QUOTE:
Warning: If you are easily shocked with regard to contrary
points of view, conspiracy theories, offensive language, political
correctness, sex, or anything else that may offend your
sensibilities or lack of open-mindedness, or if you're a minor
(but by no means limited to the aforementioned), please
do not read this novel. It's not for you...
Note: This is a work of fiction. The events described here
are imaginary: the settings, events and characters are
fictitious, and/or are the product of the author's imagination
or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2006 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.
This is a Free Country, isn’t it? Right…: Installment 2 of
"The Walls Have Ears: A Novel of America."
By F. Scott Sinclair
Paul Krugar
Luther James and I scurried into the backseat of the taxi cab. Snow fell inside as I shut the rear car door. The caked snow on my boots began melting as the cab’s heater was working overtime. Even though the sky was overcast, the sun appeared to be wanting to penetrate the ice cold cloud cover. But to no avail…
“Paul,” Luther said, with a foggy mist of smoke-like vapor spewing from his lips, “these are difficult times for you, aren’t they?”
“And you…?”
As our eyes met, he had a glint of luster in those deceptive eyes of his, as he responded, “Me too… It’s as though the Russians have become us, and we’ve become them.”
“Yeah, isn’t that the truth. Hey, look over there! There are at least four policemen kicking and shoving a woman up against that concrete wall, near that bus stop. Christ, now I’ve seen everything…!”
With a slight smirk on his face, Luther says, “Yeah and she’s probably wearing a sweat shirt that says: 2245 Dead. How Many More?…on it.”
I grabbed Luther’s arm, and said, “Stop the cab, damn it! We've got to find out why there’s four against one woman. Not at all a flat playing field I’d say. C’mon?!”
Luther pushed me against the backseat, his foul breath engulfed my nostrils, and says, “You don’t know what you’re up against, do yah?”
“C’mon… I just want to see what all the excitements about. The Gestapo is out there, my friend, if that’s what you’re referring to. Is it? Out with it…!”
He took a deep breath, and contained himself. As he released his paws from my parka, he said hoarsely, “Something like that. And it isn’t a pretty sight.”
“You speaking of Cindy? Then you’re right. She’s lost a son and all the rights and freedoms she thought her son died for. And not just her; they’re thousands of parents whose children--and they themselves--who’ve been duped.”
Immediately, Luther placed his index finger to his pursed lips, shaking his head no. I got the message. The walls have ears, especially cab drivers. They’ve the biggest ears of all. And if this dude driving this pile of shit was a friend of the Man in the White House, our ass’s would be hurtin’.
“Got the picture, ole buddy,” I said, as I saw the cab driver glance into the rearview mirror a little too suspiciously. I should’ve learned to keep my damn mouth in the closed position after the news of the illegal spying by the feds on its own citizens without a warrant. But having been brought up on a lie—freedom of speech—I was too dumb, or more than likely too propagandized...to stop opening my trap at this late date.
I’d forgotten about the police brutality that appeared to be going as we spoke, as we drove by the scene of the crime. Another government crime at that… I felt like the foxes were running and guarding the henhouse: America and the People (chickens) in it. In other words, those who are above the law can J-walk without being arrested; while the rest of us lowlifes are treated like the worst sort of vermin that walks the earth for doing the same thing. America is lost, I thought, as we rounded the icy corner and plowed towards the entrance to Larry’s Tavern.
The driver turned, and says, “That’ll be $9.50 and some change.”
Some change…? Christ, a fucking tip. As I started to hand him--or was it a her?--the exact change, my eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. Jesus, the cap on the driver's head had floppy ears that drooped over the sides of the driver’s face, and the dark glasses on the bridge of the driver's nose didn’t make the identification process any easier. I'd failed to listen to his or her voice at the outset. But when I handed the driver the ten spot, I noticed pearl colored nail polish on her fingertips. What a relief to have answered that unknown fact: gender, even if only for curiosity's sake.
Luther says, “I’ll get the tab for the return trip.”
I nodded as we proceeded towards the entrance to Larry’s Tavern on 1st Street and Magnolia Avenue in the city of X.
