Chapter .36
“The republic was shown another glimpse into the lawless, ruthless nature of the resistance today.” Consul Williamson said into the microphone in front of him. “These radicals who fight with such tactics are only proving to everyone the reason why the ones before us failed in the first place.”
Behind the Consul stood the apartment building where the latest incident with the resistance took place. A female correspondent moved slowly, the building behind her, and talked about the shootout. How the resistance moved in on a family whose only crime was their devout support of their government.
“Now,” the reporter said, dread in her eyes, “the innocent civilians who have fallen prey to these ruthless killers live in fear of what will happen next. Will you or your family be next?”
The camera cut to an angry middle-aged man. He held a sign that showed his full support of the USR and its leaders.
“The killing must stop,” he cried into the camera. “If I have any say in it, I will personally take out each and every one of these terrorists.”
“I don’t understand,” another female citizen said into the microphone. “Why can’t they just accept that the world has moved on? They are only causing more pain and suffering for their own little crusade.”
“We don’t want them, we don’t need them, just go.”
Sullivan stood in Captain Fitzpatrick’s office with sweat beading on his forehead. Consul Williamson stood next to Sullivan’s boss behind the shined oak desk. They had not given him permission to sit, yet. The fact that the Consul decided to show his face today meant nothing but bad things to come. Sullivan continued to press the ice pack to the fresh stitches on the side of his head. Williamson leaned over and whispered something in his boss’s ear. The Captain merely shook his head at everything whispered to him.
The inescapable was coming. Sullivan knew that he was about to be reprimanded for disobeying a direct order, but he was so close. He would take whatever punishment they would give him at this point. The only fear he had was soon pushed away. There would be a good chance that the Consul was here to take Sullivan’s badge from him. If he did, then so be it, Sullivan thought. He would bring down the resistance on his own time.
“Have a seat, Mr. Sullivan.” Williamson said.
Sullivan obeyed. He pulled one of the chairs in front of him back and sat down.
Williamson continued, “I’ve been here with your Captain all morning trying to figure out what is going on in this department.”
“Consul,” Fitzpatrick said, “we just need to sit down and calmly figure this thing out. Will over here is one of the USR’s very best. He was only doing what he thought was right.”
“That’s right,” Williamson quipped. “Disobeying a direct order from a superior is ‘the right thing to do’. Thanks for the enlightenment.”
Sullivan was reminded of why he never had any respect for the Consul. He would always come up with some smartass remark if anyone tried to reason with him. The reality was no match for the saint that Williamson made himself out to be on the television sets. He was loud, arrogant, and listened to no one’s voice, save his own.
The detective’s thoughts then shifted to Julie and his little Davie. Julie had been sick for a while now, but she still refused to seek medical care. Sure, if he got suspended or fired he could seek the resistance on his own, but how then could he afford his son’s education? Suddenly, that fear that he suppressed earlier came back to haunt him. He was sure now that this was no “talk”. It would be his termination.
No, you cannot put your son through that.
“Sir,” Sullivan blurted, “with all due respect, I nearly had one of those rebels before I was blindsided.”
Williamson said nothing at first. Instead, he forced Fitzpatrick out of his chair and ordered him to sit down next to Sullivan. There was shame and embarrassment on the Captain’s face as he stood. Sullivan felt bad for his boss, but the greater part of his psyche feared for his own position at the moment. Fitzpatrick’s job security was not at risk here. He could get over the embarrassment later on today while he looked for another detective to take Sullivan’s place.
“Mr. Sullivan,” Williamson said once at Fitzpatrick’s chair, “just what were you thinking last night?”
“I already told you,” Sullivan replied. “I was trying to apprehend a member of the resistance to bring him in for questioning. I nearly succeeded…”
“That’s what makes the USR so great, isn’t it? Nearly succeeding? I’ll tell you something you did succeed at: disobeying your damn orders! Acting like one of those citizens out there would act is not why you are a detective in this department! You are supposed to be above that.”
“I was only doing my job, sir. What I was hired to do.”
“Your job is to obey orders, is that understood?”
Sullivan leaned forward. “The resistance is wreaking havoc out there, sir. You just spoke about it earlier this morning. Something has to be done about them, sir, and I’m trying my best.”
Williamson’s face turned a shade red. “The resistance is for the big fish. You just remember you’re nothing but a flounder in this pond.”
“Sir,” Fitzpatrick interjected, “if I may.”
“Go on, Donald.”
“Like I’ve been telling you, the detective here is one of my best men. He acted on impulse last night, that much is true, but he had his reasons. Reasons I believe are justified, given the fact that the resistance has been at large for months now.”
“You stand by his actions, then?” Williamson demanded.
“To an extent, yes.”
“Then, that doesn’t say much for your leadership skills, does it? Maybe you are the wrong man for this job.”
“Sir…” Fitzpatrick started to get out.
“Enough is enough. Detective Sullivan, you are on indefinite investigative leave while we try and sort this situation out.”
“Sir, I’ve got a family to feed.” Sullivan pleaded.
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you went rogue. But, don’t you worry your sorry little ass about it, it’s with pay.”
Fitzpatrick sighed, “Sir, I believe that it is my call on who to suspend under my employ.”
“My say supersedes yours!” Williamson cried. “So, unless you want a nice, fat suspension of your own, you will keep your mouth shut.”
Sullivan wanted to say something further in his defense, but decided against it. There was no talking, much less reasoning, with a man like Williamson. You just say ‘yes, sir’ no matter how in the wrong he was. Maybe this could end up working out. He would at least still get a check for a couple of more weeks. It would give him more time with Julie to patch up their relationship, what little was left of it, anyway. Not to mention more time with Davie…
He felt a vibrating sensation on his left thigh. Sullivan reached into his pocket for his black cell phone. The caller ID read “DR. RODGERS” in black letters against the blue indigo background. He looked up at Williamson who gave him permission via hand signal to step outside and take the call.
“This is Will,” Sullivan said once outside.
“Mr. Sullivan,” the female voice said through the ear piece, “have you got a moment?”
“Of course I do, what’s wrong?”
“It’s your wife…”