Behind The Curve-The Farm | Book 3 | The Farm Craven Boyd (the reading list book .txt) 📖

“With military grade weapons of war?” General Rodgers asked.

“An AR-15 is not a weapon of war. It’s a semi-automatic. It shoots a glorified .22 magnum round, really fast. Hell, most of us use really big guns when we hunt deer. If you think an AR-15 is so hot, what would you think about them?”

“They are not what killed my men,” General Rodgers said, getting visibly frustrated.

“And an AR-15 is not what killed your men either,” Governor Christian snapped back. “It was an AR-10 variant that shot 7.62 or a .308. A common hunting round. The rest of your men… What, five died because they pissed off a bull, and another died from some sort of anaphylactic shock?”

“Because he was tarred and feathered by members of law enforcement and the surrounding community.” The general smacked his hand on the governor’s desk, making papers and pens dance.

“I thought he was allergic to shellfish? I heard directly from a deputy that what they used was axle grease, used motor oil, some kerosene, and rancid pig fat. None of that even comes close to a shellfish, does it?”

“He died as a result of the beating, tar and feathering he received at that farm.” Spittle flew out of the general's mouth.

Brenda poked her head in, then pushed it open with a cart. She had 12 of Dunkin’s finest as well as a white ceramic carafe of coffee.

“There is no way of telling what killed him unless we have a full autopsy done, and so far, your men are stonewalling my office,” Governor Christen said. “And I’m no medical professional, but allergies so severe to cause anaphylactic shock to a person don’t just wait for an hour or two to suddenly manifest, do they?”

“Are you calling my people liars?”

“Liars, murderers, tyrants, fascists, communists, assholes? It doesn’t matter what word I use, they all work.”

General Rodgers got really quiet, then he leaned in, turning his head to stare at Brenda. “Get out of here,” he growled.

Brenda got out of there in a hurry.

“You don’t want to push me boy,” General Rodgers said, his face a rictus of rage, veins throbbing on his forehead and temples.

“The last I heard, as governor, I still am the highest elected official in the state of Arkansas,” Governor Christian reminded him. “You are supposed to work with the governors of the state, and all I’ve had from you people is orders and push back. That is not how this is supposed to work.”

“Guess what, you fat fuck? This is how it works. This is how I run the show, and no fucking pissant former third string football star is going to throw a wrench into these plans.”

“Oh really,” Governor Christian said, trying not to sweat and keep his tone cocky. “Do go on.”

“If you don’t play ball, we’ll find someone else who will,” General Rodgers said, seething.

“Oh, just like that? You’ll have a new election and a new governor installed? It doesn’t work like that. I have to be impeached or I have to step down.”

“Unless you have an unfortunate accident, like what happened with Sheriff Robertson, perhaps?”

The governor screwed his face up, and then it clicked. Sheriff Robertson had just been replaced because he’d died suspiciously and in the same area as… the farm.

“Are you threatening me?” the governor matched his tone and volume.

“You’re damned right I am. You play along, or you and your family are going to disappear forever. Your little girl, she’s what, nine now—”

The governor may have been a third string NFL player in a former life, but one thing he had always been on first string for was shooting. General Rodgers never got to finish that threat. From a shoulder holster, Governor Christian pulled his S&W M&P .40 and pulled the trigger twice. The first shot hit Rodgers in his left eye and exploded out the back of his head. As he fell backwards, already dead, Governor Christian fired a second round that took him under the chin.

Rodgers’ body fell to the side and Governor Christian used his foot to roll the corpse on its back and finished unloading the magazine into the heart of General Rodgers, FEMA Zone 6 Administrator.

“Nobody threatens my baby,” he said softly.

Brenda called and he hit the button to put her on speaker. “Governor, is everything ok in there?”

“It went exactly as we thought it might. He directly threatened me and my family and admitted to having Sheriff Robertson murdered. Did the recording work?” he asked.

“It’s still rolling,” she said, her voice tense and nervous.

“That’s ok,” he told her. “I need a copy of every angle and all the audio from the moment General Rodgers walked into my office. I want the public to know what these guys are capable of, what they’re willing to do.”

“Yes sir,” she said, and he could hear her typing furiously.

“Why am I using this?” Governor Christian said, then did a quick mag change, sending the slide home with fresh brass in the still smoking barrel, and walked out into his secretary’s area.

Brenda had been a great hire. She was in her early thirties. She was smart, attractive, but best of all, she was not a distraction to him. She reminded him of his baby sister, and he had to fight the instinct to big brother her. She was also a wizard with all things electronic and had set up the hidden cameras and microphones all over his office.

“Brenda,” he told her, “when you’re done with all of this, make a note, I’m giving you a raise.”

“Can you do that?” she asked.

“Actually… I think so? Research that too, but after I get the files. Where are Rodgers’ men at? They had to have heard the gunfire.”

“State police have them corralled for now, but we have nothing to hold or charge them with.”

“Good, as long as they aren’t going to be bursting in here. Can I borrow your Rolodex?”

“Sure, who do you need to call?” she asked him,