I thank the Merry Mailwoman, who bought three more Sue Grafton thrillers.
Here's an excerpt from Network 2015, part of the A Hitch in Twilight collection.
"You understand what I'm suggesting?" said the man at the wheel of a car
cruising down a dark road.
"Murder," said the passenger, grimly.
"I look at it as assassination or maybe a back-end abortion. When a financially
strapped woman finds herself pregnant - what does she do?"
"You don't have to tell me. It's been three years, and my wife still has
nightmares about ours." He reflected a moment. "It just dawned on me that if
abortion'd always stayed illegal we might not be in this position. At least we
wouldn't be as bad off. Millions more'd be paying taxes right now."
"Crazy, isn't it? Man just can't seem to avoid killing. Maybe we're not as
advanced a species as we think."
"Do we have any choices, though? It's us or them now, or it will be if Congress
doesn't do something soon."
"We're already there. It just hasn't been acknowledged publicly, yet. People
read about these incidents and assume it's just the random violence that's
always plagued us. We've got the edge as long as the press doesn't catch on.
Once they do."
The passenger stared out the window as the vehicle carved through the night.
"It's tough; believe me, I know," said the driver, who was perhaps 40, smartly
dressed. "I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it until I pulled the trigger. The
poor bastard may have not lasted much longer, anyway. Then again, he may have.
No matter what you tell yourself, it's still a human life you're taking. Sure,
he was raking in ridiculous benefits, but it wasn't his fault, really. The
system let him get away with it. Most of us would've taken it, too."
"I lost my job, my house. I had to sell my car. I can barely support my family -
and they're talking about raising taxes again. I'll have to become a criminal
for us to survive."
"Maybe that's what you should focus on if you decide to do it."
He paused. "How many have you taken out so far?"
The driver shrugged. "I couldn't say. Thousands, I'd guess. Not enough to make a
difference, yet. I'm just a link in what I think of as a long chain letter. I
couldn't tell you where command is or even if there is one. Although there must
be."
"You'd think the CIA or FBI'd catch on."
"Maybe they have. Maybe we have their tacit approval. Or maybe they just haven't
figured it out, yet. The idea is to target singles and make it look like
robbery, which doesn't surprise anybody. I bet each target is thoroughly
researched. If somebody with a connection got hit, everything'd be jeopardized."
"It's hard to believe the government'd let it happen."
"Is it? They created this mess. Nobody had the will to attack runaway
entitlements - at least not seriously. They've left it up to the citizenry. It's
a modern tax revolt. All any of them cared about was being re-elected so they
could pile up their own outrageous benefits."
The hum of the car became prevalent as silence fell.
"I'm not sure I could do it," said the passenger, who was approximately 35;
"even if I convinced myself it was right."
"You wouldn't know until the moment of truth. Who knows - by the time you get an
assignment all-out war may have already begun. You think all the snipings are
just copycat wackos?"
"Another group?"
"That's my guess. I bet it's the same fringe that revolted in '05 when that
reparations bill came up."
"It stopped it. Christ, will life ever be anything but brutal, again?"
"I lost two friends in that carnage - and neither of them wanted a dime. They
were collateral damage."
"I had a softball teammate get it. Great guy, too."
"It wouldn't surprise me if that 'mysterious' crackhouse explosion wasn't part
of that undeclared war, too."
"Maybe our kids'll see better days."
"Probably our kids' kids, sad to say. This is bound to get a hell of a lot
uglier. The old-timers will eventually catch on and dig in."
A grimace of realization struck the passenger. "Somebody like me might be
assigned to kill my parents."
"Your grandparents, more likely, if they were living alone and isolated. I'd
guess all the victims are over eighty."
"How do you know I won't go to the cops?"
"I don't."
"How do I know you won't kill me if I refuse or even if I go through with it?"
"You don't. Look - go to a major newsstand regularly the next few weeks, check
the out-of-town papers, note the incidents. This is going to go on with or
without you. I'll be on a plane in less than an hour. You'll never see me
again."
"How'd you find me?"
"The same way 'they' found me - somebody somewhere overheard you talking."
The passenger's pupils constricted in pain and regret. His words had come back
to haunt him.
"I know how you feel, and I don't envy you. One night you'll get a call, giving
you an address, and your life will be miserable for months."
"It's already miserable."
"It's hard. I still see that old coot's face in my dreams. I suppose I always
will. If you're lucky, your target'll be asleep and not looking you in the eye.
They're just victims of circumstance, not people you'd hate. You have to really
believe to participate in this."
Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
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