A Simple Rebellion Read online

  “Not me,” Shank put a scarred hand to his heart. “Why I been here with ya’all. Could be Bobbie Boy himself. I certainly do not know exactly who would go to all the trouble of organizing a rally on his behalf. That would be crazy.”

  The Naval commander threw up his hands. “They’ll trace the permit paperwork right back—”

  Shank cut him off genially. “To Mr. Bob Murphy.”

  The Marine commander leaned forward. “And if he doesn’t show up?”

  “Commander, it’s a win-win. If ‘Merica’s former King of Comedy attends, it could be dangerous to his personal health and well being. I mean, who knows who attends these things? But if he doesn’t show? And his rally causes many of his followers and many True ‘Mericans to die in the obligatory rioting?” Shank shrugged. “Whooooweeee, if Bob Murphy’s absence forces your men to swoop in and save the day? Well, in that case, the military will be ‘Merican heroes once more, while everybody, on all sides, will blame Bob Murphy for the carnage.”

  The Joint Chiefs remained unconvinced.

  Shank focused on the coffee in his mug. Then he

  looked at them from under his dark eyebrows, and spoke out of a sideways smirk. “At least they will after the Internet explodes, condemning him from all sides.” He sat back and offered a knowing eyebrow flick, “Either way, order will be restored to our beloved

  nation.”

  He raised his coffee mug in toast. “God bless ‘Merica, eh gents?”

  Even Bo was speechless.

  Chapter 46

  MORE THAN A HUNDRED different postings announcing and/or enthusing about Bob Murphy’s Free At Last Rally had gone viral within seconds. Nearly a billion repostings, retweets, shares, and commentary threads overwhelmed the Internet, crashing several sites across the country.

  People added to the chaos, going live, showing themselves creating banners, dressing as Monster Cops for the event, and leaving for the rally.

  Another thing that went viral was a meme from JailBroken showing Bob and Lionel breaking people out of jail. The text on it read:

  FREE AT LAST!

  This Saturday. Lincoln Memorial.

  At High Noon We Fire the Goons.

  Still another mega viral post featured a clip from Monster Cops. The camera panned over the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, currently reflecting a giant stone Lincoln climbing the Washington Monument a la King Kong, stopping on Bob and Lionel, in full Monster Cop gear, prepping to do battle with an advancing pack of rabid congressional werewolves.

  LIONEL How the hell are we gonna stop these fine elected officials?

  BOB With the one thing they all flee from. LIONEL Who? They already ate the lobbyists! BOB I’m talking about millions of angry registered voters.

  (to RAY o.s.) RAY! LIGHTS! CAMERAS! ACTION!

  Ray hit lights, illuminating a crowd of Americans advancing to join Bob and Lionel.

  LIONEL Awww, yeah! These puppies don’t stand a chance.

  This was followed by a black screen. White letters faded in:

  This Saturday. Lincoln Memorial.

  At High Noon We Fire the Goons.

  The saturation across all platforms, apps, and countries was astounding. Russian hackers would be proud.

  Chapter 47

  BOB MURPHY, WITH NO idea how bad things had just become for all of them, was regretting his last turn. Unwittingly, he drove right toward a hospital; he cursed his stupidity.

  At one time, hospitals were calm places of hope and help. These days they were mosh pits of misery, overrun 24 hours a day by those with no insurance and failing health. Thick, heaving crowds shoved each other, trying to get their sick family members closer to shorthanded medical staff they couldn’t pay.

  The doctors and nurses inside were under siege and took their lives in their hands entering or exiting the building.

  Bob saw a nurse being held at gunpoint by a manic guy clutching a wailing infant in his arms. The man screamed, “You are going to take care of my son or you are gonna die tonight!”

  Bob’s heart sunk, knowing his presence there would only make things worse. How had it all gone so wrong, he thought as he hung a right and headed for the highway.

  Chapter 48

  MERLE JR. SAW THE overwhelming number of announcements first. He shouted from the back seat, startling Steve, sitting next to him in his specially made travel seat, and Perri, who had been drowsing. “We need to find a motel!”

  Bob, who was driving, shook his head. “We can go another hour or two—”

  “No we can’t,” the teen demanded. “Your life and reputation have been hacked.”

  Jackson turned to the kid. Merle Jr. held up his phone to the lawyer.

  Jackson took the device, read, then scrolled, read more frantically, paling as he did. Finally, he said, “He’s right; we need to find a motel. Now!”

  Chapter 49

  HIGHWAY HEAVEN –HOURLY RATES Available was

  the next motel to sleaze its way into view. Reluctantly, Bob pulled in. Jackson jumped out to register. His father drove around back.

  Once inside Room D13, Merle Jr. set up the listless and teary-eyed Perri with the last supplies from her backpack: a juice box, a snack sized container of HoneyNut Cherrios, her coloring book, and a 24-box of Crayolas.

  Merle Jr. turned on the TV.

  “No news. It just hurts my heart,” Perri complained. By her side, Steve agreed. “Yip.”

  Merle Jr. gave her the remote. “Whatever you want, Periwinkle.”

  The nickname failed to brightened to tiny beauty. Saddened, he crossed the small room to where

  Jackson opened a laptop, signed onto one of the dozen dummy identities Dolores had created for them. The guys scrolled through the overwhelming ocean of announcements claiming that Bob Murphy, organizer of the Free At Last! Rally on Saturday at the Lincoln Memorial, “wants everybody to join him.” Some included a smirking picture of Bob with a cartoon dialogue balloon that read, “Doctors notes available for those ‘out sick’!”

  Bob asked Jackson, “Did your people do this?” Jackson said no, and looked at the teen.

  “Don’t look at me,” Merle Jr. protested, “I’m the one who told you guys.”

  Perri called over from the bed where she was coloring and watching a cartoon. “Don’t look at me, either, I’m not even allowed on the iPad yet,” she said.

  “Someday, darling,” Merle Jr. assured her.

  “Daddy says I can on my next—” she began, and then burst out crying.

  Steve scurried over to her. She hugged him, sobbing. Suddenly her sobs gave way to a shocked scream as if she’d been slapped.

  The three guys jumped, their eyes following Perri’s pointing finger to the TV.

  Patriotism Live had interrupted her cartoon about singing bears.

  Bob immediately recognized why the little one had screamed.

  Merle Jr. took Perri and Steve into his arms, hugging both gently to his chest and carrying them away from the television. She cried and pressed her face into his shirt.

  On a split screen, Patriotism Live showed both Pop and his son being captured.

  On the left, Pop was being dragged out of his burning store, arms tied behind him, legs bound at the knees and ankles. The left side of his face was swollen, his nose broken and bleeding.

  His captors, heavily inked Nazis with bad haircuts and swastika T-shirts, whooped and celebrated as they hung him by his roped arms from the lift of a tow truck. Behind them, others carried a half-closed body

  bag. An arm dangled from it, wearing the bracelets and wedding band Bob knew belonged to Pop’s wife.

  “Eleonore.”

  Incredibly, the right side of the screen was worse, showing a dynamic chase as bikers with SS lightning bolts on their helmets raced by whomever was filming them dragging a large fishing net between their hogs.

  Inside the net was a struggling human being. Someone screamed, “We captured us a fag!”

  The amateur videographe
r was riding on the back of another motorcycle. He managed to capture the net being released, the captive rolling to a scrapped and bloody stop, followed by the sounds of breaking bones and screams of agony as the camera’s ride ran over the man in the net.

  The video feed cut to another angle, a clear shot of the apprehended.

  It was Pop’s son, Terence, writhing in agony, his screams panicked and excruciating.

  A torso wearing a confederate flag T-shirt came into view carrying a shotgun. “Shuddup,” that person ordered before slamming the butt of the weapon down and out of view.

  There was a sickening thump. Terence made no sound after that.

  The confederate spoke again. “All that cryin’s bad for ratings.”

  Off camera, a crowd bellowed with rough laughter. Jackson snapped off the TV.

  It took nearly a half hour for Merle Jr. to soothe Perri to sleep. When she was finally out, the guys sat as far from her as possible and whispered together.

  Jackson nodded back to the TV, “Those are the

  same sort of guys hunting us.”

  “Them and the military,” Bob added.

  Merle Jr. leaned forward, meeting their eyes with unwavering determination. “We can’t keep Perri in this situation. It is neither safe nor healthy. What are our options?”

  “Run,” Jackson said, “or run faster.”

  Bob shook his head. “Not that simple,” he said. “The interrupting of a cartoon network suggests they probably broke into programming on all stations to show that capture. That was done to send us a message. They are going after our people.”

  Merle Junior’s frown deepened. “They went after our people at your home, or have you forgotten our father so soon?”

  “Not for a second,” Bob assured the teen. “Of course not,” Jackson added.

  Bob asked his son, “Are you sure your kids are safe?” “Bo has zero jurisdiction in Cali,” Jackson said. “Can you send Perri to be with them?”

  “It can be arranged.”

  “Then arrange it, please,” Merle Jr. pushed. Jackson stepped away to make a call.

  Merle Jr. switched topics. “Meanwhile, the president or someone supporting him has launched a hack attack guaranteed to defeat your online plea. If you don’t attend this rally, people will think you abandoned them. The president and the media will make sure of that by painting you as a coward betraying millions of loyal followers. But should you embrace the insanity of showing up, there is a one hundred percent chance of violence against you.”

  Bob nodded to the kid. “It’s good to have a choice.”

  “Wit won’t save you against these bullies,” Merle Jr. warned. “They are aiming at every vulnerability you have.”

  “He can just say no,” Jackson insisted, rejoining them. “The public knows Statler’s storm troopers are after him. They’ll understand he’d be in danger.”

  Merle Jr. leaned over the laptop, typed a few words, sat back. “As I said, one hundred percent.”

  Onscreen was a “news item” written and published by Statler’s own people. Beside a picture of Statler in his best presidential pose was a quote:

  “Murdering Bob Murphy should know I am granting him his right to free speech for this rally of his, but I expect a peaceful, voluntary surrender to proper authorities immediately afterwards. We must allow the legal process to take its course. If he did nothing wrong, if he is a True American, he has nothing to fear. God bless True America.”

  Jackson sighed. “Checkmate.”

  “Nope,” Bob shook his head. “I gotta believe we still have a few moves left.” He stood up but did not start cleaning. “I’m going to be honest with you, I loved Mary Angeline, built my life around her. She was the reason I was able to achieve everything that I accomplished. She was my inspiration, and she pushed me to go farther than I thought possible. And I’m starting to think she might be angry with me over how I have lived my life since she passed.”

  Bob saw their looks. “I know Mary Angeline is gone. I miss her every day. That’s where I made my mistake; I stayed in a loop of our places, trying to keep those last memories going as if they were all I had left. I feared living my life. That’s where a lot of us fail; we get wrapped up in our own concerns, our own hurt, and we

  forget that we are part of a larger community.

  “And too many of us have been so wrapped up in our own dramas, we left too much to others. Before we knew it, our distractions left them free to drive us into the ground. That’s no excuse. We’re complicit; we let it happen.

  “But we’re waking up now, and maybe we need to thank our crappy leaders for shaking us out of complacent slumber.

  “Maybe that’s how we turn this nightmare around. People are reacting, they want an enormous event like this—”

  Jackson cut him off. “Which could get you killed.” Bob shot back, “And a life on the run won’t?”

  “It will buy time so our lawyers can make a case to resolve this insanity.”

  Bob laughed. “Which insanity? Everything has gone too far.”

  “And it’s your responsibility to fix it all?”

  “Not mine alone,” Bob insisted, pointing to the laptop. “Look at that traffic! Clearly people need to participate.”

  “We can’t take the kids,” Jackson insisted. They both looked at Merle Jr.

  He frowned deeply. “I’m no kid, but even I agree; we need to get Perri out of this, even if I have to go with her.”

  Bob nodded. “You are the only one I trust to make sure she gets to safety, Merle.”

  “Junior,” the kid corrected.

  “When you act like a man you should be addressed as a man,” Bob said. “I am not forgetting your father, I’m honoring the man you’ve become. He would be

  proud to see Perri is in good hands. You’ll protect her, Merle.”

  Merle inhaled deeply, let it out, nodded his thanks. And then all three men looked at Perri asleep on the bed, her little hand still clutching a soft blue crayon.

  “I will,” her brother said.

  Chapter 50

  CONGRESSMAN GARLAND “BABE” EARLY took his

  girth onto National News to point out to an outraged Bling Holsten that TASE’s inability to track down the car that Bob Murphy is using has led authorities to believe that this so-called comedian has kept either an unregistered vehicle or an illegally registered vehicle for many years.

  “What does that reveal about the real Bob Murphy,” Bling soft pitched him.

  “Well, Bling darling, this reveals a possible conspiracy to mislead the people’s understanding of who Bob Murphy really is. He and his miscreants are flaunting their wealth and power in the faces of regular True Americans who need to obey the law. We, as a nation, put our faith in Murphy as a God- fearing, taxpaying citizen but it seems that there was much more going on behind the scenes with this liberal manipulator of minds than we were originally led to believe. We as a nation must re-evaluate who this man is ‘cause it seems very clear to me that he had malfeasance on his mind for quite some time. We may even be able to re-interpret his films as actually sending out subliminal anti-American messages to an unsuspecting public.”

  Bling patted his arm. “This is what we get for

  trusting the Hollywood elite.”

  The Congressman shook his head sadly, sending his jowls wagging. “It’s a pity to think we have been bamboozled for all these years by a public figure posing as our funny cousin while all the time he was planning the demise of this Great Nation. But I have faith that, together, we can weather this storm.”

  Bling broke into a dazzling TV smile. “Yes we can.”

  Chapter 51

  THE RELUCTANT RESIDENTS OF the True American Processing Center of Hattiesburg, Missouri, started gathering around Lionel’s cage around 7 pm. The guards didn’t think anything of the first six or so, but when the numbers hit double digits, they started to shoo them away.

  “Hey, Captain,” Lionel called out, “don’t blame
them; this is my fault.”

  Lionel’s primary coach walked over to him. “I thought you were turning over a new leaf.”

  “I can’t tell you about any leaves, Coach, but I am trying to help here.”

  “By gathering an unruly crowd?”

  “Nobody’s unruly here,” Lionel said, biting down on his temper. “I told them if they came around I’d put on a show. Tell stories, some jokes. Lighten the mood for an evening. It’ll damn sure make your job easier. You got a problem with that?”

  The coach studied him as if searching for weapons or something.

  Lionel leaned into it, pulling his pockets inside out, and then lifting his new shirt. “Nothing. See? Want me to drop my pants too? I can, but we’ll need a bigger cage….”

  The coach laughed. “You still got it, brother,” he

  said like they were old friends.

  Brothers don’t imprison each other, you mother— Lionel swallowed his thought, nodded instead, and quickly stepped toward the gathering crowd. “Grab a piece of dirt, y’all. Kids in front,” he called. “Wanna know how we got your favorite heroes to defeat the aliens?”

  The kids cheered and Lionel was off, spinning yarns from his more recent superhero movies to their utter delight, peppering the tales with double entendre jokes the kids giggled at for one reason and the parents enjoyed on a whole other level. He kept it up for an hour, the crowd growing steadily until all the coaches were around the perimeter, supposedly keeping order but actually laughing along with their captives.

  After about 90 minutes, Lionel announced that it was time for the bigger kids to get the smaller ones to bed because the next set of stories were “not for little innocent ears.” Once the kids and adolescents were off to the crappy family bunkers, Lionel, with quick glances to make sure the coaches were locked in to his performance, got downright bawdy, doing cherished bits from his stand up career including “Trouser Snakes Return to Belfast,” “Little Bit of Better Batter,” and not one but two stories from his legendary stand- up character Two-Hand Jimmy. In that beloved hobo persona, Lionel performed “There Came a Stankfoot” and the infamous “Spellcasting Hos of Alabama,” which inspired wave after wave of howling laughter — especially from the coaches, Lionel observed — until its chaotic finale was met with a standing ovation.