Piggies,

I'm trying something different this week. Below is a section of a 5-part series of fiction I've put together. I'll be releasing a section every day this week, since the whole story is over 5K words and a lot to read while sitting on the toilet (gotta keep the blood flow to the legs, na'mean?).

This is a work of fiction, names, etc, are all made up. But the theme is very real. Based on an incident that happened in California last week, where a man was arrested and charged with attempting to assassinate Donald Trump, simply because he had weapons in his car as he was driving by a rally. The driver, a Trump supporter, was a mile from the venue and claims the weapons (a shotgun, a pistol and one AR-style magazine) were for his own personal protection since he's had several death threats issued against him. The DoJ is not pressing any charges, but the local sheriff (a staunch Trump supporter) is. Not to sound alarmist, but this is a blueprint for how law enforcement will be weaponized to seize firearms from law abiding citizens. Simply paint a narrative that they're "terrorists" and there you go.

As I write this, Trump is holding a rally exactly .5 miles away from my new home, in downtown Lancaster, PA. Mrs. Pipehawk and I are hunkering down, knowing the already traffic-jammed neighborhood will likely be complete chaos as the day goes on. I'm real on the fence about walking down there and people watching, honestly, but this clam chowdah isn't going to make itself.

ANYway, put your pink little snout into this cautionary work of fiction.

-Jim @ PHC

--

Delmonaco couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

"Why would I assassinate a federal judge's kid? How would I even know he's there?"

Agent McCleary produced another document from the stapled packet, tearing it out with a firm pull. He presented it to the kneeling man. It was his voting record.

"Says here, you've voted one particular way for the last, uh," McCleary glanced at the paperwork. "Since 2004. You're a Through Blue Democrat and a staunch ANTIFA. You'll be coming with us tonight, sir."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" The woman screamed from her knees.

"Shut her up," the fed said. An ATG member back handed her across the face, the ceramic knuckles on his gloves cutting her above the eye. Delmonaco tried to get to his knees.

"Leave her alone you fucking fascists!" A boot, from Tony, caught Delmonaco square in the face. There was a soft crunch as the nose broke under his heel. The homeowner went flat, breaking his wrist in the process.

​

"Fuck, good one, Tony," someone said. Tony smiled to himself, he felt the tide turning from earlier in the day.

"Oh shit, one of her tiddies is out," another cop said, standing over the woman, weeping on the floor. To her left, her knocked out husband. To her right, on the other side of the couch, her dead dog. There were some soft chuckles from the cops standing over her. No one helped her regain modesty.

"Find the guns, bring them out," McCreary commanded. "We got more houses to hit."

Tony departed with the rest of the teams, tossing the house. There was nothing systematic to it, like he learned in academy. Items were thrown to the floor, smashed open, dumped out, kicked over. The men were laughing. In the master bedroom one ATG cop found Mrs. Delmonaco's vibrator and used it as an improvised microphone and sang into it.

Tony laughed with the rest of them. He felt part of the team again.

He pulled open a closet door, ripping the clothes out and throwing them on the floor. Tucked way in the back was a long box with the Anderson MFG logo in big letters across the front. Porcaro reached in and hefted it out. The weight was indicative of an AR15 being inside.

Next to it, was a small blue hard case with the Berretta logo. He pulled that out.

"Gun! Gun!" Tony called out. Team members swarmed in, standing semi-circle. Porcaro dumped out the Anderson box and found an AR15 rifle, no optic, no magazine, the safety cable lock still running through the ejection port and magwell. It looked like it had never been fired. The Berretta pistol, an APX compact, also looked brand new in box.

The age, the house, the unused guns, things weren't adding up for Tony. But the guys, his teammates, were clapping him on the shoulder.

"Good find dude," one said. He nodded.

"Lets get these bagged and tagged," someone else said. Tony carried the guns out of the house, noticing that the Delmonacos were long gone.

He exited from the front door and walked the gun boxes to a waiting squad car, called in after the raid. Neighbors were huddled in small groups, well outside of the police line. It was almost 4 am, surely the commotion had woken them up and brought them out.

"Hey, Porkchop," Porcano turned his head to look as an uniformed State Police patrolman relieved him of the confiscated firearms. It was Agent McCleary.

​

"Hey, hows it going kid?" He fished a cigarette out from a crush pack and then offered one to Tony. He declined it, instead, fishing the Zyn pouch out from his gumline, long having lost its flavor and effects.

McCleary lit up, dragged, puffed out into the night. The sky was beginning to turn bruise-purple in the east.

"I was just talking to your captain, Jengs?"

"Jenks, sir,"

"Jenks, right, and he was telling me you're a real motivated worker," Tony picked up the very slightest hint of a Boston accent from the fed. "Look, word is, a memo is coming down from POTUS himself, he wants to federalize all the state police, into a National Police Force. He wants to do it soon. We want to do Operation: Grab on a bigger, more impactful scale. And we think you'd be a good fit when that transition happens. See, not all these guys," he motioned with his dart towards some of the team members loading back into the MRAP for the next hit, "are gonna make the cut. Some guys, they got families, or girlfriends, or some other bullshit. I hear you're the real deal."

"Thank you sir," Tony felt high from the praise.

"You just gotta stop asking questions. That's a dead end. No one likes a free thinker, not in this game, and sure as shit, not at this level, you understand, son?"

"Yes sir, about earlier, I..." McCleary waved him off, pulled another drag.

"Don't even worry about it, look, we'll talk more later, I think you're Uber's ready," and the fed nodded at the idling MRAP. Tony nodded, gave a smart salute, much to McCleary's chagrin.

Porcaro boarded the MRAP and took his seat at the end of the bench, by the ramp. He checked the chamber on his breaching gun. Guys were entering and dapping him up. A lot of praise coming from his teammates.

The comm chatter was much more lively on the way to the second house, just a few minutes away in the Broadmoor neighborhood.

"You see Tony split that dude's shit man??" A cop was saying. Laughter, daps.

"You know what I'm saying, you talk shit, you get hit, BLAM," and Tony made a kicking motion that got laughter from everyone.

"Yo, he called us 'fascists' that sounds exactly what a radicalized ANTIFA would say."

"ANTIFA ARE radicalized dummy, stop being so redundant."

"Shut the fuck up or I'll tell Tony to kick your face in too," more laughter when Porcaro hammed up kicking his fellow officer. The officer played into it, dramatically falling back into the wall of the MRAP.

"Thirty seconds," came the calm voice of the driver. Everyone buttoned up, clicked their helmet buckles, checked chambers. Someone muttered into the open comm net.

"Yo, I hope I get to shoot the dog this time."

The hit went down as smoothly as the first. The homeowners, another middle aged couple with a suspicious voting and gun purchasing history, were escorted from the premises and handed off to uniformed police. The ATG teams began their search of the property.

"This is turning into a dry hole," Captain Jenks muttered, unclipping his Opscore high cut and running a gloved hand over his sweaty bald head.

"You could hide a .22 anywhere though, be thorough!" McCleary yelled from the kitchen.

Greg Douglass emerged from the guest bathroom on the first floor, yelling for Porcaro. Tony, just a few rooms away, tossing a child's bedroom, stuck his head into the hallway.

"What's up dude?"

"Hey, come check this out dude," and Porcaro wandered down the hallway, breaching gun bouncing off his plate carrier. "Come look at this."

Douglass was standing by the full shower, looking down into the tub. Tony wandered over, curious at what his teammate was looking at.

"What dude?" Tony looked down at the empty tub, and barely registered the gun barrel pressed to the back of his head.

There was a short, snappy pop and Officer Porcaro ended his watch. His kevlar helmet stopped the .22 projectile from over penetrating, but it didn't stop the blood from spattering onto Officer Douglass.

"Ah fuck, he fucking sprayed me," Douglass wiped his face and stepped away from the body, half in, half out of the tub. Captain Jenks set the homeowners .22 down at the bathroom entry way.

​

"Well, that's done, write it up, add to whatever the feds are charging the homeowner with. Homiciding a state cop." Jenks passed McCleary on the way out, they exchanged knowing nods.

--

Like what you’re reading? Want to support me in some way? That'd be dope! NEW "I VOTED" MOLLY SLAPS ARE LIVE! DM/Email me if interested, these are only available via email or DM since this website only allows for digital commerce! Check out my product page! Starter Packs are $45! Or book a consultation for a fitness plan, Bug Out plan, Ruck plan, etc. Looking for some gear? You can use promo code PIPEHAWK at the A Better Way 2A store for $5 off your whole order! You can also DONATE a $1 or whatever (buy me a cup of coffee, yo) with $pipehawkconsulting on CashApp or pipehawk on Venmo! I'm not telling you what to do, I'm not a cop.