D.C. RIOTS (Anonymous Justice Book 3) Read online

  “This is a Judeo-Christian country, by choice. The attempts to spread other, more radical religions and ways of life have been tolerated for too long here! Our forefathers won freedom and equality with their very blood, and we will not tolerate any attempts to abolish those freedoms!

  “This is a land of free people, with slavery outlawed, and the separation of church and state embraced. The majority of Islamic sects are bent on reversing those values. A small minority of sects recognize and follow our laws. We want this location to publicly state which they represent!”

  The crowd cheered, bounced their signs up and down, and pumped their fists into the air while chanting, ‘Black Lives Matter’, ‘Say No to Slavery’, and ‘Down with Radical Islam’. As reporters tried their best to ask questions, the crown turned up the volume to drown them out entirely.

  Viewers all over the country stopped and glued their eyes to their news network of choice to watch. All were represented, at the largest of the five Islamic establishments in D.C. Viewers that normally refused to listen to anything Black Lives Matter had to say, found themselves voicing their agreement aloud, surprising themselves. For once, they felt unintimidated about voicing their opinions about this subject to their friends. An unexpected, but definite alliance began to take shape in America.

  Chapter 3

  Miller: Hamtramck, MI 5:00 p.m. Friday, Jan 15th, 2016

  In Hamtramck, Michigan, Detective James Miller was notified by Special Agent Mark Clay of the FBI that the two of them would be headed to Washington, D.C. in one hour. Permits for protests at Islamic locations encircling the White House had been issued to BLM, and there was already action.

  Once in the air Clay said, “There has been discussion in Anonymous Justice about the organization of these protests, and the locations of every mosque or Islamic center in the whole United States has been posted, sorted by state. I went there and looked almost immediately after I was informed of this, and the details about it, along with that list of locations were already posted. I’m beginning to wonder if this AJ character is one of the leaders of BLM. He knew that they were going to apply for those permits, before any of the BLM membership did.

  “Then there was the deal of them being at that gun shop in your territory. Why they were there, didn’t make any sense then, but it sure does now! They knew to keep separate from the Islamic protesters, and didn’t engage in the violence.”

  “Why don’t we just have Anonymous Justice taken down?” asked Miller.

  “That’s already been debated,” Clay said. “Our cyber team tells us that they’d just resume talking, only at their blog, where we’d have much less ability of seeing what they’re doing. At least Facebook cooperates fully with us. I guess, somehow, anonymousjustice.org is registered to a fictitious person in Egypt, and is moved from server to server randomly. Once, it tracked back to Hamtramck CSI’s mailserver, but they couldn’t find it, even though they were physically right there. AJ was obviously taunting us with that. Cyber is baffled, and says that Anonymous Justice must have an Internet genius working for them. Sooner or later they’ll screw up. Everyone does.”

  Miller debated telling Clay that he’d been lurking in the group too, but decided against it. For now.

  “What exactly will we be doing in D.C.?” Miller asked.

  “You and I are going to play reporter, with an actual local news team that cooperates with us from time to time. They’ll be ready for us when we step off the plane.”

  “What about that Sensitive Operations whatever bullshit?”

  “We aren’t, under any circumstances, to set foot on the mosque’s property. The sidewalk in front of it is as close as we get.”

  Miller shook his head. “You know, stupid shit like that, tying our hands, is exactly why these people get away with what they do!”

  “I know. I know. Our goal is to hit all five locations where protest permits have been issued, and get video and voice of the leaders of each group. We’ll take that back with us and let our CSI guys have a go at identifying them with facial and voice recognition.”

  “That’s good,” Miller said. “Maybe that’ll tell us whether your theory that AJ is with their organization is true or not. Who knows where it’ll lead, but it’s a damn good idea.” He went on to say, “Oh, and just so you know, even though this Anonymous Justice group has technically committed criminal acts, I’m personally not convinced that they’re the real enemy here.”

  Clay met Miller’s stare for a moment, trying to see what was going on inside his head, and then said, “Agreed. Be careful where you say that though. That sentiment is not shared publicly by by our superiors. Saying that to the wrong one is a good way to ruin your career.”

  “There! What you just said, is exactly what Anonymous Justice is against!” Miller said. “Letting shit go on, because of the fear of the consequences of speaking or acting against it!”

  “And you know this how?” Clay asked.

  “Well, you’re not the only one in there with a fake account, let’s just say,” Miller told him.

  Clay just looked back down at his smart phone, a thoughtful look on his face, not saying a word.

  Chapter 4

  Washington D.C. 2:00 p.m. Saturday, Jan 16th, 2016

  Twenty three year old Kat Francis was a student at a local technical college, studying creative writing. She dreamed of a career in journalism one day. She’d seen the special report that Jermane Williams had done the night before last, thinking;

  Someday, that’ll be me!

  Then last night, she’d seen footage of BLM protesters at the mosque just four blocks from her apartment, and knew what she had to do. Under normal circumstances, she’d be too timid to attend a protest, but she knew she had to get over that. It had looked well organized and orderly. She decided how she would spend her Saturday: by taking her digital video recorder and attending day two of the protest, for some experience.

  When she opened the door of her apartment, she paused on the stoop to listen for crowd noise. Hearing nothing, but seeing a cold, crisp, sunshiny day, she made up her mind. She pulled her knit cap and scarf on, slid on her matching mittens, and headed down the brick sidewalk towards the mosque, with her video camera swinging from her neck. After half a block, an acquaintance from her journalism class emerged from another walk-down. Seeing Kat, she automatically joined her.

  “Hey Kat! You headed to the protest?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Are you?” Kat wracked her brain for the girl’s first name, but came up empty.

  “Julie,” the girl said, with a grin. “Julie Ferris. I see the wheels turning, trying to remember it!”

  “Sorry,” Kat admitted. She felt much better walking towards something that frightened her with someone else. She’d never had one second of trouble since arriving here for school, but her mother’s worried voice was still on her mind, warning her of the dangers of going out alone in the city.

  “It looked pretty safe on the TV last night,” Julie said, referring to the protest, “were you there?”

  “No. It’s because it looked so organized last night, that I decided to go today, for some experience. I’m a big chicken,” she admitted.

  “Me too,” Julie fibbed.

  * * *

  Thirty eight year old Joshua Durham walked out the front of his store saying, “I’ll call you and let you know what it looks like in a few. I’ll walk the long way home, and check it out for myself.”

  He was talking about the BLM protest around the corner from the store, at the mosque. Last night, about fifty to seventy five people had gathered there. They were peaceful, and had dispersed at 8:00 p.m. like their permit said.

  “Alright man, I just want some warning if they start acting like idiots, so I can roll down the armor. I’d rather lose some business, than lose the business!” Eric said.

  This was their first year as partners in The Corner Liquor & Deli. Josh worked the morning hours and baked the specialty breads that they were famous for
, right inside the window, where everyone on the sidewalk could see. When the weather permitted, he opened the window so the aroma drifted outwards.

  They had a coffee club, with an honor box for money fastened right to the counter, next to the fixings. The idea initially was to get people inside the door, to smell the fresh bread baking, so they’d stop by after work to pick up dinner. What they discovered was that it was actually extremely profitable. People paid in even dollars and Josh didn’t have to stop and clean his hands every time someone came in the door. He had a gift for remembering names, and used it to his advantage. Everyone was greeted warmly, and personally. They seemed to really like that.

  Thirty five year old Eric Burgess worked the evening hours to build and sell the sandwiches. They sold out every day, and when they were gone, they were gone. It worked for them. If they had anything left, it was dinner for themselves. They couldn’t afford to hire any help yet, but they were getting close. Even though they each had a specific ‘shift’, neither of them could stay away, and frequently came in and out while they were ‘off’.

  They had planned well, and had been profitable in six months. Their equipment and inventory was now all theirs, free from debt. Everything inside the store, was everything they had in life. Eric had talked Josh into buying the roll-down security grille that covered the front door and window, to protect their investment.

  Two blocks from the store, as he turned the corner onto 4th Street, Josh could see flashing lights, and a huge mob of people behind them in the street. Way more than last night. He walked straight towards the lights, to see what there was to see. As he got closer, and passed the policemen that were back aways, he could tell that about half of the crowd was actually news people hungry for a story. The protesters were about half white and half black, which was just about how this side of town was. The thing was, Josh didn’t see anyone except cops that he recognized. He stayed back, on the sidewalk on the other side of the street, and walked slowly but deliberately past them.

  “Yeah Eric, there’s about twice as many protesters here as last night, but there’s a shitload of reporters. Right now it looks peaceful. I’m gonna go to the apartment and shower, change clothes, and start some laundry. After a bit I’ll come back by and update you. Looks like no worries right now,” he said into his phone.

  “Cool. I was a little bit worried,” Eric replied.

  Both of them had watched in horror when a protest had turned into a riot in Baltimore not too long ago, and business owners had paid the price for it. That was another reason Josh had agreed to the expense of the security curtain.

  * * *

  Forty five year old Richard Yates had walked a mile and a half down the sidewalks from his house to the mosque to gather what information he could, in order to report back to Anonymous Justice. AJ had asked those that could to do so. He could, so he would. It wasn’t something he had to think much about. He had been present in the conversation online, as AJ had typed it. He was using his faux identity, RU American. Nobody knew that was him. Not his mother, not his brother, and certainly not his girlfriend. He thought of himself as a real American patriot. He believed in the Bill of Rights and the Constitution. He also believed that there was too much corruption, and too many rules that didn’t make sense. He saw all around him the fear that his friends and family had of speaking their minds and the honest truth about what they thought. Then he’d found Anonymous Justice, and AJ, the leader. He’d found a voice that urged people to overcome those fears. A voice that gave them the confidence to do the right thing. To cut through the crap, and just do the right thing when it needed to be done.

  He nodded to the officers politely as he passed them on the sidewalk. He’d made a mental list of questions that he thought were important. How many protesters are present? About one hundred and fifty or two hundred. How many law enforcement? Eight. Two on either end of the crowd on both sides of the sidewalk. Around a twenty to one ratio. Perfect. Expected. Is there any evidence of the crowd being armed? He walked among them specifically looking for that, and saw nothing. News media? Yes. He could see eleven microphones in and around the crowd, that meant four supporting each reporter. One camera person, and two bodyguards. A reporter couldn’t possibly do their job and watch their surroundings at the same time. That was also true for the camerperson, with their face in a viewfinder. Most people didn’t know little facts like this. Yates made it his business to know things. That meant one hundred fifty protesters out of two hundred present. Racial composition of the protesters? Fifty - fifty. Men to women? More women, by quite a bit.

  Yates went to the rear of the crowd, right in the center, so he had most of the protesters in his line of vision. There were two young white women just to his right, talking to some other women who were part of the protest. They caught his attention for some reason. They didn’t fit here. Then he got his answer. The young woman with the video camera introduced herself to someone else as Kat Francis. As she talked, the other young woman watched the crowd. Playing bodyguard. Students. Following procedure, by the book. Then Yates caught sight of a straight vertical line just below the waistline of the second girl, under her jeans. She was carrying! They’d be easy enough to follow, by the matching bright blue and purple knit hat, scarf and gloves that amateur-video-girl had on.

  “Hey man, having any luck getting any of the people from the mosque out here to talk?” he asked a couple of men holding signs that said, “Black Lives Matter” and “Down With Radical Islam.”

  “Naw brother! Ain’t no one said a word yet today.”

  “No spokespeople from the mosque?”

  “Naw.”

  “Alright, thanks man,” he said, looking over his shoulder for amateur-video-girl. She’d moved on to someone else. Girl-with-gun-in-pants had pulled her jacket down, and was still watching out for her.

  Probably doing this for an assignment at school. Yates brought his hands up to his mouth to blow on them. What he was really doing was checking his weapon for position with his bicep for the hundredth time since he’d left home. He didn’t have any intention of letting the Kel-Tec PMR-30 fall out from under his left armpit and get him busted for carrying an unregistered handgun, illegally concealed.

  Yates stood still and pivoted on one foot, looking all around him. This didn’t look like anything to worry about. He wouldn’t stick around long. Didn’t want to be noticed.

  * * *

  Just at dusk, Josh Durham strolled by the protest again, but across the street, as he headed back to the store. He would be able to assure his business partner Eric, that there was nothing to worry about tonight. That was a relief.

  * * *

  As it began getting a bit dark, Yates worked his way to the rear of the crowd, who were now chanting, “Say No to Slavery”.

  Must be someone walking in or out.

  As he turned right to begin his long walk home to report to the AJ group what he’d seen, he passed amateur-video-girl and girl-with-gun-in-pants. He smiled, and nodded politely as they passed. Twenty steps down the sidewalk, he turned and saw them just passing the officers at the left end of the crowd.

  If I had a daughter, and she was out here at dusk at a thing like this, I’d blow my top!

  * * *

  “Well, that was interesting,” Kat said, adjusting her scarf to block the cold breeze that had begun to blow a little while ago.

  “Pretty calm. I guess we were worried for nothing,” Julie said. “I’d thought there’d be more anger or something. Hey Kat, do you have class tomorrow?”

  “No. Nothing. You?”

  “Nope. You wanna come by for coffee in the morning, look at the video, and maybe go again? I’ll bring my camera this time.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Kat agreed. Making a friend here would be a good thing. She really hadn’t made any yet.

  “Say about ten?”

  “Sure! See you then. Dress warmer tomorrow. You look frozen.”

  “Yes, mother,” Julie laughed,
and waved.

  * * *

  At 9:00 in the morning, Kat walked down the quiet empty sidewalk, marveling at how many squirrels were bounding through the frost covered grass, looking for something they’d hidden out there, somewhere. They always made her smile, and feel happy.

  What a change from twelve hours ago!

  Kat crossed the corner on an impulse, before going up to Julie’s apartment. She thought it would be a nice gesture to bring along a small loaf of cherry quick-bread to go along with the coffee. The Corner Liquor and Deli were famous in the area for their fresh baked breads of all kinds.

  “Good morning Josh,” she called out cheerily, as she dropped a $5 into the honor box to cover the cherry bread.

  “Hi Kat. How are you today? Did you go to that protest yet?” he asked.

  “Yeah, yesterday. I went to video some of it, and get some experience at things like that. I’m basically a big chicken. I’m going back today after viewing the footage from yesterday with a new friend. She actually lives right across the corner. Do you know Julie Ferris?”

  “I do!” he said. “Nice girl. Pretty much a tomboy. I think she does the same thing as you in school, and studies martial arts on the side.”

  “Oh, that last part was something I didn’t know,” Kat said. “That’s good though. She’s body guarding for me today when we go back.”

  “Well, tell her I said hello, would ya?” Josh asked.

  “Sure will.”

  “You girls be careful over there. We’re gonna close up if it gets rowdy at all. There’s nobody out on the streets while they’re at it anyhow,” Josh muttered.

  Chapter 5