The Blood of Patriots

Chapter 14: Consequences

The travel agency has a new sign in the window that reads, "When you're sick of winter weather, just say Phuket."

Marty's behind the bar by the curtain when we step through.

"You're supposed to say 'fuck it,' Sam," he says. "It's a joke."

"I got it, but I didn't think you'd let me in."

"I think you've earned your place here," he says. "Beer and rum?"

We step around to the front of the bar. The club is less than half full, maybe forty people in all. There's no band. Instead a projector hidden among the spotlights hanging from the center beam broadcasts national news onto a screen that is suspended from the ceiling at the back of the stage.

Someone mutes the newscast, and everyone present, turns to look at me. One person near the stage rises and starts clapping. Quickly the rest follow suit. I look behind me to see who entered. Marty sets a glass of rum and a bottle of beer on the bar. There's no one else behind us.

"This is for you," Marty says.

He joins in the applause.

Hannah picks up our drinks and moves to the booth in the corner on the other side of the bar. I'm sure my face is red. I assume they're clapping for the Press conference and not the massacre at the Federal building. I mouth my thanks as the applause slowly fades, then join Hannah in the corner. If I had known that was going to happen I would have stayed away.

She kicks off her soggy boots and pulls off her wet socks. My feet are fine. My hunting boots must be better suited for this weather. I scoot away from her and put her feet in my lap. Her jeans from above the knee all the way down are wet and nearly frozen. Her poor feet are wrinkled and very cold. She lays back against the booth and drinks her beer.

I watch the news while I rub her feet. Coverage is non-stop about occupations in other cities around the country: Atlanta, Philadelphia, Milwaukee, and Washington. Everywhere there's serious violence between civilians and police. The number of dead is unknown, but nothing comparable to St. Louis where twenty-seven people, police, FBI agents and civilians, were killed in the last two days. The number of wounded are not reported.

Green and yellow dominate. "Don't Tread on Me" flags and John Deere hats are everywhere, coast-to-coast. I can tell that this is real footage from today. If you see the green hats in the crowd you know the images are fresh.

Many Federal buildings all over the country are burning, along with overturned vehicles and smashed police cars. A dump truck in Chicago dropped a load of crushed stone in the street and the people rained rocks on a fixed police barricade, injuring hundreds. In most cases the people are armed. That's also something I don't recall ever seeing in any previous riots.

National Guard troops are stretched thin. Texas is threatening to secede, again. Congress has fled the capital. No one knows where the President and VP are hiding. D.C. has been completely sealed off by the military.

There's a clip of my news conference. "A little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and is as necessary in the political world as storms are in the physical." That generates some shouts of affirmation from the people in the club.

The waitress brings us more drinks and some snacks.

"We saw a video of the shooting at the Fed building," she says to Hannah. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says. She stands and hugs the woman. "Have you been here all day?"

"I couldn't think of a better place to be," she says. "If y'all need anything we have some cold food behind the bar, mainly sandwiches and more snacks. Hot stuff should be here in an hour or so."