“Absolutely, Al. We can get a trial in about a week, followed by a same day execution.”
“Good.”
Ray and Cassandra reached Sean’s house around eight that night. “Man, look at you with that big barrel chest,” Sean said as he hugged him. “What do you do for exercise—turn rocks into gravel with your bare hands?” Sean spoke with a slight Irish accent.
“Yeah,” Ray said, “and I chew nails for an in-between snack.” Ray was powerfully built with a massive neck and square head. Only about 5-10, he looked like a human bulwark, with a pug nose and square jaw.
“Hi, Sean,” Cassandra said.
“Cassie,” he said. Sean gave her a great big hug too and then pinched her ass.
Cassandra just smiled. “Nice to know you haven’t changed.”
“Cass,” Ray said, stretching her name out and looking at her sideways. Sean wore an impish grin. He was about fortyish and wiry with wild eyes.
“Well, what kind of trouble are you two in that you need my help?” The two filled him in, and Ray asked him to help out.
“You need me to get your stuff, right?”
“I don’t want to impose,” Ray said.
“No problem. Just write down what you need.”
“The Squad might be watching the house. Do you have a gun?”
“Robbing houses is my business, buddy. Of course, I’m always protected.”
“You may be followed.”
“How do you think I’ve lasted all these years? I know how to lose the Squad or the RAC. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
“Thank you for helping,” Cassandra said.
“My pleasure. Say, Ray, you think when we’re done here you can rent her out for a night?”
Ray and Cassandra understood Sean.
“Just kidding.” Looking at Cassandra, “It’s just my way of saying you’re really a dote.”
Cassandra had a quizzical look. “He means cute,” Ray said.
“You should get going,” Cassandra said. “It’s a long drive.”
“Don’t worry about a thing. Take the upstairs bedroom on the right. It’s a bit small, but you’ll be comfortable.”
“Thanks,” Ray said.
Ray couldn’t sleep well and Cassandra sensed his worry. Still, he lay in bed and even faked a few snores so Cassandra could get some sleep. Ray even thought he really did nod off for a while, but he spent most of the time considering a plan. He worried about Eugene, and he worried about Cass and himself. Now he’d involved a fourth person. It might mean the end of his operation. He was the leader of the ex-Blues, and if he was in exile no one would lead any revolution. Old America was sick and dying, and he felt that few people knew that it was. He needed Eugene on his side and he needed to split. What to do? It was Ray’s last thought before he and Cassandra awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs frying downstairs. Sean was singing some Irish ditty.
“Top of the mornin’ to yah.”
“How’d it go last night?” Ray asked.
“Look in the parlor and see for yourself.”
Ray and Cassandra saw all their stuff: computer, monitor, radio, private phone, portfolio, trackers, and other stuff. Now they could set up operations from Sean’s house.
“Come on, you two, before breakfast gets cold. You can play ‘good guy/bad guy’ later.” Sean picked up on the bags under their eyes and knew they slept little. Ray wolfed down his breakfast while Cassandra picked at hers.
“I’m not that hungry,” Cassandra said as she went into the parlor to set up the equipment. Ray continued to eat his own breakfast and then turned to his wife’s plate. He began eyeing some tasty morsel as Sean just smiled at his antics.
“Ray!” shouted Cassandra from the parlor.
“Better see what the little woman wants,” Sean said, with a sly grin.
Ray came in and saw Cassandra had everything set up and fretted at an email sent by Judy, their mole in Old Chicago. As Ray began reading he saw what so alarmed his wife.
“Why would he be in Joliet?” Cassandra asked.
“He’s in a lot of trouble, Cass.”
“There’s another email, too, from Judy,” she said. They read it together as their faces went ashen.
“No, Ray. They’re going to execute him. Ray, we’ve got to get him out of there.”
“It’s up to that lawyer now. The problem is his company might not even know he’s in trouble. This is a Squad prison with Squad judges. They pretty much make their own rules. Access to an attorney usually only occurs after a trial is announced. That lawyer will have very little time to prepare for a trial.”
“If it’s Squad judges trying him, what chance will Gene have?”
“On his own—none. Remember, though, he has government connections. They can at least delay the process enough for us to spring him.”
“Whoa!” Sean said. He’d just entered the room and heard the conversation. “They’re looking for you, my man.”
“That was confirmed in another email,” Cassandra said.
“Well, you got to stay as far from Joliet as possible.”
“But, Sean,” Cassandra said, “I’m responsible for the trouble he’s in. We can’t leave him there. That wouldn’t be right.”
“For the moment there’s nothing we can do, Cass, and you know it,” Ray said.
Cassandra looked down, and then she thought of something. “If Gene can’t get to his lawyer, maybe we can.” She typed Everson into the search engine and got the contact page for Eugene’s company. “Should we email them or phone them?” Cassandra asked.
Sean volunteered the answer on this one. “Phone them. You can block your number, but with an email they’ll have your return address.”
Ray called. He couldn’t get through to Stu Everson so he left a message, and turned to his wife. “That will have to do.”
“What do we do now?” Cassandra asked.
“We wait and see what develops.”
Eugene returned an hour later, still smarting. He crawled up to the top bunk with assistance from Fernando.
“How you feeling, Eugene?”
“Better. I’m still sore though. I think I have a broken rib.”
“What did they do?”
“They just put a salve on me and then bandaged the lacerations. I told them about the rib, but the doctor just felt my rib cage and told me it wasn’t broken. No X-ray or anything. Christ, I’m sore.”
“Did they let you call your lawyer?”
Eugene was sullen. “What kind of justice is this?”
“It’s Squad justice.”
“But it’s not American justice.”
Fernando was quiet and Eugene fell asleep.
The next morning they were lined up for breakfast. Everything was highly regimented. They marched into the cafeteria, which was dirty from the previous meal. Inmates were expected to clean up their own area. Eugene and Fernando sat down after tossing someone else’s trash away.
“Tell me more about this crime of yours,” Eugene said.
Fernando was tall and spoke slowly with a Spanish accent. Eugene sized him up as someone without much education. “Some economist from Harvard… I think his name was Galboth… or something… anyway he calls it urban feudalism.”
“Feudalism?”
“What does feudalism mean?” Fernando asked.
“Well, I’m no expert, but during the Middle Ages, in Europe, the aristocracy and the kings owned all the land. Peasants, called serfs, could be given some land by their vassal in return for their labor on his land, but they had no rights. They weren’t allowed to leave the land.”
“Yeah, that’s like what I had. Only instead of land it was money I was given. They had me by the balls.” Fernando grabbed his privies with a big grin on his face, and then laughed.