Secession: The Storm Read online

  “So what did you do, sir?” Zach asked, unable to hold his tongue any longer.

  “I filed a report on the incident, leaving no doubt it was a righteous shoot. Other than that, I didn’t do a damned thing. There’s no official mention of the witness, money, or anybody’s attempt to tamper with evidence – yours or mine.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Zach replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Look, I’ve kept my eye on you, Zach. Had to… given this little episode. I never noticed any other indiscretions,” Alcorn announced, signaling the waitress for a refill on his coffee. “I know you are frustrated with this job. If you’re like any other cop, you see and do some things that are… err… questionable at times. You’ve gotta make peace with that and draw your own line in the sand. Beyond that, young man – every law enforcement officer goes through those periods of doubt. That’s why our community is so tightly knit. That’s why we are held together with a unique bond. You should never forget that, Zach. Never.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The two men parted company, Zach still deep in thought as he watched his boss drive away from the parking lot.

  “Maybe I misnamed the triangle of despair,” he reckoned. “Maybe I should call it the triangle of survival.”

  Chapter 4 – A Not So New Life

  8 years after Katrina…

  Abe steered through the neighborhood, a classic rock tune jamming through the speakers and a Cheshire cat grin painted on his face. The late afternoon sun blanketed the widely spaced homes, each centered on its own multi-acre lot, and separated by thick woods.

  When Kara and he had decided to start anew and escape from the memories of Louisiana, the real estate agent had carefully considered their needs. His wife was a country girl, Abe a sportsman who had always taken every opportunity to get away from his father’s suburban residence. The realtor had shown the couple a new development on the far north side of Houston, beyond the subdivisions comprised of tract homes and yet still within reach of the city.

  “Houston’s growing northward,” the agent had informed the wide-eyed duo. “Grab this land now before urban creep makes lots this size unaffordable.”

  And so they had.

  The couple had settled on a strategy of turning negatives into positives. The insurance money and modest estate Abe inherited provided the seed money for their little share of the American dream. Abe designed their home, his fledgling engineering start-up managing the project between paying customers.

  He still experienced a flush of pride every time he pulled into the driveway.

  With his briefcase in one hand and the long, narrow box of the new rifle in the other, he negotiated the sidewalk. After pausing to scan the backyard, his mood was elevated even more via the smooth carpet of lush green. The yard guys must have just made their weekly visit.

  The back stoop was partially blocked by white trash bags, evidence of Kara’s cleaning activities, and a strong hint for him to do his share. He was too excited by the afternoon’s earlier events to tote the garbage out right now, making a mental note to perform the chore before another project commanded his attention.

  “Darling, I’m home,” he announced, stepping through the threshold.

  “Hey,” she replied, glancing up from a paperback and her steaming cup of tea. “How did it go today?”

  Abe strolled to the couch where his soul mate had reclined, gently placing a hand on each cheek and kissing her forehead. “Oh, sweetheart! I had the greatest day, and I love you to pieces!”

  Setting her book down, Kara returned the peck, a genuine smile illuminating her face. That reaction was quickly replaced with a frown when she noticed the rifle box. “Oh, Abe… not another one?”

  It took him a moment to digest her remark, following her gaze to the cardboard package under his arm. “Oh, that. No, no, no, that’s not why I had a great day,” he said, waving off her concern. “This is just a deer rifle I ordered a month ago. I had a great day because we won the Morrison contract!”

  The grin returned to Kara’s face, “Oh, honey, I’m so happy for you! I know you’ve been working so hard on that bid.”

  “But that’s not even the best news,” he beamed. “We had 47 people show up at the ‘Patriots Now’ meeting this afternoon.”

  “Really? That’s a new attendance record, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I think we’re onto something here. People are so fed up with Washington… it seems like they really want to make a change. We registered five new voters today, and several people told me they were going to invite friends for next week’s meeting. You should come.”

  Kara shook her head in disagreement, “Now why would this liberal girl want to go and mingle with all those conservative types? I’d be like a fish out of water.”

  “We’re attracting more than just right-wingers. Two of the people who registered today were Democrats. And I’m trying hard to keep right and left out of the meetings – we’re just people who want to see a change. You’d be fine; I promise.”

  Wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck, Kara moved against him in a warm hug. “Abe, you don’t know how pleased I am to see you so involved and happy in all this. After everything we went through in Louisiana, it’s good to see you hit your stride. You’ve worked so hard – you deserve some success.”

  He returned the embrace, kissing the top of her head. “We’ve worked so hard, my wife. You’ve stuck with me through the lean and the mean, and I would never have made it through if you weren’t right here beside me.”

  Kara kissed his cheek and then winked. “Perhaps a little wine is in order after dinner… then a celebration after that,” she offered in her most sultry voice, seductively slipping her camisole strap over her shoulder.

  Abe responded with an eyebrow waggle, “Now that would be the icing on the cake.”

  She moved to the kitchen counter, fiddling with her tea and the sugar and then giving the chili a quick stir. Nodding toward the rifle box, she announced, “I’ll be an even happier girl when you stop bringing those home. With the company growing like a weed and your newfound political endeavors, when are you going to have the time to kill poor little Bambi?”

  Abe shrugged, “It’s just a hunting rifle, not a manifestation of paranoia.” Sighing, his mood and demeanor changed immediately. “Are we going to have this discussion again? I like guns. I’m a man who works hard in an office all day, with my nose to the grindstone. Just daydreaming about spending time outdoors frees up my brain from the corporate games and bullshit. Besides that, you do not want me hiking in the wilderness unarmed where the feral hogs outnumber me a hundred to one. It’s harmless, my love.”

  With a light chuckle, Kara turned and picked up a stack of envelopes. “Speaking of paranoia, there was a letter in today’s mail from the IRS. It might be that certification you’ve been waiting on.”

  “This day keeps getting better and better,” he said, reaching to accept the envelope. “If this is what I think it is,” he continued, looking around for a letter opener, “I’m going to have even less time for hunting. ‘Patriots Now’ needs its non-profit status so we can actually start growing.”

  “I don’t understand. It is going to be some sort of charity?”

  Abe, finally locating the dull blade, looked up to answer his wife. “No, nothing like that. Being a non-profit allows us to reach out and involve more people. One of our members wants to rent busses and travel to assisted living facilities so the old folks can attend meetings and have a ride to vote. But we can’t afford the insurance on the busses unless we’re a non-profit.”

  Kara nodded her understanding, allowing Abe to return his attentions to the government correspondence. She watched as his face changed, a frown forming on his lips, quickly followed by a full-blown scowl as he continued to read the letter.

  “Not good news I take it.”

  “This is bullshit!” he snapped, examining the paper with unbelieving eyes. “They can’t do
this!”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “The IRS wants a list of all of our contributors, including their names, addresses, social media sites, and social security numbers. They want a signed affidavit from each member of our board of directors, testifying that Patriots Now isn’t promoting a political agenda or participating in fundraising for the Republican Party. What crap! They can’t do this.”

  Kara moved to her husband’s side, scanning the document. “That does seem a bit harsh,” she commented. “Maybe this is some new law or something.”

  Abe tossed the letter onto the counter. “I’m not going to let it ruin my day. I’ll turn it over to George and let him look at it from an accountant’s point of view. Maybe he knows something I don’t.”

  He then moved with purpose to the rifle box, hefting the new weapon and turning to exit the kitchen. “I’m going to go put this in the gun room.”

  Kara watched her husband walk away, her attention then focusing on the government document. She couldn’t avoid feeling troubled, almost as if the letter were a forecast of impending misfortune.

  It had been a wonderful sight to see her husband turn his frustrations into something positive. After the incidents in New Orleans, she had watched him try several cures.

  Initially, he’d rechanneled his anger and grief into the business, working incredible hours and enduring multiple sacrifices. While the new firm had succeeded, it still hadn’t provided refuge from the demons that tormented her husband’s soul.

  Then he switched gears, attempting to exploit hunting, camping, and rock climbing as an outlet for his mental angst. She’d been worried, Abe seemingly discovering some resolution in firearms and shooting. Gently questioning his newfound love of destructive, killing machines, he’d waved off her concerns.

  Over time, that fancy had faded as well, his gun cabinet and hiking boots covered in a fine layer of dust.

  He did an excellent job of covering the fury that simmered inside. So skilled in fact, that Kara often wondered if time was actually healing her mate. But then something would shake his calm facade, some news story, Christmas card from an old friend, or television show. Abe would become sullen and moody, sometimes pacing around the house as if he were wrestling old demons and talking to the ghosts. She knew he was tortured at the worst of times, scarred at the best.

  But then along came Patriots Now.

  “The legal system failed me,” Abe explained. “The justice system didn’t work. I need to do something that gives me a respite from the sickening feeling that no meaning has come from my father and brother losing their lives. I have to find a way to turn bad into good, and I think the political route is the best option I’ve found.”

  And it seemed to be working. Kara had watched her husband throw his heart and soul into the organization – volunteering his time, purchasing equipment, supplies, and other necessities. Even the smallest milestones seemed to peg his gratification meter.

  “I hope you’re not a brewing storm,” she scowled, peering at the letter. “I hope you’re not another Katrina building strength out in the Gulf. My Abe has already suffered enough for any ten men… please leave him alone.”

  Given the late hour and remote location of their subdivision, the sound of the front doorbell brought both Kara and Abe to answer. Glancing through the peephole, Abe spotted two men with suits standing on his front porch.

  Shrugging his shoulders in answer to Kara’s inquisitive glance, Abe said, “Who is it?”

  “Internal Revenue Service,” came the response. “Agents Dunworthy and Hammond.”

  Abe flashed pale, the scene reminding him of New Orleans and the image his father must have seen before letting the policemen into his home.

  “Are you okay?” Kara asked, not liking her husband’s color.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Abe opened the door, making sure his posture let it be known that the two agents weren’t welcome inside his home.

  “Yes.”

  The man in front flashed his ID, including a badge. “Sir, we’re here to speak with Mr. Abraham Hendricks. Is this the correct address?”

  “Yes, I’m Abe Hendricks.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause, as if the agents expected to be asked inside. After it had become clear that Abe wasn’t going to issue an invitation, the man asked, “May we come in?”

  “No.”

  Abe’s response drew a frown, the two men on the porch glancing at each other. “We won’t take up much of your time, Mr. Hendricks. I think everyone would be more comfortable if we could sit and go through our questions.”

  “Gentlemen, I don’t mean to be rude or uncooperative, but I learned a long time ago to exercise my right to remain silent. If you will hold on just a moment, I’ll get my attorney’s phone number and address. You’re welcome to ask him any questions concerning my taxes.”

  The man in the back stepped forward, his voice projecting authority, “Why so uptight, Mr. Hendricks? You’re acting like a man who has something to hide. You do realize that your actions will just make the service dig deeper?”

  Abe bristled at the threat. “Are you saying that by exercising my constitutional right, I’m inviting my government to treat me differently than any other citizen?”

  The man shook his head, “Describe it however you like, Mr. Hendricks. The fact remains that in the vast majority of cases, any taxpayer who lawyers up is hiding something… something significant. It is a statistical reality that our enforcement personnel can’t ignore.”

  “I’m hiding nothing, sir. Now let me retrieve my lawyer’s contact information.”

  Abe closed the door, turning to find a troubled look on his wife’s face. “Are you sure we just shouldn’t invite them in and see what they want to know?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” he responded, stalking off to retrieve a pencil and paper.

  A minute later, Abe opened the front door, surprised to find only a single agent on his porch. A quick glance confirmed the nondescript government sedan sitting in the driveway was empty. “Where is your buddy?” Abe asked.

  The agent didn’t answer, but Kara did. “Abe, one of those men is in our backyard.”

  “Shit,” he barked, pointing a finger at the remaining agent on his porch. “Get the fuck off of my property, right now, young man. Here is my attorney’s name and number. Don’t come back here without a warrant.”

  “Are you threatening a federal agent, sir?”

  “I am warning a trespasser. I’m not going to ask nicely again.”

  “We’ll be speaking very soon, Mr. Hendricks,” the agent replied with a menacing tone.

  Abe watched the two men leave, a very panicky Kara under his arm.

  It took a few hours before the Hendricks settled down, Abe reassuring Kara that he’d done the right thing and that their financial records were in order. “I pay our taxes,” he promised, “and I don’t play games with any of the rules. It’s just not worth losing any sleep over, especially for a guy who’s seen how punitive our beloved government can be.”

  The entire incident was almost forgotten when Abe left for work the following morning, his 30-minute commute to his Woodlands office consisting mostly of a pleasant country drive.

  Strolling through the mid-rise’s lobby, Abe rode the elevator up to the third floor and entered Hendricks Engineering, Incorporated just like any ordinary morning. He stopped mid-stride, finding a rather large gentleman pointing a gun in his face.

  “Who are you?” the big man growled.

  “I’m the owner,” Abe stuttered, finally noticing the embroidered initials “IRS” on the man’s jacket. “What do you want?”

  His question was ignored. Instead, the man lowered his weapon and demanded, “Do you have any cell phones or weapons on your person?”

  “What are you doing here?” What’s this all about?” Abe protested, his anger beginning to build.

  “I asked you a fuck
ing question!” the IRS man screamed at the top of his lungs, again raising his pistol.

  “Yes, I have a cell phone. No, I don’t have a weapon. Now, I want to see your warrant.”

  “Hand over your cell phone, sir, or I’ll arrest you for failure to cooperate with a federal officer.”

  Abe shrugged, reaching into his pocket for the smartphone he carried there. Taking it from his hand, the IRS agent then motioned for Abe to follow.