Boston Massacre

A young American attends a local capitalist rally in Boston and meets up with a small Congress of "radicals"

“Trinity, pour me another glass will you?” asked Thomas as he finished his tumbler of cognac. Trinity smiled at him with her gentle yet seductive show of teeth. She had a very feminine shape about her and was craved by all the guys who strolled into her father’s bar. McLaren’s Bar wasn’t the only Irish pub in Boston, nor was it the most popular, but it was the closest one to Thomas’ poor conditioned apartment he bought with the money from his college refund.  Thomas never played sports in school but kept a lean figure. His hair was parted in the middle and feathered on the sides; his brown hair was famous with the girls in high school for being extra soft and silky. He had cold blue eyes and a little bit of hair on his chin. He was an average guy really, nothing special about him except for his friends.

Gabriel always offered Thomas odd jobs to do around Boston, considering Thomas had been out of work for the past four months. The job always varied, some legal, others not so much. The only thing that was consistent was the pay: lousy. Gabriel had sent Thomas a text last night to meet him at the bar at one in the afternoon. Slowly, the hour hand circled around to five in the evening before Gabe walked through the door.

“Thomas, glad you are here. Sorry about the wait, me and Lucy got into it again and she took my car. Anyways, enough about my paradise, I came here to invite you to come with me Friday to a little rally. The SCA has set up a tax collection building on Park Street and we are going to preach about capitalism on Freedom Trail. What do you say?” asked Gabe as he grabbed a beer from Trinity’s hand.

“I don’t know man. I mean, why should we go there startin’ trouble? Keltner is doing alright by me I figure. Socialism ain’t done nothing bad to us except maybe kill off some corporate cocksuckers. What is the big deal? I am fine with paying a little bit extra for free healthcare and a good retirement fund, if I can ever afford to retire. I ain’t a rebel like you Gabe, you stupid mother f****r,” defended Thomas.

“Look, taxation without representation is tyranny right? Well those democrats up there aren’t representin’ us right. Come on, just come with me Friday and check it out, maybe carry a sign for f**k sakes man, where is your patriotism?”

“Look, I will go alright? Just stop f*****g pestering about it, okay? Are we meeting here at the bar or am I supposed to walk to Frog Pond?” asked Thomas as his eyes slowly drifted over to Trinity as she bent over to wash down the counter. Gabriel told Thomas to meet at the bar and they would catch a cab to Freedom Trail. Gabe left the bar before Thomas did, leaving Thomas to help Trinity clean up the place. It was one of his odd jobs so he didn’t mind. Not to mention he got to spend time with the hottest chick on Oak Street.

He walked home alone that night, much to his disappointment; to a sad little piece of s**t he called his own. The apartment complex he resided in use to be a nice one back in the early 2000s but poverty kind of hit Boston a bit hard before Keltner took control of the nation. The paint on the door was chipped and the window to the right had a duct-taped hole in it. Thomas had been asking for the landlord to come and fix it for the past week but the fat b*****d never did. Thomas didn’t own much other than his futon, a bookshelf, his small flat screen, and his punching bag. Thomas sat down on his futon and took off his leather jacket. The New England winter was starting to set in and he had to break down and buy some winter clothes. Thomas was originally from Indiana but moved to Boston after dropping out of Indiana University. For his first year in Boston he was made fun of by Gabriel for his accent but the Boston culture removed all redneck language from his vocabulary.

Friday came around quickly. Thomas woke up at twelve to go meet Gabe at the bar. The walk was four blocks, an easy trek for a country boy who used to have to walk six times that just to his neighbor. Gabe was leaning against the window of the pub when Thomas walked up. Gabe hailed a cab and they were carried away to Freedom Trail next to Park Street. As the cab pulled up, a large group of about one hundred protesters stood along Freedom trail, taunting the SCA building across the street. Gabe and Thomas got out of the cab and walked over to the group. A middle-aged woman with blonde hair was standing on a bench broadcasting the greatness of capitalism throughout the air around the Trail.

“America! This great nation is the epitome of freedom is it not? Why then, do we allow socialist czars to eradicate capitalism and free-market practices upon which this country’s economy was founded? Why did we fight so hard against communism sixty years ago, just to bend over and let socialism have its way with us until it reaches the communist climax? That’s right; I am saying that Keltner is f*****g us! Freedom must be a factor in every aspect of the States, especially our economy. Our economic tree cannot grow if Socialist axes continue to cut up our roots! Join this rally my fellow Americans! Fight back against the socialist Keltner-Harbecker agenda and their SCA thugs. See this building right here? This is a landmark of communism! Socialism is not a savior; it is a step towards a soviet America. Pretty soon, the name “Stalin” shall replace the name of God in our Pledge! Defend America from the destruction of the American dream, from the eradication of the American way…”

The woman’s voice trailed off from Thomas’ ears as he took notice of SCA tagged Humvees pulling up to the tax building. Gabe turned and looked as well, lowering his sign and watching men with carbines step out of the vehicles. The lady turned her words against the oncoming guards, cussing them for showing their traitorous faces on American soil.

‘Attention civilians, you are disrupting foot traffic on Freedom Trail. We must ask you to return to your homes or we will be forced to detain you. I repeat, return to your homes or we will be forced to place you under arrest,” instructed an SCA guard from behind a Humvee. The woman shot back harsh words as the protesters took a step closer to the policing forces, pumping their fists in the air and insulting the guards. The guards took a step closer, in an attempt to scare the protesters into retreat but in response, the rallying citizens got even closer, mere feet away from each other.

Thomas saw it before even those in front did. A man stepped up face-to-face with a guard and spat in his face. The guard butt stroked the protester and aimed his gun at him as he lay on the ground. Another citizen lunged at the rifleman before being shot down. The shot stopped the protest dead in its tracks. A line of armed men stood stiff, aiming their weapons at the protesters. The silence was only for a moment as protesters charged forward into the line of rifles, knocking the men to the ground, taking their guns and beating them with the stocks. More men jumped out of the Humvees and went to detain the rioters.

Thomas and Gabe looked at one another, only to see a mirror image of each other’s expression of astonishment and fear. They both ran towards the troops who came out of the vehicles and slammed them against the doors of the Humvees, punching them in the face. More troops came from the next one down and began shooting at Thomas and Gabe, both of whom jumped over the hood of the Humvee and took cover. More protesters became prey to the bullets of the SCA as some of the officers arrested others. Thomas pulled a handgun from the holster of beaten guard and told Gabe to make a run for Frog Pond. Gabriel took off in a dead sprint for the park as Thomas stood up and fired off a couple shots towards the guards. Thomas struck one in the arm and took off running towards Joy Street as shots rang out behind him. The bullets snapped in the air has he rounded a curb and sprinted towards Hancock. His heart was about to rip through his chest as his burning calves drove him farther north.

Reaching an alleyway, Thomas took cover against the wall and peered back down the street, looking for signs of pursuit. None of the Humvees turned the corner. Thomas put the gun in his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He called Gabriel but got no answer.

“Oh f**k Gabe; please tell me you got out. Come on m**********r pick up your phone!” exclaimed Thomas as the fear of losing his friend sat in his stomach. The phone clicked over and Gabe’s voice flew into Thomas’ ear.

“You okay bro? I am at the end of Hancock Street right now where are you? Alright good. I am gonna stay at Michelle’s house tonight. F**k dude. I don’t think they saw our faces so I’m pretty sure we are safe. I’m gonna call the co--. Why not? Really? How the hell is the government going to cover this s**t up? Well I don’t know either. Alright fine. Meet me at McLaren’s tomorrow morning dude. Alright, later,” the conversation was short but powerful. Thomas and Gabe had escaped the massacre and Thomas was busy praying that the government would hold the SCA’s guard accountable for the death toll. He didn’t want Gabriel to be right.

Michelle was Thomas’ ex-girlfriend and she was out of town for a family reunion in Delaware. Thomas still had a key so he thought it best to stay there instead of trying to get back to Lincoln Street. Michelle’s place was much nicer than his, her being a doctor and all. Her apartment even had a thermostat and fixed windows. Thomas took a shower and found some of his old clothes he never came and got and dressed himself before sitting down in the living room. He couldn’t find the remote so he just turned the TV on. It was on the news channel…

“This just in, two hours ago, a group of rioters stood outside the SCA building on Park Street broadcasting fascist ideology. A police force was sent in the quiet down the riot but the group began to shoot at the SCA’s guard convoy as it pulled up to Freedom Trail. The SCA did its best to refrain from shooting, but the situation quickly escalated into a shootout. Six SCA guards were fatally wounded and another three are currently being treated at a local clinic. Casualties on the rioting group’s side numbered in forty-five killed and thirty arrested….”

Thomas shut the TV off and punched the wall. The government covered up the truth. Maybe Gabe was right, maybe D.C. isn’t in the game for the greater good of the people. Thomas pulled the gun out from his jacket and checked the clip. He had fifteen rounds left. He thought about throwing the gun away but his father’s voice echoed in the back of his head:

“Son, you may not want trouble, but s**t has a way of finding you. Better to have a gun and not need it than to need one and not have it.”

Thomas sat back down and closed his eyes. Oddly enough, sleep came easily to him that night. He had flashing images in the place of dreams, as if his mind has broken a picture frame and he was watching the falling glass reflect pieces of the picture. The blonde-haired woman with the megaphone, the man falling to the ground as his blood sprayed onto the face of his shooter, and the bullets spinning through the air around him, every pass of the rounds bringing him closer to death. These images did not startle him to awaken, but rather the images burned deep into his mind, like a rancher using a cattle-prod to brand his herd. Thomas had been branded with hatred for the SCA, and everything they were.

The next morning, Thomas stood up from the couch and stretched, dropping his phone from his lap and onto the floor. When he went to pick it up, the phone buzzed, vibrating an inch to the left. Thomas picked it up and read the text:

“Tom, remember Valerie? She was the chick cussing out the SCA with the megaphone. She is holding a meeting in a café on Mass. Ave. tonight about the shooting at F.P. I know you don’t like the protesting but this is different. It’s not that far from Michelle’s. Hell, borrow the b***h’s car man. Just get here okay? Later.”

The text was sent at five in the morning from Lucy’s phone, Gabriel’s girl. Thomas looked at his phone and read the time. The digital numbers told him it was nine o’clock in morning, which meant he had eleven hours till he thought he should be at the café. He decided he would go and check out the tax building across from Freedom Trail. He didn’t know why he wanted to go there, he just felt like he had to.

He stepped outside and onto the sidewalk. It was even colder than the day before. The sky was grey and everything had a dim tint to it, even the sun, which offered no warmth for his exposed cheeks.  He turned left and walked to the parking garage one block down.  Thomas easily found Michelle’s purple coupe and used her extra key to get in. He sat down in the driver seat and looked around. The car was in decent condition for its age. She had owned the car for four years and even wrecked it a couple of times. He looked in the ashtray and found the remnants of six joints. Michelle was a heavy marijuana smoker but never touched anything else, even skipped smoking tobacco and went straight for the cannabis. Smoking was one of the few things they had in common.  He put the key in the ignition and drove to Frog Pond.

Traffic was heavy as everyone scrambled to get to work on time, having slept in from partying with coke and prostitutes. Oddly, none of these guys were businessmen. At least, not in the sense the word used to be. Since Keltner, businessman was code for government puppet. They were just the faces of the companies the U.S. government dictated and got rich off of. Socialism was great. All these facts came to light as Thomas pulled up to Frog Pond’s parking area. Gabriel had been preaching about Keltner’s socialist dictatorship for a couple of years but Thomas had blindly followed the easy path of the socialist policies without second thought. Until yesterday that is.

Thomas got out of the car and walked along Freedom Trail until he came up to Park Street upon which the SCA building stood. More guards were posted out front.  They were mixed with regular police forces, packing M4s.  The government must have gotten shaken up about the protesters to call in for such extra heat. Bullet holes riddled the asphalt with faded bloodstains surrounding them, as the Caribbean does to the Bahamas.

The guards started watching Thomas as he stood there for five more minutes. Their fingers were climbing all over their rifle’s grips, their eyes trying to scan him for any threatening devices or deadly intentions. Thomas took this all in and decided it best to turn around and walk away. H went back to the car and lit up one of Michelle’s half-smoked joints. The fumes filled the car quickly and his eyes went glossy and bloodshot. He had a choking feeling in his Adam’s apple but he liked it. He tried to hold the smoke in but started coughing, releasing the smoke through his nostrils and his mouth at once. The reality of the situation lifted up off his shoulders and he felt at peace for a moment. He stuffed the joint back into the ashtray. He pulled out of the parking lot and drove around for a bit before heading back to Michelle’s apartment.

He parked the car on the curb and went inside to look around. He didn’t know what he was looking for but he was hoping to find something. He opened up her dresser and began shifting through the undergarments and the pants and blouses. He found a small chest in the bottom of her top drawer and pulled it out, setting it on her bed. He opened up the chest which revealed to him a stack of cash, a .38 snub-nosed revolver, the one he bought her for her birthday, and an old Kodak camera. He took half the cash, nearly one hundred dollars, and the camera and revolver. He stuffed the revolver into his inside pocket on his jacket and put the camera in the cargo pocket on his pants. He didn’t know what was going to happen when he showed up at the café, but whatever it was, he was determined to be prepared for it.

Later that evening, after the café had closed down for the night, Thomas pulled into the alley behind it and got out. He leaned his back against the trunk of the coupe and waited. Five minutes later, Gabriel showed up with ten others following. The cars pulled up alongside one another and the drivers and several passengers exited. Gabriel walked over to Thomas and shook his hand before leading him inside the café.

The coffee joint was rather small, having only six small round tables and two booths hugging the left wall. All of the chairs were black with green leather for the seats. The tables were maroon-finished oak with black metal supports nailed into the ground. The floor was tiled with alternating colors of maroon and dark green, black trim interlaced. The place reminded Thomas of a dart board.

The group sat down at the center table, Thomas, Gabriel and two others being forced to stand up behind those who were seated. The blonde check sat down and pulled out a yellow paper pad, random chicken scratch notes strewn across the first seven pages. She sat the notebook down on the table and looked around the fifteen members that surrounded her. She placed her elbows on the table and interlaced her fingers before she spoke.

“My fellow Americans, this meeting has been called to session to discuss the events that took place Friday afternoon. Jessica, Greg, and Kale, I know you weren’t there but I have informed you of what happened. Gabriel, before we begin, I need to know who that his standing next to you.”

“This is my friend Thomas. He attended the protest with me. He umm, kind of saved my life. He drew the guard’s attention to him so I could get away. Once I got off the street, I pulled out my phone and started taking pictures. None of them were any good though. Sorry Val,” answered Gabriel as he tossed Valerie his cellphone. She pulled up his album and ran through the pictures. She then agreed with Gabe that the pictures weren’t good enough to be used for anything.

“That’s fine, Gabriel. Even without video footage or pictures, we can still tell the people about what happened. Marcus and I have a plan. Mark, go ahead.”

A tall black male of about thirty years stood up. He had a “USMC” tattoo along his forearm and had a scar across his cheek. He looked around at the group and nodded at Valerie before he spoke up.

“Alright, we have all bore witness to a massacre. That was not a gang shootout or a riot. It was a simple protest during which we lost fifty American brothers and sisters. Boston has witnessed a second Massacre my friends. I believe we should do like Mr. Revere and use this event to pull attention to the un-American practices of Keltner’s cabinet and his SCA thugs. Our movement needs to get some momentum if we are going to eliminate the socialist policies of the government. I ain’t calling for war or rebellion. I am calling for a change. In order to do this, America needs to pull together and prove that Keltner is not best for this country. Tonight, we establish a congress, and we shall focus our attention on ridding America of the communist disease before the plague comes full circle. If you are not with us, then please leave this room,” preached Marcus. No one in the group took a single step away from the table. Gabriel looked at Thomas but Thomas wasn’t looking back. His eyes and ears were focused on Marcus.

“Alright then, welcome to the Congress. Our charter shall the same as the Continental Congress and all of us must sign Valerie’s note pad. If the SCA catches wind of this s**t, we are going to be considered traitors to the Republic. If any of us are going to die, all of us are going to die. Our nation cannot fall to the hands of socialist and communist agendas. Our Founding Fathers gave us the right to remove those in power once they become destructive of our rights and liberties. So far, the government has only imposed on our economic freedoms. But this is just a step towards attacking our personal liberties. I for one do not want this to happen. This massacre and its victims must be remembered and honored by fighting back. Only way this will work is if we are united on every aspect of it. Do we all agree?” Marcus looked around the room at the faces of every man and woman in the café. None of them showed any sign of disagreement. Thomas met Marcus’ gaze and nodded. He grabbed the pad and pen and signed his name in the center in bold letters.

“There’s my John Hancock. No pun intended,” stated Thomas as he handed the paper to Gabriel. The pad went around the table and everyone signed it before it reached Valerie’s hands again. It was at this point she stood up and shook Marcus’ hand. She turned towards Thomas and began to speak.

“Alright Congressmen, we have a job to do. Come Tuesday night, at nine o’clock, we will meet in McLaren’s cellar, which Gabriel has been kind enough to offer up as a temporary meeting room. This meeting will expect everyone’s attendance. Kale, bring your camera equipment will you? Marcus and I are going to need it to shoot the video. Ladies and gentlemen, we will be filming a speech by Marcus. He is going to tell about the Massacre and inform the people of our goals and who we are. Sadly, we must hide our identities, so bring scarves, motorcycle helmets, balaclavas, the like, in order to cover your faces.  We cannot tell the people our names. This video is going straight to the internet. If the government sees who we are and what we are planning to do, they will come for us sooner than we want. This meeting is adjourned. You may all go home. Before you leave though, I need your contact information so that Marcus and I will be able to get ahold of you.”

The group took turns writing down their cellphone numbers and Twitter profiles before exiting through the back door. Thomas and Gabriel stood by Michelle’s car as everyone else drove off. Gabriel lit up a cigarette and sat down on the hood.

“So amigo, from the look on your face, it appeared as if you were becoming…. Oh what was the word? A radical?” mocked Gabe as he inhaled his cigarette’s toxic fumes. Thomas shot him a glare before checking his phone. It was ten thirty and Thomas had a job to do at six the next morning. He opened the car door and sat down in the driver’s seat, starting the car as he closed his door. The car roared to life and Thomas rolled down his window. Gabriel placed his forearms in the window and rested them there, making the cherry of the smoke burn brighter as he sucked the life out of the tobacco.

“Gabriel, I had not borne witness to a crime by the government until Friday. I thought socialism was a temporary thing, a step on the path to recovery. I see now I was a fool. Keltner will just continue to gain more leverage and power in the establishment until we become another Soviet Union or China. America cannot go through this. No one else has stood up because they feel they have something to lose. People like me? Men and women who have no family, no important job, no future? We are the ones who will have to stand up first. Once we stand… the whole nation will follow. All it takes is a few good men my brother. That’s us.” Thomas’ words were soft in the winter air, but cut deep into Gabriel’s mind. Gabriel didn’t say anything for a few good moments.

“Aye bro and all it takes for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing. I am glad you have decided to do something with me,” expressed Gabe as he put his cigarette out. He shook Thomas’ hand and the coupe pulled out of the alley and drove back to Oak Street. The night was fairly silent, with the exemption of traffic of course. November was halfway over with, and Thomas’ change in mindset was almost complete. He thought about his own words on the way home. He hadn’t thought before he spoke them. They just poured out of his soul like a confession before a Father.

He parked the car on the curb, his complex lacking a parking lot or a garage, and climbed the rusty steps to his apartment. He opened the door and fell back onto the futon. The cold, night air slithered through the broken window and caressed his cheek for the entirety of the night.