Chapter 10
Zeus
I swear I haven't seen this much fucking camo since my training days in the Marine Corps.
The parking lot is filled with angry men and women, and sadly, more children than should ever be out of school in the middle of the day. Despite knowing that many of these groups keep their kids out of public schools because of the oversight they seem to think the requirement gives the government.
I lift my plastic cup, doing my best not to cringe as the sour beer hits my lips.
Nothing like a beer before noon, but this was the only option other than bottled water at the free concession stand, and I know what's expected from these people.
A bottle of water and the argument that I'm driving, if asked, would draw too much attention.
I'm sure most of the people here think laws don't apply to them because they don't believe in the government.
It's insane to me that the same people who think the government should disappear are the very same ones forming their own types of government. It's not that they don't like control. It's that they want to be the ones in control, and the hypocrisy of it all makes me sick.
The sea of greens and browns walking all around me makes my skin itch.
The proof on my skin that I was once a part of the government they hate at one point makes me uneasy.
As if they'll ask me to pull my shirt off, and there would be no other explanation of my injuries other than military combat, despite the numerous people I've heard talking about their time in the military.
The difference is I served my country with pride, and they were either discharged without honor, or they served their full time with a hatred for what they were doing growing inside of them with every minute until the ink was dry on their DD-214.
Knowing that any one of these people could decide they hate me on sight makes being here more dangerous than taking on enemy fire in the Middle East. At least there, I knew who hated me and who didn't.
Knowing there's no trust with these people makes me search for Zayne in the crowd. He has my back, even if it's only because we're on the same team right now.
He's not hard to spot. The man has a crowd around him as if he's one of the scheduled speakers for the day. His smile is wide and vibrant, and there's no sign of the pain he had when he spoke of his sister last night.
The man somehow looks like he fits in, as if he were born to be a part of this world. It makes me feel even more out of place, knowing it took years and years for him to build up the kind of confidence he's showing while practically performing in front of a bunch of racists and bigots.
I nod at people who walk by, but the character I'm playing isn't nice at all.
"Lyle" is hateful and borderline insane with how much he hates the government.
The attitude I'm supposed to present is like taking a trip down memory lane, recalling how I felt growing up in a house where I was an accessory more than anything else.
I wasn't supposed to have feelings or expectations.
It was always "yes, ma'am." I was never meant to ask questions or do more than exist in a world where I really wasn't welcome, despite the smiles my adoptive parents threw my way when they were out in public, and that's what was expected of them.
Any other time, I was supposed to stay out of the way until they needed to pull me out like a prop in a play. It really fucked with my head. I'd be lying if I said that there aren’t certain situations where all that shit flares up.
Apparently, this is one of them, and pulling on that energy, channeling all the pain associated with my upbringing, is much too easy. I know it has a lot to do with the blast from my past standing across the parking lot.
More people have gathered around "Curtis," each one smiling and nodding as he speaks. The man looks like a king holding court, and everyone listening to him is buying every ounce of what he's selling.
Saying the man is charismatic doesn't give him the justice he deserves. I know I should be glad he's drawing the attention, but part of me wonders where he puts the outrage and anger he must feel in these types of situations.
My skin crawls just being in the vicinity of so many people who are blatantly intolerant of so many things that don't affect their day-to-day lives. These are the type of people who would seek out others who are different from them just to punish them for existing.
As I stand, sipping my now lukewarm beer, I can also acknowledge just how good Zayne is at all of this.
The charm he's showcasing is something to watch, and it makes me glad I wasn't selected to do that part of the job.
I don't think I could be so happy and carefree in the face of so much injustice, but he does it well.
Someone else in the small group he's gathered says something, and Zayne's demeanor shifts immediately.
Outrage fills his eyes as he talks animatedly about whatever the shift in conversation is, but the people around him are no less entranced.
The head nods deepen as the group grows tighter together, as if they're hanging on every word coming from his mouth.
I swear the man looks like he’s one person away from starting his own fucking militia group. I'm not close enough to hear what he's saying, but each one of them is buying what he's selling.
I feel a kinship of sorts with him in this moment.
It's as if we've both spent a lifetime pretending to be someone we aren't. I discovered after leaving home for the Marine Corps that I didn't want to be the guy coated in anger and expecting people to treat me poorly.
It took years of brotherhood and acceptance to let that resentment slough away, and until that man showed up on the doorstep of Cerberus, I thought that the old me was gone for good.
Funny how one person can land you right back in the middle of a life you thought you left behind.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other when I spot one of the guys from the dossier we were given. We know he's linked to The League of Liberty, but it wasn't clear how high his rank in the organization is.
He looks just as captivated by what Zayne is saying, and I know this is a good sign. But I can't fight the exasperation when Zayne looks at the man and gives him a wide smile before offering his hand to shake, as if the guy's the second coming of Christ.
After their brief introductions, Zayne continues speaking, and the group grows larger and larger.
"Do you know him?"
I shift my eyes slowly. I felt the woman approach from my right, but didn't give her the attention she was clearly seeking until she spoke.
"He's my cousin," I grunt, pulling my eyes from her to continue scanning the crowd.
"Does this cousin of yours have a name?" she asks, inching close enough that I can tell she has pressed her breasts to my arm without even having to look.
"Curtis."
I take another sip of my beer, using the motion to shift away from her as well.
The woman is intelligent enough to take a step back.
As much as I'd like to tell her to fuck off, I also know that she could easily be someone from the group we're investigating sent over here to ask questions.
I know people saw us arrive together, so I have to presume at least a handful of people here already know we're connected.
As ignorant as many people are in their beliefs, I know they're also very attentive. Two new guys showing up to a rally had to have drawn some attention, and there's nothing like drug-enhanced paranoia to make people start asking questions.
"Good to know," she says, her tone now flat and less flirty. "See ya around."
I don't know if she has a hard time pretending to be interested in me for an extended period, or if she got what she needed and no longer has to put on an act.
I blow out a huff of air, trying to decide whether I should keep standing here or walk around a bit.
Walking would probably be better. It would draw more eyes and attention, and I know that being seen and becoming a regular part of these types of things is the goal.
But that would also force me to possibly interact with people, and I'm feeling a little too twitchy right now.
Before I can make up my mind, yelling from across the parking lot draws my attention.
A woman in much too little clothing for the chill in the air is in a police officer's face. Her actions are wild, her arms flailing and her head moving in exaggerated jerks, but the cop is just standing there, looking over the woman's head as if she doesn't exist.
That is, until she presses one of her fingers into the side of his face, forcing his head to turn.
The slow lowering of his gaze to her face tells me everything I need to know.
He was fine until she touched him. Although I wouldn't consider what she did assault, the law is clear on what it considers assault.
A grand jury may throw the case out, but that won't stop her from getting arrested.
I don't know what this woman's end goal is, but I bet she didn't plan on spending a night in jail.
I glance at Zayne, and just like everyone else in the parking lot, this woman has drawn his attention as well.
Knowing this could be all smoke and mirrors, I scan the crowd to see what other shit is going on that some may not want to have witnesses to.
Other than a couple of people making small-time drug deals on the periphery of the crowd, it seems all the attention is on the raging woman.
By the time I look back at her, she's in handcuffs and being escorted away.
The police were present when we arrived. I know they were only here for crowd control and in case shit went south, which wouldn't be unheard of in any group of people who are outraged about something.
They kept to themselves, spaced out in the parking lot, and didn't interfere until that woman started yelling. Now they're all coming closer to the police officer who is taking the woman away.
The crowd starts to vibrate, the energy emanating from them in waves, but nothing seems to be happening until one brave person throws an empty water bottle at a cop.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Trash flies, and so do curse words.
Each person's rage is fueled directly by the person standing beside them, and I know this shit is going south quickly.
I look over to find Zayne, but he's no longer standing where he has been since we arrived. Although I know I shouldn't, I frantically search the crowd for him, relieved when I see him standing farther back from the aggressive group.
I make my way to him, sidestepping several people rushing the cops.
"What the fuck do we do?" I snap the second I'm within hearing range.
"Nothing," he answers, nodding to his left. "They've got it under control."
I look in the direction he indicated and breathe a sigh of relief when I see a team of guys, decked out in SWAT gear, making their way into the crowd.
"We should probably leave," he says, turning in the direction we parked.
"I'm surprised no one has a gun," I mutter as I open the passenger door to the truck and climb inside.
"This is Tennessee," he says as he climbs behind the wheel. "Everyone has a gun. I guess no one in that group is dumb enough to use them today."
"Think we made any progress?" I ask as he cranks the truck, shifts it into gear, and drives out of the parking lot.
"I got some pamphlets," he mutters, looking a little disappointed in how things went today. "Had one guy tell me about another meeting."
"Did it seem like a recruitment?"
He shakes his head. "I doubt it, but maybe. Sometimes the bigger groups either recruit through smaller groups or they poach existing members of those smaller groups. I don't think it was a complete waste of time, but it definitely wasn't what I would consider a success either."
Frustration flows through me with every word he speaks.
This is only the second day of being undercover, and I think I'm already going a little insane. I don't know how I can handle months and months of this shit if that's how long this job is going to drag out.
I know my annoyance has a little to do with the type of people we're expected to be, but I'm also self-aware enough to know a lot of it has to do with constantly being around the man to my left.