Bacon (OPEN)
Sept 19, 2012 12:56:19 GMT -5
Post by heartwood on Sept 19, 2012 12:56:19 GMT -5
Words are often forgotten by all types of men. Criminals, officers of the law, the common rancher; every forgets all words eventually, no matter how quick the tongue or how powerful the message. The most skilled speakers can make embed these words in the minds of men for longer periods of time; but it is truly the men of action that make their permanent mark amongst society. Legends become just that through the things they do, the things they say are simply an afterthought. Today would be no different. Decatur Foley wanted nothing more to than to make his mark; his quest to become district ten’s finest instrument of justice had just begun. No crime would go unpunished and villains of any kind would be shown no mercy. The age of lawlessness would soon be over, today marked the age of Decatur Foley; today marked the age of order.
A blade of grass hung loosely from his tightened lips, the freshness of district ten had grown on him. Even if its residents were careless and unruly; there had been many things that piqued his interests. The fruit and vegetables seemed even fresher here than they had in the capitol; the meat was more tender and rich in flavor. But most of all, the grass was clean. Grinding his teeth was no longer an issue, he had found a new oral fixation to calm his nerves and clear his mind. He was going to need all the calming he could get.
He was in full combat gear today. His bulletproof vest protected his chest and back, his helmet fit snugly against his scalp. The chinstraps fell loosely around his ears but tugged tightly at his chin, as if forcing him to keep his head up and his eyes on high alert. The eye shield had been cleaned the night before, his brown eyes could be seen as clearly as the sun in a cloudless sky. He had one hand on the vehicle and one on his pistol. He was happy to have Sergeant Brown at his side; the man may have not been the brightest or the most experienced detective, but he was good with a gun, and that’s all he needed for now.
Astor Price’s ranch was a large one; he had several ranch hands working in the fields. One of them a large boy who seemed like he could lift a tractor, the others were old men who seemed far too feeble to be working outdoors like this. The boy stared at them from a distance, watching. Price had no children; Foley figured the boy was a hired hand, assigned to pick up any slack that the crotchety old men wouldn’t be able to handle. He wondered how much of their boss’s illegal dealing they knew about, and he wondered how much they were involved. Foley had decided he would question them at a later date; for now it was getting dark and if Foley wanted his message to be sent he would have to do it soon.
He spat out the slender green blade and bent down to pick up another; this one had felt even fresher than the last, and a brief smile crossed is face. He watched as the man was taken from his home. He was cuffed and his face was bright red; Decatur figured he had put up a fight, and perhaps he had been drinking. After looking over Astor Price’s resume of crime, it seemed like a fitting end to such a lavishly illegal lifestyle. Mr. Price had organized an entire underground fighting ring, it was the heart and soul of underground gambling. Human cockfighting had become extremely popular; but it was foolish and dangerous. It promoted the wrong ideals; it threatened a youth that had already been tainted by a whiff of rebellion.
As Sergeant Brown grabbed the back of Price’s head and tossed him into the vehicle, Foley made his way to the passenger side door, and fell into the seat as if he had just completed a long day at work; but his day had just started. He turned around to look at the two criminals sitting in his backseat. Price was still flustered and red, he avoided all eye contact and diverted his gaze to the window; Foley already knew he was going to be a problem for the interrogators. The other one, however, looked far easier to break. The tears coming from his eyes had mixed in with the sweat dripping profusely from his pores; his breathing was unmanageable and rapid. His hair was a curly mess, his eyes were bloodshot, and he mirrored Price’s reaction, looking outside the other window, hoping that he wouldn’t be pressed for answers. But he was wrong.
“So.” Foley smiled and looked the two criminals. He settled his eyes on the boy, who had turned his gaze from the window and stared back at him. Sergeant Brown got into the drivers seat, and began moving towards the station in the District Square. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Don’t you love when people say that?” Foley grinned evily. “That’s always what they say on television right? Oh, you guys don’t really have that here, do you? It’s a nice district though, it’s clean…well, at least the place is…the people are just downright filthy. But lucky for you, I’m here to change that.”
He stared at the boy. “Quite a fancy break in you pulled there at the school, boy…Daniel Dillinger, am I right?”
The boy sniffled and nodded. Duck had been caught. He hadn’t planned for the arrival of a new Peacekeeper; Livingston Thomas hadn’t warned him about that at all. Then again, Duck hadn’t told Livingston of his plans. He realized now that it was a huge mistake.
“It wasn’t easy, finding you, you know. We went to your chemistry teacher…what was his name…ah, who cares. But he gave us a list of grades for every student in his class. It didn’t take long to realize that you were the one who had broken in. Seriously, you left the chair there? Perhaps you should have stuck to cooking that filth.”
The chair? Duck had ran through the night over in his head again. He used the bolt cutters to cut the lock. He had his face hidden from the cameras. He used the chair to reach down to the lock. He unlocked it; he got what he needed, and shattered the windows of every door to keep them off his tracks…and then he remember. He left one door unlocked, and he left the chair directly in front of it. Duck’s planning hadn’t accounted for the janitor; he should have hid in the room and gotten rid of the evidence.
“But seriously, cooking in your barn? That’s plain dumb. What if your parents came down and saw? Oh that’s right, your parents. They don’t even know yet do they. Your mom reported some missing morphling from her apothecary a month ago…guess who we’re charging for stealing it.” Duck whimpered, his breathing picked up again. As far as he knew, he was going to prison. He didn’t know what went on in prison; but he was going to be a boy amongst men. They were angry, savage men who would do anything to get their fix of violence. Duck was doomed.
“Leave the kid alone, Pig.” Those were the first words that came from Astor’s mouth, but he didn’t know they’d be his last. Foley took the butt of his gun and smashed it over the head of the older criminal. He was knocked out cold; still breathing, but the combination of alcohol and head trauma proved to be too much for him to withstand. The boy sat tightly watching in horror; he had really done it this time. “Now, I know you couldn’t have gotten by all along with no help. Sergeant Brown here thinks there might be a spy among us, tell me, is that true.”
Duck said nothing but the look on his face was clear as day. “Oh, so there is. Now, are you going to tell me nicely who it is?” Duck said nothing. Ratting out his connection wasn’t going to help him escape prison; in fact, he would be an accessory to treason, perhaps one of the most punishable crimes in Panem. Foley said nothing else; if he wasn’t going to get the information out this way, the message he planned on sending was certainly going to do the trick.
The car pulled up to the station, and Duck and Astor were escorted to the front; but for some reason the doors did not open. There were five whipping posts that had been erected earlier that day; two of them were soon to be in use. Duck’s eyes widened, Astor’s opened, and they both instantly knew what was going to happen. When the doors finally opened, every Peacekeeper in the district came running out. They guarded the perimeter, and soon, a crowd began to form to watch the commotion. The officers were locked and loaded, they warned people to stand back. No one was to run, no one was to make any sudden movements.
Duck and Astor were tied up to adjacent poles. Their shirts were torn from their bodies. Most of the people weren’t surprised to see Astor there, but the boy, he couldn’t have been old enough to commit that serious of a crime.
“Is that Duck?!” someone screamed out from the crowd. Moose Dillinger had been selling some fruit to a merchant when he heard his sons name screamed. He ran over only to be stopped by the Peacekeepers. He and his son had never really gotten along; but he would never wish this upon his own blood.
“Turn them around so they can see their faces.” The rope was loosened just enough to move them around. Their backs were facing the stations and their horror-filled faces stared into the crowd. Tears flooded from Duck’s eyes, Astor just closed them and muttered some cruel words under his breath. Peacekeeper Livingston Thomas couldn’t even watch. His eyes were on Duck but his mind was elsewhere. He had caused this; his addiction had allowed Duck’s ego to grow.
“Now!” yelled Decatur Foley. “Some of you may not know me. But I am Major. Decatur. Foley. Remember that name. If you see anyone doing anything illegal, don’t hesitate to call me. I will be right here at the station, or there will be someone here that can reach me.” He turned to Duck and Astor. There was no smile on his face; this wasn’t a game to him. This wasn’t just something to fuel his need for violence or some odd sense of respect. He message was going to be heard loud and clear. “This is what we call, a public interrogation. There is a Peacekeeper among us, a traitor. He lives to see crime through to the end. He is jeopardizing your lives for money or worse, for drugs. Both of these men know who that Peacekeeper is. One of these men, will tell us.”
Livingston Thomas felt his heart race. Not only would he have to witness the public beating of those he protected; he would soon be tied to one of those posts himself. Or worse, he’d be dead.
“Now.” He looked to Astor first. “Which one of us is the traitor?” Spit flew from Astor’s mouth to his face, only to be stopped by the eye-shield. This time, Foley smiled and threw a fist into his nose. Blood poured from his nostrils, and the whispers began to fill the crowd. Foley nodded to the other Peacekeepers, and the whipping began. Foley looked to Duck who had been staring at Astor in horror. “Your turn son. Just tell us who it is, and we’ll let you go free.” Duck pondered the thought in his head. It would go against every moral fiber in his body, but he didn’t want to go to prison. He simply shook his head and closed his eyes. Foley sighed.
He looked to the crowd and spoke. “This boy, is a manufacturer of drugs. Instead of using his brain for good, he uses it for greed. By the law of Panem, he must be punished. We have given him a chance to clear his name…now, he must suffer the consequences.” Foley nodded and the crowd watched in utter silence as the whip crashed against his back. Alternating in perfect unison, the whips hit Duck and Astor’s back over and over. Astor stayed silent, but Duck wasn’t as strong. He screamed as blood trickled down his leg to his feet. It was a cold and unsettling.
“Now, lets try that again. Who is the renegade Peacekeeper?”
