Indian Country by Kurt A Schlichter

Author:Kurt A Schlichter [Schlichter, Kurt A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780988402966
Amazon: 0988402963
Publisher: Kurt Schlichter
Published: 2017-06-02T07:00:00+00:00

10.

Lieutenant Kessler was in her office with the door closed, one hand holding a Starbucks cup, the other the phone. She was doing substantially more listening than talking.

Cannon watched her through her glass window, as inconspicuously as possible, from the squad room – but then, everyone was trying to watch her without being caught watching.

He had been called back to the station at 9:33 p.m. along with everyone else – Cannon had a suspicion about why, but it was not until he got back to the station that he learned that four carloads of People’s Volunteers had been wiped out on Route 231 not ten miles north of town. He wasn’t sure how he felt, especially knowing that his information probably led to it, but he had heard whispers about what the PVs intended to do to punish the locals for the sniping, and he knew exactly how he would have felt about that.

As a real cop, it was hard for him to accept that he just didn’t care.

It was obvious Kessler cared, but only about her own hide. The PVs were expendable – that and the deniability the ostensibly extra-governmental PSF provided the authorities were precisely why they were so useful for getting rough with the recalcitrant citizenry. But sixteen dead? That was clearly raising questions, and Cannon watched through the window as, inside her office, Kessler tried to answer them.

Outside, in the nearly empty squad room, the few remaining PSF officers who were not cleaning up the bloodbath out on 231 were scared – there was no other word for it. A week before, the station’s reinforcements had swaggered around town, unchallenged, unconstrained. But now? The locals were fighting back, and they hadn’t signed up for that.

First, the Langers had waxed three of them. Then the sniper attacks. Now Unit 71 and two officers had just vanished, gone, poof. They were sitting on the side of the 231 near the river the prior afternoon, then suddenly they weren’t there anymore – they weren’t anywhere anymore. Not a trace. They probably pulled their GPS unit and skipped town, but who knew? And then this massacre, out in the open, right there on the main road into town.

It was not supposed to be like this. The People’s Security Force was supposed to be in control.

But if these guerrillas – yeah, that’s what they were, and there was no denying it anymore – could wax a whole bunch of PVs, they could do the same to a whole bunch of PSF officers. It was just a matter of time.

“Screw this town. I am done with this shit,” one blue told another as Cannon sat nearby. The officer was in his mid-twenties, with a scraggly little beard and the mutton-chop sideburns favored by recent college grads. He had been transferred into town with the other reinforcements and made no secret of the fact that he despised the locals. Cannon had often seen him come back into the station from patrol with cargo pockets full of candy bars that he had liberated from the old 7-11.

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