{"id":52668,"date":"2015-04-16T07:00:07","date_gmt":"2015-04-16T12:00:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/?p=52668"},"modified":"2015-04-16T07:27:41","modified_gmt":"2015-04-16T12:27:41","slug":"trulbert-part-xxxviii","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/?p=52668","title":{"rendered":"Trulbert! Part XXXVIII – The Matador’s Waltz"},"content":{"rendered":"

– 4:25 PM,\u00a0November 7, 2015 \u2013 The Sub-Basement Under That One Really Undistinguished Office Building, on Nicollet, or maybe Marquette Avenue, Downtown Minneapolis, MN<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

Hendrickson raced up a stairway from the tunnel, hearing Ilktost’s footsteps echoing behind him.<\/p>\n

He found himself in a dark room full of shelves. \u00a0He quietly padded off behind a set of shelves, willed himself to stop panting and listened.<\/p>\n

He heard Ilktosts footsteps shuffle along…<\/p>\n

…and past.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He let them recede into the distance, apparently climbing some stairs, as he caught his breath.<\/p>\n

He sat stood for a few minutes, until he figured the coast had to be clear, before starting in the direction the footsteps had gone.<\/p>\n

———-<\/p>\n

Ilktost, panting for breath, climbed the steps. \u00a0The man with the gun had lost him – but that was the least of his worries.<\/p>\n

He pulled out his cell phone; two bars. \u00a0He pressed Oswaldson’s number. \u00a0Oswaldson answered.<\/p>\n

“Dave – Myron, here. \u00a0 What’s the situation?”<\/p>\n

———-<\/p>\n

Hendrickson, padding his way slowly toward the stairs, stopped cold as he heard the dim, muffled voice at the top of the stairwell, having an extended, animated conversation.<\/p>\n

– 4:26 PM,\u00a0November 7, 2015 \u2013 The Plaza in front of the Federal Reserve, \u00a0Downtown Minneapolis, MN<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

Dave Os darted about the plaza, looking among the group from Saint Louis Park, finally finding Frena Marquette.<\/div>\n

“Frena!”<\/p>\n

“Dave!”<\/p>\n

The two shared a hug – less comfortable than usual, what with the grenades Marquette was carrying and all, but still.<\/p>\n

“So…”, Os, started, gesturing at her. \u00a0“You’re, like…”<\/p>\n

“Oh, yeah. \u00a0I went back to my parents after Ron Pallsacher died, and everything hit the fan. \u00a0I got in touch with my Jewish heritage for the first time. \u00a0We’re big on self-defense. \u00a0Who knew?” she said, beaming.<\/p>\n

“Wow. \u00a0So…”, he stammered, pointing at the trio of M-60 tanks in desert camouflage with Stars of David painted on the side.<\/p>\n

“Oh, yeah. \u00a0I was as surprised as you are. \u00a0The Israelis sent surplus equipment to Jewish communities around the country that needed to protect themselves. \u00a0Saint Louis Park introduced mandatory service, like in Israel. \u00a0So when the Methodists started causing problems, we were able to take care of things”.<\/p>\n

“Ah, I get it”, Os replied, not really getting it. \u00a0“So – Israel? \u00a0Even with all the stuff we used to talk about? \u00a0Settlements? \u00a0Aggression?”<\/p>\n

“Oh, that”, Marquette chuckled. “I’m sorry, Dave. \u00a0I finally figured out that pretty much everything Ron Paul said about Israel was full of shit”.<\/p>\n

“Wow”, Os said, taken a bit aback, before recovering. \u00a0“So…you wanna go grab a cup of coffee and talk about…”<\/p>\n

“Oh”, Marquette answered, shuffling a bit and looking around, stopping and beaming with recognition. \u00a0“I have a boyfriend. \u00a0Aaron!”, she shouted.<\/p>\n

A tall man with a long Orthodox beard carrying a long rifle turned and walked over to them.<\/p>\n

“Dave Os, this is Aaron Weiss. \u00a0He’s a professional skateboarder. \u00a0And a sniper”.<\/p>\n

Os stood, mildly slack-jawed, for a moment.<\/p>\n

“Pleasure”, Weiss said, offering a hand.<\/p>\n

“Nice to meet you”, Os finally replied, shaking Weiss’ hand. \u00a0“Dude – righteous beard. \u00a0What do you use?”<\/p>\n

“Use?”<\/p>\n

“On your…beard”.<\/p>\n

Weiss, his face dissolving from alertness to mild disgust, shook his head, and looked at Marquette. \u00a0“I gotta go. Nice to meet you, Dave”. \u00a0He \u00a0gave Marquette a quick kiss, and turned and moved away at the double.<\/p>\n

Marquette turned to Os. \u00a0“Anyway, I discovered that the ultimate liberty is freedom from worrying someone’s going to kill you! \u00a0Hey, Dave – great to see you! \u00a0Gotta run. \u00a0Let’s meet at Dripping with Irony someday soon!”<\/p>\n

– 4:28 PM,\u00a0November 7, 2015 \u2013 The Basement Under That One Really Undistinguished Office Building, on Nicollet, or maybe Marquette Avenue, Downtown Minneapolis, MN<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

“OK, Dave, that sounds bad. \u00a0But we’ve got more people waiting in South Minneapolis. \u00a0We can get the rest of the army rounded up, and hit them all back. \u00a0We outnumber them. \u00a0 We can still have a new, clear day”<\/p>\n

He arranged a rendezvous, disconnected, and started walking upstairs<\/p>\n

———-<\/p>\n

It all sounded like mumbling to Hendrickson – except the part that sounded like “we still have a nuclear” something or other.<\/p>\n

His stomach congealed into a cold, hard ball as he heard Ilktost hang up the call and step away into the distance.<\/p>\n

OK, now what<\/em>? \u00a0Hendrickson patted his pockets and found the extra clip thingie with bullets for his pistol. \u00a0He reloaded as he slunk up the stairway, measuring his steps, trying not to hyperventilate.<\/p>\n

He was on the ground floor of some sort of boutique store – he didn’t get downtown much, so he didn’t recognize it – but he saw light in the distance.<\/p>\n

He picked his way through the store toward the window – and saw Ilktost, on the sidewalk, stepping toward the street.<\/p>\n

This ends here<\/em>, Hendrickson thought. \u00a0He moved more quickly now, stepping between the racks of clothes to the front door.<\/p>\n

He gave the door a yank, and walked out onto the street, raising his gun.<\/p>\n

“Ilktost!”, he yelled.<\/p>\n

The portly older man turned and blanched.<\/p>\n

“You’re coming with me”.<\/p>\n

Ilktost shook his head. \u00a0“No. \u00a0I’m really not”.<\/p>\n

Behind Ilktost, six socials rounded the corner, their gunners scanning the rooftops.<\/p>\n

Ilktost turned, waved his hands, and pointed at Hendrickson.<\/p>\n

The socials, advancing three abreast down the street, began swinging their machine guns toward Hendrickson.<\/p>\n

Hendrickson, panic exploding from the core outward, raised his gun and started squeezing the trigger.<\/p>\n

– 4:35 PM,\u00a0November 7, 2015 \u2013 The Plaza in front of the Federal Reserve, \u00a0Downtown Minneapolis, MN<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

“Arnie!”<\/p>\n

Dave Os yelled at Arnie Quist.<\/p>\n

“How ya been?”<\/p>\n

Quist, his face and long, tangled beard flecked with spatters of blood, grimy from smoke, looked at Os. \u00a0“Been good. \u00a0You?”<\/p>\n

“Can’t complain. \u00a0So – you…?” he started, pointing at the wild-eyed army of suburban Minnesotans waving guns and gathering prisoners.<\/p>\n

“I discovered that the ultimate liberty was the freedom to crush everything that stripped you of your liberty”.<\/p>\n

“Crush…?”<\/p>\n

“Kill”, Quist replied, his eyes focusing back into the small, beady beams of rage they’d been since the sacking of Corcoran, four days earlier. \u00a0“Kill, burn, disembowel, dismember, obliterate the enemies of freedom. \u00a0That is the truest liberty”.<\/p>\n

“Huh”, Os said, nodding. \u00a0“So – great seeing you…”<\/p>\n

<\/strong>\u00a0– 4:28 PM,\u00a0November 7, 2015 \u2013 7th Street and Nicollet Avenue, Downtown Minneapolis, MN<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

Hendrickson lost count at two shots, but the trigger clicked empty very quickly.<\/div>\n

He opened his eyes to see all three socials, guns trained on him.<\/p>\n

And then a gout of flame erupted from under one hood. \u00a0One of the gunners slumped into the bed of the truck; another recoiled backward, flipping onto the pavement.<\/p>\n

Whoah<\/em>, Hendrickson thought, wide-eyed, looking at his pistol.<\/p>\n

———-<\/p>\n

Chuck Torstenvaldsen looked at Josh Yetterboedal. \u00a0They were leaning on the trunk of a car, parked along Nicollet. \u00a0“Good shot”.<\/p>\n

They were among a group of a couple dozen people – old and young, mostly men but a few women as well, black and asian and white and latino, armed mostly with hunting rifles, who’d seen the TV broadcast and started making their way downtown, drawn by the sound of the gunfire.<\/p>\n

The hunters blazed away at the socials; one burned, and the other five backed out of the line of fire.<\/p>\n

———-<\/p>\n

Hendrickson snapped out of it, looked around, and saw Ilktost disappearing through the door of the IDS Tower, the tallest building in Minneapolis.<\/p>\n

He trotted after him, trying to formulate a plan in his mind, and coming up with nothing.<\/p>\n

<\/strong>\u00a0– 4:30 PM,\u00a0November 7, 2015 \u2013 Plaza in front of the Federal Reserve, Downtown Minneapolis, MN<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

Fleen and the rest of the people on the plaza heard gunfire to the south.<\/p>\n

He jumped into the bed of a captured social.<\/p>\n

“Presbyterians – move down Nicollet. \u00a0Wild-eyed suburbanites, take Marquette. \u00a0Saint Louis Park Jews, clear Hennepin Avenue”. \u00a0They’d approach the shooting on a three block front.<\/p>\n

Dan-Marius Codriciu climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the truck.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

– 4:25 PM,\u00a0November 7, 2015 \u2013 The Sub-Basement Under That One Really Undistinguished Office Building, on Nicollet, or maybe Marquette Avenue, Downtown Minneapolis, MN Hendrickson raced up a stairway from the tunnel, hearing Ilktost’s footsteps echoing behind him. He found himself in a dark room full of shelves. \u00a0He quietly padded off behind a set […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[30],"tags":[302],"class_list":["post-52668","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-liberty","tag-trulbert"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52668","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=52668"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52668\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":52681,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52668\/revisions\/52681"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=52668"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=52668"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.shotinthedark.info\/wp\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=52668"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}