(Lies, damned lies, and - ) FICTION

The Bottom Feeders

We are the bottom feeders. No morals, no scruples, no cares. I admit it. Maybe I should have been different, but I am what I am. I was never one to hesitate. Being careful wasn't in my DNA. We play with the hand we're dealt.

It started back in the first decade of the century. People were fearful, and when the people are fearful, the dark side takes over. Civil rights out the window. Wars for no reason other than to pad the pockets of the corporate elite. Torture becomes the norm and prisoners are held forever without being charged. Documents like the constitution go out the window, all under the guise of "protecting" the people. States start passing laws that allow people to shoot and kill each other just because they don't like the way they look. Heck, it was fine for guys like me. We get to go out and do whatever we like. You don't like it? Hey, I feel threatened by you - bang bang, you're dead. You look a little different from me? I turn you in as a terrorist. Welcome to the world of water boarding and forced feeding. Have a nice day. It's a great gig for the cons and thugs of the world. While the cops are overworked and money for real police work is stolen by the big guys, we do and take whatever we want.

We did, at least, until last week. I'd called McGuin to meet me over at Green Lake, a nice park that was actually still being maintained, though only because of the type of citizenry living around it. I think the mayor or someone lived there. Nice parks draw lots of nice people out for a rare sunny day here in our part of the world.

"Hey, man," McGuin said when I spotted him strolling along the walking trail. It was one of those days where the birds were singing, the lake water sparkled, and the warmth had everyone out in shorts and t's. An old geezer was sitting at an easel by the shoreline, at least until McGuin brushed by, spinning his painting into the mud. The geezer looked up, but kept his mouth shut. Smart move. McGuin was a force to be reckoned with. He laughed and kept walking. I'd known McGuin since high school, when he'd regularly extort cash from the other students, and eventually built up a lucrative drug business, distributing for a guy who worked for a guy who worked for a guy connected to an operation out of Columbia. Those skills he developed in high school would serve him well. Nice wheels, nice digs, nice threads, though, still the meanest thug I ever knew. Had sort of that "surfer" look, longish blonde hair, but steel gray eyes that gave away the animal inside.

It was a scene of peace and tranquility, ripe for the picking. Kids with balloons and tourists taking pictures. That means fun and games for the bad guys. I watched McGuin, smooth as glass, lift a purse off a picnic table, remove the wallet, then replace the purse where he found it in one smooth motion, while nodding and smiling at the woman holding her baby. He even made a little face at the tyke and the woman smiled. Like I said, the man was good.

"Leave em smiling, I always say," he said, grinning, as he slipped three credit cards and some cash out of the wallet and dropped it in a trash bin.

By noon we'd collected quite a sum of cash and were just sitting back on a bench, watching the world go by when we heard the buzz in the distance. At first, it sounded like the bees patrolling the nearby flower beds. But it got louder, and people started looking up and off to the west. Suddenly someone screamed and the mob mentality took over. First, a few people were running, then they all were. Running wildly, frantically, toward our bench. Off to our right, near the water, the woman grabbed her baby and started to scream. Funny how such a scene of serenity can turn to a scene from the worst disaster movie in mere seconds.

Off to the west, the sun gleamed off the polished carbon fiber bodies of the drones. Three of them. They spread slowly, as though they were surrounding the lake and park, herding the people off in one direction. We stayed on our bench as they swept overhead. There was no escaping them anyway. But this time there was something different - something not quite right. They were not the drones of our government, the ones to make us all safer. No, these were different. They didn't stop, they didn't pursue, they didn't destroy. They passed over and vanished into the distance. They weren't ours.

"I can't believe our luck," said McGuin, grinning again. "Look at all this loot!"

"Yeah," I said, "luck for right now." I followed him, gathering up the valuables left behind, the sun still shining warmly.

"What do you mean," he asked. I could hear more buzzing growing louder, from all sides.

"Looks like we're not the only ones with the drones anymore," I said. I was right.

From across the Pacific, the Atlantic, down from Canada and up from Mexico, they came. The rest of the world had had enough of the aggressive totalitarian war machine. It was being stamped out. It was a new world order. When the people trade liberty, as one of the founding fathers once said, for security, they deserve neither.

Not to worry. McGuin and I would do just fine. Always a market for bottom feeders.

END