“Go ahead, Mr. Snelling,” Grant said. “Take it. You’ll be armed and I won’t. You’ll be the armed man. You or anyone else in this room can—and should—be armed. That would make it pretty hard for my five or six guys to rule over hundreds of you.”
Snelling was visibly terrified of holding the gun. Grant smiled.
Grant made exaggerated motions of handing the gun again to Snelling, who refused. Finally, Grant shrugged and safely holstered his pistol.
The crowd started laughing. They could tell that Grant was screwing with this guy. And winning.
Snelling was done. He’d had enough. He expected to accuse Grant and Rich and the whole militaristic cabal of being macho Hitlers and have them react with aggression, which would have made his point for him. He did not expect what Grant had done. Grant had used logic instead of force, which was exactly the opposite of what Snelling expected.
Snelling picked up his backpack and started to leave. His wife followed him, but his little cheering section stayed. They didn’t want to be seen with him. However, after several angry hand motions from Snelling, they followed. Except Dick Abbott who stayed behind, looking pissed.
Grant asked, calmly and with a smile, “Any more questions?”
Abbott said angrily, “Yeah. I got one. How is any of what you’re doing legal? There’s a real court system and regular police. This little Grange court and your homemade police force is illegal.”
Time to take this clown, too, Grant thought. He looked right at Abbott and asked, “Illegal by what set of laws?”
“The laws of the state of Washington and the United States,” Abbott answered in a “no duh” tone.
Grant wanted to talk about the “FUSA,” but that would be too much for the crowd, at least at this point. “Legality is very important, Mr. Abbott. Isn’t it?”
Abbott nodded.
“Like paying your taxes,” Grant said. “How many people in this room paid every penny of their taxes the past couple of years?” No one raised their hands.
“Hey, Dan,” Grant said to Dan Morgan, “How are those retirement checks you should be getting from the Air Force? Those coming on time?”
Dan shook his head and laughed.
“Hey, everyone,” Grant said with a smile, “how is that free government health care? It’s against the ‘law’ to deny you all the health care you want. Do you have to bribe receptionists to see a doctor? Why, that’s ‘illegal,’ isn’t it? Is it legal for the government to order the grocery store to limit people to $200 of purchases?” Grant was on a roll.
“The President’s ‘emergency powers’?” Grant said. “The Governor seizing gas stations? You want me to stop now, Mr. Abbott? I’ll bet you do.” Grant was grinning. He was in his element. Maybe too much. It was a rush to destroy these shit heads.
“This is…treason,” Abbott said. “That’s what it is, setting up your own little fiefdom out here.” Abbott was getting desperate.
The crowd was silent.
“Treason?” Grant asked with a smile. “Did you say ‘treason’ Mr. Abbott?” The crowd expected Grant to draw a pistol on this guy. Instead, Grant held his hands out as if to say, “Please elaborate.”
Abbott stormed out.
Grant sat down. That was about all that needed to be done. Grant was done with Abbott and Snelling. But he knew they weren’t done with him.
Chapter 114
The Pierce Point Patriot
(May 11)
The meeting broke up. Many people wanted to talk to Grant and thank him for shutting down Snelling and Abbott. Not all were thanking him, though. Some looked at him like he was a threat, like they were trying to figure out how he was going to screw them. That was fair. Politicians had been doing that regularly for several decades. And now here was a guy talking about following the Constitution; a guy with a scary rifle and a pistol. A little scrutiny was warranted.
There was one last guy who wanted to talk to Grant. He waited around for a while until everyone else was done and then came up and said, “Hi, Mr. Matson, I’m Ken Dolphson. My wife, Barbara, said you needed a copy machine.”
“Oh, great, Ken,” Grant said as they shook hands. “I think your copy machine can help perform an important service for the community out here.”
“What would that be?” Ken asked.
“A newspaper,” Grant said. “A one-page, double-sided piece with community news. Things like an obituary for Mrs. Roth. Updates on how people can help or be helped. Maybe letters to the editor. That kind of thing. Would you like to donate the use of your copier for that?”
“Oh, sure,” Ken said. “I had never thought of having a paper out here. Yeah, that would be great.”
“How much paper do you have out here?” Grant asked.
“Oh,” Ken said, thinking about how much he had, “I got several reams for all the flyers I do for my listings. I got a whole pallet of paper delivered out here a few years ago and have almost all of it. Sales of real estate are down a bit right now,” Ken said with a smile. “Can you design the paper? You know, headlines and that kind of thing?” Grant asked.
“I guess,” Ken said. He’d never put together a newspaper, but had done lots of fliers. Ken realized that, in the Collapse, people were doing lots of jobs they never expected to. “No problem,” he said. “Do I have to go get the stories?”
“No,” Grant said, “but you can if you want to. Anyone can publish a story. I have plenty of story ideas, like that obituary I mentioned. Mary Anne Morrell can write it; she had been taking care of Mrs. Roth.”
“What’s the paper going to be called?” Ken asked.
“The Pierce Point Patriot,” Grant said. The name jumped right out at him. The Patriot. That’s right. It would be a source of local news and non-political information that people could use. And they could trust it—unlike the news on TV and the internet. There wouldn’t be much, if any, overt political opinion. There wouldn’t need to be. If the Patriot told people where to get AA batteries and who was having a canning party to put up the season’s apple crop into applesauce, it wouldn’t need to have an editorial about the Founding Fathers or why the former government was a failure. It would be pretty obvious: the former government was a failure because they couldn’t provide anyone with AA batteries or apple sauce. The Patriots were providing those things. The Patriots were solving the problems that the former government created. That’s the kind of politics that people would gravitate toward: solving their problems, fairly and without force. So, one of Grant’s most political ideas, the newspaper, would not show any signs of being political.
“All I ask,” Grant said to Ken, “is that the name of the paper be the ‘Pierce Point Patriot’ and the logo be the ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ flag. Would that be OK, Mr. Publisher?”
Ken laughed at being called the publisher. “Sure,” he said. Ken had been sick of how things had been going for some time. The things the Feds did to the housing market were unbelievable. Ken hadn’t said anything; it was bad for business to be “political” especially if that meant pissing off the government people who held the approvals his business needed in their hands. He didn’t think there was anything he could do except try to eek out a living and pay his taxes. But, Ken had decided quite a while ago that the country needed a “restart.” So now he was the publisher of a Patriot newspaper. Fine with him.
Ken paused. He couldn’t help it, “Can I put in a little ad about my services? I will do property sales—with our own property title records system I guess we’ll have out at the Grange here—in exchange for some barter. Would that be OK?” Another use for the lot numbers: records of property sales.