9-Roadblocks

Roadblocks

Riccardo was broadcasting when they kicked the door in.

The state police presented the warrant after they had smashed the left side of his head with a rifle butt and broke his computers. The biggest outrage (emotionally speaking) came when they smashed his fish tank.

They dragged him from the room in handcuffs as the fish flopped and gasped on the carpet.

“You can’t do that! You Nazi fuckers! “

The heavily armed masked policemen assured him that they could by kicking him in the ribs a few times until he was without air and then coating his face with pepper spray. His cell phone was tossed into the hallway and smashed with a boot heel. Faces from other apartments disappeared when the police pointed their flashlights and rifles their direction.

He had no more capacity for resistance and they whisked him outside and threw him face down into the gutter.

“Riccardo Sanchez. You are under arrest for illicit broadcasting and inciting a riot. “

There were three officers in non-combat uniforms standing over him. One was recording him with a handheld camera. “

The pepper spray was harsh but dissipated quickly. He couldn’t see clearly, but he could speak. It was difficult to get off his knees with the handcuffs on, but possible. He finally did so. “This is outrageous. You men are in clear violation of The Constitution of The United States of America. I demand to speak to your commanding officer! “

The oldest of the three stepped forward. He made a deliberate move of making a fist and drawing it back slowly. His smile was shallow and it never touched his eyes. He wasn’t even angry. This was just a job.

“Sir. I am the commanding officer, and we can do whatever the fuck we want to. You are coming with us. “

The fist held back for a few agonizing seconds and Riccardo looked at it with trepidation, and then finally it hurtled forward to connect with brutal efficiency and speech suspending impact. Riccardo turned just in time to spare his teeth, but his right ear was nearly severed by the large police academy ring the captain wore. Senseless, he was loaded into the car.

His apartment was ransacked, and all over the rooms his equipment was found and destroyed. Two streets away Dave the bartender was handed an envelope stuffed with bills that would be useless by dawn.

He began to come to again inside the back seat of the police car because the smell of vomit and urine was burning his eyes worse than the pepper spray. Two officers were in the front seat, unaware of the fact that he had regained consciousness. He slipped his handcuffed wrists around his legs and felt at the bloodied mess of his ear; it was now screaming, demanding attention.

He laid still. The radios bleated on and his focus turned to the two officers in the front seat.

“Now, that’s performance of a transmission. “ The driver was flooring the accelerator between lights and he had to admit, the shifting was smooth. He could imagine the gas draining by the second as the officer sped hard and braked hard at the intersections.

“Hey, what’s this? Is there a sobriety check point tonight? “

Riccardo eased up. Ahead in the lanes flashing lights were slowing the sparse traffic.

“I don’t think so, “the passenger said. “Check with HQ. See what’s up. “

After a few tries reaching dispatch the officers the car arrived at the at the check point. Ric knew instinctively that the dispatch on the radio was a recording. It was confirmed in his mind when he heard the operator repeat the exact same words and phrases three times in the ten minutes they sat in the crawling traffic.

“What is this? “The driver asked nervously. “Go find out. “

The officer in the passenger seat got out with his flashlight. “ Riccardo was a talker; sometimes he just couldn’t help it. He leaned forward and whispered to the driver. “You guys are going to be held accountable someday. “

The cop turned, his eyes now full of an ugly and hateful authority, and slammed shut the plastic divider put in place to keep the derelicts from spitting into the cab.

“You think so? “

“Yes, I do sir. And about my ruined ear? What is your badge number? “

The officer didn’t get a chance to respond. Riccardo instinctively ducked just in time to avoid the machine gun rounds and the spray of the officers brains. Hot blood splattered onto his hands. The bullets punched clean little circles through the windshield but the seat foam popped out of the back of the seat like blossoming popcorn as the bullets tore through them, just missing Riccardo.

The car door opened and rough hands pulled him from the vomit stench of the floor. He was placed face down on the pavement and the handcuff chain was severed with a pair of bolt cutters. His ears rang from the gunfire and he turned his head just in time to see the officer that had been a passenger executed by two soldiers who then walked to him and pulled him up.

“What is your name? “one of the soldiers said, producing a small computer after shouldering his rifle. Riccardo noticed the other police cars at the roadblock and the small pile of bodies next to them. He motioned with his hands to his ears and shook his head, “No, I can’t hear you. “

The soldier gestured to the front of the road block with his rifle.

“You are free, “he said. “ Go. “

Riccardo looked back at the line of cars. He saw expectant faces looking at him. There was a mother, shushing and reassuring her children. The soldier tapped on his shoulder and gestured again with his rifle toward the open road ahead. Small drones circled the roadblock. The city was losing the lights and grid by grid, it was shutting down.

“Sir? Please move along. “

Riccardo couldn’t help it. He was a citjorn and there was obviously a story here. He had to ask, “Who are you people? “

The soldier smiled a friendly, disarming grin and produced an identity card. The picture showed a smiling face, his badge number was 327456.

“My name Sir is officer Woo. We are the new authorities. “

He smiled and at the same time held his rifle just a little bit higher. “Now please, for public safety, please move along. “ He gestured again to the far side of the barricade. From the pile of bodies by the roadblock where two soldiers dragged his former captors, the same phony recorded dispatch loop played on from a handset radio and blood trailed away to spill into the gutter.

“Sir,” the soldier repeated in a friendly, soothing voice. “ Please, move along, or I will have to place you in a safety detention facility. You are not promoting social harmony “

Riccardo could see now as sweat had fully diluted the pepper spray. Brass shell casing glittered in the moonlight on the ground, in a stark contradiction to the friendly smiles and soft words. He said, “Sir. Yes sir. “

He managed to walk calmly for about ten seconds and then began to run for his life.