Mr Jeffries’ Retirement: Part One

 I checked the stack one last time, looking everyone in the eye. They each nodded curtly back in silent acknowledgment: Ready! I cleared my mind and focused on the moment. I was ready too.

“Mr. Jeffries! I’m Gary MacColeman from the FRA! Open the door!” I shouted around my riot shield. There was some muffled, angry shouting and shuffling inside - and then two bullets came through the door and smacked hard against my plexiglass shield. The squad had their shields up in earnest now too. I winked rudely at the cue and started silently counting off on my fingers. Three. Two. One.

Time slowed to a crawl as I kicked down the flimsy door and charged through. Sounds and perspective altered as I isolated the target: a grubby old man in a stained and soiled bath robe. He cut loose with the pistol again, and I charged him with the shield up high out front. I barely felt the bullet impacts. Another couple steps and I swung the shield like a weapon and knocked the pistol away. My other arm was around him and I slammed my helmeted forehead hard down into his face. The frail old man slowly folded and fell away as if in slow motion.

In an instant time and sound resumed its normal flow. My squaddies swarmed to the sides and in front. The pistol was gathered up, and calls of “Clear” came from the adjacent rooms. One of my men howled. “Watch it! The fucken old bastard bites! He bites!!! Son of a bitch!” A few thuds from heavy blows ended the struggle.

“Everyone alright?” I called, doing a mental roll call. Everyone chimed back affirmatively. Adrenaline was still dumping into my system but I could start to relax. 100 MPH tape began to tear, and the boys trussed the old geezer up like a calf. “Mr. Jeffries graciously gave us permission to search the premises, Captain MacColeman!” a squaddie called. I nodded and told patrolman to begin. On the counter I spied a humidor and idly peered inside. Astonishing…some higher end Dominicans rested inside and I helped myself. With shaking hands I lit it and inhaled the pungent smoke. The old man writhed rage and strained at his trusses on his own living room floor. “MMMMMMMMMFFFFFF!!! HMMMMMMFFFFFF!!” I smiled back at the old man. “Your hospitality is sincerely appreciated Mr. Jeffries!” The old man glared back at me. The boys had put enough duct tape across the old man’s gob to prevent any further biting. Good boys!

The pistol was on the coffee table and I picked it up while the search continued around me. “Fergie - you’re a gun nut aren’t you? Did you know Nightforce is making 1911’s now?” Ian Ferguson came over to admire the pistol and sighed. “Be a shame to drop that sweetheart in the shredder Captain. What’s the old duffer doing with a gat like that?” The boys had already tagged it but I pulled out my Leatherman and clipped it off. A box of shells turned up in the search - Black Talon hollow point shredders. I gave those to Fergie too. “I’m sure you can find a good place and use for it Ian. Just don’t let the Seargent see it”. I made a mental note to make sure the theft wouldn’t appear in any paperwork or patrol reports that I would do later today. Don’t need that to come back and bite us on the ass.

Outside a random burst of gunfire rang out. The big 50 on our Hummer out on the street replied and The squaddies chimed in with some 5.56. “Ya just about wrapped up, in there, Captain? It’s getting hot out here and I really think we should be going…” the Seargent sounded stressed in my earpiece.

“Be down in a thrice Seargent. We’ll have one guest. Out.” I grabbed the rest of the cigars out of the humidor and put them in my shirt pocket. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us, Mr, Jeffries! Apparently we’ve overstayed our welcome and your neighbours are getting impatient…!” I took one last look around the dirty little apartment. “That’s enough lads! Let’s go! Get a move on!”

 ***  

Down in the apartment foyer a big, fat black woman watched us as we wrestled the old man along. “You wit da Feds? Relocation Authority?” She asked. “Yes ma’am,” I replied. “Our records indicate that the old man was the last white person in this building. To your knowledge - are there any others? We’ll be happy to remove them too, and turn this neighborhood over to it’s rightful black owners…”

The black woman stared back at me with flat, soulless dead eyes. “Just dat creepy ass ol white cracker,” she said. “When are da food and water trucks coming? Folks’ll start to starve and thirst to death soon!”

“This should be the last of the whites in your area miss. Now - if I can get him out of here without getting shot…I think the first supply trucks should be here shortly after we leave.”

“Dey better be, Mr Fed! Dey damn well better be!”

I wished the woman good day, and sprinted with my men to the Hummers. Bullets smacked into the asphalt as we ran to the truck and ricochets whined. It was lucky for us that niggers can’t shoot worth a damn…

Idly I wondered what they’d shoot at once we left. The Great Replacement was being followed by The Great Relocation, and me and my squad were watching history unfold.