QUOTE:
Mr. President, I’ll Do It…!: A Fictional Blog
Scene Fourteen of the Serialization of “The Walls Have Ears: A Novel of America”
By F. Scott Sinclair
Copyright (C) 2006 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.
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.
Commander Fredericks of the Renegades
I’d just returned from a walk in the yard, as we call
it here at the federal penitentiary that’s situated at
an undisclosed location somewhere in the Northeast.
Due to the unusual sensitivity of the activities
undertaken at this high security complex—like
the president’s domestic torture program, we’ve
been told—security was higher than the highest
level at any federal prison. Particularly in the area of
confidentiality, nobody’s relatives knew where any
of us were being incarcerated.
I fell back on my steel bed with its so-called
mattress barely separating my rump from its raw
and bitter frame. Fellow renegade cellmate,
Mike Donaldson, says, “I just heard a rumor.”
With my backbone lodged against the reinforced
concrete wall, I asked, “What’s this going to cost me?”
“Nothing boss...,” he said with a hint of deception
in them there words.
“What makes you think I believe you for even a
moment?”
Mike seemed to be fidgeting as he fell down on one
elbow, then collapsed headlong on a smelly and stained
pillow, and says, “I take it, I’ve got your juices flowin’, huh?”
Proud of himself, I slowly pulled out a toothpick that had
been lodged between my two front teeth, and said,
“This toothpick doesn’t appear to be a dangerous
weapon, now does it?”
He straightened up, all ears...
“This little toothpick could be the last thing you ever
see in this life. Do you get my drift?”
Having his eyes poked out didn’t seem to appeal to
my cellmate’s survival instincts, as he says, “C’mon, boss
man... Can’t you take a joke anymore?”
“Do you want me to answer that?”
His bulbous nose started running with anxiety. I
said, “Come clean, my friend.”
Instantly, he rose from the prone position, his greasy
brown hair draped over his hazel eyes, and like a
thief in the night...crossed over to my bunk, and said,
“The skinny is that you’re about to get a pardon
from the man himself."
I shuddered at the thought.
And before I could clobber him with a proper haymaker, Mike says
defensively with three fingers in the air like a Boy Scout,
“I swear, boss! Cross my heart, and hope to die—it’s the truth...”
Having exhausted my appeal rights long ago, I’d about
given up any thought of getting out of this hellhole. Seeing the light
of day beyond these prison walls was the furthest thing from my
mind. Tenatively, I said, “And you don’t want anything for
this little tidbit of information? C'mon, get a life...”
As I ran my fingers nervously through my snow
white locks of hair, he says, “Okay, here’s the bottom
line, boss. There’s a little catch, you might say. Shit, a
big catch...”
“Out with it...!”
“You’ve got a couple of contracts to fulfill.”
Stunned, I said, “Like in: murder contracts?”
His head bumped up against the wall, as his feet
curled up snuggly on top of my steel fortress bunk.
He seemed to be staring at the rough concrete floor.
A second later, he turned his head like a turret on a
tank looking for a target, and says, “Something like that...”
I said, “Exactly like that, huh?”
He nodded his head.
“And you want me to take this dirty job, don’t you?”
His eyes wouldn’t meet mine, as he says, “Yeah...”
“Jesus H. Christ...,” I said, knowing that I wasn’t such
a nice guy, but to kill political opponents wasn’t exactly
my forte. After nearly twenty years as a law enforcement
officer, and staunch defender of the Constitution in a
perverted sort of way, I flushed beet red and yelled, “Guard...!”
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QUOTE:
A CONVENIENT (I HOPE) TABLE OF CONTENTS OF
SCOTT SINCLAIR'S NOVELS
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