Hashtag activism and Identity Politics

If you haven't heard the story about #BLMKidnapping, I'm going to leave those links for you right here so you don't feel lost as to what I'm going to spend time talking about here.

NSFW:

Fair warning, this is really disturbing. I had to walk away from this story several times when it broke last night on Twitter.

Full Live Stream of alleged attack/kidnapping of a young white man while his four captives scream "F*** White People" "F*** Donald Trump."

You can read about it more here.

or here on CNN

We legitimately have an issue with identity politics in the west. Whether it's race, color, gender, or ideology. The way we choose to identify, creating artificial tribal ‘movements,’ is detracting from the legitimate issues that individuals within these movements have. With the Alt Right, it doesn't matter if it started out as meme-trolling and shit-posting - the label #AltRight is toxic now due to actual racists in the movement feeling legitimized after hiding out in the meme wars. The same way #BlackLivesMatter as a movement became toxic after the Dallas shootings.

This has happened repeatedly with political ideology as well, the Tea Party for example before Twitter was a huge platform, but it happens with Democrats and Republicans too.

There is strength in numbers and that is why we are so drawn to these activist groups because we feel like our voice can actually be heard in the mob’s call.

Here's the reality though: it can't.

Only individuals have messages and only individuals can express an idea with the nuance it deserves: no matter how memetic it may seem.

The Hashtag activism has driven the news cycle and we saw its effect in the Presidential Election. We saw it last night with the #BLMkidnapping. The story broke on Twitter hours before any main stream network began to cover it. It happened in the #AltRight. We saw it with #GamerGate. It's meme-marketing. How catchy and decisive a hashtag can I come up with and use my legion of followers to get it trending? Whenever this happens it's like winding up a nuclear bomb and then walking away! It obliterates the rational thinking of human beings and replaces it with mob-mentality.

My point here is that there is always something heinous happening in the world and we want to be able to do something about those things. The rise in hashtag activism and identity politics is largely due to a complete distrust of, not only the media, but each other. What was the purpose of #BLMKidnapping? Initially it was to spread it around so people could see what was happening but soon it became clear that, because of the political/racial nature of the video, that people were out for blood themselves. 

The issue here is that the Mainstream Media is no longer controlling the narrative to the extent that they have in the past. 

Now the mob is. 

Listening to Sargon of Akkad's live stream today, one of the members brought up a story in relation to the #BLMKidnapping in that something similar happened to a black student in Ohio which was reported on December 20th that received almost no media attention. You can read about it here:

Dietrich High athletes raped black, mentally disabled teammate, lawsuit claims

Are we more informed now than we where with a centrally controlled narrative? No, we're just differently informed. 

Evil exists in the world - I know this is an unpopular idea in 2017. Evil is real and it knows no race or intellect or ideology.  Let me hit you with another one. Evil doesn't happen in thought, it happens in action. We can push the narrative this way and that and cry foul at every instance of evil we see in the world but it will not stop evil from existing.

This is a metaphysical concept. Thoughts are not provable but actions are. One may argue that thoughts and words can influence action but it is indeed only the action that has any sort of tangible reality. Actions, you see, also have personal agency - the people who commit actions are themselves responsible for them. 

So when we blame #BlackLivesMatter, the #AltRight, #GamerGate or any other Hashtag activists we take away the personal agency from the people responsible. Would you take that away from someone who committed these atrocities against you personally? or would you blame an entire group?

Now Black Lives Matter Chicago have publicly denounced this crime which is good and appropriate - even given that there was nothing evident linking the alleged criminals with the activist group. They are covering their ass and disavowing violence. Many on the other side of the mob, however, argue that this could only happen in the culture that was created under the movement of Black Lives Matter. 

I heard a lot of people say the same thing about the culture that would be created under Trump.

Let me say it again, only individuals are capable of good or evil - collectives are metaphysical concepts and therefore have no moral authority. They are merely a collection of individuals. 

This is the Libertarian political reality - that only individuals exist. There is no collective because that's just a concept. Now a bunch of people in a collective do evil, of course the concept takes a beating, it is the aggregate of the individuals.

Now let's be clear: the reason there is so much backlash in the media about this being called a hate crime is to highlight the hypocritical, double standard. Were the races reversed in this case it would, without a doubt, be called a hate crime. With the race-bating climate of the news media, violence against minorities always is spun as being race related whereas it is impossible to be racist against whites. The whole #BLMKidnapping hashtag is a call to action to the media, If race bating are the rules of the game - you'd better be damn sure you play by your own rules.

So what's the solution?

Media is the real X factor here. I just showed two instances of evil in the world, one that wasn't on my radar and another that was in my face. Media consumption creates our narrative construction. While these two stories happened there are likely many more out there that go uncovered in the Mainstream Media because they don't align with the narrative being pushed. It is important to point out hypocrisy in so much as it breaks the cycle of insanity, not to up the stakes for each side. What we're seeing today, however, is a continued lack of self reflection in the media as they are doubling down on the "White racist" narrative - that some how the hashtag is a supremacist movement. It certainly is a reaction to race being the primary motivation as reported by media.

The definition of insanity is repeating a decision expecting a different result. In this case we're winding up that nuclear activist bomb and it's about ready to blow up in everyone's faces.

Be accountable to the people around you and make sure they are accountable to you. This is what community is. It is possible to vet your community - not your hashtag movement. Movements are looking for warm bodies, not individuals.

Love your neighbor.

An American Virtue

I call this blog Spiritual Voluntaryist for two reasons: the first because I noticed a frightening amount of people in the libertarian community speaking out against religion and any form of spirituality because it clouded objectivist thinking – how can you have an objective philosophy if you believe in a make believe man in the clouds who listens to your bedtime stories at night? I take issue with this culturally. First because my own hyperbole made me sick, second because society and social interaction in general are built on a foundation of values. Values come from two places, our family and our vision of the world (which is shaped by belief). Belief is neigh an unconscious act because it shapes our actions regardless of empirical evidence around us; this is why when someone says they believe that people are good they will always believe that no matter how many times they are proven wrong (or right). Without a vision, we are all blind but, if we do not recognize that vision for what it is we can never be freed of our own unconscious, dogmatic biases.

The second is because Voluntarism is something I practice as much as I can in every part of my life. Interactions between individuals should be voluntary at all times and because of this vision I see the immutable immorality of government.

I’ve thought long and hard about American virtue.

What is it? I tried to think of a list of ten virtues that were quintessentially American and every one I thought of always came back to the same idea.

Liberty.

Liberty, not freedom, is the essence of America. It’s why our forefathers came here and why millions still come each year. It’s that, “Don’t Tread on Me,” lifestyle of self-reliance – a virtue in and of itself. The essence of liberty is self-ownership – that everything you do, good or bad, is a product of the self and that no matter what, you will do what it takes to live the life you have always wanted. This in no way means a retraction from social connectivity; liberty reacts well to a strong community where neighbors are also self-reliant and when you work together there is a strong foundation of family and community to support the product of your labor that everyone involved in benefits from.

Liberty is what makes this country great.

We only have liberty through voluntarism.

The people who immigrate to America do so because of the promise of a better life: the American Dream. The only way to earn it is by grasping on to liberty.

You cannot give someone liberty who has never had it, who wasn’t brought up with it bread into their bones. Liberty is our culture – the same way I will never understand Gitano music the way gypsies do in Andalusia – it’s not in their bones.

Consider this: what would become the United States of America was governed by a monarchy that was literally an ocean removed they had to be completely self-reliant. In this realization, they knew that they didn’t owe their productivity (taxes) to someone else who provided nothing for them, or worse, things they didn’t want. Liberty and American Stoicism is born: a mixture of Greek philosophy and Christian values (you can read more about my thoughts on stoicism here).

With every new wave of immigrants that washed up on these shores we couldn’t give them liberty, they had to find it for themselves. In so doing, they formed a kinship with the American people and they too became American.

In the last fifty years things have gotten a lot different for America. We’ve stopped allowing people to find liberty and instead have given them freedom – freedom from responsibility, from accountability, freedom from bad consequences: all of these things that are essentially Anti-American.  

The soil of liberty that our forefathers so valiantly fought and died for is being desecrated not by new immigrants but by politicians and systemic policies that incentivize people to not embrace liberty. It is very important to reject this race-bating narrative: once you do and turn back around to see who your neighbors are it becomes obvious that they are not full of hate – it’s all been a lie to further clip your wings of liberty. Americans want more than anyone for other people to be as free as we are, we wouldn’t have been so easily swayed into war so many times without liberty for those in the darkest dungeon of tyranny as the light at the end of the tunnel.

Liberty is all that we have to give and it is the one thing that cannot be given. Like guiding a drowning victim back to shore with out-stretched arms we can only lead them to liberty; fore if the grab a hold of us while thrashing and sputtering we will both drown.

I’ve asked myself many times over the last few months if, when the time finally comes to lay my Father to rest, will I have done enough for him to know he can leave this world and his son will continue to tend the fires of liberty? Will I be able to look at the land around me and recognize what my Father and Grandfathers fought so hard to protect? Will I shame them by turning my back on what I know is right and let their blood, sweat, and tears be in vain?

No.

I will take the tools I have been given to act in accordance with my vision. To help my friends and family live in a world where they can exercise their liberty through voluntary exchange of ideas and commerce. Where corporations are not buying and selling politicians, enacting policies that benefit them and not the American people. Voluntarism and the democratic system aren't things that go hand in hand, as it requires the minority to follow the majority, but when the choice is between the slave morality of the current Democratic party or an anti-establishment, anti-corruption candidate who is universally hated by those in power, I see it as a clear sign on the path to liberty.

In this election, there is only one vote for Liberty and it is Donald Trump. It will be a hard liberty – one that will hurt – but liberty cannot be given only found. Rarely do the masses go in search of the hard truth, the purity of self-reliance and self-ownership, with the opiate drip of government warming their bellies. This election we have a chance to do just that. Do not turn a blind eye to your ancestors, whose vision of liberty is in your blood. Instead, turn away from Globalists who only think of us as resources to be soaked up and spit out as they move their pieces across the globe. Let’s believe in America first; because if you believe in nothing – you’ll believe anything.

The Enemy of my Enemy

This is a message to my friends and the public in general.

I am a very conservative man. This has only become more true with the birth of my son. I grew up conservative, I discovered libertarianism and was eventually brainwashed in the school of Marxism at university. I have worn every hat there could be in the realm of political ideology but I have always come back to my conservative, liberty minded roots. I have realized with growing anxiety and frustration that; I must share the things that I know. They’re readily available to anybody who’s looking. That’s the problem though, nobody is looking. We’ve all picked our sides and hid in our corners waiting for the general election to be over so that we could get back on with our lives. If the point of American public education is to create an informed voter base, why are we all so eager to hide from that which is so important?

This is a message to Anti-Republican, Libertarian/Anarchists.

Your best chance at a Libertarian President was Ron Paul and the establishment stopped him. I campaigned for Ron Paul in the state of Nevada. I attended the local and state caucuses, taking time off from the three jobs I had at the time to fight for a candidate that had integrity, American values and Libertarian policies. I fought at the Nevada caucus in 2012 to get as many pro Ron Paul delegates as we could to the RNC and we did it.

In the end, it did us no good. Mitt Romney still received the presidential nomination – a conservative who in his private life was a pinnacle of virtue in the Mormon community, too scared of the political establishment and PC culture to show his real values, was incapable of giving the American people the values they so desperately needed to see for fear of political suicide.

The Republican party used these exact strategies against Donald Trump. They used every political maneuver available to them to keep him from the party nomination including wave after wave of establishment Republicans tossing their careers off a cliff like political lemmings to slander him after his nomination. He refused the keys of power offered up by the party leaders to keep his integrity and so they attack him for it. He finances his own campaign to make himself beholden to no-one but the American people and so they attack him for it. Big government and establishment rhetoric are the enemies, not Donald Trump.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

This is a message to Bernie Sanders’ supporters.

The reason Millennials and Generation X liked Bernie Sanders was because he spoke truth to power. He captured audiences because of his principals and his ideas – that people should be able to see a brighter future ahead of themselves. He saw that his democratic colleagues were not following through on their promises to the American people and he acknowledged the anger people felt as the result of shit rolling downhill.

While I fundamentally disagree with Bernie Sanders’s ideas about how to solve these issues we see in America today, I recognize his rebellious rhetoric and his understanding that investing in America is the only way to rebuild our great country – not wasting our time in foreign wars and destroying lobbying groups that have so allowed the United States senators to be bought and sold like commodities to the highest bidding commercial monstrosity.

Much like Ron Paul, however; Bernie’s campaign ultimately failed regardless of how mobilized his followers were. He was undermined by the collusion within the DNC to get Hillary Clinton the Nomination. This was made evident in the Podesta E-mails acquired by Wikileaks. These E-mails are horrifying evidence of corruption and deceit on a massive scale to blind the American public and remove the choice that they actually wanted. This was pinned on the shoulders of Debbie Wasserman Shultz, the then DNC chairwoman but the reality of Hillary’s involvement even on the campaign level should be enough to show the American public just how wicked this woman is. It is a complete and utter slap in the face of our democratic republic which we inherited from the blood of our ancestors. Bernie played his campaign legitimately but lost because Hillary had already bought the keys of power.

The enemy of my enemy is also my friend.

This is a message to CNN and the Mainstream Media.

The Podesta E-mails also showed us something we’ve known for a long time. The vast majority of you are shills for Hillary Clinton and the Democratic party. You are protected under the First Amendment of these United States. Your responsibility is to truth. The nature of politics is that no one person can be an expert and continue with their everyday life. We trusted you to be a guiding force in our lives while we used our precious time to work, be with our loved ones, and make a slice of the American dream for ourselves.

You have lost that privilege.

Alternative media: Twitter, YouTube, Podcasts, and Blogs have surpassed you in impressions, scope, and reach. The people can look for sources they trust instead of being force-fed friendly faced, worm-tongs.

Wherein Glenn Thrush admits he’s a hack and pleads with HRC campaign for approval before it’s published:

http://dailycaller.com/2016/10/17/politico-reporter-sends-story-to-hillary-aide-for-approval-admits-hes-a-hack/

The American people will never trust you again because, as what happens with competition, people have a choice now.

Hillary Clinton wants to remove that choice from you.

http://yournewswire.com/hillary-clinton-vows-to-shut-down-alternative-media/

When people say that the media attacks Donald Trump; that the first debate was three vs. one. Now the Media is saying He is out to get them.

http://www.latimes.com/nation/politics/trailguide/la-na-trailguide-updates-donald-trump-declared-threat-to-press-1476449591-htmlstory.html

The American people show a record low 6% trust in the media -  http://www.activistpost.com/2016/04/death-of-mainstream-media-6-percent-trust.html - while Gallup still puts it up closer to 30%, how could anyone take these accusations seriously? Podesta E-mails give us evidence of Media collusion with the Hillary campaign, Donald trump calls them out for their bias, yet somehow they think we’ll believe them when they try and play the victim?

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

This is a message to the anti-war Left.

Where are you? Do you not see, before your eyes, the woman whose State Department destroyed the Libya then appeared on national television and laughed about it? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fgcd1ghag5Y

And to so clearly have her goals revealed:

https://wikileaks.org/clinton-emails/emailid/6528. This is a woman who, along with her globalist allies within the European Union, created the instability that caused the refuge crisis that Europe is facing today.

I was with you in 2008 when Barrack Obama said he would bring our troops home. Yet, instead of following through on his anti-war platform he began indiscriminately using unmanned drones to bomb any gathering that intelligence showed had members in attendance with ties to al-Qaeda, slaughtering civilians, woman and children alike, with impunity; continuing to destabilize the region and; destroying any and all hope the people living there had of continuing on with a normal life.

Hillary Clinton wants war on a scale that we have only flirted with, in the history of the human race. Striving to control the air space over Aleppo will mean war with Russia. Not another cold war – a hot one. A war with two nuclear super powers where the stakes could mean the end of life on earth. She has already begun to pave the path to that war in the minds of the American people, claiming that Russia is behind the DNC email hacks with nothing but rhetoric to back up her claims.

All the while, Donald Trump believes we should be working together to defeat our common enemy, ISIS.

While Hillary Clinton received funding through the Clinton Foundation by the very people who fund ISIS: http://dailycaller.com/2016/10/10/hillary-in-leaked-email-saudi-arabia-and-qatar-are-funding-isis/ . This in light of the Clinton’s using their foundation for ‘Pay-to-play’ schemes: http://www.judicialwatch.org/blog/tag/clinton-foundation/ .

If you are against war and the growing global conflict that seems to grow ever closer each day, Hillary Clinton is your enemy. It doesn’t matter if you are a peace-loving hippy; a hardline Libertarian espousing the Non-Aggression Principle; a human rights activist; a Husband; a Wife; a Mother or a Father: don’t allow Hillary Clinton to let Aleppo be the place we fight over to destroy the world. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJZRvp6w4wc

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

To teachers and parents who continue to guide children in an effort to help them find a way to solve their conflicts with words and not violence. To conservatives who hide their opinions for fear of libel slander from social justice warriors calling you racist, sexist, homophobic, property destruction or even worse, physical assault due to your political beliefs; Hillary Clinton is your enemy.

Somehow, we have all arrived in an alternate reality where words have more weight than actions. Where once there was civil discourse now there is violence and it comes from Hillary Clinton’s supporters.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJV41gS2c8M

This is a savage beating of a homeless woman. Beaten up by thugs for defending Donald Trump’s Star on the walk of fame after it was vandalized in the night. The thugs then go on to tell her that, “if you’re spreading hate, you get hate.” Words transmit ideas, and it is violence with which they will try and stop us. Hate is shown by action, not by words. Violence is the simple solution when you know the argument cannot be won. Maim and demoralize your enemy and they can no longer bother you with their dissenting opinion.

Celebrities have no class either: http://www.cnn.com/videos/politics/2016/10/08/robert-de-niro-slams-donald-trump-video.cnn – using ad homonym attacks, with no arguments. Celebrities continue to virtue signal that they are so much more intelligent than conservatives that they must immediately resort to the threat of violence to prove their point.

Project Veritas went undercover and found proof of DNC and Hillary Clinton collusion to destroy the moral of Trump supporters; ‘bird-dogging’ them into action or inciting violence themselves to create the illusion of a violent tendency within the Trump support base. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IuJGHuIkzY .

Of course, a candidate cannot be held accountable for the actions of their followers. But they ought to be responsible for the party and campaign they lead. This massive outpouring of violence will only get worse as these anti-social behaviors prove again and again to have no consequences if done against conservatives. Enemies of violence must be enemies of Hillary Clinton.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Finally, the FBI has reopened its investigation into Hillary Clinton’s E-mail scandal. Where thousands of highly classified E-mails were mishandled and threatened national security. FBI Director James Comey initially did not pursue charges against the former Secretary of State. If you’re unfamiliar with the story you can find a work up of it here:

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/06/us/politics/hillary-clinton-fbi-email-comey.html?_r=0

This is a person who has massively mishandled information and then has the audacity to blame the Russians as hackers?

Why didn't they pursue the charges initially? It has something to do with President Obama knowing about her breach in security protocol and doing nothing about it. https://wikileaks.org/podesta-emails/emailid/31077

But an open FBI investigation didn’t stop her from running for President, it certainly won’t stop her from winning it either. With less than two weeks left until the general election nothing short of keeping her from office will make these charges stick.

Donald Trump is the enemy of my enemy. He has charged into this political race uphill onto a fortified position with no support from his party or the media, only the people – his future consistence. His criticisms of America’s foreign police over the last twenty years give me hope that he truly is an anti-war candidate. The reports of his business failings are greatly overshadowed by the action and accountability of his success. He has financed his own campaign, building no coalitions, leaving him responsible to only one group of people – the American people.

Make no mistake, if on November 8^th, your vote is cast for Hillary Clinton you are voting for War. You are voting for violence in the streets. You are voting for a world government where we have no hope of self-governance. You are voting for a 65% estate tax that will destroy the transfer of anything you may have built for your family after you die. You are voting your great grand children’s future productivity away, as we have already spent the money they will someday earn and added it to our national debt.

I pray that the U.K. has shown us the way. That, even under blinding pressure from the media, celebrities, and politicians that BREXIT was racist, it won out and that UK citizens will no longer be a part of the EU. The media today still calls for another Referendum because they can’t imagine after all their hard work trying to brainwash the people they are supposed to serve; they would vote against their corporate media masters. The United States must take their lead and take itself away from the globalist agenda where it can finally make itself great again.

For your family, for your children, for yourselves: Vote Donald Trump.

Immortal Fear 7.1

Image: Archer TV FX

Les and I had been in Honduras for six months. The pay was good and the duty was light.

He found this commission for us and negotiated everything down to the letter. I never really understood why he brought me along on the job but he said, “We were tadpoles together. We were frogmen together. What’s a few more months watching businessmen make sure they don’t get themselves killed?”

He had a point. By SEAL standards, this was a walk in the park. U.S.-Honduran relations had never really recovered after the Iran-Contra scandal in the late 1980s but that didn’t really effect America’s lust for global economic domination, but the current political climate in Honduras shaky to put it mildly. So we followed around business diplomats to make sure that everyone took them seriously.

“Isn’t that the President?” Les asked over the com.

I was standing at the door inside of La Infuega, an upscale restaurant inside of the capital city Tegucigalpa. Today I was basically a glorified bodyguard.

“You think I know what he looks like?” I replied.

“Castonette doesn’t brief us on anything,” he said. “It’s starting to piss me off.”

I made my way around the perimeter of the restaurant. Its large dining room overlooked the entire city from the eleven-foot tall windows covering the southern wall. It was a ritzy place. The table linins were expensive looking and I absently wondered what this place would look like during the lunch rush. At present it was vacant except for the wait staff, the cook, excuse me ‘chief,’ my client and his guest. I stopped before the windows, taking in the view.

“Jumpy Les?”

“It’s a high value target, Bishop. I’d rather not sit out here scratching my balls when political dissidence could be around any corner.”

“- it’s a simple exchange, Mr. President,” Roger Castonette was saying. He had the kind of charisma that took people far in business; an honest face and the gumption to follow through on the plans he made. The gray hair that streaked his temples seemed to lend the man more credibility as though pointing out a flaw to highlight his honesty. “You look the other way and my associates can assist you with your little media fiasco.”

“I am already a very rich man, Siñor Castonette. What makes you think I can’t buy my way out of this,” the President said in a thick South American accent.

“It’s him alright,” I said over the com.

Manuel Zelaya was shorter than I thought he would be. He wasn’t the worst guy as far as politicians were concerned but the political winds were blowing and he didn’t look like he had much of a chance.

“Let me be blunt, Mr. President,” Castonette began, “I have a lot at stake here. My clients are not exactly forgiving men and there are potential competitors everywhere.”

“I am a man of my people, Siñor Castonette. This is exactly the kind of operation that I want to keep out of my country.”

I walked to the kitchen as the server came out with their food and stopped him.

“Déjame hacer—”

“Silencio,” I interrupted, checking his badge. Guns let you do the talking. Everything checked out so I waved him on.

I wasn’t in charge of food tasting or anything. This was just a personnel issue. He gave them their entrées then glared at me on his way back to the kitchen.

“You ever get the feeling Castonette isn’t exactly running a moral organization?” I asked, continuing my patrol of the room.

“You think he would need to hire ex-Navy SEALs if what he was doing was moral?” Les said. “Ever hear of a guy making millions hob-nobbing outside the country just having lunches and meeting dignitaries?”

He was right. I didn’t really like the guy, but his checks always cleared. Six months out here in a third world country was rough. It wasn’t anything like Iraq or Afghanistan though. There you’re in a tent, you’re in a temporary barracks; here though, we lived in the lap of luxury while people lived in wooden shacks and dumped their sewage in their drinking water. On deployment you make accommodations: you see people living like that and you can relate, you’ve got the budget of the U.S. Military behind you so you also have indoor plumbing but here I slept on a pillow-top mattress and stood at the bow of yachts watching for pirates.

“Well there’s illegal then there’s immoral,” I said.

I walked back out to the windows, watching the landscape. It was a beautiful city, if you’re into that rustic, old world kind of thing. We were sitting high atop the metaphorical Mount Olympus, gods looking down upon mere mortals. I saw motion from down one of the side streets.

“We’ve got movement in the eastern sector.”

“I’m on it.”

I quickly walked back toward the table where the two men sat making small talk over their lunch. “Sir, we’ve got movement. I’d like to get you and the –”

Windows shattered as bullets crashed through them. I pushed both men down under the table before propping it up as a shield. “Shots fired, Les.” As soon as the gunfire stopped, I peered over the top with my rifle primed, ready to light someone up. There was no motion in the streets. The shock of sudden violence quieted the room. After a few agonizing, seconds three shots rang out from below.

“Tango down,” Les said.

I breathed a sigh of relief and helped Castonette up who then reached out a hand to help up President Zelaya. I went back over to check the windows. Les waved to me from an ally behind an abandoned commercial block.

“He gonna get his virgins, you think?” I asked.

Les scoffed. “This isn’t Iraq, Bishop.”

“You think Muslims are the only ones who like virgins?”

“What are they talking about up there?”

“They don’t pay me enough to listen.”

“You’re not even curious?”

“You know what they say about the cat.”

“So we have a deal then, Mr. President?” Castonette asked from behind me. I turned to watch the two check themselves over. The glass shattered two of the eastern facing windows; the manager pushed his way through the restaurant staff that huddled in the kitchen doorway in shock of the damage done to the dining room. He ran his fingers through his hair, his wide eyes staring down at the glass covering floor and tables, cursing under his breath.

“You haven’t given me much choice, Roger.” Zelaya replied.

Castonette’s wolfish smile was ear to ear. He reached out and shook Zelaya’s hand. “Excellent. I’ll make sure my associates are in place by this evening.” He removed a pen from his breast pocket and handed it to Zelaya to sign a document he placed at the end of the table.

Castonette waved me over after dismissing the President of Honduras. “You two do excellent work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“The President will be staying with us outside the city for the remainder of our stay.”

“Yes sir.”

He smiled and walked toward the kitchen, speaking with the staff. He’d obviously made progress in his business dealings because the weight of the world seemed to have slipped from his shoulders.

“Whatever it is,” I said to Les, “I don’t like it.”

Immortal Fear 6.2

I looked up at the incoming clouds and realized that the umbrella I was sitting under was wiping wildly above me in the wind and the dark gray skies were drizzling rain down. I packed up my computer and walked inside.

The place had seemingly become a ghost town. I had always assumed hipsters didn’t like the rain, something about ruining their greasy hair-dos, and it looked like the majority of them had elected to head home: their blog forced to wait another day for an update that all their friends would ignore.

I sat down inside and began combing through local news and police bulletins trying to see if there was any information about Philips or my accident in the last couple of days. Luckily in a city this size there isn’t a lot of time for local authorities to talk about menial cases. I did find a report of a solo motorcycle collision reported the night of my accident. It looked like no one had seen the mysterious cars who caused it, only a mangled body. My bike was impounded somewhere in the north city; it would be more trouble than not to get it out. The plates were falsified, as was the registration. They probably hadn’t gotten that far looking into it with how mangled it had been. Even if they had, they would only have found Adam Smith. One of five thousand Adam Smiths who happen to have missing social security records.

It was time to get real. My conversation with Franchesca hadn’t gotten me anywhere and going through my normal channels was bringing me up empty handed. I packed up my computer and walked out into the rain.

It was only a short block away. A place I called home away from base. Andy’s was a bar and grill on the road in Coronado right in the middle of the town, a mile away from base. It was one of a couple SEAL hang outs and after BUDs it had become a place to go where locals would buy you drinks to hear you spout bull shit about what you did as a SEAL. I remember making all kinds of shit up. I’d told a kid once that they made us raise kittens at the start, only to savagely murder them before our graduation. Just so the instructors knew you would do anything for the Team. Mostly, though, we would get drunk and get into fights.

It had been nearly ten years since I had been back to Andy’s. Some things never change. I knew I could still get some intel from these guys. I also knew it would be nice to be in a familiar place for a change.

I approached the front and I was struck by nostalgia. So many drunken nights. It was a badge of honor to show up to morning P.T. hung over. I’m not sure why, but we all felt like a hangover somehow gave you super running endurance. I remember running at the front of the pack, sick as a dog but not even losing my breath. We had gotten into plenty of drunken brawls here, but always taken it outside out of respect for the establishment. The old chalkboard marquee out front had their old Slamburger listed and suddenly hit me: I was starving.

I walked into the cramped little bar. It was definitely a military establishment. The SEAL flag hung on the railings of the banister at the back. It was still early in the afternoon so it was relatively quiet. The short bar was directly to the left and a young Polynesian guy in his mid-twenties was drying a mug behind it. Tables occupied the back of the room near the enterence to the kitchen where a few patrons quietly sat and ate. With the rain, it would likely be a quiet night aside from the locals who braved the weather. I walked down to the end of the bar and took a seat at the bar facing the door.

“What can I get you?” the bartender said.

I took a minute, examining the taps behind the bar as though I didn’t know exactly what I wanted. “Arrogant Bastard.”

He smiled as if expecting that and turned to pour my drink. The TVs were all on Sports Center still going on about yesterday’s happenings. If the Padres were in town, they’d probably be rained out, I thought absently, somehow reverting to a previous life. The kid returned with my beer, setting it on a coaster in front of me.

It was a beautiful sight and a smell to match. There’s something about a freshly poured beer, the first one in a long time. It smelled earthy. I took a long pull from it before setting it down with a sigh of contentment. The bartender was looking at me, approvingly. “Ready for your burger?”

I looked at him questioningly

“I don’t do names very well, but faces I never forget. It’s been about ten years since I’ve seen you around,” he said.

“You must be mistaken, kid.” I said. “Ten years ago, you would have been in grade school.”

He scoffed, shrugging it off. “I’ve been here since I was fourteen, busing tables and what not,” he said. “Burger. Dry. No tomato. Extra pickles.”

I eyed him critically from behind my beer glass before nodding.

He smiled and turned around, entering the order into the register.

“You’re a vet.” He said as he was typing. It wasn’t a question.

“I think you’ve got me confused for someone else.”

“You have to realize that’s our thing.” He said looking about, his arms directing me to the rest of the room. “You guys are family. We take care of family.”

I grunted non-committally. The last thing I needed was this guy to drop his bartender psychiatry on me. I gulped down the rest of my beer and pushed it back toward the bar lip. The kid took it and refilled it without so much as a word. I nodded my thanks to him.

A minute later and a guy came and sat the most blessed item in the world in front of me: a Slamburger and fries. My mouth watered. My eyes welled. My stomach pined. I grabbed the ketchup from a basket at the corner of the bar and began to poor it over everything. The first bite was amazing.

This was my comfort food, mind you. I’m not comparing this to a gourmet porter house – it was better. It was the first thing I’d eaten off base after Hell Week, it seemed fitting somehow that it was my first meal after being dead for three days.

“Just the way you remember it?” he asked.

I took another drink of my beer to wash the food from my mouth. “If you take care of family, then maybe you can help me out. I’m looking for someone. Goes by Philips.”

“Like I said, I’m not so good with names. Describe him?”

“Five-ten. Athletic. Graying hair. Shoots the golf course here once a week or so.” I said.

“You’d have to be more specific.”

I thought for a minute. I could pick Philips out of a crowd, but I hadn’t been up close and personal with him. “Cold blue eyes. Statuesque. Walks around like he owns everything.”

“Have you checked the Hotel del? Guys usually hang out at the bar there if they don’t stick to the club house. There’s also the marina.”

“Not a bad place to start,” I said. I tossed some money down on the bar and stood up.

“You seem like a guy with a lot on your shoulders,” he said. “The Teams can chew guys up. Everybody needs somebody.”

“Thanks for the advice, kid. I feel much better. I think I’ll call my shrink and cancel for this week.” I said turning back to the door.

The door closed behind a man who had just entered. The cold, gray light shining in from behind him made his features hard to see but as the door swung closed and he pulled off his sunglasses I knew I recognized him. Tan. Sandy blond hair. His cleft-chin and set jaw were clenched around a near ever present toothpick.

“I always said if I ever saw you again, I’d kill you,” he said. Seeing him, I was too stunned to do anything. He swung at me with a right hook. He connected.

I was out.

Immortal Fear 6.1

Image: http://www.ecoronado.com/

      I grabbed some cloths, some cash and a driver’s license with the name 'Mike Hilliar' on it. It wasn't fancy alias, he was a car sales men who grew up in Utah and made his way out west to strike it rich when he settled down with a woman. She didn't bear him any children which turned out to be a blessing because she was hit by a bus after he found her sleeping with his manager.

I still like to have a back story in case someone decides to get overly friendly, it keeps me from killing people who get too chatty while I'm on the streets hunting for information. I grabbed the .357 and tucked it away into a backpack with my laptop.

San Diego is an odd place. It's a college town. It's a military town. It's a port city. There's all kinds of shit that goes on here – so you can pretty much find whatever it is you're looking for. The thing is, you've got to know where to find it because as much of a clique town as it is, it's also a tourist trap.

Tourists are good in their own right. Good for banging. Good for swindling. Good for catching people off guard. But knowing what's going down in a city, they're the worst.

I stood on the street and waited for the cab I'd called. The weight of the world sometimes just falls on your back. Grimm needed me to get him a packaged for which I had no information, on threat of eternal pain and suffering. That bitch Sigyn had somehow managed to brand me. It must have acted as some kind of weird leash on me. I would have to find her a way out of Neflheim, again on threat of eternal pain and suffering. Some do-gooder priest was holding on to my gun as some form of salvation collateral, and to top it off I had a job to do. Philips had somehow figured out I had a bullet pointed at his brain and had turned the tables on me, nearly getting me killed.

I don't do well with that. I had more than one reason to want him dead now.

I got into the back seat of the cab when it pulled up and told him an address out on Coronado Island. I may be working under a blue collar alias but I knew the military. Buy the Teams guys a couple of beers and there would be stories all night long, so long as you didn't stop the booze from flowing or somehow make an off handed comment about a chick who happened to be a sister. Hey, shit happens. Live and learn.

In fifteen minutes we were crossing over the bridge. It had been nearly fifteen years since I'd been here as a tadpole. BUDs seemed like an eternity ago but this place had been my home for almost a year and a rush of nostalgia washed over me as I saw the flowers on either side of the road entering the island.

It was an awkward feeling when I was first sent out here. I was a baby face kid with no experience. I'd actually gotten into worse shape after boot camp from having trained back home for the SEAL physical. I was sharp, fierce, and scared out of my mind. I'd made a lot of friends back then, until they washed out. Washing out was shameful. We called them X Division; instead of getting the eagle and the trident, they got a turkey and a mop. It wasn’t just shameful to the person who rung the bell, but to all the rest of the guys in the team who relied on them. You couldn't even make eye contact with the guys afterwards. Maybe it was a machismo thing, but X Division turkeys always had a chip on their shoulder, that and I always knew I was better than them. So I guess I only made a couple friends in BUDs.

Well actually, just one.

The cab pulled up to the coffee shop and I exited taking a breath of the fresh ocean air. It was cloudy out, the marine layer was thick today and didn’t look like it would burn off any time soon. It looked like rain was a distinct possibility, but it was a perfect seventy-two degrees in San Diego. I guess at least I had that going for me.

The coffee shop was a pretty standard chain. By that I mean, it was surrounded by hipsters and wanna-be authors. It was a nauseating sea of horn-rimmed glasses and MacBooks. After grabbed my coffee and took it outside. None of the hipsters seemed willing to brave the wind or impending rain. Privacy was always a blessing.

The great thing about coffee shops isn’t the eye candy or the mediocre, over-priced coffee. It’s the open WiFi network. Whenever illegal things happen, it’s important to make sure your name isn’t attached to it in any way. Using open networks and the host of other tools at my disposal kept me anonymous. Of course the FEDs could show up and search everyone there but I would be long gone by then.

So this is where it gets complicated.

The internet isn’t a thing. I mean, it isn’t one thing. It’s millions of things. Computers actually, linking together sending requests and receiving data. So if you understand what you’re doing, you can look at basically anyone’s business if they’re connected to the internet. Firewalls and encryptions make things more difficult but unless someone was actively trying to stop me, I basically did whatever I wanted.

Now, like most people, Philips didn’t have everything I needed to know to find him stored in one place. I had set aside some points of interest that led me to my first attempt on his life, first among them being his bank account. I had a program watching his IP address to see what he was accessing, the problem was a successful business owner used multiple devices from multiple locations so it was hard to be sure. I had programs set up on his devices to watch for data he was requesting, and from that I could figure out what he was up to. As I pulled up my interface though, all my ties had been severed. Not everything can be that easy.

Damn.

One was still intact, coming from his home. Recent activity showed a lot of social media garbage. Franchesca. One thing was interesting however: divorce lawyer.

That struck me as odd. You don’t pay to have a man killed then have that escalate to divorce. Its pick one or the other. The activity was on going which meant she was still at her computer.

I did some quick coding, embedding a script enabling her webcam then set up a virtual desk top, allowing me to see what she was doing visually and remotely control her computer. Her face popped up in my screen. She was laying on her bed, her dark brown hair pulled up in a high pony-tail. Even though she wore no makeup and what I can only assume were yoga pants, she was still hot.

Stop what you’re doing. I wrote, I can see you’ve called an attorney, you think he can’t?

Her eyes widened as she read the small black text box that popped onto her screen. Her brow furled down in concern.

Who is this? What are you talking about? She returned.

No thanks, not taking questions today. Only answers. Where’s your husband?

She got up and walked out of my line of sight then. I can only assume it was to check and make sure she was alone. She walked back on screen and I saw they were indeed yoga pants. Hot.

She crossed her legs pulling the computer to her lap, giving me a much better view of her cleavage than her face. What do you want with him?

Just trying to finish my job.

I watched her breasts rise and fall as she took a deep breath. She really did look good for an older chick. He’s been gone for days. I don’t know where he went. His assistant won’t tell me anything. Why is this taking so long?

Admittedly this job hadn’t gone the way I’d planned it but I’m always surprised at how uppity people get when you fail to kill someone on their projected time table when they’ve given you a lot of money. It speaks volumes to the morals of man. Cash is king.

There was an incident. I may need a plastic surgeon. Maybe you could recommend yours?

What the hell is that supposed to mean? She wrote.

Your tits look real. It’s like you’re twenty.

She covered herself at that, looking about the room wildly.

Relax. I wrote, This job just got a lot more complicated. I’m going to need a bigger up front deposit.

You don’t do the job then you ask for more money? Is this how it’s going to work? I’m thinking about cutting my losses and going with the blood-sucking lawyer.

Not a great idea, I wrote. He’s onto you. He nearly killed me three nights ago. You think he hasn’t put it together that you hired someone to do it?

She clenched her teeth in frustration and typed in what I can only describe as a fury: Well then I’d better turn you into the police. Then I’ll be a hero.

That would put you in a difficult situation. You hired a killer to handle your marital problems. You think I won’t put a bullet in you to protect myself?

That rattled her. I watched her struggle with the situation. I took it as a point of pride not asking for more money than I quoted but this had gotten out of control and I was ill prepared for the shit storm that was about to follow. Think of it this way, you’re spending money to give him a fancy execution. People love it when you spend money on them.

I can’t, I don’t have access to the accounts right now. He froze them or something.

Well you’d better dip into your charity fund then, I don’t leave enemies I’ve made around to haunt me later on. Three-thousand. Cash. Bring it to Saint Ann Cathedral. Ten A.M. tomorrow. With that I severed the connection, overwriting the section of her hard drive that had housed our conversation. She would be looking at an emoji of a smiley face with a bullet in his head in place of our chat window. It was harmless and would go away once she shut her computer off but it always seemed to get my message across.