The Republicans might try to claim credit but don't let them. Lewis isn't affiliated with Republican leadership and from all accounts he did this on his own accord. Lewis gets credit for introducing it, but we get credit for making it happen. The Republicans can either fight it, which make them look petty, or go along with it which makes them look weak."

"What about the Senate?" Clay asked.

"We'll worry about that when the time comes," said the president. "I'll get the Senate leadership into the Oval Office when Vice President Reed returns from the South and we'll work it out."

The young woman next to Mather leaned forward and whispered in her ear. She nodded before addressing the president.

"Sir, what about the repercussions of this bill? First off, we're sending aid to a country that hasn't really asked for it. Secondly, this may provoke action from Spain."

Norman ran a long, slender finger under his chain and took in the Secretary of State's information.

"Does State still have people in Addis Ababa?"

"We have an ambassador and skeleton crew there, yes sir."

"Have them put out feelers to the government. I figure they'll be happy with any help they can get, but if you want confirmation then we can get it."

"And the other thing?" Dalton asked. "Spain?"

The president let a small smile escape his usually stoic demeanor. "Spain is striking into the heart of Africa while China and the Third International are getting into the conflict. They have bigger fish to fry, Phil."

Dalton and Norman shared a smile and a knowing look between them. Clay remembered that both men served during the two wars, wars fought against Spain amongst other foes. If the war against Spain was going to become a dog pile, Clay imagined two old soldiers like Norman and Dalton would relish the chance get in a few kicks Spain while it was down.

-----

Rome, Georgia

"A vote for Jim Sanderson is a vote for Georgia!"

The crowd at the political rally cheered as the MC whipped them up into a frenzy. Russell Reed stood behind the stage with Jim Sanderson while the MC continued. Reed had his chief of staff and a few secret service agents that shadowed him everywhere while Sanderson's entourage included his campaign staff and a few movers and shakers from this part of Northwest Georgia. Sanderson's glad-handing of the local bosses was part of getting elected in the state. The governor of Georgia appointed Sanderson to fill Russell's unfinished term in the Senate after the presidential election. The appointment was a temporary one, the permanent replacement to be named in a special statewide election due to take place in a week.

Georgia, like all the South, was solidly Democratic. As long as there was a little D beside the name on the ballot, you got elected. The problem with the special election was Governor Taliaferro made it an open one regardless of party. Jim was just one of three different Democrats running for the seat. Everyone knew the governor did it because one of the campaigners included himself. His term as governor was due to expire soon. Taliaferro, in his second term, was barred by the state constitution to run for a third term. He needed employment and eyed the Senate as that place.

"Fuck Taliaferro," Sanderson said into Russell's ear. "Making me have to work for this shit. "

"He's trying to upend us," Russell said back into Sanderson's ear. "Now that I'm VP, he thinks that means he can take over control of the state. He smells blood in the water, and you need to show him that it's his own blood, Jim. We need to remind that asshole who controls Georgia."

"Are y'all ready for Senator Sanderson's good friend?!" The MC yelled.

"My cue," Russell said as he stifled a yawn. He'd come to Rome straight from Nashville, riding overnight and getting little sleep. The still had five more campaign stops to make in Northern Georgia before the day was through.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome your former Senator and current Vice President of the United States... Russell Reed!"

Reed bounced up the stage and on to it with his arms spread to the crowd. He smiled wide and waved big in the way the rubes usually ate up. There was applause, but he could read the crowd right away and tell something was wrong. There was an uneasy buzzing amongst the people he didn't like. The applause died away quickly and left Russell standing on the stage while murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Thank y'all, thank y'all so much. It's good to be back in Georiga, especially here in Rome. First time I been here in at least five years. Now... I want to talk to y'all about Jim Sanderson. Y'all know..."

Russell trailed off when he heard the hissing and the boos. They started at the back before gaining and overpowering him. He tried to calm the crowd, to take back the initiative, but failed. Scowling, he stepped off the stage and heard a few chants of the word "Nigger lover."

"What the fuck is going on out there," Russell raged to Sanderson and his campaign staff.

Suddenly, one of Sanderson's men shoved a paper in his hand. It was a copy of that day's Atlanta Constitution with a front page story about Nashville. The strapline mentioned his secret meeting with Wolde and the other protestors.

"We should have known about this before you came here, Mr. Vice President," one of Sanderson's staff member said.

"Fogle," Russell said to himself. "That goddamn son of a bitch told the press about that meeting."

He ripped the paper in two and tossed the shreds to the ground. He felt his face turning red with rage while the booing of the crowd intensified.

"No offense, Russ," Sanderson said cooly. "But the best thing you can do for me right now is get the hell out of Georgia and as far away from me as possible."

-----

Chicago

Johnny Leggario smoked a cigarette and walked around the Cheetah Room. The place was hopping with the usual crowd of middle-aged losers and college boys drooling over the girls. Sinful Sindy danced on the main stage, a pair of pasties covered her nipples but showed everything else. She wiggled her ample behind along with the uptempo blues number. The rapt audience tossed bills on to the stage and cheered her on. Johnny finished off his cigarette and lit another on the way to the bar. Mel the bartender handed him his usual Jack and Coke that was mostly Jack. He nursed it and watched the crowd going about its business.

The idea of strip clubs always struck him as bizarre. It was nothing but pure titillation with no resolution. Horny men coming here was like a starving man getting a bowl of wax fruit. Just get a hooker and be done with it, he figured. It cost a lot less and had a lost less bullshit attached. He couldn't complain, though. The Cheetah Room was easily the most successful skin joint on the Southside. The girls were teases but they looked damn good doing it. Johnny thought as much as he saw Sindy stretch her lean body across the metal pole. The place could run legit and make money hand over fist, but laundering the Outfit's money and pushing Bobby C's dope and coke put them into the stratosphere of money making. And for his troubles Johnny got a twenty percent cut.

Johnny's take in the joint was more than enough for him. Lots of wiseguys ended up dead or in the clink because they got greedy and stupid. Johnny skimmed off the top of the Cheetah Room's take, but that was expected. He took just enough to not arouse suspicion. A guy who took too much got killed, and a guy who didn't take at all raised a lot of red flags. An honest man in this profession was a weirdo. Johnny made sure his skim was right in the middle and enough to keep anyone asking any questions.

"Johnny," Jeff the bouncer said as he came up. "Guy wants to see you."

Johnny took his drink and followed Jeff towards the front. Just inside the front door were two men in ill-fitting suit. One was short and fat and Johnny didn't recognize him. He had thick glasses that made his eyes look giant, and his hair was cut short almost down to being bald. The other was gray-headed and lean. His hair was slicked back with grease and he wore a trim mustache that tried to distract people from the pockmarks on his face. The pockmarked one Johnny knew.

"Mick Mahoney," he said with a quick handshake. "Your Irish fuck, you owe me six grand. Give me one goddamn good reason not to let my guy Jeff take you out back and beat you until you piss blood?"

"Johnny--," Mick said with a nervous laugh. "Johnny, I got a way to pay you back. I--" he motioned towards the fat man. "We have something you might be interested in."

Johnny sighed and checked his watch. Fuck it, he thought. Nothing else to do tonight. He led the two men into the back offic and sat behind his desk while the other two men sat down in the folding chairs opposite him. Mick pulled out a cigarette while the short fat man got out a cigar.

"Where's your manners, Mick?" Johnny asked. "Introduce me to your friend."

"Yeah, this is Prussian Joe."

"Johann," the fat man said in a thick German accent. "They started calling me Prussian Joe in Joliet."

"Did time in the clink?" Johnny asked.

"Ja. Five year stretch for armed robbery."

"Fascinating," Johnny said as he looked at his fingernails. "Now explain why I shouldn't beat your ass for just affiliating with this deadbeat Malone?"

"Mr. Legarrio," Prussian Joe said as he laid his hands on the desk. "Mick has brought me to you because he says you are a man who is a man of action. How true is this?"

"Depends on the action," Johnny said non-committedly. "And depends on my cut from said action."

"Prussian Joe and I were cellmates," said Mick. He nodded as he spoke, eager to talk fast and please. "A few years back when I went away for that bunko beef? Joe and I got to talking and he told me his plan after I told him about my connections. I got out and he came to see me when he got out."

"What plans?" Johnny asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The First National Bank Downtown," said Prussian Joe. "I have a plan to rob it. It's been in place for sometime, we have only to act. If we pull it off, we can walk away with at least ten million. What do you think of that type of action, Mr. Legarrio?"

Johnny finished his smoke and took his sweet time finding another one and lighting it up before answering.

"I think I'd like to hear more."

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

It's a PoW miracle!