Forced Entry_The Unravelling Page 4

  Narrator: No. That’s why I do this, to escape from the corporate fields. What is your goal in life?

  Taylor: I don’t really have one.

  Narrator: If you could be anything at all, besides a rock star or a movie star, what would it be?

  Taylor: I would like to work at NASA.

  Narrator: An astronaut?

  Taylor: No, although going into space would be really cool. I want to be one of those really smart people who figure out how to make a spacecraft land safely on a planet millions of miles away…and come back safely too.

  Narrator: Well that will take many years in school. You will need a PhD to do that sort of work.

  Taylor: Yeah, well as soon as I get past this bad patch I will go back to school.

  Narrator: Good.

  Taylor: And I am good at math.

  Narrator: Even better.

  Taylor: Yeah. Did you know that in order to escape the gravitational pull of the Earth, an object must travel at a speed of 11.3 kilometres per second?

  Narrator: No, I didn’t know that.

  Taylor: I want to be one of the people who work on that sort of stuff. And the trajectory required to put a spacecraft into orbit around another planet before landing? That sort of stuff just blows my mind so I definitely want to work on that kind of stuff.

  Narrator: Great. I hope one day there will be a Taylor Oswald Jet Propulsion Laboratory.

  Taylor: Me too. But I don’t want to do it to be famous. Most famous people are dicks from what I can tell. Soon as they become famous they think they are better than the rest of us and start treating other people like shit.

  Narrator: Yeah, seems like that is the case too often.

  Taylor: Agreed. I want to be famous for what I do, not how big of a jerk I am.

  Narrator: Well I hope you are ready for a lot of learning … and university costs.

  Taylor: Yeah well, that is why meeting you might just be the best thing that has ever happened to me.

  Narrator: Why is that?

  Taylor: Well you are going to send me to ganja growing school. And with those skills I can make enough money to pay for the best education.

  Narrator: True, it can be lucrative … if you don’t get caught.

  Taylor: I won’t. I am learning from the best.

  Narrator: Please don’t use cheap flattery on me; it reduces my level of trust in you.

  Taylor: Oh yeah, I forgot who I was talking to, Mr. Trust No One.

  Narrator: Exactly.

  Eventually Taylor decided that she would watch some television. After about 30 minutes I recognized the mouth fluttering sounds of a slight female snore. Out like a light. Good outcome.

  I had decided that there was simply no way I could kill her and that $90,000 wasn't the price of my soul. Obviously there would have to be some sort of resolution. California was the best option. But then there was the wife. This girl was the perfect age for her, needing that motherly help through the final awkward years. Fucking Swans!

  Oh well, perhaps she could stay a few days until I get everything set for her to relocate. Fuck!

  Forced Entry

  Part 4

  I was sleeping in my room at the Jackson Marriott, when at 1:17 they kicked in the back door. The sound woke me and ten seconds later I started recording everything, all cameras, all rooms. The bank of terabyte drives back in Florida would get a work out tonight. At first I thought it was the cops … then I thought it was rippers … then I realized that it was cops in ski masks … two of them. One tall and fat, one about 5'10" and normal shape, but it is hard to tell a normal shape with the big black vests on.

  A startled Taylor rose from the sofa.

  Short Cop: Freeze, Police! Move and I will blow your fucking brains out!

  Fat Cop walked through the house quickly surveying the rooms, leaving Short Cop to deal with the unexpected occupant.

  Fat Cop: Hey I thought you said it would all be harvested already, bagged up and ready to go?

  Short Cop: It should be, the cycle is right for him to have chopped it already. It should be hanging up drying at the very least.

  Fat Cop: Well all I fucking see are rooms full of TREES, READY to be chopped and NOTHING bagged and tagged.

  Short Cop: Fuck!

  Taylor: When did cops start wearing ski masks?

  Short Cop: Shut the fuck up bitch and get down on the floor.

  It was chaotic and tense. Ripper cops finding their prize unharvested presented an edgy circumstance. Taylor was now on her knees with her hands behind her head. I watched all of this on my phone, flipping from camera to camera to get the best view of what was happening.

  Fat Cop: So what are we gonna fuckin’ do now Tom?

  Short Cop: You dumb fuck.

  Taylor: Yeah, he's not very smart, is he Don.

  Fat Cop: Hey he has plenty of those thick contractor bags in here. Gag and cuff the skank and come in here … we can still take it, it will just take some time.

  Short Cop walked over to Taylor and puts his cuff on her.

  Short Cop: Hey I know you. You are that girl that got away when I tried to bust you for hooking a month or so ago. Yeah, I remember you. You were sucking off that fat old man between the dumpsters behind Stein Mart.

  Taylor: Yeah and I lost my 50 when you showed up, asshole.

  Short Cop: Well if you are good, I will let you gimme 50 worth later (and he grabs his crotch).

  Taylor: No thanks, pig. My daddy's coming and he will fix you. He will shoot you dead. Just you wait.

  Short Cop hit her. Actually he knocked the fuck out of her, really knocked her. Hard right cross to her left cheek … a big impact punch, his body leaning into the punch fully. She went down hard onto the floor, falling with the unmistakable limpness that indicated she was unconscious before she hit the floor. I heard a cracking sound when he landed the blow but could not distinguish if it was the sound of broken teeth or a broken jaw or a broken neck. I dressed quickly in dark clothes. Fuck … the 9MM is inside the house and I won't get five seconds with these two.

  Fat Cop: Quit playing with the skank and come help me. You are the one who fucked this whole thing up, so you’re gonna put in half the effort. Now ain't the time for your kink shit.

  Short Cop took off his ski mask and after a few seconds slow Fat Cop had his moment and did the same.

  Within 15 minutes I had parked around the corner and began to work my way towards the house moving from hedge to hedge across the street. The car was not a police vehicle but a personal one, a mini-van.

  Flipping from camera to camera I watched for 52 minutes as two of Jackson, Mississippi's finest harvested the crop by chopping off the terminal buds and any large lateral buds, of which there were a few. They shoved them into the big thick walled plastic bags I used for stalk and root disposal. No precision, just big bud whacking as if filling a shopping cart in a timed contest. Get the best and fuck the rest. They left a couple of pounds on the stems. It was a sad sight, those once majestic plants reduced to a bald, near dead stalks, like a cancer victim in the final month.

  Their conversation consisted of Fat Cop whining to Short Cop about everything from his slow harvesting speed to his improper police methods. But mostly he complained about having to harvest a crop that was supposed to be ready to go already, a ten minute operation tops. Fat Cop kept bitching about the girl complicating a simple rip and go operation. Short Cop basically took whatever was said to him without argument or comment. Fat cop sounded like a nagging wife.

  For the entire time Taylor remained an unconscious mess in the floor, blood coming from her nose and mouth. Her body lay in a twisted unnatural pile on the floor.

  Short Cop: Bring the van into the garage. I will finish up in here while you load the van.

  Fat Cop: Fuck you, you move the van and haul the fucking bags. I will finish up in here. Remember who fucked this thing up.

  My security has always been tight.
How the fuck did they know about this? The one thing I knew was that they missed the date, so they must have calculated it and made a calendar mistake. Oh fuck! I had kept the electricity bill nice and stable … high, but not too high. Nothing was traceable back to me … Nothing! Fuck me, how did they find out?

  As the van backed into the garage I noticed the Mississippi plates on the van, Rankin County … outlying area around Jackson. Cheaper real estate prices generally, except for those rich folks that attempted to recreate antebellum mansions of the past just outside the city. Yeah the arrogant fuckers with the black faced ceramic lawn jockeys, as if their racism just couldn’t contain itself. You know them. They are the ones who use terms like ‘heritage’ and ‘history’ with a smile. Assholes. I captured the image of the license plate. I watched from the cameras as they loaded the van. Fat Cop collapsed the third row seat and filled the cargo space with bags of buds.

  Fat Cop: We gotta get this vehicle back to the impound before your buddy goes off shift or we are fucked.

  Short Cop: Don't worry, twenty minutes to the deep freeze, then 15 to the impound … we still have a couple of hours.

  Fat Cop: What did ya tell him this time?

  Short Cop: He still thinks I am fucking some hot, married bitch. I borrow this and we go fuck in it.

  Fat Cop: If it ain’t broke …

  Short Cop: That's why I always ask for some sort of van and squirt a little perfume in it.

  Fat Cop: Well done bro.

  Short Cop: I tell him a few juicy details every now and then, he likes to hear about anything kinky, involving pain. So I tell him I pull her hair and slap her while I fuck her in the ass – that sort of shit.

  Fat Cop: Really? No shit.

  Short Cop: I can see the boner in his eyes whenever I talk about her crying.

  Fat Cop: Damn, never figured Barone for a perv.

  Short Cop: Don't they do screening to keep sick fucks like us off the force? Guess not. Hahaha.

  Fat Cop: Damn straight.

  Short Cop: I picked this van off the street this morning. Got a friend in Parking to drop the ticket and clamp it. After the owner had finished their mini-drama melt down and stormed off, all pissed off, he towed it for me.

  Fat Cop: How did you get him to help?

  Short Cop: Told him I was helping out a relative with a divorce.

  Fat Cop: Cool.

  Short Cop: Do you know this one has a Bose sound system and even an iPod connector? It also will play movies in the back seats. Me and my fuck bunny can watch porno together. Hahaha.

  Fat Cop: Sure glad Barone likes you.

  Short Cop: C'mon it’s just one cop thinking he is helping out another. That's what we do, ain’t it. And it’s about pussy. He'd have to be a queer to say NO.

  Fat Cop pushed the last bag into the cargo space and lowered the rear door. Short Cop walked back into the house with Fat Cop in tow, a few steps behind.

  Still slumped on the floor, Taylor was now, by my assessment, in need of serious medical treatment. A pool of blood had formed around her head.

  Fat Cop: Fuck me, you still got the punch bro ... ain't seen it in a while ... but you still got it though, as good as ever. You fucked up the skank big time. Well done!

  Short Cop: I still got it! Protect and Serve muddafuckers!

  He held up his hand for the slap. He got it.

  Fat Cop: Looks like she is barely breathing.

  Short Cop: Guess she won't be questioning my authority no more. We’ll leave her for Mr. Connolly to deal with.

  PP (Papers Please) had given me up! Gave that nerdy fucker 40K for two complete sets of documents for me and two for my wife. Canadian Passports, drivers’ licenses, National Health Insurance cards, residence permits for a European country. May he choke to death on prison cock!

  Short Cop grabbed Taylor by her hair, now a blood coated mess and raised her head.

  Short Cop: Fuck, there goes the blow job. I had my heart set on drowning her sorrows or at least her vocal chords...hahaha.

  He turned loose of her hair and her head thumped hard onto the floor.

  Short Cop: Go wait out in the van for a few minutes.

  Fat Cop: C'mon you aren't going to start your sick shit now are you?

  Short Cop: Go wait in the van!

  Fat Cop: No! We got a van full of stolen weed, a badly injured skank and you want to stop to get off? Are you fucking kidding me?

  Short Cop: I said, go wait in the van!

  Fat Cop: Remember last time? Homicide is talking about a fucking serial killer in the area and it's just your dick gone out of control!

  Short Cop exploded in anger: Go wait out in the fucking van ... do it now! Remember who made you a fucking multi-millionaire...and you remember that shit right now! Who got you all those safety deposit boxes full of hundreds? You got over five because of me. And who saved your ass when you killed that old nigger man down in the Damp, year before last? What about the jeweller when you panicked and shot him in the head when he argued? Now go wait in the fucking van!

  Short Cop placed his hand on his service revolver...the final appeal to reason from a madman.

  Fat Cop dropped his male role instantly as if his mother had walked in on him with his dick in his hand. He shuffled off to the garage like a child, head down, admonished.

  From across the street I watched from my phone.

  The 20 minutes that followed were the worst of my life. Some events just can't be told well, as language is limited and not purposely designed for the horrible. But rage flowed through me as strong as the sickness powering the animal in that house. With each thrust I hated him more. With every crude and filthy phrase he spoke I only wanted to paint red with his blood. Every fiber of me longed to rush in there and beat this fucker to death or die trying.

  Brain Neon Sign Flashing: You move, YOU DIE! I felt the tears of rage in my eyes and my fingernails drew blood buried in my hardened fists.

  Fucking Coward! You move, YOU DIE!

  Fucking Coward! You move, YOU DIE!

  He grunted loud when he made his final thrust into her. After, Animal Cop wiped the sweat from his forehead and yelled out to Fat Cop: Start the engine...you drive.

  Fat Cop ... now Submissive Fat Cop: OK...just hurry up.

  Animal Cop pulled up and fastened his trousers. He walked over to the sofa and threw two of the cushions onto Taylor's limp, naked, semen filled body.

  Animal Cop: Well darlin’ ... (he clears his throat and begins to sing):

  So glad we got to spend time alone together

  Making sweet love in the dark of the night

  But now comes the time in the evening

  When we must say ‘Goodbye’ and 'So long’.

  He chuckled at the end of each line and with each chuckle I longed for his death, the acid in my heart pumping now even more toxic, 100% pure. Before, I had hesitated and could not go through with it, the killing of a child. I had been proven human. Now I had hatred ... a desire for his blood rushed through me like a fucking freight train. I wanted to cut his fucking animal heart out, throw it on the ground and stomp it into fucking red jelly. Fuck redemption ... I'll gladly go to hell if I can take him with me.

  I had never seen an animal in human form before or become one before. In wartime, there are orders and there is a cause, wrong almost every time ... but still there is a belief behind it, fucked up as it always is. This had no beliefs at all. It was primal. The helpless were his supermarket.

  Maybe it was my rage, maybe it was the cushions that caused it ... but I never heard the gunshots. I saw it both on the screen and the flash from inside the house. 5 seconds later, the garage door opened and in a few more, the van pulled out into the drive. Animal Cop pressed the door controller and ran under it as it lowered.

  He jumped into the van. He held up his hand for a five slap. Submissive Fat Cop did not respond.

  Forced Entry

  Part 5

&
nbsp; Taylor Oswald was buried mid-morning out in the countryside near the Barnett Reservoir. Wish it hadn't been named for a racist bastard like Barnett, the Mississippi version of George Wallace. Wish I had thought of something nice to say about her when I covered her body with the freshly dug earth, as the southern sweat soaked my shirt. But I didn't. Wish none of it had ever happened, but it did.

  I drove back to the house. On the way back, I kept thinking that the house contained too many blood stains and other evidence that could cause problems. I pulled into the garage. Latex gloves protocol, followed by a bleach bath for everything. The cameras and laptop were removed and put into the trunk of the car. Everything else was left behind. Before leaving I shut off the air conditioning unit and plugged in a faulty 1000 watt magnetic light ballast. It had been shooting sparks and smoking last time I plugged it in. I had saved it to take apart and understand them better. Around it I shoved some gasoline soaked newspaper. As soon as the first puff of orange sparks and smoke appeared I left. It would take a little while for the right spark to hit.

  The following day the fire made the Jackson paper, The Clarion Ledger. Fire officials made the lazy assessment I had hope for...bad ballast burns down major grow operation.

  The Clarion Ledger is the largest paper in the state and the most widely read. It has a long heritage, a large part of which was as a racist, turd vendor. But now at least they didn't scream it so much and it comes in code words. They deny their own history at every opportunity, like an elderly German. No matter how many awards you now give to the dark-skinned citizens of your state that will not make up for your history. You own it. But Mississippi was never gonna give the 40 acres and a mule ... they don't cotton to admitting they are wrong.

  Three weeks later, the Clarion Ledger broke the largest story in the state that year, Jackson’s Killer Cops. As agreed, they did not permit anyone other than the chief news editor and one sub to view or know of the existence of the video file until publication. It was transferred via a secured file site accessed from a Tor session, somewhere in the darknet. The last traceable IP address was in the Ukraine.