As Mike said previously, we’re at a point in history where selling works of fiction is almost a silly agenda to be concerned about. Fixating on the American Dream at this late hour is tantamount to opening a Kosher bakery in 1936 Berlin. Nonetheless, my ability to sound the warning is limited. My only platform, such as it is, is built on my fiction (and my blogging too, I guess). So here’s another chapter of my warning, in fictional form:
16
D MINUS 56
AMARILLO, TEXAS
“Oh man, I don’t believe this shit,” Delton Williams muttered as he swung his car around the curve and saw the po-po lined up across the road, lights flashing on their cruisers. Another random roadside spot check. Another part of the “zero tolerance policy” garbage the politicians on the local news were talking about lately.
Delton had lost his job months ago when the company he worked for downsized and outsourced their remaining labor overseas. His Unemployment Compensation was about to run out and he’d had no luck finding a job. He’d just sacrificed some gas to go to an interview which turned out to be a scam. He should have known the “no experience necessary” was too good to be true in this economy. Their job posting said he’d get paid training to be a financial consultant, when in actuality it was a door-to-door sales job and they expected him to pony up some cash to pay for the training. He’d spent the last of his cash on gas and now he wouldn’t be able to buy baby formula. He and his girl already switched to cloth diapers, hang-drying them on the apartment balcony because disposables were too expensive. The easy way out would be to either start selling weed in his neighborhood, or go on welfare. He didn’t want to do either, but was running out of options.
He needed to get back to the apartment soon so his girlfriend could take the car to her late shift job at the convenience store. Delton’s sister had borrowed the car Sunday and he hadn’t had a chance to clean it out since then. Who knew what she might have left in there somewhere? He was only a mile or so from his apartment. This checkpoint was the last thing he needed right now.
Six cruisers were parked here, in all. Most of the cops stood over by a cluster of trees shading them the late afternoon sun. They were all either white or Hispanic.
He rolled down his window as he came to a stop abreast of the two cops standing in the road. Maybe they would wave him on and harass the next guy.
“Good afternoon, sir,” greeted a short, beady-eyed cop, leaning down to face Delton through the open window. “We’re conducting roadside spot checks today.” He pointed beyond the paved shoulder to an area in front of the trees. “Would you mind pulling off up there so we can check you out real quick?”
“Yes sir, I would mind,” Delton said. “My girl got to get to work and she got no ride without this car.”
The cop blinked in puzzlement. Evidently he wasn’t used to people treating a question like a question. “That’s alright sir,” he finally said. “It’ll only take a second.”
Just in case the cop was being honest, Delton asked, “What exactly you gonna check?”
“We just need to look at your driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance, and to look the car over to make sure everything’s all right.”
Delton was behind on all his bills, because Unemployment was not covering his expenses. He had foregone paying the electric bill so he could send a token payment to the insurance company. He was pretty sure it appeased them for at least another month. But the premiums kept going higher and higher every year…
“You wanna search my car without a warrant?” Delton asked.
The beady-eyed cop’s demeanor changed. Hard lines formed around his mouth. “Excuse me?”
“I said you need a search warrant to do that.”
Beady Eyes looked over the car’s interior. “Is there something you don’t want us to find in here?”
Now the other cop, taller and uglier, stooped over to join Beady Eyes outside Delton’s window. “Is there a problem here?”
Beady Eyes gave the big ugly cop a meaningful glance. “He’s refusing to comply. Says he wants to see a search warrant.”
“Have you got something to hide?” asked the second po-po.
“I ain’t hidin’ nothin’,” Delton said. “Why I gotta be hidin’ somethin’? I told this officer here I need to get home so my girl can take the car to her job.”
“You could be in and out of here if you didn’t give us a hard time,” the second cop said. “This is just a random stop, as part of the zero-tolerance policy…”
“I ain’t givin’ you a hard time,” Delton said. “I’m mindin’ my own business, just tryin’ to get home so my girl can get to work. You’re givin’ me a hard time.”
The second cop stood to his full height and hitched up his gun belt. “Tell you what: do me a favor and pull up over there.”
“No thanks,” Delton said. “How ’bout you do me a favor and let me get home?”
“You need to think hard about this, sir,” the second cop said. “If you insist on making this difficult, you won’t like what happens.”
“You guys can’t search me unless you got a reason,” Delton said.
“Where’d you hear that?” Beady Eyes asked, voice dripping with disgust.
“Man, it’s my rights!” Delton replied, unable to keep the irritation out of his tone.
The two cops exchanged a look. The other cops, over in the shade, were now taking notice that something was amiss. Beady Eyes turned to them and called out, “We’ve got a belligerent one, here.”
The other cops hurried over, stationing themselves on both sides of the car.
Why can’t they just leave me be, Delton wondered, wracked with the sinking feeling of hopelessness. But he countered all their demands by insisting they produce a search warrant.
Finally one of the other cops approached to lean down in his window. “Unless you show us your license and registration, we’re gonna arrest you.”
“I’ll show you that stuff,” Delton said. “No problem. He reached across the front seat to open the glove box, where his registration was.
“He’s going for a weapon!” Beady Eyes cried.
Cops flung open both doors and grabbed Delton.
“Chill the hell out! I was just gettin’ the papers, like you axed!”
His words were drowned out in the shouting of the cops. More and more hands grabbed hold of him and they hauled him out. He tried repeating his protest but they didn’t hear him, or paid no attention. All of them were shouting at once and he couldn’t sort it out. They shoved him against the side of his car and somebody wrenched his arm behind his back.
They were going to cuff him.
Delton tore his arm away and twisted around to face them. “Back off, man! I was just gettin’ the…”
Something hard hit him in the ribs. Through blinding flashes of pain he saw the one holding the night stick. His body reacted before his brain thought it over, and he planted his fist in the guy’s face.
Now sticks crashed all over his shoulders and the top of his head. The only female cop in the group aimed a tazer at him. He batted it out of her hands and pushed her. She went tumbling backwards.
Blows rained down so fast and heavy it was like fireworks went off inside his head. Through the blinding pain of the beating he felt the ground come up to strike him yet another blow on the back of the head.
The perp’s resistance was an unexpected highlight to the checkpoint duty. Not only did they get to see Officer Katy Hobbes go tumbling ass-over teakettle after losing her tazer, but they were getting quality stick time like most of them had never enjoyed before. Then Archuletta began yelling, holding his arms out to stop the beating.
Panting but pumped on the adrenalin, they gradually stopped swinging. Their human pinata was unconscious.
They all glanced at each other and smirks were exchanged. Hobbes picked herself up and came over to take in the scene, and a couple jokes were cracked at her expense. Then Archuletta squatted to examine the perp.
“Hey guys, this doesn’t look good.”
“Cuff him and get him in my car,” Fender said, chuckling. “Somebody can bring aspirin to his cell.”
“No,” Archuletta said. “I mean this looks bad. Maybe we should get an ambulance over here.”
Archuletta stood again, then noticed all the civilians from the backed-up traffic standing outside their vehicles with smartphones out, taking pictures and video.
“Oh, shit.”
###
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The image link to False Flag (the entire book) is on the upper right sidebar. You can watch the accompanying Youtube video here.
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