A Simple Rebellion Page 7

  Bob and Merle Jr. went around the house locking doors and windows, and drawing shades and curtains, until everything was secured and nerve-racking.

  The comedian asked no one in particular, “How did this happen?”

  “Wonders of modern tech,” the kid said, “You crack wise once, and before you know it your world is on fire. This is your reality now; you’re the outlaw of the week.”

  Bob smirked, “At least it is just this week.” “You won’t survive three days.”

  “Thanks for giving me the benefit of doubt.”

  Perri’s voice whispered from behind a big storybook she was reading to Steve all cuddled in the corner of the couch. “There is no benefit to doubt.”

  Merle Jr. smiled. “You’re so smart, Perri. Maybe you should teach this guy.”

  Chapter 28

  WHILE WAITING FOR DRAMA to develop at Bob’s house, National News was paneling the entire “Bob Murphy Uprising” into a national security crisis. As Bob and the siblings watched on the kitchen TV, Bling kept pulling her surprisingly less-than-spectacular hair around her unusually pale complexion as she spoke. “Sources are now suggesting that it may have been Murphy who hacked into Miller’s show to launch his failed revolution.”

  “I didn’t hack in, he called me,” Bob argued from the sink where he was rewashing clean dishes. “You idiot!”

  Perri, at the kitchen table, made an “O” face.

  “I apologize for my language, bubalah,” Bob said. The junior sheriff was more edgy than usual.

  “Enough with the TV talking heads,” he muttered. “When does the media show up? It will be harder for TASE to do what it does while they are being filmed.”

  “Tell your father that,” Bob smirked mirthlessly. “He doesn’t understand,” Merle Jr. said. “He thinks

  this is keeping the peace.”

  The sound of cars rolling onto Bob’s property alarmed them.

  Perri announced happily, “Ready or not, here comes company!”

  Merle Jr. hurried to the window. “TASE agents, to be sure,” he fretted.

  Bob peeked out in a much meeker fashion, and then smiled. “Not TASErs,” he said, “that line of limos is Hollywood riding to the rescue.”

  “You think actor friends can help?” “Nope, but these people might.”

  Three limos drove past them to the back of the house. Another stopped by the house’s entrance, others swung in front of it forming an expensive blockade. The last vehicle to turn onto Bob’s property was not a limo but a flatbed truck with a huge, billboard-sized version of the Monster Cops movie poster made of super thick cardboard. The truck swung onto Bob’s lawn so the movie poster blowup would serve as a backdrop for the young exec climbing out of the last limo.

  Bob smiled at seeing his nemesis direct the tech crew to where he wanted the podium and microphone set up. “Jeremy, I retract everything I ever said about you and your dubious family tree,” Bob murmured.

  Merle Jr. was more interested in the suits emerging from the other cars. “Who are they?”

  “They, my young friend, are members of what looks like an entire law office,” Bob said.

  “What clown would send attorneys to a raid by a federal law enforcement agency?”

  “The clown who runs their firm, my son Jackson.” Now it was Merle Junior’s turn to make an “O” face.

  Chapter 29

  JACKSON ROBIN PRYOR MURPHY was not playing around. Before saying hello to his father, the founder and CEO of Murphy, Murphy & Hicks requested strategic repositioning for some of Sheriff Merle’s men, launched a search of his father’s premises with drug- sniffing dogs by private security specialists he had brought with him, and then organized a wall of lawyers, each armed with motions and writs and whatever else lawyers arm themselves with in defense of their clients, of which Bob was their first and foremost.

  “Dogs, son?” Bob said in greeting.

  “Preventive defense, Pop,” Jackson said, hugging his father and kissing him on the cheek. “We received word that TASE are coming, and we’ve been tipped they are going to try doing to you what they pulled with Uncle Lionel yesterday.”

  “You saw the news? Why aren’t you there getting him released?”

  “Willie is already there filing motions on his behalf.

  My priority is you, Pop.”

  “What’s the big deal? I was rude to a talk show host—”

  Jackson looked to Merle Jr. “You couldn’t make him understand, officer?”

  Merle Jr. reddened a little at the assumed authority

  but did not correct Jackson. “The facts do not register with this dreamer.”

  Jackson nodded, “You got his number.”

  Bob waved a hand in dismissal. “What, the people calling out sick? That’s Jeremy hyping the new Blu-Ray, Jackie. Look at him out there; it’s a publicity stunt.”

  “Dad—”

  “That kid’s gonna get a promotion over this,” Bob chuckled. “Did he put you up to bringing all these guys over? Are they actors? Should I fire up the grill?”

  “Dad, sit—”

  Bob’s smile seemed forced now. “Not your usual style, counselor.”

  “Dad, I need you to sit down.”

  “You shoulda brought the kids. They’d love all this exciting goofiness—”

  “Dad! Your grandchildren are in hiding.” Bob stopped cold.

  “I had Veronica take them way off the radar.”

  Bob’s voice was quiet now. “What are you talking about?”

  “This is real serious trouble, Pop,” Jackson said, moving his head so he was eye-to-eye with his father. “We don’t understand it; no one has seen numbers like this in decades. But this is real; your words hit a nerve. As a result the ‘sick out’ is happening across the country. You caused a rebellion.”

  “I meant … other guests….”

  “That doesn’t matter now,” Jackson moved his father to a seat. “The public thinks you meant them, and, whether out of loyalty to you or just sheer frustration, people started calling out from work. Miller’s people pimped the clip of your appearance to every digital,

  television, cable, and social media platform in the country. Fans took it viral. Then all the news outlets made it their lead, and clips of those shows also went viral — insane numbers — which kicked Miller’s actual ratings into the stratosphere, and fans posted the actual clip of you on FaceTime with him on their social media pages and YouTube channels. Your appearance has the highest saturation rates ever.”

  “But I’m a has been....” “The numbers argue the opposite; millions of people

  stayed home because you suggested it.”

  “Then why is Jeremy out there with a damn movie billboard?”

  “Pop, you need to understand that it doesn’t matter how he’s trying to spin this, or what you meant, or what the actual facts are; every media outlet in the country is attributing the kneecapping of our economy to your words, and they are doing it on around the clock,” Jackson insisted. “Every. Media. Outlet.”

  “Then Jeremy better deliver the spin of the century.” “To whom? The sheriff won’t let the media anywhere

  near this place, and without them—”

  Merle Jr. finished the sentence for him. “TASE will rip us all apart.”

  Jackson turned to face the kid. “Not with all my lawyers out there.”

  Bob added, “Not with kids here.”

  “Rich people,” Merle snorted as he walked out.

  Chapter 30

  JEREMY HAD THE PODIUM and microphone set up in front the 20-foot Monster Cops billboard. He took a quick sip of water (actually straight vodka), swallowed, and spoke to the sheriff who stood before him arms folded, mirror shades in place, a thin slit of a frown suggesting the young man had lost his argument before a word was said.

  “We’ll set up the media right over there,” Jeremy tried.

  “We will do no such thing.”

  “The media is essential to the p
eaceful resolution of this situation, sir,” Jeremy insisted.

  “In my long years of law enforcement experience, son, the circus never helped anyone but themselves.”

  “I must insist on freedom of the press.”

  “The revolution will not be televised today, boy, not so you can resell some old movie for my neighbor.”

  Jeremy called out. “Louie drive the billboard down to the press and inform them that all efforts to get local law enforcement to recognize foundational freedoms are being ignored.”

  Louie climbed into the truck.

  Sheriff Merle called out. “Officer Atkins, follow that truck about four blocks and then pull it over and keep it there.”

  “Don’t stop, Lou!”

  “If Lou doesn’t stop, shoot out the truck’s tires, Officer Atkins,” the sheriff smiled, yellow smoker’s teeth flashing. “And if Louie here gets out and runs, you are to shoot him in the ass. If he tries to get up, you are to shoot him in the ass again.”

  Lou called out from the truck, “See you in four blocks, Officer Atkins.”

  “Louie!”

  “Sorry, Jeremy, my wife likes this ass too much,” Louie grinned and then drove the billboard off the property.

  Sheriff Merle smirked. “Well, that’s settled.” Jeremy took another swig of 80-proof water.

  “Sheriff, without the media here recording everything, TASE will frame my client like they did his old partner just yesterday.”

  “I have jurisdiction, and these lawyer fellas will have a word or two to say about your client’s rights.”

  From behind his father, Merle Jr. spoke, “None of that will make a difference to TASE, Dad.”

  Sheriff Merle turned in surprise. “Did you just called me—”

  “No time for that, Pop—”

  “’Pop’ too! This is a banner day!”

  Merle Jr. let an edge into his voice. “We are running out of time.”

  Jeremy stepped between father and son. “Sheriff, TASE believe they are about to confront a terrorist who has caused national damage to the economy and the daily lives of so-called True Americans. Local police and out of state lawyers cannot compete with their faith in their own interpretation of the facts.”

  “Son, I don’t expect you to understand professional courtesy—”

  Jeremy screamed, “Are you even listening to me?”

  Merle, Jr. demanded, “Pop, TASE will not respect your authority here.”

  The sheriff, annoyed now, slashed an arm across the space between the three of them. “This conversation is over.” He turned and strode to his men.

  Merle Jr. turned to Jeremy, “We have go to Plan B.” Jeremy, lost and a little drunk, shook his head.

  “What’s Plan B?”

  “We take Bob to the media.”

  Chapter 31

  JACKSON FOLLOWED HIS FATHER around the

  house as Bob cleaned already spotless furniture. Perri, blissfully unconcerned by all the adult drama, snuck Steve’s bowls out of the dishwasher and gave the dog some water and food.

  Merle Jr. burst in and snapped her up dog food bag and all. “Sorry Perri, but we have to go right now!”

  “Where, Merle? It is not even dinner time yet.” “We can’t wait for dinner time, honey, Daddy’s

  going to have a lot of police work to do out there and we need to be elsewhere, all of us.”

  Jeremy came in behind Merle Jr. and continued over to Bob and Jackson. “The kid’s right. We need to go now. TASE is coming to arrest you for terroristic activity.”

  “That is not what happened,” Bob fumed.

  “So go out there and tell them the truth,” Jackson challenged.

  “No, no, no!” Jeremy waved his hands before them. “Wrong idea. Bad idea. We need—”

  Merle Jr., packing up Perri’s backpack, called over, interrupting the showbiz whiz. “To take one of the cars in the back and drive down to the media. You can have your say there.”

  Bob held up his hands as if they were stop signs.

  “Hey, I’ve already said too much. That’s how all this started.”

  Jackson pressed. “People are counting on you, Pop.”

  Bob shook his head. “People are amused by me, not the same as being the Reverend Doctor King, buddy.”

  Merle Jr. and Perri joined Jeremy and Jackson, forming a loose circle around Bob. Merle Jr. adding, “Chaplin amused people with The Great Dictator in 1940, and at the same time he helped them see what Hitler really was.”

  Bob nodded at the teen. “Good movie. Brilliant.”

  Jackson lifted the BluRay of Monster Cops. “So was your work.”

  Bob looked up. “I thought you had never seen my work.”

  “All of them, several times.”

  Bob offered a pleased, “Huh.” He thought for a minute, turned back to Merle Jr., “Bo isn’t Hitler.”

  Merle Jr. retorted, “Every society gets the kind of criminal it deserves.”

  Now Jackson was pleased. “Robert Kennedy.

  Impressive.”

  “And yet we are still here when we should be gone,” Merle Jr. shook his head.

  “Off to see the media? I pass,” Bob said, returning his attention to cleaning an immaculate counter.

  Jeremy pleaded, “This place is not safe—”

  “For any of us,” Merle Jr. interrupted, his arm lifting Perri.

  “Point taken,” Bob said, blowing Perri a kiss. “You guys should go. Take the car in the back.”

  Merle Jr. seemed shocked. “And what are you going to do?”

  Bob smiled first at the boy and then at the rest of them. “Keep my word.” When they didn’t seem to understand he spread his arms as if to encompass the house. “I said I was staying home, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Jackson understood. “Why aren’t you working, Dad?”

  Bob cleaned another clean surface. “You better go,” he murmured. “You all said it isn’t safe. Go.”

  “It’s because of Mom, right? Your career was based on making her laugh. You developed all that great comedy to amuse her first,” he said. “Dad, I was there. You don’t think I remember?”

  Bob said nothing.

  “And then she died, and you decided the public died, too. So instead of using the incredible gifts Mom confirmed were yours for 30 years, you cooked burgers at Little League games and limited your travels to local Mom and Pop stores in town?”

  Bob looked at Jackson, then away.

  “Mom shows you how talented you are for 30 years, and once she’s gone, you don’t believe her anymore?”

  Bob walked toward his bedroom. “Good seeing you, son. Take these kids to meet yours, please.”

  Jackson stormed after him. “I want to know why you are wasting your days confined to this small town!”

  Bob spun back to face his son. “Because Mom loved it! All of it! Little League. The shops. Being treated like regular people in town. And especially this house. That’s all I have left of her. Who are you to ask me to give what remains of the woman I loved?”

  Bob walked into his bedroom and began adjusting up a perfectly made bed. Jackson followed, jolting to a

  his mother’s stuff still exactly where it was the day Bob rushed her to the hospital.

  His father wandered the slightly stuffy room in their awkward silence, flattening the doily on Mary Angeline’s dresser, pressing down the corner that always curled up. He touched her statue of the Blessed Mother, chipped and scarred from years of Jackson as a boy running in and bouncing off the furniture, knocking her over countless times.

  When Jackson saw the portrait everything stopped for a long moment. When he spoke, it was reverently. “I haven’t seen this in … years…. She was so….”

  “Yeah. She was.”

  Silence reclaimed the room, awkward and painful for both.

  Finally, Jackson spoke. “You really started something when you FaceTimed--”

  “Miller FaceTimed me. It was a setup.” “Da
d, you took the call.”

  “I thought it was Suzie and Robbie. No one else FaceTimes me.”

  “Still, you said what you said, and started some sort of crazy movement.”

  “Wasn’t my plan. I don’t want any of them getting hurt.”

  “Did you mean what you said?”

  “I didn’t think it would start all this, but yeah, I meant it. I meant people shouldn’t just blindly go along with Miller or any of the other TV mouthpieces, be they celebrities like me, or news anchors, or politicians. People shouldn’t just accept other people telling them how to live, or what’s right, or how to define what America is. I wanted other guests to blow off Miller,

  but all the rest of it was in there, too. I just don’t want people losing what they do have because I mouthed off.”

  “But people are following you now, millions of them, because they see themselves in you, just like they always have. Pop, people are fed up with what’s going on and they see your words as some kind of answer.”

  “Tell’em to go listen to your godfather. He was always better at politics than me.”

  Jackson looked more shocked at this than his mother’s belongings. “Dad.”

  Bob considered his own words, nodding. “That’s actually a good idea. Get Lionel to lead them. These millions you’re talking about, they loved both of us. Let’s get them to join Lionel’s protest to get his family out of that damned internment camp, and he’ll really fire them up. Go do tha—”

  “They imprisoned him too, Dad.”

  It was as if Jackson had slapped him. “What?” “Once all this started, Uncle Lionel was the only

  target that presented himself publicly. What you didn’t see on television is them beating him horribly and then dragging him unconscious and bleeding into the camp.”

  “Bo imprisoned Jackson?” “Indefinitely.”

  “On what grounds?” “Terroristic activity.”

  Bob Murphy sat on his bed. After awhile, he looked at his son. “What the hell is going on out there?”

  “That’s what we need to discuss.”